£?e u
* /
ENCYCLOPEDIA BRITANNICA.
Cutwlopactua Bntanmta
OR, A
DICTIONARY
ARTS, SCIENCES, AND MISCELLANEOUS
LITERATURE;
ENLARGED AND IMPROVED.
THE SIXTH EDITION.
Slliistratrt) imtt) nrnrlp sit' l)imSrr& cfrntj'fabmgo.
VOL. XVI.
INDOCTT DISCANT; AMENT MEMINISSE PERITI.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED FOR ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND COMPANY;
AND HURST, ROBINSON, AND COMPANY, 90, CHEAPSIDE,
LONDON.
1823.
♦ ♦
B
'15
AP
c, 1966 /
Encyclopedia Britannica.
PAR
Parthia,
Ancienl
divisions.
Whence
peopled.
3
Cause of
the Par-
thians re¬
volt from
Anticchus
Theus.
PARTHIA, a celebrated empire of antiquity,
bounded on the west by Media, on the north by
Hyrcania, on the east by Aria, on the south by Car-
mania the desert; surrounded on every side by moun¬
tains, which still serve as a boundary, though its name
is now changed, having obtained that of Eyrac or Arac ;
and, to distinguish it from Chaldcea, that of Eijrac Aga-
mi. By Ptolemy it is divided into five districts, viz.
Caminsine or Gamisene,Partheyne, Choroane, Atticene,
and Tabiene. The ancient geographers enumerate a
great many cities in this country. Ptolemy in parti¬
cular reckons 25 large cities 5 and it certainly must
have been very populous, since we have accounts of
2000 villages, besides a number of cities, which were
destroyed by earthquakes. Its capital was named He-
catompohs, from the circumstance of its having too
gates. It was a noble and magnificent place ; and,
according to some, it still remains under the name of
Ispahan, the capital of the present Persian empire.
Parthia is by some supposed to have been first peopled
by the Phetri or Pathri, often mentioned in Scripture,
and that the Parthians are descended from Pathrusim
the son of Misraim. But however true this may be
with regard to the ancient inhabitants, yet is is cer¬
tain, that those Parthians who were so famous in hi¬
story, descended from the Scythians, though from what
tribe we are not certainly informed.
Hie history of the ancient Parthians is totally lost.
All that we know about them is, that they were first
subject to the Medes, afterwards to the Persians, and
lastly to Alexander the Great. After his death the pro¬
vince fell to Seleucus Nicator, and was held by him
and his successors till the reign of Antiochus theus,
about the year 250 before Christ. At this time the
Parthians revolted, and chose one Arsaces for their
king. The immediate cause of this revolt was the
lewdness of Agathocles, to whom Antiochus had com¬
mitted the care ot all the provinces beyond the Eu¬
phrates. I his man made an infamous attempt on Ti-
ridates, a youth of great beauty ; which so enraged his
hi other Arsaces, that he excited his countrymen to
revolt ; and before Antiochus had leisure to attend to
the rebellion, it became too powerful to be crushed.
Seleucus Callinicus, the successor of Antiochus Theus,
attempted to reduce Arsaces j but the latter having had
so much time to strengthen himself, defeated and drove
his antagonist out of the country. Seleucus, however,
in a short time, undertook another expedition against
VOL. XVI. Part L
PAR
Arsaces; but was still more unfortunate than he had Parthia.
■ been in the former, being not only defeated in a great' 
battle, hut taken prisoner, and died in captivity. The
day on which Arsaces gained this victory was ever after
observed among the Parthians as an extraordinary fes¬
tival. Arsaces being thus fully established in his new
kingdom, reduced Hyrcania and some other provinces
under his power j and was at last killed in a battle
against Ariarthes I V. king of Cappadocia. From this
piince all the other kings of Parthia took the surname
of Arsaces, as those of Egypt did that of Ptolemy, from
Ptolemy Soter.
Arsaces I. was succeeded by his son Arsaces II. who,
entering Media, made himself master of that country]
while Antiochus the Great was engaged in war with
Ptolemy Euergetes king of Egypt. Antiochus, how¬
ever, was no sooner disengaged from that war, than he
marched with all his forces against Arsaces, and at first
drove him quite out of Media. But he soon returned
with an army of 100,000 foot and 20,000 horse, with
which he put a stop to the further progress of Antio¬
chus ; and a treaty was soon after concluded, in which
it was agreed, that Arsaces should remain master of
Parthia and Hyrcania, upon condition of his assisting
him in his wars with other nations.
Arsaces II. was succeeded by his son Priapatius, who Conquobts
reigned 15 years, and left three sons, Phrahates, Mithri- of the Par-
dates, and Artabanus. Phrahales, the elder, succeeded tlnan mo-
to the throne, and reduced under his subjection thendrchs*
Mardi, who had never been conquered by any but A-
lexander the Great. After him, his brother Mithrida-
tes was invested with the regal dignity. He reduced
the Baetrians, Medes, Persians, Ely means, and overran
in a manner all the east, penetrating beyond the bound¬
aries of Alexander’s conquests. Demetrius Nicator
who then reigned in Syria, endeavoured to recover those
provinces ; but his army was entirely destroyed, and
himself taken prisoner, in which state he remained till
his death 5 after which victory Mithridates made him¬
self master of Babylonia and "Mesopotamia, so that all
the provinces between the Euphrates and the Ganges
were now subject to his power.
Mithridates died in the 37th year of his reign, and Ant^chus
left the throne to his son Phrahates II. who was scarce Sidetes de-
settled in his kingdom when Antiochus Sidetes march- stro)ed
ed against him at the head of a numerous army, under
pretence of delivering his brother Demetrius, who was wholc ar'
still in captivity. Phrahates was defeated in three
A pitched
Parthia.
6
Alliance
concluded
with the
Romans.
Crassus re¬
solves on a
war with
the Par-
thians.
8
Plunders
the temple
at Jerusa¬
lem.
PAR [2
pitched battles ; in consequence of which he lost all the
countries conquered by his father, and was reduced
within the limits of the ancient Parthian kingdom.
Antiochus did not, however, long enjoy his good for¬
tune •, for his army, on account of their number, a-
moimting to no fewer than 400,000, being obliged to
separate to such distances as prevented them, in case or
any sudden attack, from joining together, the inhabi¬
tants, whom they had most cruelly oppressed, taking ad-
vantage of this separation, conspired with the Parthians
to destroy them. This was accordingly executed j and
the vast army ot Antiochus, with the monarch himself,
were slaughtered in one day, scarcely a single person
escaping to carry the news to Syria. Phrahates, elated
with this success, proposed to invade Syria j but in the
mean time, happening to quarrel with the Scythians,
he was by them cut off with his whole army, and was
succeeded by bis uncle Artabanus.
The new king enjoyed his dignity but a very short
time, being, a few days after his accession, killed in
another battle with the Scythians. He was succeeded
by Pacorus I. who entered into an alliance with the
Homans ; and he by Phrahates III. This monarch
took under his protection Tigranes the son of Ti-
granes the Great, king of Armenia, gave him his
daughter in marriage, and invaded the kingdom with
a design to place the son on the throne of Armenia j
hut on'*'the approach of Pompey he thought proper to
retire, and soon alter solemnly renewed the treaty with
the Homans. .
Phrahates was murdered by his children JMitnri-
dates and Orodes j and soon after the former was put to
death by his brother, who thus became sole master ot
the Parthian empire. In his reign happened the me¬
morable war with the Romans under Crassus. I bis
was occasioned not by any breach of treaty on the side
of the Parthians, but through the shameful avarice of
Crassus. The whole Homan empire at that time bad
been divided between Caesar, Pompey, and Crassus j
a„d by virtue of that partition, the eastern provinces
had fallen to the lot of Crassus. No sooner was he in¬
vested with this diunity, than he resolved to carry the
war into Parthia, in order to enrich himself with the
S,Kills of that people, who were then looked upon to
be very wealthy. Some of the tribunes opposed him,
as the Parthians had religiously observed the treaty j
but Crassus having, by the assistance of Pompey, car¬
ried every thing before him, left Home in the year 55
B. C. and pursued his march to Brundusium, where he
immediately embarked bis troops, though the wind
blew very high j and after a difficult passage, wiere
he lost many of his ships, he reached the ports of Ga¬
latia. , „ . , •
From Galatia Crassus hastened to Syria, and passing
through Judea, plundered the temple at Jerusalem in his
way. ‘ He then marched with as great expedition as he
could to the river Euphrates, which he crossed on a
bridge of boats : and, entering the Parthian dominions,
began hostilities. As the enemy had not expected an
invasion, they were quite unprepared for resistance j and
therefore Crassus overran all Mesopotamia j and it be
had taken advantage of the consternation which the
Parthians were in, might have also reduced Baby¬
lonia. But instead of this, early in the autumn, he re¬
passed the Euphrates, leaving only yocofoot and 1000
] PAR
horse to garrison the places he had reduced and put¬
ting his army into winter quarters in Syria, gave 1
himself wholly up to his favourite passion of amassing
money.
Early in the spring, the Roman general drew Ins
forces out of their winter quarters, in order to pursue
the war with vigour; but, during the winter, Orodes
had collected a very numerous army, and was well
prepared to oppose him. Before lie enteied upon ac¬
tion, however, the Parthian monarch sent ambassadors
to Crassus, in order to expostulate with him on his in¬
justice in attacking an ally of the Homan empire j but
Crassus, without attending to what they said, only re¬
turned for answer, that “ they should have his answer
at Seleucia.”
Orodes, finding that a war was unavoidable, di¬
vided his army into two bodies. One he command¬
ed in person, and marched toward Armenia, in oidti
to oppose the king of that country, who had raised a
considerable army to assist the Romans. The other he
sent into Mesopotamia, under the command of Surena
or Suren as, a most experienced general, by whose con¬
duct all the cities which Crassus had reduced were
quickly retaken. On this some Roman soldiers who
Partliia.
made their escape, and fled to the camp of Crassus,
filled the mind of bis army with terror at the accounts^
of the number, power, and strength, of the enemy.
They told their fellow soldiers, that the Parthians
were very numerous, brave, and well disciplined j that
it was impossible to overtake them when they fled, or
escape them when they pursued •, that their defensive
weapons were proof against the Roman darts, and then
offensive weapons so sharp, that no buckler could re¬
sist them, &c. Crassus looked upon all this only as
the effect of cowardice : but the common soldiers, and
even many of the chief officers, were so disheartened,
that Cassius, the same who afterwards conspired against
Cajsar, and most of the legionary tribunes, advised Cras¬
sus to suspend his march, and consider better of the en¬
terprise before he proceeded farther in it. But Crassus
obstinately persisted in bis former resolution, being en¬
couraged by the arrival of Artabazus king of Armenia,
who brought with him 6000 horse, and promised to send
xo,ooo cuirassiers and 30,000 foot, whenever he should
stand in need of them. At the same time, he advised
him by no means to march his army through the plains
of Mesopotamia, but to take his route over the moun¬
tains of Armenia. He told him, that as Armenia was
a mountainous country, the enemy’s cavalry, m which
their main strength consisted, would there be entirely
useless; and besides, his army would there be plenti¬
fully supplied with all manner of necessaries : whereas,
if he marched by the way of Mesopotamia, he would
be perpetually harassed by the Parthian horse, and fre¬
quently he obliged to lead his army through sandy de¬
serts, where he would be distressed for want of water
and all other provisions. This salutary advice, how¬
ever, was rejected, and Crassus entered Mesopotamia
with an army of about 40,000 men.
The Romansjiad no sooner crossed the Euphrates,
than Cassius advised bis general to advance to some ot
those towns in which the garrisons yet remained, in or¬
der to halt and refresh his troops : or if be did not choose
to follow this advice, he said that his best way would
be to march along the banks of the Euphrates to Seleu-
Parthia.
Eetrayed
PAR [
ciaj as by this method he would prevent the Parthians
1 from surrounding him, at the same time he would be
plentifully supplied with provisions from his ships. Of
by Ab ■ this advice Crassus seemed to approve ", but was dis-
rus kiiw of suaded by Abgarus king of Edessa, whom the Romans
'Edessa. took for an ally, but who was in reality a traitor sent
by Surenas to bring about the destruction of the Roman
army.
Under the conduct of this faithless guide, the Ro¬
mans entered a vast green plain divided by many rivu¬
lets. Their march proved very easy through this fine
country *, but the farther they advanced, the worse the
roads became, insomuch that they were at last obliged
to climb up rocky mountains, which brought them
to a dry and sandy plain, where they could neither
find food to satisfy their hunger, nor water to quench
their thirst. Abgarus then began to be suspected by
the tribunes and other officers, who earnestly entreated
Crassus not to follow him any longer, but to retreat to
the mountains j at the same time an express arrived
from Artabazus, acquainting the Roman general that
Orodes had invaded his dominions with a great army,
and that he was obliged to keep his troops at home,
in order to defend his own dominions. The same mes¬
senger advised Crassus in his master’s name to avoid
by all means the barren plains, where his army would
certainly perish with hunger and fatigue, and by all
means to approach Armenia, that they might join their
forces against the common enemy. But all was to no
purpose ; Crassus, instead of hearkening either to the
advice of the king or his own officer’s, first flew into a
violent passion with the messengers of Artabazus, and
then told his troops, that they were not to expect the
delights of Campania in the most remote parts of the
world.
Thus they continued their march for some days across
a desert, the very sight of which was sufficient to throw
them into the utmost despair : for they could not per¬
ceive, either near them or at a distance, the least tree,
plant, or brook, not so much as a hill, or a single blade
of grass; nothing was to be seen all around them but
huge heaps of burning sand. The Romans had scarcely
got through this desert, when word was brought them
by their scouts, that a numerous army of Parthians was
advancing full march to attack them •, for Abgarus, un¬
der pretence of going out on parties, had often conferred
with Surenas, and concerted measures with him for de¬
stroying the Roman army. Upon this advice, which
occasioned great confusion in the camp, the Romans be¬
ing quite exhausted, and tired out With their long and
troublesome march, Crassus drew up his men in battalia,
following at first the advice of Cassius, who was for ex¬
tending the infantry as wide as possible, that they might
take up the more ground, and by that means prevent
the enemy from surrounding them : but Abgarus assur¬
ing the proconsul that the Parthian forces were not so
numerous as was represented, hechanged thisdisposition,
and believing only the man who betrayed him, drew up
his troops in a square, which faced every way, and had
on each side 12 cohorts in front. Near each cohort
he placed a troop of horse to support them, that they
mitffit charge with the greater security and boldness,
thus the whole army looked more like one phalanx
than troops drawn up in manipuli, with spaces between
them, after the Roman manner. The general himself
3 ] PAR
commanded in the centre, his son in the left wing, and Parthia.
Cassius in the right. - v——
In this order they advanced to the banks of a small
river called the JSahssus, the sight of which was verv
pleasing to the soldiers, who were much harassed with
drought and excessive heat. Most of the officers were
for encamping on the banks of this river, or rather rivu¬
let, to give the troops time to refresh themselves after
the fatigues of so long and painful a march j and, in the
mean time to procure certain intelligence of the num¬
ber and disposition of the Parthian armyj but Crassus,
suffering himself to be hurried on by the inconsiderate
ardour of his son, and the horse he commanded, only
allowed the legions to take a meal standing; and before
this could be done by all, he ordered them to advance,
not slowly, and halting now and then, after the Roman
manner, but as fast as they could move, till they came
in sight of the enemy, who, contrary to their expecta¬
tion, did not appear either so numerous or so terrible
as they had been represented; but this was a stratagem
of Surenas, who had concealed, his men in convenient
places, ordering them to cover their arms, lest their
brightness should betray them, and, starting up at the
first signal, to attack the enemy on all sides. The stra-'p]ie ”lt'e
tagem had the desired effect j for Surenas no sooner gave of C; nh o.
the signal, than the Parthians, rising as it were out of
the ground, with dreadful cries, and a most frightful
noise, advanced against the Romans, who were greatly
surprised and dismayed at the sight; and much more so,
when the Parthians, throwing off the covering of their
arms, appeared in shining cuirasses, and helmets of bur¬
nished steel, finely mounted on horses covered all over
with armour of the same metal. At their head appear¬
ed young Surenas in a rich dress, who was the first who
charged the enemy, endeavouring, with his plkemen, to
break through the first ranks of the Roman army j but
finding it too close and impenetrable, the cohorts sup¬
porting each other, he fell back, and retired in a seem¬
ing contusion : but the Romans were much surprised
when they saw themselves suddenly surrounded on all
sides, and galled with continual showers of arrows.
Crassus ordered his light-armed loot and archers to ad¬
vance, and charge the enemy 5 but they were soon re¬
pulsed, and forced to cover themselves behind the heavy¬
armed foot. Then the Parthian horse, advanced near
the Romans, discharged showers of arrows upon them,
every one of which did execution, the legionaries being
drawn up in such close order, that it was impossible for
the enemy to miss their aim. As their arrows were of
an extraordinary weight, and discharged with incredible
force and impetuosity, nothing was proof against them.
The two wings advanced in good order to repulse them,
but to no effect j for the Parthians shot their arrows
with as gyeat dexterity when their backs were turned,
as when they faced the enemy ; so that the Romans,
whether they kept their ground, or pursued the fly¬
ing enemy, were equally annoyed with their fatal ar¬
rows.
The Romans, as long as they had any hopes that the
Parthians, after having spent their arrows, would either
betake themselves to flight, or engage them hand to
hand, stood their ground with great resolution and intre¬
pidity ; but when they observed that there were a great
many camels in their rear loaded with arrows, and that
those who emptied their quivers wheeled about to fill
A 2 them
Parthia.
PAR [4
them anew, they began to lose courage, and loudly to
complain of their general for suffering them thus to
stand still, and serve only as a butt to the enemy’s ar¬
rows, which, they well saiv, would not be exhausted
till thev were all killed to a man. Hereupon Crassus
ordered his son to advance, at all adventures, and at¬
tack the enemy with 1300 horse, 500 archers, and 8
cohorts. But the Parthians no sooner saw this choice
body (for it was the flower of the army) marching up
against them, than they wheeled about, and betook
themselves, according to their custom to flight. Plere-
upon young Crassus, crying out as loud as he could,
They fly before us, pushed on full speed after them, not
doubting but he should gain a complete victory ; but
when he was at a great distance from the main body of
the Roman army, he perceived his mistake; for those
who before had fled, facing about, charged him with
incredible fury. Young Crassus ordered his troops to
halt, hoping that the enemy, upon seeing their small
number, would not be afraid to come to a close fight :
but herein he was likewise greatly disappointed ; for the
Parthians, contenting themselves to oppose his front
with their heavy-armed horse, surrounded him on all
sides *, and, keeping at a distance, discharged incessant
showers of arrows upon the unfortunate Romans, thus
surrounded and pent up. The Parthian army, in wheel¬
ing about, raised so thick a dust, that the Romans could
scarce see one another, much less the enemy : never¬
theless, they found themselves wounded with arrows,
though they could not perceive whence they came. In
a short time the place where they stood was all strown
with dead bodies.
Some of the unhappy Romans finding their entrails
distress of torn, and many overcome by the exquisite torments they
the Ro- suffered, rolled themselves in the sand with the arrows in
Partbia.
12
Extreme
] PAR
sooner joined, than the Parthians invested them anew,
making a most dreadful havock of them with their ar¬
rows. In this desperate condition, Crassus, spying a
rising ground at a small distance, led the remains of his
detachment thither, with a design to defend himself in
the best manner he could, till succours should be sent
him from his father. The Parthians pursued him j and
having surrounded him in his new post, continued
showering arrows upon his men, till most of them were
either killed or disabled, without being able to make
use of their arms, or give the. enemy proofs of their
valour.
Young Crassus had two Greeks with him, who had
settled fn the city of Carrhie. These, touched with
compassion, at seeing so brave a man reduced to such
straits, pressed him to retire with them to the neigh¬
bouring city of Ischnes, which had declared for the
Romans*, but the young Roman rejected their pro¬
posal with indignation, telling them, that he would ra¬
ther die a thousand times than abandon so many valiant
men, who sacrificed their lives for his sake. Having
returned this answer to his two Greek friends, he em¬
braced and dismissed them, giving them leave to re¬
tire and shift for themselves in the best manner they
could. As for himself, having now lost all hopes of
being relieved, and seeing most of his men and friends I3
killed round him, he gave way to his grief*, and, not The death
being able to make use of his arm, which was shot of young
through with a large barbed arrow, he presented hisCrassus-
side to one of his attendants, and ordered him to put
an end to bis uehappy life. His example was fol¬
lowed by Censorius a senator, by Megabacchus an
experienced and brave officer, and by most of the no¬
bility who served under him. Five hundred com¬
mon soldiers were taken prisoners, and the rest cut in
their bodies, and expired in that manner. Others en¬
deavouring to tear out by force the bearded points of the
arrows, only made the wounds the larger, and increased
their pain. Most of them died in this manner j and
those who outlived their companions were no more in a
condition to act *, for when young Crassus exhorted
them to march up to the enemy, some showed him their
wounded bodies, others their hands nailed to then
bucklers, and some their feet pierced through and pin¬
ned to the ground 5 so that it was equally impossible for
them either to attack the enemy or defend themselves.
The young commander, therefore, leaving his infantry
to the mercy of the enemy, advanced at the head of the
cavalry against their heavy-armed horse. T. he thousand
Gauls whom he had brought with him from the west,
charged the enemy with incredible boldness and vigour ;
but their lances did little execution on men armed with
cuirasses, and horses covered with tried armour : how¬
ever, they behaved with great resolution *, for some of
them taking hold of the enemy’s spears, and closing
with them, threw them off their horses on the ground,
where they lay without being able to stir, by reason of
the great weight of their armour ; others, dismounting,
crept under the enemy’s horses, and thrusting their
swords into their bellies, made them throw their riders.
Thus the brave Gauls fought, though greatly harassed
with heat and thirst, which they were not accustomed
to bear, till most of their horses were killed, and then-
commander dangerously wounded. They then thought
it adviseable to retire to their infantry, which they no
pieces.
The Parthians, having thus cut off or taken the whole
detachment commanded by young Crassus, marched
without delay against his father, who, upon the first ad¬
vice that the enemy fled before his son, and were closely
pursued by him, had taken heart, the more because those
who had remained to make head against him seemed to
abate much of their ardour, the greatest part of them hav¬
ing marched with the rest against his son. Wherefore,
having encouraged his troops, he had retired to a small hill
in his rear, to wait there till his son returned from the
pursuit. Young Crassus had despatched frequent ex¬
presses to his father, to acquaint him with the danger he
was in *, but they had fallen into the enemy’s hands, and
been by them put to the sword : only the last, who had
escaped with great difficulty, arrived safe, and inform¬
ed him that his son was lost if he did not send him an
immediate and powerful reinforcement. This news
threw Crassus into the utmost consternation *, a thousand
affecting thoughts rose in his mind, and disturbed his
reason to such a degree, that he scarce knew what be
was doing. However, the desire he had of saving his
son, and so many brave Romans who were under his
command, made him immediately decamp, and march
to their assistance ; but he was not gone far before he
was met by the Parthians, who, with loud shouts, and
songs of victory, gave, at a distance, the unhappy father
notice of his misfortune. They had cut oft young Cras-
sus’s head, and, having fixed it on the point of a lance,
were advancing full speed to fall on the father. As they
drew
PAR [
Parthia. drew near, Crassus was struck with that dismal and af-
l——v— fecting sight j but on this occasion, behaved like a hero:
for though he was under the deepest concern, he had
the presence of mind to stifle his grief, for fear of dis¬
couraging the army, and to cry out to the dismayed
troops, “ This misfortune is entirely mine ; the loss of
one man cannot affect the victory : Let us charge, let
us fight like Romans : if you have any compassion for a
father who has just now lost a son whose valour you ad¬
mired, let it appear in your rage and resentment against
these insulting barbarians.” Thus Crassus strove to re¬
animate his troops ; but his efforts were unsuccessful:
their courage was quite sunk, as appeared from the faint
and languishing shout which they raised, according to
custom, before the action. When the signal was given,
the Parthians, keeping to their old way of fighting, dis¬
charged clouds of arrows on the legionaries, without
drawing near them which did such dreadful execution,
that many of the Romans, to avoid the arrow's, which
occasioned a long and painful death, threw themselves,
like men in despair, on the enemy’s heavy-armed-horse,
seeking from their spears a more quick and easy kind of
death. Thus the Parthians continued plying them in¬
cessantly with their arrows till night, when they left
the field of battle, crying out, that they would allow
the father one night to lament the death of his son.
Distress of This was a melancholy night for the Romans. Cras-
Crassus. sus kept himself concealed from the soldiery, lying not
in the general’s tent, but in the open air, and on the
bare ground, with his head wrapped up in his paluda-
mentum or military cloak 5 and was, in that forlorn
condition, says Plutarch, a great example to the vulgar,
of the instability of fortune ; to the wise, a still greater
of the pernicious effects of avarice, temerity, and ambi¬
tion. Octavius, one of his lieutenants, and Cassius, ap¬
proached him, aud endeavoured to raise him up and
console him : but, seeing him quite sunk under the
weight of bis affliction, and deaf to all comfort, they
summoned a council of war, composed of all the chief
officers ; wherein it was unanimously resolved, that they
should decamp before break of day, and retire, without
sound of trumpet, to the neighbouring city of Carrhae,
which was held by a Roman garrison. Agreeable to
this resolution, they began their march as soon as the
council broke up 5 which produced dreadful outcries
among the sick and wrounded, who, perceiving that they
were to be abandoned to the mercy of the enemy, filled
the camp with their complaints and lamentations : but
their cries and tears, though very affecting, did not stop
the march of the others, which, indeed, was very slow,
to give the stragglers time to come up. There were
only 300 light horse, under the command of one
Ignatius, who pursued their march without stopping.
These arriving at Carrhae about midnight, iEgnatius,
calling to the centinels on the walls, desired them to
acquaint Coponius, the governor of the place, that
Crassus had fought a great battle with the Parthians j
and, without saying a word more, or letting him know
who he was, continued his march with all possible expe¬
dition to the bridge of Zeugma ; which he passed, and
by that means saved his troops, but was much blamed
for thus abandoning his general.
The message which he sent to Coponius was of some
temporary service to Crassus. For that commander,
5 ] PAR
wisely conjecturing, from the manner in which the Parthia.
unknown person had given him the intelligence, that’■y-"—
some misfortune had befallen Crassus, immediately or¬
dered his garrison to stand to their arms j and, march¬
ing out, met Crassus, and conducted him and his army
into the city: for the Parthians, though informed of
his flight, did not offer to pursue him, observing there¬
in the superstitious custom which obtained among them
and the Persians, not to fight in the night; but when
it was day, they entered the Roman camp, and having-
put all the wounded, to the number of 4000, to the
sword, dispersed their cavalry all over the plain, in pur¬
suit of the fugitives. One of Crassus’s lieutenants,
named Vargunteiits, having separated in the night from
the main body of the army, with four cohorts, missed
his w'ay, and was overtaken by the enemy 5 at whose
approach he withdrew to a neighbouring hill, where he
defended himself, with great valour, till all his men
were killed, except 20, who made their way through
the enemy, sword in hand, and got safe to Carrhae : but
Vargunteius himself lost his life on the occasion.
In the mean time Surenas, not knowing whetherSurenas
Crassus and Cassius had retired to Carrhae, or chosen aPrelencJs
different route j in order to lie informed of the truth,
and take his measures accordingly, despatched a messen-sus>
ger, who spoke the Roman language, to the city of Cai’-
rhae, enjoining him to approach the walls, and acquaint
Crassus himself, or Cassius, that the Parthian general was
inclined to enter into a treaty with them, and demanded
a conference. Both the proconsul and his quaestor Cas¬
sius spoke from the walls with the messenger ; and, ac¬
cepting the proposal with great joy, desired that the
time and place for an interview might be immediately
agreed upon. The messenger withdrew, promising to
return quickly with an answer from Surenas : hut that
general no sooner understood that Crassus and Cassius
were in Carrhae, than he marched thither with his whole
army ; and, having invested the place, acquainted the
Romans, that if they expected any favourable terms,
they must deliver up Crassus and Cassius to him in
chains. Hereupon a council of the chief officers being
summoned, it was thought expedient to retire from Car-
rhae that very night, and seek for another asylum. It
was of the utmost importance that none of the inhabi¬
tants of Carrhae should be acquainted with their design
till the time of its execution ; but Crassus, whose whole
conduct evidently shows that he was blinded, as Dio
Cassius observes, by some divinity, imparted the whole
matter in confidence to one Andromachus, choosing him
for his guide, and relying injudiciously on the fidelity of
a man whom he scarce knew. Andromachus immedi¬
ately acquainted Surenas with the design of the Romans:
promising at the same time, as the Parthians did not
engage in the night, to manage matters so, that they
should not get out of his reach before daybreak. Pur¬
suant to his promise, he led them through many wind¬
ings and turnings, till he brought them into deep
marshy grounds where the infantry were up to the
knees in mire. Then Cassius, suspecting that their
guide had led them into those bogs with no good de¬
sign, refused to follow him any longer j and returning
to Carrhae, took his route towards Syria, which he
reached with 500 horse. Octavius, with 5000 men
under his command, being conducted by trusty guides,
gained
PAR
Farihia. gained the mountains called by Plutarch and Appian
—-v— Sinnaci, and there intrenched himself before break of
day.
As for Crassus, he was still entangled in the marshes,
when Surenas, at the rising of the sun, overtook him,
and invested him with his cavalry. The proconsul had
with him four cohorts, and a small body of horse j and
with these he gained, in spite of all opposition, the sum¬
mit of another hill within 12 furlongs of Octavius who
seeing the danger that threatened his general, flew to his
assistance, first with a small number of his men, but
was soon followed by all the rest, who, being ashamed
of their cowardice, quitted their post, though very safe,
and charging the Parthians with great fury, disengaged
Crassus, and obliged the enemy to abandon the hill.
Upon the retreat of the enemy, they formed themselves
into a hollow square; and placing Crassus in the mid¬
dle, made a kind of rampart round him with their buck¬
lers, resolutely protesting, that none of the enemy’s ar¬
rows should touch their general’s body, till they were
all killed fighting in his defence. Surenas, loth to let
so fine a prey escape, surrounded the hill, as if he de¬
signed to make a new attack: but, finding his Parthi¬
ans very backward, and not doubting but the Romans,
when night came on, would pursue their march, and get
out of his reach, he had recourse again to artifice ; and
declared before some prisoners, whom he soon after set
at liberty, that he was inclined to treat with the pro-
consul of a peace ; and that it was better to come to a
reconciliation with Rome, than to sow the seeds of an
eternal war, by shedding the blood of one of her generals.
Agreeable to this declaration, Surenas, as soon as the
prisoners were released, advanced towards the hill where
the Romans were posted, attended only by some of his
officers, and, with his bow unbent, and open arms, in¬
vited Crassus to an interview. So sudden a change
seemed very suspicious to the proconsul j who therefore
declined the interview, till he was forced, by his own
soldiers, to intrust his life with an enemy whose treach¬
ery they had all experienced ; for the legionaries flock¬
ing round him, not only abused him in an outrageous
manner, but even menaced him if he did not accept of the
proposals made him by the Parthian general. Seeing,
therefore, that his troops were ready to mutiny, he be¬
gan to advance, without arms or guards, towards the
cnemv, after having called the gods and his officers to
witness the violence his troops offered him j and intreat-
ed all who wTere present, but especially Octavius and
Petronius, two of the chief commanders, for the honour
of Rome their common mother, not to mention, after
his death, the shameful behaviour of the Roman legion¬
aries. Octavius and Petronius could not resolve to let
him go alone •, but attended him down the hill, as did
likewise some legionaries, keeping at a distance. Cras¬
sus was met at the foot of the hill by two Greeks who,
dismounting from their horses, saluted him with great
respect; and desired him in the Greek tongue, to send
some of his attendants, who might satisfy him that Sure¬
nas, and those who were with him, came without arms.
Hereupon Crassus sent two brothers, of the Roscian
family; but Surenas having causi d them to be seized,
advanced to the foot of the hill, mounted on a fine horse,
and attended by the chief officers or his army. Crassus,
who waited for the return of his two messengers, was
surprised to see himself prevented by Surenas in person,
P A R
when he least expected it. The Parthian general, per- Parthia,
ceiving, as he approached Crassus, that he was on foot, 1   y——
cried out, in a seeming surprise, “ What do I see ? a
Roman general on foot, and we on horseback ! Let a
horse be brought for him immediately.” “ You need not
be surprised (replied Crassus) : we are come only to an
interview, each after the custom of his country.” “Very
well (answered Surenas), there shall be henceforth a
lasting peace between King Orodes and the people of
Rome : but we must sign the articles of it on the banks
of the Euphrates; for you Romans do not always re¬
member your conventions.” Crassus would have sent
for a horse; but a very stately one with a golden bit,
and richly caparisoned, was brought tohim by aParthian ;
which Surenas presenting to him, “ Accept this horse
from my hands (said he), which I give you in the name
of my master King Orodes.” He had scarce uttered
these words, when some of the king’s officers, taking
Crassus by the middle, set him upon the horse, which
they began to whip with great violence before them in
order to make him quicken his pace. Octavius, of¬
fended at this insult, took the horse by the bridle ; Pe¬
tronius and the few Romans who were present, second¬
ed him, and flocking all round Crassus, stopped his
horse. The Parthians endeavoured to repulse them, and
clear the way for the proconsul; whereupon they began
to justle and push one another with great tumult and
disorder. At last, Octavius, drawing his sword, killed
one of the king’s grooms ; but, at the same time, another
coming behind Octavius, with one blow laid him dead
at his feet. Both parties fought with great resolution,
the Parthians striving to carry off' Crassus, and the Ro¬
mans to rescue him out of their hands. In this scuffle
most of the Romans who came to the conference were^, 16
killed ; and amongst the rest Crassus himself; but whe-
ther by a Roman or a Parthian is uncertain.
Upon his death, the rest of the army either surrender¬
ed to the enemy, or dispersing in the night, were pur¬
sued, and put to the sword. The Romans lost in this
campaign at least 30,000 men; of which 20,000 were
killed, and 10,000 taken prisoners.
When the battle of Carrhae was fought, King Orodes
was in Armenia, where he had made peace with Arta-
bazus. While the two kings were solemnizing their
new alliance with expensive and public feasts, Styllaces
or Syllaces, a Parthian officer, whom Surenas had sent
with the news of his late victory, and the head of Cras¬
sus as a proof it, arrived in the capital of Armenia.
The transports of joy which Orodes felt at this sight,
and these news, are not to be expressed; and the lords
of both kingdoms, who attended their sovereigns, raised
loud and repeated shouts of joy. Syllaces was ordered
to give a more particular and distinct account of that
memorable action ; which when he had done, Orodes
commanded melted gold to be poured into Crassus’s
mouth; reproaching him thereby with avarice, which
had been always his predominant passion.
Surenas did not long enjoy the pleasure of his victory ; Surenas put
for Orodes, jealous of his power and authority among to de..th by
the Parthians, soon after caused him to be put to death. Oiodes.
Pacorus, the king’s favourite son was put at the head
of the army ; and, agreeably to his father’s directions,
invaded Syria: but he was driven out from thence with
great loss by Cicero and Cassius, the only general who
survived the defeat of Crassus. After this we find no
mention
[ 6 ]
PAR
t
iS
War com¬
menced
against the
Parthians
by Mark
Antony.
Parthia. mention of the Parthians, till the time of the civil war
  v—^ between Ceesar and Pompey, when the latter sent am¬
bassadors to solicit succour against his rivals. This Or-
odes was willing to grant upon condition that Syria was
delivered up to him ; but as Pompey would not consent
to such a proposal, the succours were not only denied,
but, after the battle of Pharsalia, he put Lucius Hir-
tius in irons, whom Pompey had again sent to ask as¬
sistance, or at least to desire leave to shelter himself in
the Parthian dominions.
Caesar is said to have meditated a war against the Par¬
thians, which in all probability would have proved fatal
to them. His death delivered them from this danger.
But, not long after, the eastern provinces, being griev¬
ously oppressed by Mark Antony, rose up in arms; and
having killed the tax-gatherers, invited the Parthians to
join them and drive out the Romans. They very readily
accepted the invitation, and crossed the Euphrates with
a powerful army under the command of Pacorus, and
Labienus a Roman general ol Pompey’s party. At first
they met with great success, overran all Asia Minor, and
reduced all the countries as far as the Hellespont and the
Egaean sea, subduing likewise Phcenicia,Syria, and even
Judea. They did not however long enjoy their new con¬
quests : for being elated with their victories, and despi¬
sing the enemy, they engaged Ventidins, Antony’s lieu¬
tenant, before Labienus had time to join them, and were
utterly defeated. T his so disheartened Labienus’ s army,
that they all abandoned him ; and he himself, being thus
obliged to wander from place to place in disguise, was at
last taken and put to death ar Cyprus. Ventidius pursu¬
ing his advantage, gained several other victories ; and
at last entirely defeated the Parthian army under Paco¬
rus, cutting almost the whole of them in pieces, and the
prince himself among the rest. He did not however,
pursue this last victory as he might have done ; being
afraid of giving umbrage to Antony, who had already
become jealous of the great honour gained by his lieu¬
tenant. He therefore contented himself with reducing
those places in Syria and Phoenicia which the Parthians
had taken in the beginning of the war, until Antony ar
rived to take the command of the army upon himself.
Orodes was almost distracted with grief on receiving
the dreadful news of the lo«s of his army and the death
of his favourite son. However, when time had resto¬
red the use of his faculties, he appointed Phrahates, the
eldest but the most wicked, of all his children, to suc¬
ceed him in the kingdom, admitting him at the same
time to a share of the sovereign authority with himself.
The consequence of this was, that Phrahates very soon
attempted to poison his father with hemlock. But this,
contrary to expectation, proving a cure for the dropsy,
which an excess of grief had brought upon the king, the
unnatural son had him stifled in bed, and soon after not
only murdered all his own brethren, who were thirty in
number, but cut off all the rest of the royal family, not
sparing even his own eldest son, lest the discontented
Parthians should place him, as he was already of age,
on the throne.
Many of the chief lords of Parthia being intimidated
by the cruelty of Phrahates, retired into foreign coun¬
tries : and among those one Monceses, a person of great
distinction, as w7ell as skill and experience in war. This
man, having fled to Antony, soon gained his confidence,
and was by him easily prevailed upon to engage in a war
T9
Pacorus de
feated and
killed by
Ventidius.
20
‘Orodes
murdered.
7 ] PAR
against his countrymen. But Phrahates justly dreading Partlmi.
the consequences of such a person’s defection, sent a -y——»
solemn embassy to invite him home on such terms as lie
should think fit to accept; which greatly provoked An¬
tony ; though he did not hinder him from returning, lest
others should thereby be discouraged from coming over
to him. He therefore dismissed him with great civility,
sending ambassadors at the same time to Plirahates to
treat of a peace. Thus he hoped to divert the Parthian
monarch’s attention from making the necessary prepa¬
rations for w7ar, and that he should he able to fall upon
him in the spring when he was in no condition to make
resistance. But herein he was greatly disappointed ; for
on his arrival at the Euphrates, which he intended to
pass, and enter the Parthian dominions on that side, he
found all the passes so well guarded, that he thought
proper to enter Media with a design first to reduce that
country, and then to enter Parthia. 2i
This plan had been suggested to him by Artabazus Antony
king of Armenia, who in the end betrayed him; forbetrayeii
instead of conducting the army the straight way Born khi^oF
Zeugma on the Euphrates, to the Araxes which part-Armenia,
ed Media from Armenia, and which was about 500
miles distant from the place whence he first set out,
Artabazus led them over the rocks and mountains so far
about, that the army had marched above 1000 miles
before they reached the borders of Media, where they
intended to begin the war. Thus they were not only
greatly fatigued but had not sufficient time, the year
being far spent, to put in execution the design on
which they had come. However, as Antony was im¬
patient to get back to Cleopatra, he left behind him
most of the baggage of the army, and 300 waggons
loaded with battering rams and other military engines
for sieges ; appointing Statianus, one of his lieutenants,
with a body of 10,0 .0 men, to guard them, and to
bring them, by slow marches, after the army. M ith
the rest of the forces he marched more than 300 miles
before the rest, without allowing his men any respite till
he arrived at Praaspa or Phrahata, the capital of Media,
which he immediately invested. But the Parthians, well
knowing that he could not make any progress without
his military machines, passed by his army, in order to
attack Statianus ; which they did with such success, that 22
the body commanded by him were all to a m m cut off, Ten thou-
and all their military engines taken, among which wassand H.o-
a battering ram 80 feet long. nmns cut
Antony, notwithstanding this disaster, continued the
siege of Praaspa; but was daily harassed by sallies of the
garrison from within, and the enemy’s army without.
At last he began to think of a retreat when his provi¬
sions were almost exhausted, finding it impossible to be¬
come master of the city. But as he was to inarch 300
miles throuffh the enemy’s country, be thought proper
first to send ambassadors to the Parthian monarch, ac¬
quainting him that the Roman people were willing to
allow him a peace, provided he would restore the stand¬
ard and prisoners taken at Carrhse, Phrahates received
the ambassadors, sitting on a golden throne ; and, after
having bitterly inveighed against the avarice and un¬
bounded ambitition of the Romans, told them that he
would not part with the standards and prisoners ; but
that if" Antony would immediately raise the siege of
Praaspa, he would suffer him to retire unmolested.
Antony, who tvas reduced to great straits, no sooner
rccelvedh
Tarthia.
24
Parthia
subdued
by Tra¬
jan.
PAH [8
received this answer than he broke up the siege, and
marched towards Armenia. However, Phrahates was
not so good as his word } for the Romans were attacked
by the enemy no fewer than 18 times on their march,
and were thrice in the utmost danger of being cut oft.
A famine also raged in the Roman army 5 upon which
they began to desert to the enemy ; and indeed Antony
would probably have been left by himself, had not the
Parthians, in a very cruel as well as impolitic manner,
.murdered all those who fled to them in sight of the rest.
At last, after having lost 32,000 men, and being re¬
duced to such despair that he was with difficulty pre¬
vented from laying violent hands on himself, he reached
the river Araxes ; when his men, finding themselves out
of the reach of the enemy, fell down on the ground, and
kissed it with tears of joy.
Antony was no sooner gone, than the kings of Me¬
dia and Parthia quarrelled about the booty they had
taken', and after various contests Phrahates reduced all
Media and Armenia. After this, being elated with his
conquests, he oppressed his subjects in such a cruel and
tyrannical manner, that a civil war took place 5 in
which the competitors were alternately driven out and
restored, till the year 50, when one Vologeses, the son
of Gortarzes, a former king, became peaceable posses¬
sor of the throne. He carried on some wars against
the Romans, but with very indifferent success, and at
last gladly consented to a renewal of the ancient treaties
with that powerful people.
From this time the Parthian history affords nothing
remarkable till the reign of the emperor Trajan j when
the Parthian king, by name Cosdroes, infringed the
treaty with Rome, by driving out the king of Arme¬
nia. Upon this Trajan, who was glad of any pre¬
tence to quarrel with the Parthians, immediately hast¬
ened into Armenia. His arrival there was so sudden
and unexpected, that he reduced almost the whole
country without opposition ; and took prisoner Partha-
masiris, the king whom the Parthians had set up. Af¬
ter this he entered Mesopotamia, took the city of Nisi-
bis, and reduced to a Roman province the whole of that
wealthy country.
Early in the spring of the following year, Trajan,
who had kept his winter quarters in Syria, took the
field again } but was warmly opposed by Cosdroes.—
He found him encamped on the banks of the Euphrates,
with a design to dispute his passage ; which he did with
such vigour, that the emperor, after having several times
attempted to ford that river, and been always repulsed
with great slaughter, wras obliged to cause boats to be
built on the neighbouring mountains, which he privately
conveyed from thence on carriages to the water side ;
and having in the night time formed a bridge writh
them, he passed his army the next day j but not with¬
out great loss and -danger, the Parthians harassing his
men the whole time with incessant showers of arrows,
which did great execution. Having gained the opposite
bank, he advanced boldly into Assyria, the Parthians
flying everywhere before him, and made himself master
of Arbela. Thence he pursued his march ; subduing,
with incredible rapidity, countries where the Roman
standard had never been before displayed. Babylonia,
or the province of Babylon, voluntarily submitted to
him. The city itself was, after a vigorous resistance,
taken by storm j by which means he became master of
4
]
PAR
all Chaldea and Assyria, the two richest provinces of Parthia.
the Parthian empire. From Babylon he marched to'-""V—-*
Ctesiphon, the metropolis of the Parthian monarchy,
which he besieged, and at last reduced. But as to the
particulars of these great conquests, we are quite in the
dark 5 this expedition, however glorious to the Roman
name, being rather hinted at than described, by the
writers of those times. While Trajan was thus making
war in the heart of the enemy’s country, Cosdroes, hav¬
ing recruited his army, marched into Mesopotamia, with
a design to recover that country, and cut oft’ all commu¬
nication between the Roman army and Syria. On his
arrival in that province, the inhabitants flocked to him
from all parts j and most of the cities, driving out the
garrisons left by Trajan, opened their gates to him.
Hereupon the emperor detached Lucius and Maximus,
two of his chief commanders, into Mesopotamia, to keep
such cities in awe as had not revolted, and to open a
communication with Syria. Maximus was met by Cos¬
droes •, and having ventured a battle, his army was en¬
tirely defeated, and himself killed. But Lucius being
joined by Euricius and Clarius, two other commanders
sent by Trajan with fresh supplies, gained considerable
advantages over the enemy, and retook the cities of
Nisibis and Seleucia, which had revolted.
And now Trajan, seeing himself possessed of all the
best and most fruitful provinces of the Parthian empire,
but at the same time being well apprised that he could
not, without a vast expence, maintain his conquests, nor
keep in subjection so fierce and warlike a people at such
a distance from Italy j resolved to set over them' a king
of his own choosing, who should hold the crown of him
and his successors, and acknowledge them as his lords
and sovereigns. With this view he repaired to Ctesi¬
phon 5 and having there assembled the chief men of the
nation, he crowned one of the royal family, by name
Parthanaspates, king of Parthia, obliging all who werepa,.^}ja.
present to pay him their allegiance. He chose Partha-naspates
naspates, because that prince had joined him at his first appointed^
entering the Parthian dominions, conducted him "'itJ1 Ro„ian em-
great fidelity, and shown on all occasions an extraordi-pei.Q^
nary attachment to the Romans. Thus the Parthians soon after
were at last subdued, and their kingdom made tributary driven out.
to Rome. But they did not long continue in this state
of subjection : for they no sooner heard of Trajan’s
death, which happened shortly after, than, taking up
arms, they drove Parthanaspates from the throne ; and
recalling Cosdroes, who had retired into the country of
the Hyrcanians, openly revolted from Rome. Adrian,
ivho was then commander in chief of all the forces in the
east, and soon after acknowledged emperor by the army,
did not wish, though he was at that time in Syria with a
verv numerous army, to engage in a new war with the
Parthians; but contented himself with preserving the
ancient limits of the empire, without any ambitious pro¬
spects of further conquests. Therefore, in the beginning
of his reign, he abandoned those provinces beyond the
Euphrates which Tiajan had conquered ; withdrew the
Roman garrisons from Mesopotamia ; and, for the great¬
er safety of other places, made the Euphrates the boun¬
dary of, and barrier in, those parts, posting his legions a5
along the banks of that river. Unsuccess-
Cosdroes died after a long reign, and was succeeded
by his eldest son Vologeses : in whose reign the Alaniwithbthe
breaking into Media, then subject to the Parthians, Romans.
committed
PAR [
PwiMa, committed there great devastations $ hut vvere |»revftil-
' ed upon, with rich presents sent them by Vologeses,
to abandon that kingdom, and return home. Upon
their retreat, Vobgesee, having no enemy to contend
with at home, fell unexpectedly upon Armenia $ sur¬
prised the legions there ; and having cut them all in
pieces to a man, entered Syria; defeated with great
slaughter Attilios Corneliartus, governor of that pro¬
vince ; and advanced without opposition to the neigh¬
bourhood of Antioch j putting everywhere the Ro¬
mans, and those who favoured them, to the Sword.
Hereupon the emperor Vents, by the advice of his
colleague Antoninus surnamed the PkiltoMpher, leaving
Rome, hastened into Syria f and having driven theP&r-
rhians out of that province, ordered Statins Priseus to
invade Armenia, and Cassius with Martins Vefns to
enter the Parthian territories, and carry the War into the
enemy’s country. Prisons made himself master of At*-
taxataj and inone campaign drove the Parthiaos, though
not without great loss on his side, quite out of Armenia.
Cassius, on the other hand, having in several encounters
defeated \ ologeseS, though he had an army of 400,000
men under bis command, reduced, in four years time, all
those provinces which had formerly submitted to Trajan,
took Seleucia, burnt and plundered the famous cities of
Babylon and Ctesiphon, with the stately palaces of the
Parthian mon&rchs, and struck terror into the most re¬
mote provinces of that great empire. On his return, he
lost above half the number of his forces by sickness and fa¬
mine j so that, after all, the Romans, as Spaftianns ob¬
serves, had no great reason to boast of their victories
and conquests.
However, Veras, who had never stirred during the
whole time of the war from Antioch and Daphne, took
upon him the lofty titles of Pdtthuus and Armenictis, as
if he had acquired them justly in the midst of his plea¬
sures and debaucheries. After the revolt and death of
Cassius, Antoninus the Philosopher repaired into Syria
to settle the affairs of that province. On his arrival
there, he was met by ambassadors from Vofogeses } who
having recovered most of the provinces subdued by Cas¬
sius, and being unwilling either to part with them or en¬
gage in a new war, solicited the emperor to confirm him
in the possession of them, promising to bold them of him,
and to acknowledge the sovereignty of Rome. To these
terms Antoninus readily agreed, and a peace Was accord¬
ingly concluded between the two empires; which Volo-
geses dfd not long enjoy, being soon after carried off by a
distemper, and not mth-dered by his own subjects, as we
read in Constantines Manages, who calls him Brlcgcse's.
Upon bis death, Vologeses III. tire son of his bro¬
ther Sanatftfces, and grandson of Cosdrties, was raised
to the throne. He sided with Niger against the em¬
peror ►Severus: who thereupon having settled matters
at home, marched with all bis forces against him ; and
advancing to the city of Ctesiphon, whither he had re¬
tired, laid close siege to that metropolis. Vofogeses
made a most gallant defence : but the city, after a long
siege, and much bloodshed on both sides,' was at length
taken by assault. The king’s treasure's, with his wives
and children, fell into the emperor’s hands'r but Volo¬
geses himself had the good luck to make his escape ;
which was a great disappointment to Scvefus, who im¬
mediately despatched an express to acquaint tire senate
with the success that had attended him in his expedition
Vol. XVI. Part I. t
9 I
PAR
27
Ctesiphon
taken by
Severus.
against the only nation that was theft formidable to panlk*.
Rome. But he had no sooner crossed the Euphratesy-——
than \ ologeses recovered all the provinces except Me¬
sopotamia, which he had reduced. These expeditions
were chargeable to the Romans, and cost them much
blood, without reapiag any advantages from them j for
as they bad ftdt sufficient forces to keep In awe the pro¬
vinces they had subdued, the inhabitants, gtefltly attach¬
ed to the family of Arsaces, never failed to return to
theif ancient obedience as soon as the Roman armies
were withdrawn. Vologeses was soon after engaged
in a war still more troublesome and destructive, with
Ills brother ArtabanuS, who, encouraged by some of
the discontented nobles, attempted to rob him of tho
crown, and place it on his own head. Vologeses gained
several victories over bis brother And rebellious subjects ;
but died before he could restore the empire to its former
tranquillity.
ArtabartitS, who had a numerous affn'y at bis devo¬
tion, did not meet with any opposition in seiiing th4
throne, vacant by the death of his brother, though
Tiridtttes had a better tittle to it, as being his elder
brother. He had scarce settled the affairs of his king¬
dom, when the emperor CaraCalla, desirous to signa¬
lize himself as some of his predecessors had done,
by some memorable exploit against the Parthians, sent
a solemn embassy to him, desiring his daughter in
marriage. Arfabamte, overjoyed at this proposal,
Which he thought would bo attended with a lasting
peace between the two empires, received the ambassa¬
dors with all possible marks of honour, and readily jS
complied with their request. Soon after, Caracailla infamous'
Sent a Second embassy to acquaint the king that he treachery
was coming to solemnize the nuptials j whereupon Ar-0*tlie <;ni"
tabanus Went to meet him, attended with the chief of ('aia’
the rtdbility arid his best troops, all unarmed, and inC
nrost pompotls habitsbut this peaceable train no soofier
approached the Roman army, than the soldiers, on a sig¬
nal given them, falling upon the king’s retinue, made a
most terrible slaughter of (lie unarmed multitude, Ar-
tabanus himself escaping with great difficulty. The
treacherous Caracallu, having gained by this exploit
great booty, and, as he thought, no less glory, Wrote a
long and boasting letter to the senate, assuming tire title
of PartMcus for this piece of treachery ; as be had be¬
fore that of Gei mcmictis, for murdering, in like manner,
softie of the German nobility.
Artabanus, resolving to make the Romans pay dear
for their inhuman and barbarous treachery, raised the
most numerous army that had ever been known in Par-
thia, crossed the Euphrates, and entered Syria, put*
ting all to fire and sword. But Caracalla being mur¬
dered before this invasion, Macrinus, who had suc¬
ceeded him, met tlie Parthians at the head of a mighty 20
army, composed of many legions, and all the aUxilia-^e.^)trat*
fies of the states of Asia. The two armies no Sooner J,e
came in sight of each other, but they engaged with Carthians
the utmost fury. The battle continued two day's j nd tio-
bolh Romans and Parthians fighting so obsfinat< !y,’,ians*
that night only parted them, without any aptai<ut
advantage on either side j though both retired when
night had put an end to the contest, dying, Vietoiy,
victory. The field of battle Was covered all oVt r With
dead bodies, there being already above 40,000 killed,
including both Romans and Parthians: nevertheless
B Ai labumts,
Jparthia,
Parti.
3°
The Per-
PAR [i
Artabanus was heard to say, that the battle was only
begun, and that he would continue it till either the
' Parthians or Romans were all to a man cut in pieces.
But Maciinus, being well apprised that the king came
highly enraged against Caracalla in particular, and
dreading the consequences which would attend the de¬
struction of his army, sent a herald to Artabanus, ac¬
quainting him with the death of Caracalla, and propo¬
sing an alliance between the two empires. The king,
understanding that his great enemy was dead, readily
embraced the proposals of peace and amity, upon con¬
dition that all the prisoners who had been taken by the
treachery of Caracalla should be immediately restored,
and a large sum of money paid him to defray the ex-
pences of the war.
These articles being performed without delay or he¬
sitation, Artabanus returned into Parthia, and Macri-
nus to Antioch.
As Artabanus lost on this occasion the flower of
empire.
sums revolt Artaxerxes, a Persian of mean descent, but
Th d °Vth' of great courage and experience in war, revolting from
Parthian6 the Parthians, prevailed on his countrymen to join him,
and attempt the recovery of the sovereign power,
which he said they had been unjustly deprived of, first
by the Macedonians, and afterwards by the Parthians,
their vassals. Artabanus, upon the news of this revolt,
marched with the whole strength of his kingdom to
suppress it j but being met by Artaxerxes at the head
of a no less powerful army, a bloody battle ensued,
which is said to have lasted three days. At length
the Parthians, though they behaved with the utmost
bravery, and fought like men in despair, were forced
to yield to the Persians, who were commanded by a
more experienced leader. Most of then’ troops weie
cut off in the flight *, and the king himself was taken
prisoner, and soon after put to death at Artaxerxes’s
order. The Parthians having lost in this fatal en¬
gagement both their king and their army, were forced
to submit to the conqueror, and become vassals to a na¬
tion which had been subject to them for the space ot
475 years.
For an account of the planners, customs, &.c. ot the
ancient Parthians, see the article Persia. ?
PARTI, Partie, Party, or Parted, in Heraldry,
is applied to a shield or escutcheon, denoting it divided
or marked out into partitions. #
Parti per pale, is when the shield is divided perpen¬
dicularly into two halves, by a cut in the middle from
top to bottom. .
Parti per fess, is when the cut is across the middle
from side to side. #
Parti per bend dexter, is when the cut comes trom
the upper corner of the shield on the right hand, and
descends athwart to the opposite lower corner.
Parti per bend sinister, is when the cut, coming
from the upper left corner, descends across to the oppo¬
site lower one. ^ , r ,
All these partitions, according to M. de la Lolom-
biere have their origin in the cuts and bruises that
have’appeared on shields after engagements 5 and be¬
ing proofs of the dangers to which the bearers had been
exposed, they gained them esteem-, for which reason
they were transmitted to posterity, and became arms
and marks of honour to their future families,
o ] PAR
PARTIALITY. See SELF-partiality and PrE- Partiality
JUDICE- • r j Particle
PARTICIPLE, in Grammar, an adjective formed , a ^ c ‘.
of a verb ; so called because it participates partly of the
properties of a noun, and partly of those ol a verb. See
Grammar.
PARTICLE, in Physics, the minute part of a
bpdy, an assemblage of which constitutes all natural
bodies. _
In the new philosophy, particle is often used in the
same sense with atom in the ancient Epicurean philo¬
sophy, and corpuscle in the later. Some writers^
however, distinguish them 5 making particle an assem¬
blage or composition of two or more primitive and
physically indivisible corpuscles or atoms) and cor¬
puscle, or little body, an assemblage or mass of several
particles er secondary corpuscles. The distinction,
bow-ever, is of little moment j and, as to most purposes
of physics, particle may be understood as synonymous
with corpuscle. Particles are then the elements oi
bodies : it is the various arrangement and texture ot
these, with the difference of the cohesion, &c. that
constitute the various kinds of bodies, hard, soft, li¬
quid, dry, heavy, light, &c. The smallest particles or
corpuscles cohere, with the strongest attractions, and
always compose larger particles of weaker cohesion;
and many of these cohering compose larger particles,
whose vigour is still weaker; and so on for divers suc¬
cessions, till the progression end in the largest par¬
ticles, on which the operations in chemistry, and the
colours of natural bodies, depend, and which, by coher¬
ing, compose bodies of sensible bulks.
The cohesion of the particles of matter, according
to the Epicureans, w'as effected by hooked atoms j tne
Aristotelians thought it managed by rest, that is, by
nothing at all. But Sir Isaac Newton shows it is by
means of a certain power whereby the particles mutual¬
ly attract or tend toward each other, which is still per¬
haps giving a fact without a cause. By this attraction^
of the particles he shows that most of the phenomena ot
the lesser bodies are effected, as those of the heavenly
bodies are by the attraction of gravity. See Attrac¬
tion and Cohesion. # __
Particle, a term in Theology, used in the Latm
church for the crumbs or little pieces of consecrated
bread, called in the Greek church pifoi. 1 he Greeks
have a particular ceremony, called t»v oj the
particles, wherein certain crumbs of bread, not conse¬
crated, are offered up in honour of the Virgin, St John
Baptist, and several other saints. They also give them
the name of wgorpeg*, oblatio. Gabriel archbishop of
Philadelphia wrote a little treatise express wsgi
piplho)'/, wherein he endeavours to show the antiquity
of this ceremony, in that it is mentioned in the litur¬
gies of St Chrysostom and Basil. There has been
much controversy on this head between the reformed
and catholic divines. Aubertin and Blondel explain
a passage in the theory of Germanus patriarch of Con¬
stantinople, where he mentions the ceremony of the
particles as in use in his time, in favour of the former^
Messieurs de Port Royal contest the explanation ■, but
M. Simon, in his notes on Gabriel ot Philadelphia,
endeavours to show that the passage itself is an inter¬
polation, not being found in the ancient copies of Ger-
v 7 man mg
Partner
ship.
PAH [ i
Particle mantis, and consequently that the dispute is very ill
grounded.
Org ante Particles, are those small moving bodies
which are imperceptible without the help of glasses j
for besides those animals which are perceptible to the
sight, some naturalists reckon this exceedingly small
species as a separate class, if not of animals properly
so called, at least of moving bodies, which are found
in the semen of animals, and which cannot be seen
without the help of the microscope. In consequence
of these observations, difi’erent systems of generation
have been proposed concerning the spermatic wmrms
of the male and the eggs of the female. In the se¬
cond volume of Buffon’s Natural History, several ex¬
periments are related, tending to show that those mov¬
ing bodies which we discover by the help of glasses in
the male semen are not real animals, but organic, lively,
active, ami indestructible molecules, which possess the
property of becoming a new organized body similar to
that from w'hich they were extracted. Buffbn found
such bodies in the female as well as in the male se¬
men ; and he supposes that the moving bodies which
he observed with the microscope in infusions of the
germs of plants are likewise vegetable organic molecules.
Needham, Wrisberg, Spalanzani, and several other wri¬
ters on the animal economy, have pursued the same
track with M. de Bnffon.
Some suppose that these organic molecules in the
semen answer no purpose but to excite the venereal
desire : but such an opinion cannot be w’ell founded ;
for eunuchs, who have no seminal liquor, are neverthe¬
less subject to venereal desire. With respect to the
beautiful experiments which have been made with the
microscope on organic molecules, M. Bonnet, that
karned and excellent observer of nature, remarks that
they seem to carry us to the farthest verge of the sen¬
sible creation, did not reason teach us that the smallest
visible globule of seminal liquor is the commencement
of another universe, which, from its infinite smallness,
is beyond the reach of our best microscopes.—Animal¬
cules, properly so called, must not he confounded with
the wonderful organic particles of Buffon. See Ani¬
malcule.
Particle, in Grammar, a denomination for all those
small words that tie or unite others, or that express the
modes or manners of words. See Grammar.
PARTING, in Chemistry and Metallurgy, an opera¬
tion by wdiich gold and silver are separated from each
other. See Chemistry, and Ores, Reduction of.
PARTISAN, in the art of war, a person dexterous
in commanding a party 5 who, knowing the country
well, is employed in getting intelligence, or surpris¬
ing the enemy’s convoys, &c. The word also means
an officer sent out upon a party, with the command of
a body of light troops, generally under the appellation
of the partisan’s corps. It is also necessary that this
corps should be composed of infantry, light horse, and
hussars.
PARTNERSHIP, is a contract among two or more
persons, to carry on a certain business, at their joint
expence, and share the gain or loss which arises from
it. Of this there are four kinds.
I. Occasional joint trade, where two or more mer¬
chants agree to employ a certain sum in trade, and
divide the gain or loss so soon as the adventure is
i ] PAR
brought to an issue. This kind of contract being ge- partner
nerally private, the parties concerned are not liable for ship,
each other. If one of them purchase goods on trust,1 1 v—
the furnisher, who grants the credit through confidence
in him alone, has no recourse, in case of his insolvency,
against the other partners. They are only answerable
for the share of the adventure that belongs to the insol¬
vent partner.
If it he proposed to carry the adventure farther>
than originally agreed on, any partner may withdraw
his interest j and if it cannot be separated from the
others, may insist that the w hole shall he brought to an
issue.
II. Standing companies, which are generally esta¬
blished by written contract between the parties, where
the stock, the firm, duration, the division of the gain
or loss, and other circumstances, are inserted.
All the partners are generally authorized to sign by
the firm of the company, though this privilege may
be confined to some of them by particular agreement.
The firm ought only to be subscribed at the place
where the copartnery is established. If a partner has
occasion, when absent, to write a letter relating to
their affairs, he subscribes his own name on account of
the company. When the same partners carry on bu¬
siness at different places, they generally choose difi’er¬
ent firms for each. The signature of each partner is
generally sent to new correspondents j and when a
partner is admitted, although there he no alteration in
the firm, his signature is transmitted, with an intima¬
tion of the change in the copartnery to all their corre¬
spondents. Houses that have been long established,
often retain the old firm, though all the original part¬
ners be dead or withdrawn.
The powers of each partner are, in general dis¬
cretionary j but they ought not to act, in matters of
importance, without consulting together, when there
is an opportunity. No partner is liable to make good
the loss arising from his judging wrong in a case where
he had authority to act. If he exceeds his power,
and the event prove unsuccessful, he must bear the loss;
but if it prove successful, the gain belongs to the. com¬
pany : yet if he acquaints the company immediately
of what he has dom4, they must either acquiesce there¬
in, or leave him the chance of gain, as well as the risk
of loss.
All debts contracted under the firm of the company
are binding on the whole partners, though the money
was borrowed by one of them forfiis private use, with¬
out the consent of the rest. And if a partner exceeds
his power, the others are nevertheless obliged to imple¬
ment his engagements j though they may render him
responsible for his misbehaviour.
Although the sums to be cdvanced by the partners be
limited by the contract, if there be a necessity for rais¬
ing more money to answer emergencies or pay the debts
of the company, the partners must furnish what is ne¬
cessary, in proportion to their shares.
A debt to a company is not cancelled by the private
debts of the partner: and when a partner becomes in¬
solvent, the company is not bound for his debts beyond
the extent of his share.
The debts of the company are preferable, on the
company’s effects, to the private debts of the partners.
Partnership is generally dissolved by the death of a
B 2 partner ;
Partner-
ship.
PAR [i
partner ; yet, when there are more parners than two,
it may, by agreement, subsist among the survivors.
Sometimes it is stipulated, that, in case ot the death of
a partner, his place shall be supplied by his son, or some
other person condescended on. 1 he contract ought to
specify the time and manner in which the surviving
partners shall reckon with the executors of the deceased
for his share of the stock, and a reasonable time allow¬
ed for that purpose.
When partnership is dissolved, there are often out-
standing debts that cannot be recovered for a long time,
and effects that cannot easily be disposed of. The part¬
nership, though dissolved in other respects, still subsists
for the management of their oustanding ‘affairs : and
the money arising from them is divided among the part¬
ners, or their representatives, when it is recovered. But
as this may protract the final settlement of the com¬
pany’s affairs to a very inconvenient length, other me¬
thods are sometimes used to bring them to a conclusion,
either in consequence of the original contract, or by
apreement at the time of dissolution. Sometimes the
debts ami effects are sold by auction ; sometimes they
are divided among the partners y and when there are
two partners, one divides them into shares, as equal as
possible, and the other chooses either share he thinks best.
If a partner withdraws, be continues responsible for
his former partners till it be publicly known that he
hath done so. A deed of separation, registered at
a public office, is sufficient presumption of such noto¬
riety. . . iii
III. Companies, where the business is conducted by
officers. There are many companies of this kind in
Britain, chiefly established for purposes which require
a larger capital than private merchants can command.
The laws with respect to these companies, when not
confirmed by public authority, are tlie same as the
former, but" the articles of their agreement usually
very different. The capital is condescended on ; and
divided into a certain number of shares, whereof each
partner may hold one or more, but is generally restric¬
ted to a certain number. Any partner may transfer
his share ; and:-the company must admit his assignee as
a partner. The death of the partners has Co effect on
the company. iNo partner can act peisonaily in the
affairs of the company : but tlie execution of their bu¬
siness is intrusted to officers, for whom they are respon¬
sible •, and, when the partners are numerous, the su¬
perintendency of-the officers is committed to directors
chosen annually, or at other appointed times, by the
partners. . .
IV. Companies incorporated by authority. A royal
charter is necessary to enable a company to hold lands,
to have a common seal, and enjoy the ether privileges
of a corporation. A charter is sometimes procured,
in •order to limit the risk -of the partners : for, in every
private company, the partners are liable for -the debts,
without limitation j in corporated societies, they are on¬
ly liable for their shares in the stock of the society. The
incorporation df societies is sometimes authorized by act
of parliament: but this high authority is not necessary,
unless for ‘conferring exclusive privileges.
Mcrdand Mr Paley says, “ I know of nothing upon the sub-
Political iect of partnership that requires explanation, but how
Philosophy t profits are to be divided wire re one partner contn-
2 ] PAR
butes money and the other labour, which is a common partner-
case. s’lip,
“ Rule. From the stock of the partnership deduct Partridge.
the sum advanced, and divide the remainder between v
the moneyed partner and the labouring partner, in the
proportion of the interest of the money to the wages
of the labour, allowing such a rate of interest as money
might be borrowed tor upon the same security, and such
wages as a journeyman would require for the same la¬
bour and trust.
“ Example. A advances 1000I. but knows nothing
of the business, B produces no money, but has been
brought up to the business, and undertakes to conduct
it. At the end of the year the stock and effects of
the partnership amount to 1200I. consequently there
are 200I. to be divided. Now nobody would lend
money, upon the event of the business succeeding,
which is A’s security, under1 6 per cent, therefore A
must be allowed 60I. for the interest of his money. Bt
before he engaged in the partnership, earned 30I.
a-ye;ir in the same employment; his labour, therefore,
ought to be valued at 30!. and the 200I. must be di¬
vided between the partners in the proportion of 60 to
30 $ that is, A must receive 133k 6s. 8d. and B 661.
13s. 4d. If there be nothing gained, A loses his in¬
terest, and B his labour, which is right. If the origi¬
nal stock be diminished, by this rule B loses only his
labour as before *, whereas A loses his interest and part
of the principal 5 for which eventual disadvantage A
is compensated, by having the interest ot his money
computed at 6 per cent, in the division of the profits
when there is any. It is true, that the division ot the
profit is seldom forgotten in <the constitution of the
partnership; and is therefore commonly settled by ex¬
press agreement} but tltese agreements, to be equitable,
should pursue the principle of the rule here laid down.
All the partners are bound by what any one of them
does in the course of the business ; for quoad hoc, each
partner is considered as an authorized agent for the
rest.
PARTRIDGE, a species of bird. See TetRao,
Ornithology Index.
The partridge is so valuable at the table, that a
great many ways of taking it have been invented by
sportsmen, all of which succeed from the natural folly
and timidity of the animal.
'Die places partridges delight in most are em-n fields,
especially whilst the corn grows, for under that cover
they shelter and breed: neither are those places unfre¬
quented by them when the corn is cut down, by rea¬
son of the grain they find there, especially in wheat
stubble, the height of which they delight in, being to
them as a covert or shelter. When the wheat stubble
is much trodden by men or beasts, they then betake
themselves to the barley stubble, provided it be fresh
and untrodden j and they will, in the furrows, amongst
the clots, branches, and long grass, hide both them¬
selves and coveys, which are sometimes 20 in number,
nqy, 30 in a covey.
When the winter season is arrived, and the stubble
fields are ploughed up, or over-soiled with cattle, par¬
tridges resort into the upland meadows, and lodge in
the dead grass, or fog, under hedges, amongst mole
biles, or under the roots of trees ; sometimes they resort
to
PAH r *3 ] PAR
ids*, to coppices and nnilerwootU, especially if any corn
; fields are adjacent, or where there is grown broom,
brakes, fern, &c.
In the harvest time, when every field is full of men
and cattle, in the day time they are found in the fallow
fields which are next adjoining to the corn fields, where
they lie lurking till evening or morning, and then they
feed among the sheaves of corn.
'When their haunts are Lamm, according to the situa¬
tion of the country and season of the year, the next
care must he to find them out in their haunts, which is
done several ways. Some do it hy the eye only j and
this art can never be taught, but learned by frequent
experience, the colour of the birds being so like that of
the earth at a distance, that no eye but a very conver¬
sant one could distinguish them. When they are once
seen, the business is to keep the eye upon them, and
then to keep in continual motion. They are a very
lazy bird, and by this means will let a person almost
tread upon them ; though if the person stands still to
eye them, tliey will rise immediately though they be
at a considerable distance.
Another method of discovering them is, hy going
to their haunts very early in the morning, or at the
close of the evening, which is called the jinking time.
The noise of the cock partridge is to he attended to
at this time, and is very loud and earnest. Tke ben
will soon come up to the cock after her making tlie
noise, which she does by way of answer j and when
they are got together, their chattering will discover
them. Thus they may always be found at these times.
But there is yet a better method of finding this bird,
which is by the call. The business, in order to have
success in this way, is carefully to learn the notes of
the partridge, and be able to imitate all the several
sounds. When perfect in this, the person is to go to
the haunts morning and evening, and placing himself
in some place where he can see the birds without being
seen by them, lie is to listen to their calling; and when
they are heard, he is to answer in the same notes,
doubling again as they do: hy con tinning this, they
may be brought so near, that the person lying down
on his hack may count their whole number. Having
in this manner found where the birds are, the next care
is to catch them.
They are so foolish, that it is extremely easy to take
them in nets. In order to this, there needs no more
that the going out, provided with two or three nets,
with meshes somewhat smaller than those of the phea¬
sant nets, and walking round about the covey, a net
is to he fixed so as to draw over them, an pulling a
line at a distance. All this may bfe easily done \ for
so long as the sportsman continues moving about, and
does not fix his eye too intensely upon them, they will
let him come near enough to fix the net without mov¬
ing. If they lie so straggling, that one net will not
cover them, then two or three must be fixed in the same
manner. The sportsman may then draw the nets over
thorn, and they will often lie still with the nets upon
them till he comes up to fright them; then they will
rise, and be entangled in the net.
A second method of taking them is with bird lime :
this is done by means of wheat straws. These must
>e large, and cut oft between knot and knot ; they
••mst be well limed with the best and strongest bird
lime, and the sportsman must cany a great number out Partridge-
with him. Having found a field where there are par- * "-v * 1 '
tridges, he is to call j and if they answer, he is then
to stick up the limed straws in rows across two or three
lands, and going backward, call again to them, lead¬
ing them on in the road where the straws are : they will
follow one another like a flock of chickens, and come
out to the call ; and will in their way run upon the
straws, and liming themselves they will daub one ano¬
ther by crowding together, so that very few of them
will he able to escape.
But there is yet a pleasanter way of taking them
than this, that is, hy driving of them. In order to this,
an engine is to be made of canvass stuffed with straw,
to represent a horse j this horse and nets are to be taken
to the haunts of the partridges, and the nets being
placed slanting or slopwise in the lower part of the field,
the sportsman is to take the wind in his back and get
above them, driving them downwards •, his face is to
be covered with something green or blue, and placing
the horse before him, he is to go towards them slowly
and gently ; and by this means they will be raised on
their legs, but not on their wings, and will run before
the horse into the nets. If in the way they go into a
wrong path, the horse is to be moved to face them ;
and they will be thus driven back again, and driven
every way the sportsman pleases.
The partridges of Abyssinia, we are told, are very
large, being as big as capons.
In Jeremiah xvii. ji. we have the following curious
passage : “ As the partridge sitteth on eggs, and hatch-
eth them not ; so he that getteth riches, and not by
right, shall leave them in the midst of his days, and at
his end shall be a foolwhich is explained by Mr Poole
as follows; It is no ■wonder if ive cannot be certain
as to the -sense ol these words, so tar as they concern
natural history, when we are not certain what bird it
is to which this doth relate. We translate it partridge:
others will have at to be a cuckoo; but certain it is,
that it is tin- same word which we translate partridge,
(i Sam. xxvi. 20.) j and cuckoos use not to be much
hunted after. How the partridge is said to sit on eggs
and hatch them not, is yet a greater question. It may
be occasioned so many ways, viz. either sitting upon
wind eggs; or being killed before the eggs are hatch¬
ed ; or having its eggs destroyed by the male partridge,
or by same dog or other vermine; or, its nest being-
found, havtag her eggs taken from her, that it is hard
to determine which the prophet means. Of all others,
I kast approve of that which Jerome makes the sense,
though the thing be true {if we may believe Caesiodo-
rus and several natural histm-ians, Aldrovandus, &c.),
that partridges have such a love and desire to hatch
young ones, that having lost their own eggs, they will
steal the eggs of other partridges, and hatch them ;
which being hatched, the young ones knowing the cry
of their proper dams, hearing them call, leave the par¬
tridge that hatched them (which is one thing quoted
hy Aldrovandus, to show the sagacity of that bird); but
if this were the sense, the words would be, 1 as the par¬
tridge sittetb on eggs, and batcheth them, hut enjoyeth
them not;’ whereas they are, ‘ hatcheth them not:’
that is, having lost -them, either by some man that hath
taken them from her, or by some vermin or wild beast.”
Pvole's Annat. in Loc.
The
Partridge
II
Pascal.
PAS l
The Words in the original are, nbi n't, whic h
the Septuagint translate ttyur/it &c. “ 1 he par¬
tridge cried j it gathered together what it had not pro¬
duced $” and some translate the Hebrew, “ The par¬
tridge lays many eggs, but does not hatch them all.”
Le Clerc, upon the authority of Bocchart, understands
the Hebrew word kore here to signify a woodcock. JLe
Clerc’s translation is as follows : Rusticula ova colli git,
sed non pant', facit sibi divitias, sed sine jure, mediis
suis diebus eas rdinquit, atque ad extremum stulta est.
PARTURITION, the act of bringing forth or be¬
ing delivered of young. See Midwifery.
PARTY, in a military sense, a small number of men,
horse or foot, sent upon any kind of duty as into an
enemy’s country to pillage, to take prisoners, and to
oblige the country to come under contribution. Parties
are often sent out to view the roads and ways, get in¬
telligence, seek forage 5 to reconnoitre, or amuse the
enemy upon a march : they are also frequently sent up¬
on the flanks of any army or regiment, to discover the
enemy if near, and prevent surprise or ambuscade.
PARVICH, an island near Dalmatia, and one of
the best peopled and most considerable of those which
are under the jurisdiction of Sibenico. It contains a
great number of fishermen, and a considerable number
of persons employed in agriculture. It contains many
Roman antiquities, which evidently show that it was a
Roman station. It seems to be among the number of
those islands which Pliny calls Celadussce, which is sup¬
posed to be an inversion of ^oo-xtXxdcs, which means til
sounding or noisy. Parvich is not of large extent, but
it is extremely fertile. Every product succeeds in per¬
fection there : we mean those products of which a very
shallow ground is susceptible $ such as wine, oil, mul¬
berry-trees, and fruit. rlhe aspect of this-island is also
very pleasant at a distance, whereas that'of the others
adjacent disgusts the eye, by their too high, rocky, and
bare hills. The name of Parvich seems to have been
given it because it is the first one.meets with on going
out of the harbour of Sibenico ; for the Illyric word
parvi signifies jirst.
PARULIDES, in Surgery, tumors and inflamma¬
tions of the gums, commonly called gwii-fo/Zs. They
are to be treated with discutients like'.other inflamma¬
tory tumors.
PARUS, or Titmouse, a genus of birds belonging
to the order of passeres. See Ornithology Index.
PASCAL, Blaise, one of the greatest geniuses
and best writers France has produced,' was born at
Clermont in Auvergne, in the year 1623. His father,
Stephen Pascal, born, in 1588, and of an ancient la-
niily, was president of the court of aids in his province:
he was a very learned man, an able mathematician, and
a friend of Descartes. Having an extraordinary tender¬
ness for this child, his only son, he quitted his office
in his province, and went and settled at Paris in 1631,
that he might be quite at leisure for the instruction of
him ; and Blaise never had any master but his father.
From his infancy he gave proofs of a very extraordi¬
nary capacity : for he desired to know the leason of
every thing *, and when good reasons were not given
him, he would seek for better ; nor would he ever yield
his assent but upon such as appeared to him well ground¬
ed. There was room to fear, that with such a cast of
jnind he would fall into free thinking, or at least into
t 1 , PAS
heterodoxy ; yet he was always very far from any thing Pasoa-
of this nature. y—
What is told of his manner of learning the mathe
matics, as well as the progress he quickly made in that
science, seems almost miraculous. His father, percei¬
ving in him an extraordinary inclination to reasoning,
was afraid lest the knowledge of the mathematics
would hinder his learning the languages. He kept
him therefore as much as he could from all notions of
geometry, locked up all his books of that kind, and
refrained even from speaking of it in his presence. He
could not, however, make his son refrain from musing
upon proportions 5 and one day surprised him at work
with charcoal upon his chamber-floor, and in the midst
of figures. He asked him what he Was doing ? I am
searching, says Pascal, for such a thing j which was
just the 3 2d proposition of the first book of Euclid.
He asked him then how he came to think of this r
It was, says Pascal, because I have found out such
another thing : and so going backward, and using the
names of bar and round, he came at length to the de¬
finitions and axioms he had formed to himself. Does
it not seem miraculous that a boy should work his way
into the heart of a mathematical book, without ever
having seen that or any other book upon the subject,
or knowing any thing of the terms ? et we are as¬
sured of the truth of this by Madame Perrier, and se%e-
ral other ivriters, the credit of whose testimony can¬
not reasonably be questioned. He had, from hence¬
forward, full liberty to indulge his genius in mathe¬
matical pursuits. He understood1 Euclid’s Elements
as soon as he cast his eyes upon them : and this was
not strange 5 for, as we have seen, he understood them
before. Ac 16 years of age he wrote a treatise of co¬
nic sections, which was accounted by the most learned
a-mighty effort of genius j and therefore it is no won¬
der that Descartes, who had been in Holland a long
time, should, upon reading it, choose to believe that
Mr Pascal the father was the real author of it. At
19, he contrived an admirable arithmetical machine,
which was esteemed a very wonderful “thing, and would
have done credit as an invention to any man versed in
science, and much more to such a youth.—About tins
time his health>became impaired, and he was in conse¬
quence obliged to suspend bis labours j nor was he in a
condition to resume them till four years after. About
that period, having seen Torricelli’s experiment re¬
specting a vacuum and the weight of the air, he tui neu
bis thoughts towards these objects j and in a conference
with Mr Petit, intendant of fortifications, proposed to
make farther researches. In consequence of this idea,
he undertook several new experiments, one of which was
as follows :—Having provided a glass tube, 46 feet in
length, open at one end, and sealed hermetically at
the other, he filled it with red wine, that he might di¬
stinguish the liquor from the tube. He then elevated
it in this condition ; and having placed it perpendicu¬
larly to the horizon, stopped up the bottom, and plun¬
ged it into a vessel full of water, to the depth of a foot-,
after which he opened the extremity of the tube, and
the wine descended to the distance of about 32 feet from
the surface of the vessel, leaving a considerable vacuum
at the upper extremity. He next inclined the tube,
and remarked that the wine rose higher : and having
inclined it till the top was within 32 feet of the
ground,
PAS [
Pascal, ground, making the wine thus run out, he found that
■*—v "** the water rose in it, so that it was partly filled with
that fluid, and partly with wine. He made also a great
many experiments with siphons, syringes, bellows, and
all kinds of tubes, making use of different liquors, such
as quicksilver, water, wine, oil, &c.; and having pub’
lished them in 1647, dispersed his work throughout all
France, and transmitted it also to foreign countries. All
these experiments, however, ascertained effects, without
demonstrating the causes. Pascal knew that Torricelli
conjectured that those phenomena which he had obser¬
ved were occasioned by the weight of the air (a) ; and,
in order to discover the truth of this theory, he made an
experiment at the top and bottom of a mountain in Au¬
vergne, called Le Puy de Dome, the result of which
gave him reason to conclude that air was weighty. Of
this experiment he published an account, and sent copies
of it to most of the learned men in Europe. He like¬
wise renewed it at the top of several high towers, such
as those of Notre Dame at Paris, St Jacques de la
Bbucherie, &c.*, and always remarked the same differ¬
ence in the weight of the air, at different elevations.
This fully convinced him of the weight of the atmo¬
sphere ; and from this discovery he drew many useful
and important inferences. He composed also a large
treatise, in which he thoroughly explained this subject,
and replied to all the objections that had been started
against it. As he thought this work rather too prolix,
and as he was fond of brevity and precision, he divided
it into two small treatises, one of which he entitled, A
Dissertation on the Equilibrium of Liquors j and the
other, An Essay on the Weight of the atmosphere.
These labours procured Pascal so much reputation, that
the greatest mathematicians and philosophers of the age
proposed various questions to him, and consulted him
respecting such difficulties as they could not solve.—
Some years after, while tormented with a violent fit
of the toothache, he discovered the solution of a pro¬
blem proposed by Father Mersenne, which had baffled
the penetration of all those who had attempted it.
This problem was to determine the curve described in
the air by the nail of a coach-wheel, while the machine
5s in motion. Pascal offered a reward of 40 pistoles to
any one who should give a satisfactory answer to it.
No one, however, having succeeded, he published his
own at Paris; but as he began now to be disgusted with
5 ] PAS
the sciences, he would not put his real name to it, but Pascal,
sent it abroad under that of A. d’Ettenville.—This l——v—”
%vas the last work which he published in the mathema¬
tics ; his infirmities now increasing so much, that he
was under the necessity of renouncing severe study,
a id of living so recluse, that he scarcely admitted any
person to see him.
After he had thus laboured abundantly in mathema¬
tical and philosophical disquisitions, he forsook those
studies and all human learning at once ; and determi¬
ned to know nothing, as it were, for the future, but
Jesus Christ and him crucified. He was not 24 years
of age, when the reading some pious hooks had put
him upon taking this holy resolution ; and he became
as great a devotee as any age has produced. Mr Pas¬
cal now gave himself up entirely to a state of prayer
and mortification. He had always in his thoughts these
great maxims, of renouncing all pleasure and all super¬
fluity ; and this he practised with rigour even in his
illnesses, to which he was frequently subject, being of
a very invalid habit of body : for instance, when his
sickness obliged him to feed Somewhat delicately, he
took great care not to relish or taste what he ate. He
had no violent affection for those he loved ; he thought
it sinful, since a man possesses a heart which belongs on¬
ly to God. He found fault rVith some discourses of his
sister, which she thought very innocent; as if she had
said upon occasion, that she had seen a beautiful woman,
he would be angry, and tell her, that she might raise bad
thoughts in footmen and young people. He frequent¬
ly wore an iron girdle full of points next to his skin ;
and when any vain thought came into his head, or when
he took particular pleasure in any thing, he gave him¬
self some blows with his elbow, to redouble the prick¬
ings, and to recal himself to his duty.
Though Mr Pascal had thus abstracted himself from
the world, yet he could not forbear paying some at¬
tention to what was doing in it; and he even interest-
ed himself in the contest between the Jesuits and the
Jansenists. The Jesuits, though they had the popes
and kings on their side, were yet decried by the peo¬
ple, who brought up afresh against them the assassina¬
tion of Henry the Great, and all the old stories that
were likely to make them odious. Pascal went far¬
ther ; and by his Lettres Provinciales (b), published in
1656, under the name of Louis de Mont site, made them
the v
(a) Before this period, all those effects which are now known to be produced by the weight of the atmosphere
were attributed to Nature’s abhorrence of a vacuum. 1
(B)^The origin ot these letters was this : for the sake of unbending his mind, Pascal used often to go to »
Port Loyal des Champs, where one of his sisters had taken the veil, and where he had an opportunity of seeino*
the celebrated Mr Aruaud, and several ot his friends. This gentleman's dispute with the doctors of the Sorhonne^
woo were endeavouring to condemn his opinions, was of course frequently brought upon the carpet. Mr ;
Arnaud, solicited to write a defence, had composed a treatise, which, however, did not meet with approbation,
and which he himself considered as a very indifferent work. Pascal being o:oe day in company, some of those
present, who were sensible of his abilities, having said to him, “ You who are a young man ought to do some-
thing ; he took the. hint, and composed a letter, which he showed to his friends, and which was so much ad-
mired, that they insisted on its being printed, ihe object of this letter is an explanation of the terms, next
power, sufficient grace, and actual grace; and the author here shows, as well as in two others which followed it,
that a regard for the faith was not the motive which induced the doctors of the Sorbonrte to enter into dispute -
with Mr Arnaud, but a desire ot oppressing him by ridiculous questions. Pascal, therefore, in other letters
which he published afterwards, attacks the Jesuits, whom he believed to be the authors of this quarrel, and in the
most elegant style, seasoned with wit and satire, endeavours to render them not only odious but ridiculous. For
2 this
PAS [ t6
Pascal, tlie subject of ridicule. “ These letters (says Vol-
—-v-m .> taire) ruay he considered as a model of eloquence and
humour. The best comedies of Moliere have not more
wit than the first part of these letters*, and the sublimi¬
ty of the latter part of them is equal to any thing in
Bossuet. It is true, indeed, that the whole book was
built upon a false foundation *, for the extravagant no¬
tions of a few Spanish and Flemish Jesuits were art¬
fully ascribed to the whole society. Many absurdities
might likewise have been discovered among the Domini¬
can and Franciscan casuists*, but this would not have
answered the purpose *, for the whole raillery was to he
levelled only at the Jesuits. These letters were intend¬
ed to prove, that the Jesuits had formed a design to cor¬
rupt mankind *, a design which no sect or society ever
had, or can have.,, Voltaire calls Pascal the first of
their satirists*, for Despreaux, says he, must be consider¬
ed as only the second. In another place, speaking of
this work of Pascal, he says, that “ examples of all the
various species of eloquence are to be found in it.
Though it has been now written almost 100 years, yet
not a single word occurs in it, savouring of that vicis¬
situde to which living languages are so subject. Here
then we are to fix the epocha when our language may
be said to have assumed a settled form. The bishop of
XiUcon, son of the celebrated Bussy, told me, tfiat asking
one day the bishop of Meaux what work he would covet
most to be the author of, supposing his own perform¬
ances set aside, Bossuet replied,The Provincial Letters.”
These letters have been translated into all languages, and
printed over and over again. Some have said, that
there were decrees of formal condemnation against
them *, and also that Pascal himself, in his last illness,
detested them, and repented of having been a Jansenist:
but both these particu’ars are false and without founda¬
tion. Father Daniel was supposed to be the anonymous
author of a piece against them, entitled, Ibe Dialogues
of Cleander and Eudoxus.
Pascal was only about the age of 30 when these let¬
ters were published, yet he was extremely infirm, and
his disorders increasing soon after, so much that he con¬
ceived his end fast approaching, he gave up all farther
^thoughts of literary composition. He resolved to spend
the remainder of bis days in retirement and pious medi¬
tation j and with this view lie broke off all his former
] PAS
connection, changed his habitation, and spoke to no postal,
one, not even to his own domestics. He made his own "vr'““
bed, fetched his dinner from the kitchen, carried it to
his apartment, and brought back the plates and dishes
in the evening ^ so that he employed his servants only
to cook for him, to go to town, and to do such other
things as be could not absolutely do himself. In bis
chamber nothing was to be seen but two or three chairs,
a table, a bed, and a few books. It had no kind of or¬
nament whatever j he had neither a carpet on the floor
nor curtains to his bed j but this did not prevent, him
from sometimes receiving visits *, and when his friends
appeared surprised to see him thus without furniture, he
replied, that he had what was necessary, and that any
thing else would be a superfluity, unworthy of a wise
mam He employed his time in prayer, and in reading
the Holy Scriptures *, and lie wrote down such thoughts
as this exercise inspired. Though bis continual Infirmi¬
ties obliged him to use very delicate food, and though
his servants employed the utmost care to provide only
what was excellent, he never relished what he ate, and
seemed quite indifferent whether what they brought him
was good or bad. When any thing new and in season
was presented to him, and when he was asked, after be
had finished his repast, how he liked it, he replied,
“You ought to have informed me before-hand, I should
have then taken notice of it.” His indifference in this
respect was so great, that though his taste was not viti¬
ated, he forbade any sauce or ragout to he made for him
which might excite bis appetite. He took without the
least repugnance all the medicines that were prescribed
him for the re-establishment of his health ’7 and when
Madame Perrier, his sister, seemed astonished at it, he
replied ironically, that he could not comprehend how
people could ever shew a dislike to a medicine, after bc-
jng apprised that it was a disagreeable one, when they
took it voluntarily *, for violence or surprise ought only
to produce that effect.
Though Pascal had now given up intense study, and
though be lived in the most temperate manner, his health
continued to decline rapidly *, and his disorders, had so
enfeebled bis organs, that bis reason became in some
measure affected. He always imagined that he saw a
deep abyss on his left side, and be never would sit down
till a chair was placed there, to secure him from the
danger
tbi, purpose be employs the form of dialogue, and Introduces an ignorant mo-
are, who requests Information respecting the questions tn d.spute from these doetMs«bom he con pro
posing his doubts j and hi, answers.,* their
lo hto withTe greatest readme! The other U still surprised and as th.s eonSnce afd free-
only to the novelty of his maxims, he st,U eonttnues to exphun htm^If tu b ^ ^
dom. This instructor » a stmple kmd of man, who °'er”™“n'X listeus, wishing neither ,0 con-
engages himself in details which always become more particular. 1 he pel son wb " . ^ , howcver,
tradict him nor to subscribe to bis doctrine, receives it with an ambiguous W
sufficiently shows what opinion be entertains of it. The Jesuits reproached the a 1^^ ^
raillerv against them, and with having misrepresented several passages of the \ altogether new
write eight more in vindication of himself. All these letters, .8 wntten tu^a sty le ^ ^ ^
in. France, appeared in 4to, one after another, from the month of Januaiy 165 ,
year following. 1
V A S ' [ i
Pascal, danger which he apprehended. His friends did every
thing in their power to banish this melancholy idea from
his thoughts, and to cure him of his error, but without
the desired effect j for though he would become calm
and composed for a little, the phantom would in a few
moments again make its appearance and torment him.
The cause of his seeing this singular vision for the first
time, is said to have been as follows : His physicians,
alarmed on account of the exhausted state to which he
was reduced, had advised him to substitute easy and
agreeable exercise for the fatiguing labours of the closet.
One day, in the month of October 1654, having gone
according to custom to take an airing on the Tout de
Neuilly, in a coach and four, the two fist horses sud¬
denly took fright, opposite to a place where there was
no parapet, and threw themselves violently into the
Seine ; but the traces luckily giving way, the carriage
remained on the brink of the precipice. The shock
which Pascal, in his languishing situation, must have re¬
ceived from this dreadful accident, may easily be ima¬
gined. It threw him into a fit, which continued for
some time, and it was with great difficulty that he could
be restored to his senses. After this period his brain
became so deranged, that he was continually haunted
by the remembrance of his danger, especially when his
disorders prevented him from enjoying sleep. To the
same cause was attributed a kind of vision or ecstacy that
he had some time after: a memorandum of which he
preserved during the remainder of his life in a bit of pa¬
per, put between the cloth and the lining of his coat,
and which he always carried about him. Some of the
Jesuits had the baseness and inhumanity to reproach this
great gemus with the derangement of his organs. In
the Dictionary of Jansenist Books, he is called a Ziypo-
chondriac, and a man of a wrong/mid and a bad heart.
But, as a celebrated writer has observed, Pascal’s dis¬
order bad in it nothing more surprising , or disgraceful
than a fever or the vertigo. During the last years of
his life, in which he exhibited a melancholy example of
the humiliating reverses which take place in this tran¬
sitory scene, and which, if properly considered, might
teach mankind not to be too proud of those abilities
which a moment may take from them, he attended
all the salutations (c), visited every church in which
relicks were exposed, and had always a spiritual alma¬
nack, which gave an account of all those places where
particular acts of devotion were performed. On this
occasion it has been said, that “ Religion renders great
minds capable of little things, and little minds capable
of great.”
In company, Pascal was distinguished by the amiable-
ness of his behaviour; by his easy, agreeable, and in¬
structive conversation, and by great modesty. He pos¬
sessed a natural kind of eloquence, which was in a man-
nei irresistible. I he arguments lie employed for the
most part produced the effect which he proposed ; and
though his abilities entitled him to assume an air of su¬
periority, he never displayed that haughty and imperi¬
ous tone which may often be observed in men of shining
talents. The philosophy of this great man consisted in
Vol. XVI. Part I. t
7 I FAS
renouncing all pleasure, and every superfluity. He not
only denied himself the most common gratifieat i»n
but he took also without reluctance, and even with plea¬
sure, either as nourishment or as remedies, whatever
was disagreeable to the senses j and he every day re¬
trenched some part of his dress, food, or other things,
which he considered as not absolutely necessary. To-
waids the close of his life, he employed himself whollv
in pious and moral reflections, writing down those which
he judged worthy of being preserved. The first piece
of paper he could find was employed for this purpose ;
and he commonly put down only a few words of each
sentence, as he wrote them merely for his own use. The
bits of paper upon which he had written these thoughts,
were found after his death filed upon different pieces of
string, without any order or connection j and being co¬
pied exactly as they were written, they were afterwards
arranged and published.
I he celebrated Bayle, speaking of this great man,
says, A hundred volumes of sermons are not of so much
avail as a simple account of the life of Pascal. His hu¬
mility and Ins devotion mortified the libertines more
than if they had been attacked by a dozen of mission-
aiies. In a word, Bayle had so high an idea of this
philosopher, that he calls him a paradox in the human
species. “ V\ hen we cons id ex ,his character (says he},
we are almost inclined to doubt that he was born of a
woman, like the man mentioned by Lucretius:
Ut vix humana vidcatu. stirpe creatusi**
]\Ir 1 ascal died at Paris the iplh of August 1662,
39 years. He had been some time about a work
against atheists and infidels, but did not live long enouoh
to digest the materials he had collected. What was
found among his papers was published under the title of
Pcnsees, &c. or Ihoughts upon religion and other sub¬
jects, and has been much admired. After his death ap¬
peared also two other little tracts $ one of which is in-
titled, The equilibrium of fluids; and the other, The
weight of the mass of air.
Phe works of I ascal were collected in five volumes
8vo, and published at the Hague by De Tune, and at
Paris by Nyon senior, in 1779. This edition of Pas¬
cal’s works may be considered as the first published j at
least the greater part of them were not before collected
into one body; and some of them had remained only in
manuscript. For this collection, the public were indebt¬
ed to the abbe Bossu, and Pascal deserved to have such
an editor. “ This extraordinary man (says he) inherit¬
ed from nature all the powers of genius. He was a
geometrician of the first rank, a profound reasoner, and
a sublime and elegant writer. If we reflect, that in a
very short life, oppressed by continual infirmities, he in¬
vented a eurious arithmetical machine, the elements of
the calculation of chances, and a method of resolving
various problems respecting the cycloid j that he fixed
m an irrevocable manner the wavering opinions of the
learned respecting the weight of the air; that he wrote
one of the compietest works which exist in the French
language ; and that in his Thoughts there are passages,
^ the
Fu.-cal.
chutCches.er,“in S<>'Cm" Pr“ra'S’ ',hich arC rei’':at':d at certa:n l,0lm' a“d »" «rtain days, in the Popish
PAS [ 18 ]
V scal llis Jeptli and beauty of ivliiclt are incomparable we
II shall be induced to believe, that a greater genius never
J’asiphae. existed in any age or nation. All those who had occa-
  v  sion to frequent his company acknowledged his superior¬
ity. His conversation instructed, without making those
who heard him sensible of their own inferiority j and he
was remarkably indulgent towards the faults ot others.
It may be easily seen by his Provincial Letters, and iy
some of his other works, that he was he born with a
(Treat fund of humour, which his infirmities could never
entirely destroy. In company, he readily indulged in
that harmless and delicate raillery which never gives
offence, and which greatly tends to enliven conversation j
but its principal object generally was of a moral nature.
For example, ridiculing those authors who say,
Book, my Commentary, my History, they would do
better (added he) to say, Our Book, our Commentary,
our History; since there are in them much more ot
other people’s than their own.” An elegant Latin epi¬
taph was inscribed on his tomb. See remarks on his
philosophical character, in the First Dissertation, vol.
jst. Supplement, p. 125. .
PASCHAL, something belonging to the passover,
or Easter. See Passover and Easter.
PAS-EP-A, the chief of the Lamas, particularly
eminent for having invented characters for the Moguls.
He was much esteemed liy the Chinese, though the li¬
terati exclaimed against the manner in which the people
demonstrated their affection. There is still at 1 ekin a
mycM or temple, built in honour of Pas-cp-a in the time
of the Mogul emperors. He died in I2/9-
PAS1GRAPHY (from tt*?, omnis, and y^Qu, sen-
bo), the art of writing on any subject whatever, so as to
he universally understood by all nations upon earth. 1 he
idea of establishing such a language is deemed by many
extremely fanciful and absurd, while the practicability
of it is as strenuously contended for by others. Hints
respectino- such a system of writing as might be under¬
stood by all mankind, are to be met with in the writings
of many eminent philosophers;, but if such an attempt
failed in the hands of a Leibnitz, a Kircher, a Beclier,
a Wilkins, and some others, it is at least to be pre¬
sumed that the execution of a pasigraphy, or universal
language, will always be found to bear a striking ana-
locv to the chimerical sentiments which were iormeily
entertained respecting the doctrines of the quadrature ot
the circle, the multiplication of the cube, the pin oso-
nhei’s stone, or perpetual motion,.all ol which have
been finely ridiculed by Dean Swift in las idea of circu¬
lar shot. Kant is clearly of opinion, however, that such
a pasigraphy falls within the limits of possibility j—nay,
he even asserts, that it will actually be established at
some future period. And, while none of its admirers
venture to bid us believe that it will ever be universally
spoken, or understood, they confidently think, that, by
means of it, the valuable labours of erudition and Im¬
uran genius will be effectually prevented from ever tall-
big into oblivion. See a Memoir on tins subject in i\i-
cholsoy’s Journal, ii. 342. 4to. _ . f
PASIPHAE, in fabulous history, daughter of the
Sun by Perseis, who married Minos king of Crete. She
disgraced herself by an unnatural passion for a bull,
winch we are told die was enabled to gratify by means
of the artist Deedalus. This celebrated bull had been
given to Mums by Neptune, to be offered on his altars.
PAS
Put as the monarch refused to sacrifice the animal en Pasipnat
account of his beauty, the god revenged his disobedi- H e
ence bv inspiring Pasiphae with an unnatural love tor, _c~* ' ,
him. This fable, which is universally believed by the
poets, who observe, that the minotaur was the fruit of
this infamous commerce, is refuted by some writers j
who suppose that the infidelity of Pasipl; Y to her hus¬
band was betrayed in her affection for an officer of the
name of Taurus, and that Dsedalus, by permitting his
house to be the asylum of the two lovers, was looked
upon as accessory to the gratification ot Pasiphae’s lust.
From this amour with Taurus, as it is farther remarked,
the queen became mother of twins ; and the name of
Minotaur us arises from the resemblance of the children
to the husband and the lover of Pasiphae. Minos had
four sons by Pasiphae, Castreus, Deucalion, Glaucus,
and Androgens j and three daughters, Hecate, Ariadne,
and Phsedra.
PASQUTN, a mutilated statue at Home, m a corner
of the palace of the Ursini. It takes its name from a
cobler of that city called Pasqnin, famous for his sneers
and gibes, and who diverted himself by passing his
jokes on all that went through that street. After his
death, as thev were digging up the pavement before
his door, they found in the earth the statue of an an¬
cient gladiator, well cut, but maimed and half-spoiled .
this they set up in the place, where it was found, and by
common consent named it Pasquin. Since that time all
satires are attributed to that figure 5 and are either put
into its mouth, or pasted upon it, as it they were writ¬
ten by Pasquin redivivus •, and these are addressed by
Pasquin to Marforio, another statue at Pome. VMien
Marforio is attacked, Pasquin comes to his assistance j
and, when Pasquin is attacked, Marforio assists him m
his turn *, that is, the people make the statues speak
just what they please.
PASQUINADE, a satirical libel fastened to the
statue of Pasquiu: these are commonly short, witty, and
pointed j and from hence the term has been applied to
all lampoons of the same cast.
PASS, or Passade, in fencing, an advance or leap
forward upon the enemy. Of these there are several
kinds •, as passes within, above, beneath, to the right,
the left, and passes under the line, &c. The measure
of the pass is when the swords are so near as that they
may touch one another. _
Pass, in a military sense, a strait anu difficult pas¬
sage, which shuts up the entrance into a country.
Pass Parole, in military afl'airs, a command given at
the head of an army, and thence communicated to the
rear, by passing it from mouth to mouth.
PASSADE, in the manege, is a turn or course ol a
herse backwards or forwards on the same spot ot ground.
Hence there aie several sorts of passades, according to
the different ways of turning, in order to part or return
upon the same tread, which is called closing thepassacle;
as the passade of one time, the passade of live times, and
the raised or high passades, into which the demivolts
are made into curvets. See HORSEMANSHIP.
{See NoiiTH-West Passage,
NoR Til-East Passage, and
Pole.
Biaht of Passage, in commerce, is an imposition or
aetv exacted by some princes, either by land or sea, m
certain close and narrow places in their territories, on
aii
PAS [
Passage all vessels ahd carriages, and even sometimes on persons
II or passengers, coming in or going out of ports, &c.
Passion, ^ r[,jie inoS(; celebrated passage of this kind in Europe is
the Sound : the dues for passing which strait helon^ to
the king of Denmark, and are paid at Elsinore or Cro-
nenburg.
PASSANT, in Heraldry, a term applied to a lion
or other animal in a shield, appearing to walk leisurely :
*br most beasts, except lions, the trippant is frequently
used instead oipassant.
PASSAU, an ancient, handsome, and celebrated
town of Germany, in Lower Bavaria, with a bishop’s
see and fort. The houses are well built, and the cathe¬
dral is thought to be the finest in all Germany. It is
divided into four parts, three of which are fortified •, but
the other is only a suburb, and has nothing but an old
castle in which the bishop generally resides. I t is seated
at the confluence of the rivers Inn and Iltz with the
Danube, in E. Long. 13. 34. N. Lat. 48. 26.
Passau, a bishopric of Germany, lying between
Lower Bavaria, Austria, and Bohemia. It extends
not above 20 miles where largest ; and has no consi¬
derable place, except the capital, which is of the same
name.
PASSE RES, the name of one of the orders (the
6th) into which the class of birds is divided. See Or¬
nithology Index.
PASSIFLORA, or Passion Flower j a genus of
plants belonging to the gynandria class; and in the
natural method ranking under the 34th order, Cucurbi-
tacex. See Botany Index.
PASSION, is a word of which, as Dr Reid observes,
the meaning is not precisely ascertained either in com¬
mon discourse or in the writings of philosophers. In its
original import, it denotes every feeling of the mind oc¬
casioned by an extrinsic cause; but it is generally used
to signify some agitation of mind, opposed to that state
of tranquillity in which a man is most master of himself.
I hat it was thus used by the Greeks and Romans, is
evident from Cicero’s rendering srafloj, the word by
which the philosophers of Greece expressed it, by per*
turbatio in Latiit. In this sense of the word, passion
Cannot be itself a distinct and independent principle of
action ; but only an occasional degree of vehemence
given to those dispositions, desires, and affections, which
are at all times present to the mind of man ; and that
this is its proper sense, we need no other proof than that
passion has always been conceived to bear analogy to a
storm at sea or to a tempest in the air.
With respect to the number of passions of which the
mind is susceptible, different opinions have been held
by different authors. Le Brim, a French writer on
painting, justly considering the expression of the passions
as a very important as well as difficult branch of his art,
has enumerated no fewer than twenty, of which the
signs may be expressed by the pencil on canvass. That
there are so many different states of mind producing
different effects which are visible on the features and
the gestures, and that those features and gestures ought
to be diligently studied by the artist, are truths which
cannot be denied ; but it is absurd to consider all these
different states of mind as passions, since tranquillity is
one of them, which is the reverse of passion.
The common division of the passions into desire and
aversion, hope and fear, joy and grief, love and hatred,
9 ] PAS
has been mentioned by every author who has treated of Passion,
them, and needs no explication ; but it is a question of 1
some importance in the philosophy of the human mind,
whether these different pas-ions be each a degree of an
original and innate disposition, distinct from the disposi¬
tions which are respectively the (bundations of the other
passions, or only difl’erent modifications ot one or two
general dispositions common to the whole race.
The former opinion is held by all who build their
system of metaphysics upon a number of distinct internal
senses; and the latter is the opinion of those who, with
Locke and Hartley, resolve what is commonly called
instinct into an early association of ideas. (See In¬
stinct). That without deliberation mankind instantly
leel the passion of fear upon the apprehension of danger,
and the passion of anger or resentment upon the recep¬
tion of an injury, are truths which cannot he denied :
and hence it is inferred, that the seeds of these passions
are innate in the mind, and that they are not generated,
but only swell to magnitude on the prospect of their re¬
spective objects. In support of this argument, it has
been observed that children, without any knowledge of
their danger, are instinctively afraid on being placed on
the brink of a precipice ; and that this passion contri¬
butes to their safety long before they acquire, in any de¬
gree equal to their necessities, the exercise of their ra¬
tional powers. Deliberate anger, caused by a voluntary
injury, is acknowledged to be in part founded on reason
and reflection ; but where anger impels one suddenly to
return a blow, even without thinking of doing mischief,
the passion is instinctive. In proof of this, it is obser¬
ved, that instinctive anger is frequently raised by bodily
pain, occasioned even by a stock or a stone, which in¬
stantly becomes an object of resentment, that we are
violently incited to crush to atoms. Such conduct is
certainly not rational, and therefore it is supposed to be
necessarily instinctive.
With respect to other passions, such as the lust of
power, of fame, or of knowledge, innumerable instances,
says Dr Reid, occur in life, of men who sacrifice to them
their ease, their pleasure, and their health. But it is
absurd to suppose that men should sacrifice the end to
what they desire only as means of promoting that end ;
and therefore he seems to think that these passions must
be innate. To add strength to this reasoning he ob¬
serves, that we may perceive some degree of these prin¬
ciples even in brute animals of the most sagacious kind,
who are not thought to desire means for the sake of ends
which they have in view.
But it is in accounting for the passions which are dis¬
interested that the advocates for innate principles seem
most completely to triumph. As it is impossible not to
feel the passion of pity upon the prospect of a fellow
creature in distress, they argue, that the basis of that
passion must be innate ; because pity, being at all times
more or less painful to the person by whom it is felt,
and frequently of no use to the person who is its object,
it cannot in such instances be the result of deliberation,
but merely the exertion of an original instinct. The
same kind of reasoning is employed to prove that grati¬
tude is the exercise of an innate principle. That good
offices are, by the very constitution of our nature, apt
to produce good will towards the benefactor, in good
and bad men, in the savage and in the civilized, cannot
surely be denied by any one in the least acquainted with
C 2 human
Passion.
* Essays
on the Ac
PAS [ 20
human nature. We are grateful not only to the bene¬
factors of ourselves as individuals, but also to the bene¬
factors of our country } and t/sat, too, when we are
conscious that from our gratitude neither they nor we
can reap any advantage. Nay, we arc impelled to be
grateful even when we have reason to believe that the
objects of our gratitude know not our existence. This
passion cannot be the eilect of reasoning, or oi associa¬
tion founded on reasoning j for, in such cases as those
mentioned, there are no principles from which reason
can infer the propriety or usefulness ol the feeling. T-hat
wd//c spirit, or the affection which we bear to our
country, or to any subordinate community of which vve
arc members, is founded on instinct is deemed so cer¬
tain, that the man destitute of this affection, if there be
any such, has been pronounced as great a monster as
he who has two heads.
All the disinterested passions are founded on what
philosophers have termed benevolent affection. Instead
therefore of inquiring into the origin of each passion
separately, which would swell this article to no purpose,
let us listen to one of the finest writers as well as ablest
reasoners of the age, treating of the origin of benevolent
affection. “ We may lay it down as a principle (says
Dr Reid*), that all benevolent affections are in their
nature agreeable *, that it is essential to them to desire
five Powers g00t( and happiness of their objects } and that their
of Man. o1.Jts must tiiert.fore he beings capable of happiness.
A thing may lie desired either on its own account, or
as the means in order to something else. That only can
properly he called an object of desire which is desired
upon its own account j and therefore I consider as bene¬
volent those affections only which desire the good of
their object ultimately, and not as means in order to
something else. To say that we desire the good of
others, only to procure some pleasure or good to our¬
selves is to say that there is no benevolent anection in
human nature. This indeed has been the opinion of
some philosophers both in ancient and in later times.
But it appears as unreasonable to resolve all benevolent
affections into self-love, as it would be to resolve hunger
and thirst into self-love. These appetites are necessary
for the preservation of the individual. Benevolent af¬
fections are no less necessary for the preservation of so¬
ciety among men •, without which men would become
an easy prey to the beasts of the field. 1 he benevolent
affections planted in human nature, appear therefore no
less necessary for the preservation ot the human species
than the appetites of hunger and thirst. In a word,
pitv, gratitude, friendship, love, and patriotism, are
founded on different benevolent affections *, which our
learned author holds to be original parts of the human
constitution.'”
This reasoning has certainly great force ; and it au¬
thority could have any weight in settling a question ot
this nature, we know not that name to which greater
deference is due than the name of him from whom it is
taken. Yet it must be confessed that the philosophers,
who consider the affections and passions as early and deep
rooted associations,support their opinion with very plau¬
sible arguments. On their principles we have endeavour¬
ed elsewhere to account for the passions ot tear and love,
(see Instinct and Love) j and we may here sately
deny the truth of what has been stated respecting ear,
which stems to militate against that account. VV e have
] P A S'
attended with much solicitude to the actions oi chil- Fasiidii.
dren ; and have no reason to think that they leel ter- v'~“d<
ror on the brink of a precipice till they have been re¬
peatedly warned of their danger in such situations by
their parents or their keepers. Every person knows
not only that they have no original or instinctive dread
of fire, which is as dangerous to them as any precipice j
but that it is extremely difficult to keep them from that
destructive element till they are either capable of weigh¬
ing the force of arguments, or have repeatedly experi¬
enced the pain of being burnt by it. With respect to
sudden resentment, we cannot help considering the ar¬
gument, which is brought in proof of its being instinc¬
tive, as proving the contrary in a very forcible manner.
Instinct is some mysterious influence of God upon the
mind exciting to actions of beneficial tendency : but
can any benefit arise from wreaking our impotent ven¬
geance on a stock or a stone ? or is it supposable that
a Being of infinite wisdom would excite us to actions so
extravagantly foolish? We learn from experience to de¬
fend ourselves against rational or sensible enemies by re¬
taliating the injuries which they inflict upon us; and
if we have been often injured in any particular maimer,
the idea of that injury becomes in time so closely asso¬
ciated with the means by which it has been constantly
repelled, that we never receive such an injury a blow
for instance—without being prompted to make the usual
retaliation, without reflecting whether the object be
sensible or insensible. So tar from being instinctive does
resentment appear to us, that we think an attentive ob¬
server may easily perceive how the seeds of it are gra¬
dually infused into the youthful mind ; when the child,
jrom being at first a timid creature shrinking from every
pain, learns by degrees to return blow for blow and
threat for threat.
But instead of urging what appears to ourselves ot
most weight against the instinctive system, we shall lay
before our readers a few extracts from a dissertation on
the origin of the passions, by a writer whose elegance
of language and ingenuity of investigation do honour
to the school of Hartley.
“ When an infant is horn (says Dr Sayers t), there J
is every reason to suppose that he is born without ideas. ,h-aL
These are rapidly communicated through the medium ^ Lite-
of the senses. The same senses are also the means ofrory.
conveying to him pleasure and pain These are the
hinges on which the passions turn : and till the child is
acquainted with these sensations, it would appear that
no passion could be formed in his mind; for till he has
felt pleasure and pain, how can he desire any object, or
wish for its removal ? How can he either love or hate .
Let us observe then the manner in which love and ha¬
tred are formed; for on these passions depend all the
rest When a child endures pain, and is able to detect
the cause of it, the idea of pain is connected in his
mind with that of the thing which produced it; and it
the object which occasioned pain be again presented to
the child, the idea of pain associated with it arises also.
This idea consequently urges the child to avoid or to
remove the object; and thus arises the passion of dis¬
like or hatredi In the same manner, the passion ot
liking or love is readily formed in the mind of a child
from the association of pleasant ideas with certain ob¬
jects which produced them.
“ The passions of hope aud tear are states oi the
r mind
PAS
Passion, rmrul depending upon the good or bad prospects of grati-
  v   fying love or hatred j and joy or sorrow arises from the
final success or disappointment which attends the exer¬
tions produced by love or by hatred. Out of these pas¬
sions, which have all a perceptible relation to our own
good, and are universally acknowledged to be selfish, all
our other passions are formed.”
To account for the passions called disinterested, he
observes, that in the history of the human mind we
tmd many instances of our dropping an intermediate
idea, which has been the means of our connecting two
other ideas together; and that the association of these
two remains after the link which originally united
them has vanished. Of this fact the reader will find
sufficient evidence in different articles of this work
(see Instinct, 19. and Metaphysics, N° 101.) :
and, to apply it to the disinterested passions, let us sup¬
pose, with Dr Sayers, that any individual has done to
us many offices of kindness, and has consequently much
contributed to our happiness ; it is natural for us to
seek with some anxiety for the continuance of those
pleasures which he is able to communicate. But we
soon discern, that the surest way of obtaining the con¬
tinuance of his friendly offices is to make them, as
much as possible, a source of pleasure to himself. We
therefore do every thing in our power to promote his
happiness in return for the good he has conferred upon
us, that thus we may attach him to us as much a- we
aie able. Hitheito all is plainly selfish. We have been
evidently endeavouring, for the sake of our own future
gratification, to promote the happiness of this person :
but observe the consequence. We have thus, by contem¬
plating the advantage, to be derived to ourselves from
promoting the prosperity of our friend, learned to asso¬
ciate a set of pleasant ideas with his happiness ; but the
link which has united them gradually escapes us, while
the union itself remains. Continuing to associate plea¬
sure with the well-being of our friend, we endeavour to
promote it for the sake of his immediate gratification,
without looking farther ; and in this way his happiness,
which was first attended to only as a means of future en-
j. I joyment, finally becomes an end. Thus then the pas¬
sion which was originally se'fish, is at length disinterest-
ed; its gratification being completed merely by its suc¬
cess in promoting the happiness of another.
In this way does our author account for the origin
of gratitude; which at last becomes a habit, and flows
spontaneously towards every man who has either been
or inte'nded to be our benefactor. According to him,
it.is easy to observe also, that from associating pleasure
with the happiness of an individual when we jirocure it
PAS
ourselves, it must of course soon follow, that we should Pass;or,
experience pleasure from a view of his happiness any—y——
way produced ; such happiness raising at all times plea¬
sant ideas when it is presented to our minds. This is
another feature of a disinterested affection, to feel de¬
light from the mere increase of happiness in the object
whom we love.
“ It may be objected, perhaps, that parents seem to
have an instinctive disinterested love of their offspring:
but surely the love of a parent (a) for a new-born in¬
fant is not usually equal to that for a child of four
or five years old. When a child is first born, the pro¬
spect and hopes of future pleasure from it are sufficient
to make a parent anxious for its preservation. As the
child grows up, the hope of future enjoyment from it
must increase : hence would pleasure be associated with
the well-being of the child, the love of which would of
course become in due time disinterested.”
Our author does not analyze pity, and trace it to ite
source in selfishness; but be might easily have done it,
and it has been ably done by bis master. Pity or
compassion is the uneasiness which a man feels at the
misery of another. It is generated in every mind dur¬
ing the years of childhood ; and there are many circum¬
stances in the constitution of children, and in the mode
of their education, which make them particularly sus¬
ceptible of this passion. The very appearance of any
kind ot misery which they have experienced, or of any
signs of distress which they understand, excite in their
minds painful feelings, from the remembrance of what
they have suffered, and the apprehension of their suf¬
fering it again. We have seen a child a year old high¬
ly entertained with the noise and struggles made by
its elder brother when plunged naked in a vessel fib.
led with cold water. I bis continued to be the case
for many days, till it was thought proper to plunge
the younger as well as the elder ; after which the daily
entertainment w'as soon at an end. The little crea¬
ture had not been itself plunged above twice till it
ceased to find diversion by its brotbe.’s sufferings.—.
On the third day it cried with all the symptoms of the
bitterest anguish upon seeing its brother plunge,
though no preparation was then made for plunging
itself; hut surely this was not disinterested sympathy,
but a feeling wholly selfish, excited by the remem¬
brance of what it had suffered itself, and was appre¬
hensive of suffering again. In a short time, however,
the painful feelings accompanying the sight of its bro¬
ther’s struggles, and the sound of his cries, were doubt¬
less so associated with that sight and that sound, that
the appearance of the latter would have brought the
former
[ 21 ]
(a) rat this is true of the father is certain ; hut it may be questioned whether it he equally true of the mo-
tier A woman is no sooner delivered of Iter, infant, than she caresses it with the utmost possible fondness. We
ie icve, that if she were under the necessity of making a choice between her child of four years, and her infant
an our o d, she would rather be deprived of the latter than of the former; but we arc not convinced that this
would proceed from a less degree of affection to the infant than to the child. She knows that the child has be-
oie us fourth year escaped many dangers which the infant must encounter, and may not escape ; and it is there-
ore pro a de that her choice would be the result of prudent reflection. Though we are not admirers of that
p n osop iy w ich supposes the human mind a bundle of instincts, we can as little approve of the opposite scheme
w uc 1 a ows it no instincts at all. The fegyu of a mother to her new-born infant is undoubtedly instinctive,, as
le on y t nng which at that moment can be associated with it in her mind is the pain she has suffered in bring¬
ing it to the world. ^
f Observa¬
tions on
Mnn.
PAS [22
Pagsion. former along with them, even thoiigh the chilli might
 y ■' ii / have been no longer under apprehension of a plunging
itself. This association, too, would soon be transferied
to every boy in the same circumstances, and to similar
sounds and struggles, from whatever fcause they might
proceed. .
Thus, as Dr Hartley observes •{•, “ tvhen several
children are educated together, the pains, the denials
of pleasure, and the sorrows which affect one generally
/extend to all in some degree, often in an equal one.
When their parents, companions, or attendants are sick,
or afflicted, it is usual to raise in their minds the nas¬
cent ideas of pains and miseries by such words and signs
as are suited to their capacities. They also find them¬
selves laid under many restraints, on account or the
sickness or affliction of others; and when these and such
dike circumstances have raised in their minds deshes to
remove the causes of their own internal feelings, i. e. to
cause the miseries of others, a variety of internal feelings
and desires become so blended and associated together,
as that no part can be distinguished separately from the
rest, and the child may properly be said to have com¬
passion. The g (me sources of compassion remain, though
with some alteration, during our whole progress through
life. This is so evident, that a reflecting person may
plainly discern the constituent parts of his compassion
while they are yet the mere internal, and, as one may
say, selfish feelings above mentioned ; and before they
have put on the nature of compassion by a Coales¬
cence with the rest. Agreeably to this method Of
reasoning, it may be observed, that persons whose nerves
are easily irritable, atid those who have experienced
great trials and afflictions, are in general more disposed
to compassion than others ; and that we are most apt
to pity others in those diseases and calamities which we
either have felt or of which we apprehend ourselves to
be in danger.” .
The migin bf patriotism and public spirit is thus
traced by Dr Savers: “ The pleasures which our
country affords are numerous and great. The wish to
perpetuate the enjoyment of these pleasures, includes
the wish to promote the safety and welfare of our coun¬
try without which many bf them would be .ost. All
this is evidently selfish ; but, as in the progress of gra¬
titude, it finally becomes disinterested. Pleasant ideas
are thus strongly connected with the welfare oi our
country, after the tie which first hound them together
has escaped our notice. The prosperity which was at
first desirable as the means of future enjoyment, be¬
comes itself an end: we feel delight in such prosperity,
however produced; and wre look not beyond this imme¬
diate delight. It is thus not difficult to observe in what
manner a general and disinterested benevolence takes
place in a mind which has already received pleasure
from the happiness of a few ; the transition is easy to¬
wards associating it with happiness in general, with the
happiness of any being, whether produced by ourselves
or by any other cause whatever.”
From this reasoning, our author concludes, that all
our passions may be traced up to original feelings of re¬
gard for ourselves. “ Thus (in the forcible language of
* Warbur- £ iearned writer * of the same school) does self-love,
under the varying appearance of natural afiection, do¬
mestic relation, and the connexions of social habitude,
at first work blindly on, obscure and deep m dirt; Hut as
3
1
ion*
PAS
it makes its way, it continues rising, till it emerges into Passion. ^
light; and then suddenly expiring, leaves behind it the '
fairest issue,”—benevolent affection.
Self-love partook the path it first pursu’dj
And found the private in the public good.
Thus have we stated the two opposite theories respect¬
ing the origin ol passions in the mind, and given our
readers a short specimen ot the reasonings by which they
are supported by their respective patrons. W ere We cal¬
led upon to decide between them, w-e should be tempted
to say, that thev have both been carried to extremes by
some of their advocates, and that the truth lies in the
middle between them. “It is impossible t but thatTDj\P«Cf
creatures capable of pleasant and painful sensations,
should love and choose the one, and dislike and avoid
the other. No being Who knows what happiness and
misery are, can be supposed indifterent to them, without
a plain contradiction. Tain is not a possible object of de¬
sire, nor happiness of aversion?'1— I o prefer a greater
good though distant, to a less good that is present; or
to choose a present evil, in order to avoid a greater fu¬
ture evil—^is indeed wise and rational conduct; but to
choose evil ultimately, is absolutely imjiossible. ILus
far then must be admitted, that every being possessed of
sense and intellect, necessarily desires his own good as
soon as he knows what it is ; but if this knowledge be
riot innate, neither can the desire. Every human being
comes into the world with a capability of knowledge,
and of course with a Capability ol affections, desires, and
passions ; but it seems not to be conceivable how he can
actually love, or hate, or dread any thing, till he know
whether it be good, or ill, or dangerous. If, therefore,
We have ho innate ideas, we cannot possibly have innate
desires or aversions. rI hose who Contend that we have,
seem to think, that without thetn reason would be in-
sufficientj either for the preservation of the individual or
the continuation of the species ; and some writers have
alleged, that if our aftections and passions were the riiere
result of early associations, they would necessarily be more
capricious than we ever find them. But this objection
seems to arise from their not rightly understanding the
theory of their antagonists. The disciples of Locke and
Hartley do not suppose it possible for any man in society
to prevent such associations from being formed in his
mind as shall necessarily produce desires and aversions;
far less do they think it possible to form associations of
ideas utterly repugnant, so as to desire that as good
which his senses and intellect have experienced to be
evil. Associations are formed by the very same means,
and at the very same time, that ideas and notions are
impressed upon the mind; but as pain is never mistaken
for pleasure by the senses, so an object which has given
us only pain, is never associated with any thing that
makes it desireable. We say an object that has given
us only pain, because it is possible to form such an asso¬
ciation between life and the loss of a limb, as to make
us grateful to the surgeon by whom it was amputated.
Associations being formed according to the same laws
by which knowledge is acquired, it by no means follows
that passions resulting from them should be more capri¬
cious than they are found to be ; and they certainly aie
sufficiently capricious to make us suspeetthat the gicatel
part of them has this origin, rather than that they are
all infused in the mind by the immediate agency of the
Creator.
t
PAS { 23 ] PAS
Passion. Creator. If a man be a being formed with no innate
—~v~~ ideas, and with no other instinctive principles of action
than what are absolutely necessary to preserve his ex¬
istence and perpetuate the species, it is easy to per¬
ceive why he is placed in this world as in a state of pro¬
bation, where he may acquire habits of virtue to fit
him for a better. It is likewise easy to perceive why
some men are better than others, and why some are the
slaves of the most criminal passions. But all this is
^ unintelligible, upon the supposition that the seeds of
every passion are innate, and that man is a compound
of reason and of instincts so numerous and various as to
suit every circumstance in which it can be placed.
If passions, whatever be their origin, operate instan¬
taneously, and if they be formed according to fixed laws,
it may be thought a question of very little importance
whether they be instinctive or acquired.—This was long
our own opinion j but we think, that upon maturer re¬
flection we have seen reason to change it. If passions be
the result of early associations, it is of the utmost conse¬
quence that no improper associations be formed in the
minds of children, and that none of their unreasonable
desires be gratified. Upon this theory it seems indeed
to depend almost wholly upon education, whether a child
shall become a calm, benevolent, steady, and upright
man ; or a passionate, capricious, selfish miscreant. By
teaching him to resent every petty injury, the seeds of
irascibility are sown in his mind, and take such root,
that before the age of manhood he becomes intolerable
to all with whom he must converse. By exciting num¬
berless desires in his youthful mind, and instantly grati¬
fying them, you make him capricious and impatient of
disappointment j and by representing other children as
in any degree inferior to him, you inspire him with the
hateful passion of pride. According to the instinctive
theory, education can only augment or diminish the
strength of passions ; according to the other theory, it is
the source of by far the greater part of them. On ei¬
ther supposition, parents should watch with solicitude
over the actions of their children j hut they will surely
think themselves obliged to he doubly watchful, if they
believe, that through their neglect their children may
acquire hateful passions, to which, if properly educated,
they might have remained strangers through their whole
lives. And let it be remembered, that this solicitude
should begin at an early period; because the mind is
susceptible of deepassociations much sooner than is some¬
times imagined. Without this susceptibility, no lan¬
guage could he learned; and therefore a child by the
time he learns to speak, may have planted in his mind
the seeds of passions, on the just regulation and subor¬
dination of which depends in a great measure the hap¬
piness of mankind. See Moral Philosophy, Part I.
chap. 1. & 2. Part III. N° 216.
Pa ssions and Emotions, difference between them.
See Emotions and Passions.
External Signs of Emotions and Pa ssions. So inti¬
mately connected are the soul and body, that every agi¬
tation in the former produces a visible effect upon the
latter. There is, at the same time, a wonderful uni¬
formity in that operation; each class of emotions and
passions being invariably attended with an external ap¬
pearance peculiar to itself. These external appearances,
or signs, may not improperly he considered as a natural
language, expressing to all beholders emotions and pas¬
sions as they me in the heart. Hope, fear, joy, grief, passion,
are displayed externally : the character of a man can he v —y—»
read in his face; and beauty, which makes so deep an
impression, is known to result, not so much from regular
features and a fine complexion, as from good nature, good
sense, sprightliness, sweetness, or other mental quality,
expressed upon the countenance. Though perfect skiil
in that language be rare, yet what is generally known is
sufficient for the ordinary purposes of life. But by what
means we come to understand the language, is a point of
some intricacy. It cannot be by sight merely ; for upon
the most attentive inspection of the human visage, all that
can be discerned ai'e, figure, colour, and motion, which,
singly or combined, never can represent a passion nor a
sentiment: the external sign is indeed visible; hut to
understand its meaning, we must he able to connect it
with the passion that causes it; an operation far beyond
the reach ol eye-sight. Where then is the instructor to
be found that can unveil this secret connexion P If wo
apply to experience, it is yielded, that from long and
diligent observation, xve may gather, in some measure,
an what manner those we are acquainted with express
their passions externally ; but with respect to strangers,
we are left in the dark ; and yet we are not puzzled
about the meaning of these external expressions in a
stranger, more than in a bosom companion. Further,
Had we no other means hut experience for understand¬
ing the external signs of passion, v’e could not expect
any uniformity, nor any degree of skill, in the bulk of
individuals ; yet matters are so much better ordered,
that the external expressions of passion form a language
understood by all, by the young as well as the old, by
the ignorant as well as the learned : Wre talk of the
plain and legible characters of that language : for un¬
doubtedly we are much indebted to experience, in de¬
ciphering the dark and more delicate expressions.
Where then shall we apply for a solution of this intri¬
cate problem, which seems to penetrate deep into hu¬
man nature ? Undoubtedly if the meaning of external
signs be not derived to us from sight, nor from expe¬
rience, there is no remaining source when it can he de¬
rived but from nature.
w e may then venture to pronounce, with some de- Elements
gree of confidence, that man is provided by nature with tf Criti-
a sense or faculty that lays open to him every passion by cism'
means of its external expressions. And we cannot enter¬
tain any reasonable doubt of this, when we reflect, that
the meaning of external signs is not hid even from in¬
fants ; an infant is remarkably affected with the passions
of its nurse expressed on her countenance; asmilechecrs
it, a frown makes it afraid : hut fear cannot be without
apprehending danger ; and what danger can the infant
apprehend, unless it he sensible that its nurse is angry?
We must therefore admit, that a child can read anger
in its nurse’s face; of which it must he sensible intuitive¬
ly, for it has no other mean of knowledge. We do not
affirm, that these particulars are clearly apprehended by
the child ; for to produce clear and distinct perceptions,
reflection and experience are requisite : hut that even
an infant, when afraid, must have some notion of its
being in danger, is evident.
That we should be conscious intuitively of a passion
from its external expressions, is conformable to the ana¬
logy of nature: the knowledge of that language is of
too great importance to be left upon experience; because
a*
P A S
t 24 ]
PAS
Pnssion. a fomiJation SO uncertain and precarious, would prove a
great obstacle to the formation of societies. Wisely there¬
fore is it ordered, and agreeably to the system ol Provi¬
dence, that we should have nature for our instructor.
Such is the philosophy ot Lord Karnes, to which ob¬
jections unanswerable may be made. It is part ol the
instinctive system of metaphysics, which his lordship has
carried farther than all who wrote before him, and per¬
haps farther than all who have succeeded him in this de¬
partment of science. That a child intuitively reads anger
in its nurse’s face, is so far from being true, that for some
short time after birth it is not terrified by the most men¬
acing gestures. It is indeed absolutely incapable of fear
till it has suffered pain, (see Instinct) •, and could we
constantly caress it with what is called an angry took, it
would be cheered by that look, and frightened at a
smile. It feels, however, the effects of anger, and is soon
capable of observing the peculiarity of feature with which
that passion is usually accompanied •, and these two be¬
come in a short time so linked together in its tender
mind, that the appearance of the one naturally suggests
to it the reality of the other.
Should it be said that a loud and sudden noise startles
a child immediately after birth, and that, therefore, the
infant must be instinctively afraid, the fact may be ad¬
mitted, without any necessity of admitting the inference.
The nerves of an infant are commonly very irritable, and
the strong impulse on the auditory nerves may agitate
its whole frame, without inspiring it with the passion
of fear. The loud noise is in all probability not the
sign of approaching danger, but the immediate cause
of real pain, from which the infant shrinks as it would
from the prick of a pin or the scorching of a candle.
But we have said enough in the article immediately
preceding, and in others which are there quoted, to
show how the passions may be formed by associations
even in earlv infancy, and yet operate as if they were
instinctive. This being the case, we shall through the
remainder of this article suffer his lordship to speak his
own language, without making any further remarks up¬
on it. We are induced to do this for two reasons ; of
which the first is, that many of our readers will probably
prefer his theory to ours j and the secend is, that his
conclusions respecting the signs and language of passion
"hold equally good from either theory.
We perfectly agree with him, that manifold and ad¬
mirable are the purposes to which the external signs
of passion are made subservient by the Author of our
nature.
1. The signs of internal agitation displayed externally
to every spectator, tend to fix the signification of many
words. The only effectual means to ascertain the mean¬
ing of any doubtful word, is an appeal to the thing it
represents : and hence the ambiguity of words expressive
of things that are not objects of external sense ; for in
that case an appeal is denied. Passion, strictly speaking,
is not an object of external sense : but its external signs
are : and by means of these signs, passions may be ap¬
pealed to with tolerable accuracy ; thus the words that
denote our passions, next to those that denote external
objects, have the most distinct meaning. Words signi¬
fying internal action and the more delicate feelings, are
less distinct. This defect, with regard to internal action,
is what chiefly occasions the intricacy of logic : the terms
of that science are far from being sufficiently ascertained,
5
even after much care and labour bestowed by an emi- passion
nent writer tj to whom, however, the world is greatly ' v
indebted, for removing a mountain of rubbish, and + i^cke.
moulding the subject into a rational and correct form.
The same defect is remarkable in criticism, which has
for its object the more delicate feelings ; the terms that
denote these feelings being not more distinct than those
of logic.
2. Society among individuals is greatly promoted by
that universal language. Looks and gestures give direct
access to the heart •, and leads us to select, with toler¬
able accuracy, the persons who are worthy ol our con¬
fidence. It is surprising how quickly, and for the most
part how correctly, we judge ot character from external
appearance.
3. After social intercourse is commenced, these ex¬
ternal signs, which difluse through a whole assembly the
feelings of each individual, contribute above all other
means to improve the social aftections. Language, no
doubt, is the most comprehensive vehicle for communi¬
cating emotions : hut in expedition, as well as in power
of conviction, it falls short of the signs under consider¬
ation ; the involuntary signs especially, which are inca¬
pable of deceit. Where the countenance, the tones,
the gestures, the actions, join with the words in com¬
municating emotions, these united have a force irresist¬
ible. Thus all the pleasant emotions of the human
heart, with all the social and virtuous affections, are, by
means of these external signs, not only perceived, but
felt. By this admirable contrivance, conversation be¬
comes that lively and animating amusement, without
which life would at best be insipid : one joyful counte¬
nance spreads cheerfulness instantaneously through a
multitude of spectators.
4. Dissocial passions, being hurtful by prompting vio¬
lence and mischief, are noted by the most conspicuous
external signs, in order to put us upon our guard: thus
anger and revenge, especially when sudden, display
themselves on the countenance in legible characters.
The external signs, again, of every passion that threatens
danger, raise in us the passion of fear : which frequent¬
ly operating without reason or reflection, moves us by
a sudden impulse to avoid the impending danger.
5. These external signs are remarkably subservient to
morality. A painful passion, being accompanied with
disagreeable external signs, must produce in every spec¬
tator a painful emotion : but then, if the passion be so¬
cial, the emotion it produces is attractive, and connects
the spectator with the person who suffers. Dissocial pas¬
sions only are productive of repulsive emotions, involving
the spectator’s aversion, and frequently his indignation.
This artful contrivance makes us cling to the virtuous,
and abhor the wicked.
6. Of all the external signs of passion, those of afflic¬
tion or distress are the most illustrious with respect ta
a final cause, and deservedly merit a place ol distinction.
They are illustrious by the singularity of their contri¬
vance j and also by inspiring sympathy, a passion to
which human society is indebted for its greatest blessing,
that of providing relief for the distressed. A subject so
interestingdeserves aleisurely and attentive examination.
The conformity of the nature of man to his external cir¬
cumstance is in every particular wonderful. his nature
makes him prone to society J and society is necessary to
his wellbeing, because in a solitary state he is a helpless
being.
PAS [ :
being destitute of support, and in bis distresses destitute
of relief: but mental support, the shining attribute of
society, is of too great moment to be left dependent
upon cool reason *, it is ordered more wisely, and with
greater conformity to the analogy of nature, that it
should be enforced even instinctively by the passion of
sympathy. Here sympathy makes a capital figure j and
contributes, more than any other means, to make life
easy and comfortable. But however essential the sym¬
pathy of others may be to our well-being, one beforehand
would not readily conceive how it could be raised by
external signs of distress j for considering the analogy of
nature, it these signs be agreeable, they must give birth
to a pleasant emotion, leading every beholder to be plea¬
sed with human woes : if disagreeable, as they undoubt¬
edly are, ought they not naturally to repel the spectator
from them, in order to be relieved from pain ? Such
would be the reasoning beforehand ; and such would be
the effect were man purely a selfish being. But the be¬
nevolence of our nature gives a very different direction
to the painful passion of sympathy, and to the desire
involved in it: instead of avoiding distress, we fly to it
in order to aflord relief j and our sympathy cannot
he otherwise gratified but by giving all the succour
in our power. Thus external signs of distress, though
disagreeable, are attractive j and the sympathy they
inspire is a powerful cause, impelling us to afford re¬
lief even to a stranger, as if he were our friend or rela¬
tion.
It is a noted observation, that the deepest tragedies
are the most crowded; which in an overly view will be
thought an unaccountable bias in human nature. Love
of novelty, desire of occupation, beauty of action, make
us fond of theatrical representations 5 and when once en¬
gaged, we must follow the story to the conclusion, what¬
ever distress it may create. But we generally become
wise by experience, and when we foresee what pain we
shall suffer during the course of the representation, is it
not surprising that persons of reflection do not avoid such
spectacles altogether ? And yet ofie who has scarce re¬
covered from the distress of a deep tragedy, resolves
coolly and deliberately to go to the very next, without
the slightest obstruction from self-love. The whole my¬
stery is explained by a single observation : That sympa¬
thy, though painful, is attractive ; and attaches us to an
object in distress, instead of prompting us to fly from it.
And by this curious mechanism it is, that persons of any
degree of sensibility are altracted by affliction still more
than by joy.
To conclude: the external signs of passion are a strong
indication, that man, by his very constitution, is fram¬
ed to be open and sincere. A child, in all things obe¬
dient to the impulses of nature, hides none of its emo¬
tions ; the savage and clown, who have no guide but
pure nature, expose their hearts to view, by giving way
to all the natural signs. And even when men learn to
dissemble their sentiments, and when behaviour degene¬
rates into art, there still remain checks, that keep dis¬
simulation within bounds, and prevent a great part of
its mischievous effects : the total suppression of the vo¬
luntary signs during any vivid passion, begets the ut¬
most uneasiness, which cannot be endured for any con¬
siderable time : this operation becomes indeed less pain¬
ful by habit $ but luckily the involuntary signs cannot,
by any effort, be suppressed or even dissembled. An
Vol. XVI. Part I. +
!5 ] PAS
absolute hypocrisy, by which the character is concealed
and a fictitious one assumed, is made impracticable ; and
nature has thereby prevented much harm to society.
We may pronounce, therefore that Nature, herself sin¬
cere and candid, intends that mankind should preserve
the same character, by cultivating simplicity and truth,
and banishing every sort of dissimulation that tends to
mischief.
Influence of Passion wit// respect to our Perceptions,
Opinions, and Belief. So intimately are our perceptions,
passions, and actions, connected, it would he wonderful
if they should have no mutual influence. That our ac¬
tions are too much influenced by passion, is a known
truth j but it is not less certain, though not so well
known, that passion hath also an influence upon our per¬
ceptions, opinions, and belief. For example, the opi¬
nions we form of men and things are generally directed
by affection: An advice given by a man of figure has
great weight j the same advice from one in a low condi¬
tion is despised or neglected : a man of courage under¬
rates danger; and to the indolent the slightest obstacle
appears unsurmountable. All this may he accounted foi
by the simple principle of association.
There is no truth more universally known, than that
tranquillity and sedateness are the proper state of mind
for accurate perception and cool deliberation ; and for
that reason, we never regard the opinion even of the
wisest man, when we discover prejudice or passion behind
the curtain. Passion hath such influence over us, as to
give a false light to all its objects. Agreeable passions
prepossess the mind in favour of their objects ; and disa¬
greeable passions, not less againt their objects : A wo¬
man is all perfection in her lover’s opinion, while in the
eye of a rival beauty she is awkward and disagreeable :
when the passion of love is gone, beauty vanishes with
it;—nothing is left of that genteel motion, that sprightly
conversation, those numberless graces, which former] v,
in the lover’s opinion, charmed all hearts. To a zealot
every one of his own sect is a saint, while the most upright
of a different sect are to him children of perdition r
the talent of speaking in a friend, is more regarded than
prudent conduct in any other. Nor will this surprise anv
one acquainted with the world; our opinions, the result
frequently of various and complicated views, are com¬
monly so slight and wavering, as readily to be susceptible
of a bias from passion.
With that natural bias another circumstance concurs,
to give passion an undue influence on our opinions and
belief; and that is a strong tendency in our nature to
justify our passions as well as our actions, not to others
only, but even to ourselves. That tendency is pecu¬
liarly remarkable with respect to disagreeable passions;
by its influence, objects are magnified or lessened, cir¬
cumstances supplied or suppressed, every thing coloured
and disguised to answer the end of justification. Hence
the foundation of self-deceit, where a man imposes upon
himself innocently, and even without suspicion of a bias.
We proceed to illustrate the foregoing observations by
proper examples.
Gratitude, when warm, is often exerted upon the
children of the benefactor; especially where he is re¬
moved out of reach by death or absence. The passion
in this case being exerted for the sake of the benefactor,
requires no peculiar excellence in his children : but the
practice of doing good to these children produces affec-
D tion
PAS
[ 25 ]
PAS
Passion ti°n for tliem, which never fails to advance them in our
esteem, iiy such means, strong connections of aflec-
tion arc often formed among individuals, upon the
slight foundation now mentioned.
Envy is a passion, which, being altogether unjusti¬
fiable, cannot, be excused .but by disguising it under
some plausible name. At the same time, no passion
is more eager than envy to give its object a disagree¬
able appearance: it magnifies every had quality, and
fixes on the most humiliating circumstances :
Cassius. I cannot tell what you and other men
Think of this life } but for my single self,
I had as lief not be, as live to be
In awe of such a thing as I myself.
I was horn free as Caesar, so were you ;
"We both have fed as well, and we can both
Endure the winter’s cold as well as he.
I'or once, upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tyber chafing with his shores,,
toesar says to me, Dar’st thou, Casssius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,
And swim to yonder point?—Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,
And bid him follow 5 so indeed he did.
The torrent roar’d, and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews ; throwing it aside,
And stemming it with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point propos’d,
Ctesar cry’d, Help me, Cassius, or I sink.
I, as iEneas, our great ancestor,
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder^
Th» old Anchises bear *, so from the waves of Tyber
Did I the tired Caesar: and this man
Is now become a god j and Cassius is
A wretched creature, and must bend his body
If Caesar carelessly but nod on him.
He had a fever when he was in Spain 5
And when the fit was on him, I did mark
TJow he did shake. ’Tis true, this god did shake;
His coward lips did from their colour fly j
And that same eye whose bend doth awe the w’orld
Did lose its lustre : I did hear him groan •,
Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his speeches in their hooks,
Alas ! it cry’d—Give me some drink, Titinius,—
As a sick girl. Ye Gods, it doth amaze me,
A man of such a feeble temper should
So get the start of the majestic world,
And bear the palm alone. Julius Ctfsar, act ii. se. 3.
Gloster, inflamed with resentment against his son
Edgar, could even force himself into a momentary con¬
viction that they were not related :
O strange fasten’d villain !
Would be deny his letter ?—I never got him.
King Lear, act ii. sc. 3.
When by great sensibility of heart, or other means, Pasnon.
grief becomes immoderate, the mind, in order to jus- u—-y—«.
tify itself, is prone to magnify the cause} and it the
real cause admit not of being magnified, the mind seeks
a cause for its grief in imagined future events :
Bushy. Madam, your majesty is much too sad :
You promis’d, when you parted with the king,
To fay aside self-harming heaviness,
And entertain a cheerful disposition.
Queen To please the king, I did } to please myself,
I cannot do it. Yet I know no cause
Why Ushould welcome such a guest as grief;
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
As my sweet Richard : yet again, methinks.
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune’s womb,
Is coming tow’rd me; and my inward soul
With something trembles, yet at nothing grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the king.
Bichard II. act ii. sc. 5.
Resentment at first is vented on the relations of the
offender, in order to punish him ; but as resentment,
when so outrageous, is contrary to conscience, the mind,
to justify its passion, is disposed to paint these rela¬
tions m the blackest colours; and it comes at last to
be convinced, that they ought to be punished for their
own demerits.
Anger, raised by an accidental stroke upon a tender
part of the body, is sometimes vented upon the unde¬
sip ning cause. But as the passion in that case is absuid,
and as there can be no solid gratification in punishing
the innocent, the mind, prone to justify as well as to
gratify its passion, deludes itsell into a conviction ol the
action’s being voluntary. The conviction, however, is.
but momentary ; the first reflection shows it to he erro¬
neous ; and the passion vanisheth almost instantaneously
with the conviction. But anger, the most violent of all
passions, has still greater influence : it sometimes forces
the mind to personify a stock or a stone if it happen to
occasion bodily pain, and even to believe it a voluntary
agent, in order to be a proper object ol resentment.
And that we have really a momentary conviction of its
being a voluntary agent, must be evident from consider¬
ing, that without such conviction the passion can neither
be^justified nor gratified r the imagination can give no
aid ; for a stock or a stone imagined insensible, cannot
be an object of punishment, if the mind be conscious
that it is an imagination merely without any reality (a).
Of such personification, involving a conviction ol reality,
there is one illustrious instance. When the first bridge
of boats over the Hellespont was destroyed by a storm,
Xerxes fell into a transport of rage, so excessive, that,
he commanded the sea to be punished with 300 stripes ;
and a pair of fetters to be thrown into it, enjoining the
following words to he pronounced : ii O thou sa.. and
bitter water! thy master hath condemned thee to this
punishment for offending him without cause; and is
r resolved
(A) We have already shown how a man may be instigated to wreak his vengeance on a stock or stone,
without ever considering whether it be sensible or insensible: (See Passion). If the story 0 er^e , ^
he mav have considered the sea as sensible and animated, without dreaming that a stock or a stone is so.
sea wZs i god among ma^y of the pagans, and was considered as such by Xerxes, otherwrse he could not have
applauded men for not sacrificing to it.
PAS [ 27 ] PAS
Passion, resolved to pass over thee in despite of thy insolence :
“■—v'—— with reason all men neglect to sacrifice to thee, because
thou att both disagreeable and treacherous.”
Shakespeare exhibits beautiful examples of the irregu¬
lar influence of passion in making us believe things to
be otherwise than they are. King Lear, in his distress,
personifies the rain, wind, and thunderj and in order to
justify his resentment, believes them to be taking part
with his daughters :
iLcar. Rumble thy bellyful, spit fire, spout rail! !
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters.
I tax not you, ye elements, with unkindness j
I never gave you kingdoms, call’d vou children ;
You owe me no subscription. Then let fall
our horrible pleasure.—Here I stand, your brave j
A poor, infirm, w'eak, and despised old man !
But yet I call you servile ministers,
That have with two pernicious daughters join’d
Your high-engender’d battles ’gainst a bead
So old and white as this. Oh ! oh ! ’tis foul !
Act iii. sc. 2.
King Richard, full of indignation against his favourite
horse for carrying Bolingbroke, is led into the convic¬
tion of his being rational :
Gj'oom. O, how it yearn’d my heart, when I beheld
In London streets, that coronation-day,
hen Bolingbroke rode on Roan Barbary,
That horse that thou so often hast bestrid,
I hat horse that I so carefully have dressed.
A. Rich. Rod he on Barbary ? tell me, gentle friend,
How went he under him P
Groom. So proudly as he had disdain’d the ground.
A. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!
That jade had eat bread from my royal hand,
fhis hand hath made him proud with clapping him.
Would he not stumble ? would he not fall down,
(Since pride must have a fall), and break the neck
Of that proud man that did usurp his back ?
Richard II. act v. sc. 11.
Hamlet, swelled with indignation at his mother’s second
marriage, was strongly inclined to lessen the time of her
widowhood, the shortness of the time being a violent
circumstance against her ; and he deludes himself by
degrees into the opinion of an interval shorter than the
real one:
Hamlet. — ■   ■ -That it should come to this !
But two months dead ! nay, not so much j not two 
So excellent a king, that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr : so loving to my mother,
Thot he permitted not the wind of heav’n
Visit her face too roughly. Heav’n and earth !
Alust I remember—why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown ♦
By what it fed on: yet, within a month 
Let me not think—Frailty, thy name is Woman !
A little month ! or ere those shoes were old,
With which she follow’d my poor father’s body,
Like Niobe, all tears why she, ev’n she—
(O heav’n ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Woo’d have mourn’d longer) married with mine uncle,
My father’s brother j but no more like my father
Thau I to Hercules. Within a month !—
Lre yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married Oh, most wicked speed ! to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets !
It is not, nor it cannot, come to good.
But break, my heart, for 1 must hold my tongue.
Act i. sc. 3.
The power of passion lo falsify the computation of
time is remarkable in this instance j because time, ha¬
ving an accurate measure, is less obsequious to our de¬
sires and wishes, than objects which have no precise
standard of magnitude.
Good news are greedily swallowed upon veiy slender
evidence ; our wishes magnify the probability of the
event, as well as the veracity of the relater j and we be¬
lieve as certain what at best is doubtful;
Quel, die Phnom vedc, amor li fa invisible
E 1’ invisibil fa veder amore.
Questo credute fu, die 1’ miser suole
Bar facile credenza a’ quel, die vuole.
Orland. Furios. cant. ist. 56.
For the same reason, bad news gain also credit upon the
slightest evidence : fear, if once alarmed, has the same
effect with hope, to magnify every circumstance that
tends to conviction, Shakespeare, who shows more
knowledge of human nature than any of our philoso¬
phers, hath in his Cymbeline represented this bias of the
mind •, for he makes the person who alone was affected
with the bad news, yield to evidence that did not con¬
vince any of his companions. And Othello is convinced
of his wife’s infidelity from circumstances too slight to
move any person less interested.
It the news interest us in so low a degree as to give
place to reason, the effect will not be altogether the
same : judging of the probability or improbability of
the story, the mind settles in a rational conviction ei¬
ther that it is true or not. But even in that case, the
mind is not allowed to rest in that degree of convic¬
tion which is produced by rational evidence : if the
news be in any degree favourable, our belief is raised
by hope to an improper height 5 and if unfavourable,
by fear.
Ibis observation holds equally with respect to future
events: if a future event be either much wished or dread¬
ed, the mind never fails to augment the probability be¬
yond ti*uth.
That easiness of belief, with respect to wonders and
prodigies, even the most absurd and ridiculous, is a
strange phenomenon; because nothing can be more
evident than the following proposition, That the more
singular any event is, the more evidence is required to
produce belief . a familiar event daily occurring, being
in itself extremely probable, finds ready credit, and
therefore is vouched by the slightest evidence ; but to
ovei come the improbability of a strange and rare event,
contrary to the course of nature, the very strongest evi¬
dence is required. It is certain, however, that won¬
ders and prodigies are swallowed by the vulgar, upon
evidence that would not be sufficient to ascertain the
most familiar occurrence. It has been reckoned diffi¬
cult to explain that irregular bias of mind ; but we are
now made acquainted with the influence of passion up¬
on opinion and belief; a story of ghosts or fairies, told
II 2 ' with
PAS [ 28 ] PAS
Passion, with an air of gravity and truth, rairieth an emotion of
1 ^vender, and perhaps of dread ; and these emotions im¬
posing on a weak mind, impress upon it a thorough
conviction contrary to reason.
Opinion and belief are influenced by propensity as
well as by passion. An innate propensity is all have
to convince us that the operations of nature are uni¬
form : influenced by that propensity, we olten rashly
think, that good or bad weather will never have an
end; and in natural philosophy, writers, influenced by
.the same propensity, stretch commonly their analogical
Reasonings beyond just bounds. See Mltaphysics,
133, 134*
Opinion and belief are influenced by affection as well
as by propensity. The noted story of a fine lady and a
curate viewing the moon through a telescope is a plea¬
sant illustration: “ I perceive (says the lady) two sha¬
dows inclining to each other; they are certainly two
happy lovers “ Not at all (replies the curate), they
are two steeples of a cathedral.”
Language of Passion. Among the particulars that
compose the social part of our nature, a propensity to
communicate our opinions, our emotions, and every
thing that allects us, is remarkable. Bad fortune and
injustice affect us greatly, and of these we are so prone
to complain, that if we have no friend or acquaint¬
ance to take part in our sufferings, we sometimes utter
our complaints aloud, even when there are none to
listen. . f
But this propensity operates not in every state ot
mind. A man immoderately grieved, seeks to afflict
himself, rejecting all consolation: immoderate griel ac¬
cordingly is mnte ; complaining is struggling tor con¬
solation.
It is the wretch’s comfort still to have
Some small reserve of near and inward wo,
Some unsuspected hoard of inward grief,
Which they unseen may wail, and weep, and mourn,
And glutton-like alone devour.
Mourning Pride, act 1. sc. 1.
When grief subsides, it then, and no sooner, finds a
tongue : we complain, because complaining is an eflort
to disburden the mind of its distress. I his observation
is finely illustrated by a story which Herodotus records,
book iii. Cambyses, when he conquered Egypt, made
Psammeticus the king prisoner; and for trying his con¬
stancy, ordered his daughter to be dressed in the habit
of a slave, and to be employed in bringing water trom
the river; liis son also was led to execution with a halter
about his neck. The Egyptians vented their sorrow m
tears and lamentations: Psammeticus only, with a down¬
cast eye, remained silent. Afterward meeting orm ot
his companions, a man advanced in years, who, being
plundered of all, was begging alms, he wept bitterly,
•'ailing him by his name. Cambyses, struck with won¬
der demanded an answer to the following question :
Psammeticus, thy master Cambyses is desirous to
know why, after thou hadst seen thy daughter so igno-
miniously treated, and thy son led to execution, without
exclaiming or weeping, thou shouldst be so highly con¬
cerned for a poor man noway related to thee . I sam-
meticus returned the following answer: “ Son of Cyrus,
the calamities of my family are too great to leave me
the power of weeping; .but the misfortunes ot a compa¬
nion, reduced in his old age to want 01 oieau,
subject for lamentation.”
Surprise and terror are silent passions, for a different
reason: they agitate the mind so violently, as tor a time
to suspend the exercise of its faculties, and among otlieit?
the faculty of speech.
Love and revenge, when immoderate, are not more
loquacious than immoderate grief. But when these pas¬
sions become moderate, they set the tongue tree, and
like moderate grief, become loquacious. .Moderate
lo%'e, when unsuccessful, is vented in complaints; when
successful, is full of joy expressed by words and ges¬
tures.
As no passion hath any long uninterrupted existence,
nor beats always with an equal pulse, the language sug¬
gested by passion is not only unequal but frequently in¬
terrupted ; and even during an uninterrupted.fit of pas¬
sion, we only express in words the more capital senti¬
ments. In familiar conversation, one who vents every,
single thought, is justly branded with the character or
loquacity; because sensible people express no thoughts
but what make some figure : in the same manner, we.
are only disposed to express the strongest impulses ot
passion, especially when it returns with impetuosity al¬
ter interruption. . . * „
It is elsewhere observed * that the sentiments ought * See the
to be tuned to the passion, and the language to ^^5/*
Elevated sentiments require elevated language : tender
sentiments ought to be clothed in words that are soft
and flowing: when the mind is depressed with any pas¬
sion, the sentiments must be expressed in words that arc
humble, not low. Words being intimately connected
with the ideas they represent, the greatest harmony is
required between them : to express, for example, an
humble sentiment in high-sounding words, is disagree¬
able by a discordant mixture of feelings ; and the dis¬
cord is not less when elevated sentiments are dressed in
low words :
Versibus expom tragicis res comica non vult.
Indignatur item privatis ac prope socco
Dienis carmmibus narrari ccena Thyestae.
Horat. Ars Poet. 1. 89.
This,however, excludes not figurative expression,which,
within moderate bounds, communicates to the sentiment
an agreeable elevation. We are sensible ot an ellect
directly opposite, where figurative expression is indulged
beyond a just measure: the opposition between the ex¬
pression and the sentiment makes the discord appear
greater than it is in reality.
At the same time, figures are not equally the lan¬
guage of every passion : pleasant emotions, which ele¬
vate or swell the mind, vent themselves in strong epi¬
thets and figurative expression ; but humbling and dis¬
piriting passions aflect to speak plain :
Et tragicus plerumque dolet sermone pedestri.
Telephus et Peleus, cum pauper et exul uterque,
Piojicit ampullas et sesquipedalia verba,
Si curat cor spectantis tetigisse querela.
Horat. Ars Poet. 95.
Figurative expression, being the work of an enlivened
imagination, cannot be the language of anguish or di¬
stress. Otway, sensible of this, has painted a scene of
distress in colours finely adapted to the subject: there is
scarcely
PAS [29
Passion, scarcely a figure in it, except a short anil natural simile
v—with which the speech is introduced. Belvidera, talk¬
ing to her father of her husband :
Think you saw what past at our last parting;
Think you beheld him like a raging lion,
Pacing the earth, and tearing up his steps,
Fate in his eyes, and roaring with the pain,
Of burning fury ; think you saw his one hand
Fix’d on my throat, while the extended other
Grasp’d a keen threat’ning dagger : oh, ’twas thus
We last embrac’d, when, trembling with revenge,
He dragg’d me to the ground, and at my bosom
Presented horrid death j cry’d out, My friends !
Where are my friends ? swore, wept, rag’d, threaten’d,
lov’d $
For he yet lov’d, and that dear love preserv’d me
To this last trial of a father’s pity.
I fear not death, but cannot bear a thought
That that dear hand should do th’ unfriendly office.
If! was ever then your care, now hear me j
I iy to the senate, save the promis’d lives
Ot his dear friends, ere mine he made the sacrifice.
Venice Preserved, Act v.
To preserve the foresaid resemblance between words
and their meaning, the sentiments of active and hurry¬
ing passions ought to be dressed in words where syllables
prevail that are pronounced short or fast $ for these make
an impression of hurry and precipitation. Emotions, on
the other hand, that rest upon their objects, are best ex¬
pressed by ivords where syllables prevail that are pro¬
nounced long or slow. A person affected with melan¬
choly, has a languid and slow train of perceptions. The
expression best suited to that state of mind, is where
words, not only of long, but of many syllables, abound
in the composition j and for that reason, nothing can be
liner than the following passage
In those deep solitudes, and awful cells,
Where heav’nly-pensive Contemplation dwells,
And ever-musing Melancholy reigns.
Pope, Eloisa to Abelard.
To preserve the Same resemblance, another circumstance
is requisite, that the language, like the emotion, be
rough or smooth, broken or uniform. Calm and sweet
emotions are best expressed by words that glide softly :
surprise, fear, and other turbulent passions, require an
expression both rough and broken.
It cannot have escaped any diligent inquirer into na¬
ture, that, in the hurry of passion, one generally expres¬
ses that thing first which is most at heart $ which is
beautifully done in the following passage :
Me, Me j adsum qui feci: in me convertite ferrum,
O Kutuli, mea fraus omnis. JEneid, ix. 427.
Passion has often the effect of redoubling words, the
better to make them express the strong conception of
the mind. I his is finely imitated in the following ex¬
amples.
 ————Thou sun, said I, fair light!
And thou enlighten’d earth, so fresh and gay !
Ye hills and dales, ye rivers, woods, and plains !
} PAS
And ye that live, and move, fair creatures I tell, Passion.
Tell, if ye saw, how came 1 thus, how here.— v— 
Paradise Lost, viii. 273.
—   .■—.Both have sinn’d ! but thou
Against God only j I, ’gainst God and thee j
And to the place of judgment will return ;
There with my cries importune Heav’n, that all
'1 he sentence, from thy head remov’d, may light
On me, sole cause to thee of all this wo j
Me ! me ! only just object of his ire.
Paradise Lost, x. 930.
In general, the language of violent passion ought to
be broken and interrupted. Soliloquies ought to be so
in a peculiar manner : language is intended by nature,
for society ; and a man when alone, though he always
clothes his thoughts in words, seldom gives his words
utterance, unless when prompted by some strong emo¬
tion ; and even then by starts and intervals only.
Shakespeare’s soliloquies may be justly established as a
model j lor it is not easy to conceive any model more
perfect. Of his many incomparable soliloquies, the two
following only shall be quoted, being different in their
manner.
Hamlet. Oh, that this too, too solid flesh would
melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew !
Or that the Everlasting had not fix’d
His canon ’gainst self-slaughter ! O God ! O God 1
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable,
Seem to me all the uses of this world !
I ie on’t! O fie ! ’tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed : things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely That it should come to this !
But two months dead ! nay, not so much j net two—
So excellent a king, that Avas, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my mother,
That he permitted not the winds of heav’n
Visit her face too roughly. Heav’n and earth !
Must I remember—why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on : yet, within a month——
Let me not think—Frailty, thy name is Woman !
A little month ! or ere those shoes were old,
With which she follow’d my poor father’s body,
Eike Niobe, all tears— —-why she, even she—
(O heav’n ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason.
Would have mourn’d longer—) married -with mine
uncle,
My father’s brother; hut no more like my father
Than I to Hercules. Within a month !——
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married Oh, most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets !
It is not, nor it cannot come to good.
But break, my he^rt, for I must hold m,y tongue.
Hamlet, Act.i. sc. 3.
“ Ford. Hum ! ha ! is this a vision P is this a dream ?
“ do I sleep ? Mr Ford, awake j awake, Mr Ford j
“ there’s a hole made in your best coat, Mr Ford ! this
“ ’tis to be married ! this ’tis to have , linen and buck
“•baskets! Well, I will proclaim myself what I am v
PAS [5©
Passion. “ I Tvill'now take the leaclier j he is at my house j
y—<( J1C cannot ’scape me } ’tis impossible he should } he
^ 4< cannot creep into a halipenny purse, nor into a pep-
44 per-box. I^ut lest the devil that puides him should
“ aid him, I will search impossible places 3 tho’ what 1
44 am I cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not, shall
44 not make me tame.”
Merry TFtves of JFindsor, act iii. sc. last.
These soliloquies are accurate and hold copies of na¬
ture : in a passionate soliloquy one begins with think¬
ing-aloud, and the strongest feelings only are expres¬
sed 3 as the speaker warms, he begins to imagine one
listening, and gradually slides into a connected dis¬
course.
How far distant arc soliloquies generally from these
models ? So far indeed as to give disgust instead of plea¬
sure. The first scene of Iphigenia in Tauris discovers
that princess, in a soliloquy, gravely reporting to her¬
self her own history. There is the same impropriety in
the first scene of Alcestes, and in the other introductions
of Euripides, almost without exception. Nothing can
he more ridiculous 3 it puts one in mind of a most curi¬
ous device in Gothic paintings, that of making every fi¬
gure explain itself by a written label issuing from its
mouth. The description which a parasite, in the Eu¬
nuch of Terence (act ii. sc. 2.) gives of himself, makes
a sprightly soliloquy : hut it is not consistent with the
rules of propriety 3 for no man, 111 his ordinary state of
mind and upon a familiar subject, ever thinks of talking
aloud to himself. The same objection lies against a so¬
liloquy in the Adelphi of the same author (acti. sc. 1.).
i'he soliloquy which makes the third scene, act thud of
)iis Heicyra, is insufferable 3 for there Pamphilus, sober¬
ly and circumstantially, relates to himself an adventure
which had happened to him a moment before.
Corneille is unhappy in his soliloquies: lake for a
specimen the first scene of Cinna.
Racine is extremely faulty in the same respect. Ilis
soliloquies arc regular harangues, a chain completed in
every link, without interruption or interval : that of
Antiochus in Berenice (act i. sc. 2.) resembles a regu¬
lar pleading, where the parties pro and con display
their arguments at full length. The following solilo¬
quies are equally faulty : Bajazet, act iii. sc. y. 3 -djj-
ihridate, act iii. sc. 4. and act iv. sc. 5. ; Iphigenia,
act iv. sc. 8.
Soliloquies upon lively or interesting subjects, hut
without any turbulence of passion, may be carried on in
a continued chain of thought. If, for example, the na¬
ture and sprightliness of the subject prompt a man to
speak his thoughts in the form of a dialogue, the ex¬
pression must be carried on without break or interrup¬
tion, as in a dialogue between two persons 3 which jus¬
tifies Falstaff’s soliloquy upon honour : ‘
44 What need I be so forward with Death, that calls
44 not on me ? Well, ’tis no matter, Honour pricks me
“ on. But how, if Honour prick me oft, when I come
44 on ? how then P Can honour set a leg ? No. Or an
44 arm ? No. Or take away the grief of an wound ?
44 No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then ? No.
44 What is Honour ? A word.—What is that,word ho-
44 nonrV Air; a trim reckoning.— Who hath it P He
44 that dy’d a Wednesday. Doth he feel it ? No.
44 JDoth he hear it ? No. Is it insensible then ? Yea,
] PAS
44 to the dead. But will it not live with the living? Pawsiou,
44 No. Why ? Detraction will not sutler it. J hereiore —
44 I’ll none of it 3 honour is a mere scutcheon : and so
44 ends my catechism.”
First Part, Henry 1V. act v. sc. 2.
And even without dialogue a continued discourse may¬
be justified, where a man reasons in a soliloquy upon in
important subject: for if in such a case it he at all ex¬
cusable to think aloud, it is necessary, that the reasoning
be carried on in a chain 3 which justifies that admirable
soliloquy in Hamlet upon life and immortality, being a
serene meditation upon the most interesting of all sub¬
jects. And the same consideration will justify the soli¬
loquy that introduces the 5th act of Addison’s Cato.
Language ought not to be elevated above the tone ot
the sentiment.
Zara. Swift as occasion I
Myself will fly 3 and earlier than the morn
Wake thee to freedom. Now ’tis late 3 and yet
Some news few minutes past arriv’d, which seem’d
To shake the temper of the king W ho knows
What racking cares disease a monarch’s bed ?
Or love, that late at night still lights his lamp,
And strikes his rays through dusk, and folded lids,
Forbidding rest, rnay stretch his eyes awake,
And force their balls abroad at this dead hour.
J’l] try. Mourning Bride, act iii. sc. 4.
The language here is undoubtedly too pompous and la¬
boured for describing so simple a circumstance as absence
of sleep. In the following passage, the tone of the lan¬
guage, warm and plaintive, is well suited to the passion,
which is recent grief: but every one will he sensible,
that in the last couplet save one the tone is changed,
and the mind suddenly elevated to be let fall as suddenly
in the last couplet:
II deteste a jamais isa coupable victoire,
II renounce a la cour, aux humains, a la gloire
Ft se fuiant lui-meme, au milieu des deserts,
11 va cacher sa peine au bout de 1’univers 3
La, soil (jiie le soldi rendit le jour au inonde,
Soit cfdil fink sa course au vaste sevn de Vonde,
Savoix faisoit redire aux echos attendris,
Le nom, le triste nom, de son malheureux fils.
Hcnriade, chant, viii. 229.
Light and airy language is unsuitable to a severe
passion. _ .
Imagery and figurative expression are discordant, in
the highest degree, with the agony ot a mother, who
is deprived of twTo hopeful sons by a biutal murder.
Therefore the following passage is undoubtedly in a bad
taste:
Queen. Ah, my poor princes ! ah, my tender babes !
My unblown flowers, new appearing sweets !
If yet your gentle souls fly in the air,
And he not fixt in doom perpetual.
Hover about me with your airy wings,
And hear your mother’s lamentation.
Richard III. act iv. sc. 4.
Again :
K. Philip. You are as fond of grief as of your child.
Constance. Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies
p A s C 31 ] P^A S
Passion. Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuft's out his vacant garment with his form j
Then have I reason to he fond of grief.
K. John, act iii. sc. 9.
Thoughts that turn upon the expression instead of
the subject, commonly called a. play of wat'ds, being
low and childish, are unworthy of any composition,
whether gay or serious, that pretends to any degree of
elevation.
In the Amynta of Tasso, the lover falls into a mere
play of words, demanding how he who had lost himself,
could find a mistress. And for the same reason, the
following passage in Corneille has been generally con¬
demned :
Chimene. Mon pere est mort, Elvire, et la premiere
epee
.Dont s’est armee Rodrigue a sa trame coupee.
Pleurez, pleurez, mes yeux, et fondez-vous en eaux,
La moietie de ma vie a mis I’autre au tombeau,
Et m’oblige a venger, apres ce coup funeste,
Celle rpie je n’ai plus, sur celle que me reste.
Cid, act iii. sc. 3.
To die is to be banish’d from myself:
And Sylvia is myself: banish’d from her,
Is self from self; a deadly banishment!
Two Gentlemen of Verona, act iii. sc. 3.
Countess. I pray thee, Lady, have a better cheer:
If thou engrossest all the griefs as thine,
Thou robb’st me of a moiety.
Airs well that ends well, act iii. sc. 3.
K. Henry. O my poor kingdom, sick with civil
blows !
When that my care could not withhold thy riots,
What wilt thou do when riot is thy care?
O, thou wilt be a wilderness again,
Peopled W'ith wolves, thy old inhabitants.
Second Part, Henry H. act iv. sc. 11.
Cruda Amarilli, che col nome ancora
D’amar, ahi lasso, amaramente insegni.
Pastor Fido, act i. sc. 2.
Antony, speaking of Julius Caesar:
O world ! thou wast the forest of this hart;
And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee.
How l:ke a deer, stricken by many princes,
Host thou here lie ! Julius Ceesar, act iii. sc. 3.'
Playing thus with the sound of words, which is still
worse than a pun, is the meanest of all conceits. But
Shakespeare, when he descends to a play of words
is not always in the wrong j for it is done sometimes to
denote a peculiar character, as in the following pas¬
sage :
K. Philip. What say’st thou, boy ? look in the lady’s
face.
Lewis. I do, my Lord, and in her eye I find
A wonder, or a wond’rous miracle j
.The shadow of myself form’d in her eye 5
Which being but the shadow of your son,
Becomes a son, and makes your son a shadows
I do protest, I never lov’d myself
Till now infixed I beheld myself 1
Drawn in the flatt’ring table of her eye.
Faulconbridge. Drawn in the flatt’ring table of her
eye !
Hang’d in the frowning wrinkle of her brow!
And quarter’d in her heart! he doth espy
Himself Love’s traitor: this is pity now,
That hang’d and drawn, and quarter’d there should be,
In sucli a love so vile a lout as he.
King John, act ii. sc. 5,
A jingle of words is the lowest species of that low
wit, which is scarcely sufferable in any case, and least
ot all in an heroic poem : and yet Milton in some in¬
stances has descended to that puerility :
And brought into the world a world of wo.
■ Begirth th’ Almighty throne
Beseeching or besieging 
Which tempted our attempt 
At one slight bound high overleap’d all bound?
*     -With a shout
Loud as from numbers without number.
One should think it unnecessary to enter a caveat
against an expression that has no meaning, or no distinct
meaning 5 and yet somewhat of that kind may be found
even among good wTriters.
Sebastian. I beg no pity for this mould’ring clay.
For if you give it burial, there it takes
Possession of your earth :
If burnt and scatter’d in the air j the winds
That strow my dust, diffuse my royalty,
And spread me o’er your clime j for where one atom ;
Of mine shall light, know there Sebastian reigns.
Dkyden, Don Sebastian King of Portugal, act. i..
Cleopatra. Now, what news, my Charmion ?
Will he be kind ; and.will he not forsake me?
Am I to live or die ? nay, do I live ?
Or am I dead ? for when he gave his answer,
late took the word, and then I liv’d or dy’d.
Dryden, All for Love, act. ii.
If she be coy, and scorn my noble fire,
ft her chill heart I cannot move 5
Why, I’ll enjoy the very love,
And make a mistress of my own desire.
Cowley, poem inscribed “The Request.”
His whole poem inscribed My Picture is a jargon of
the same kind.
    ’Tis he, they cry, by whom
Not men but war itself is overcome.
Indian Queen.
Such empty expressions are finely ridiculed in the Re*
hearsal.
Was’t not unjust to ravish hence her breath,
And in life’s stead to leave us nought but death ?
Act iv. sc. I.
Passions, in Medicine, make one of the non-natu¬
rals, and produce very sensible effects. Joy, anger, and
fear, are the principal, In the two first, the spirits are
hurried with too great vivacity j whereas, in fear or
dread,
Passion.
¥ See Ora-
ory, N°
to. 37.
Plates
ccccv.
and
CCCCVI,
PAS [32
dread, they are as it were curbed and concentrated :
whence we may conclude, that they have a very bad ef¬
fect upon health 5 and therefore it will be best to keep
them within bounds as much as possible, and to preserve
an inwaid serenity, calmness, and tranquillity.
Passions, in Painting, are the external expressions ol
the different dispositions and affections of the mind $ but
particularly their different effects upon the several fea¬
tures of the face : for though the arms, and indeed eve¬
ry part of the body*, serve likewise, by their quick,
languid, and variously diversified motions, to express the
passions of the soul; yet, in painting, this difference is
most conspicuous in the face. See Painting, an
Drawing, § 8.
As we have given engravings of Le Brun s drawings
of the passions, we shall here subjoin the account which
he has given of each of these heads.
1. The effects of attention are, to make the eyebrows
sink and approach the sides of the nose; to turn the
eyeballs toward the object that causes it; to open the
' mouth, and especially the upper part; to decline the
head a little, and fix it without any other remarkable
alteration. . , . ,
2. Admiration causes but little agitation m the mind,
and therefore alters but very little the parts of the face •,
nevertheless the eyebrow rises-, the eye opens a little
more than ordinary j the eyeball placed equally be¬
tween the eyelids appears fixed on the object 5 the
mouth half opens, and makes no sensible alteration in
tlic checks* ,
2 The motions that accompany admiration with asto¬
nishment are hardly different from those of simple admi¬
ration, only they are more lively and stronger marked
the eyebrows more elevated j the eyes more open the
eyeball further from the lower eyelid, and more steadily
fixed : The mouth is more open, and all the parts m a
much stronger emotion.
4 Admiration begets esteem, and this produces venc-
, ration, which, when it has for its object something di¬
vine or beyond our comprehension, makes the tace de¬
cline and the eyebrows bend down j the eyes are almost
. shut and fixed: the mouth is shut. These motions are
gentle, and produce but little,alteration in the other
Dftrts*
r Although rapture has the same object as venera¬
tion, only considered in a different manner its motions
are not the same ; the head inclines to the left side ;
the eyeballs and eyebrows rise directly up j the mouth
half opens, and the two corners are also a little turned
up : the other parts remain in their natural state.
6. The passion of cfom-e brings the eyebrows close to¬
gether and forwards toward the eyes, which are more
open than ordinary : the eyeball is inflamed, and places
itself in the middle of the eye 5 the nostrils rise up, and
are contracted towards the eyes the mouth hall opens,
and the spirits being i» motion give a lively glowing
C° 7. Very little alteration is remarked in the face of
those that feel within themselves the sweetness of joy, or
joy with tranquillity. The forehead is serene ; the eye¬
brow without motion, elevated in the middle j the eye
pretty open and with a laughing air *, the eyeball lively
ajad shining y the corners of the mouth turn up a little y
the complexion is lively y the cheeks and lips axe red.
] PAS
8. Laughter, which is produced by joy mixed with Fassioft.
surprise, makes the eyebrow rise towards the middle ot v
the eye, and bend towards the sides of the nose y the
eyes are almost shut, and sometimes appear wet, or sued
tears, which make no alteration in the lace y the mouth
half open, shows the teeth y the corners of the mouth
drawn back, cause a wrinkle hr the cheeks, which ap¬
pear so swelled as to hide the eyes in some measure y
the nostrils are open, and all the lace is ot a red co¬
lour.
9. Acute pain makes the eyebrows approach one an¬
other, and rise towards the middle y the eyeball is hid
under the eyebrows y the nostrils rise and make a wrinkle
in the cheeks y the mouth half opens and draws back :
all the parts of the face are agitated in proportion to the
violence of the pain.
10. Simple bodily pain produces proportionally the
same motions as the last, but not so strong : T-he eye¬
brow's do not approach and rise so much y the eyeball
appears fixed on some object y the nostrils rise, but the
wrinkles in the cheeks are less perceivable y the lips are
further asunder towards the middle, and the mouth is
..half open.
11. The dejection that is produced by sadness makes
the eyebrows rise towards the middle of the forehead
more than towards the cheeks y the eyeball appears full
of perturbation 5 the white of the eye is yellow y the
eyelids are drawn down, and a little swelled y all about
the eyes is livid y the nostrils are drawn downward y the
mouth is half open, and the corners are drawn down y
the head carelessly leaning on one of the shoulders : the
face is of a lead colour y the lips pale.
12. The alterations that weeping occasions are strong¬
ly marked : The eyebrows sink down towards the mid¬
dle of the forehead y the eyTes are almost closed, wet, and
drawn down towards the cheeks y the nostrils swelled y
the muscles and veins of the forehead appear y the inoulii
is shut, and the sides of it are drawn down, making
wrinkles on the cheeks y the under lip pushed out, pres¬
ses the upper oney all the face is wrinkled and contract¬
ed y its colour is red, especially about the eyebrows, the
eyes, the nose, and the cheeks.
13. The lively attention to the misfortunes of another,
which is called compassion, causes the eyebrows to sink
towards the middle of the forehead y the eyeball to be
fixed upon the object; the sides of the nostrils next the
nose to he a little elevated, making wrinkles in the
cheeks y the mouth to be open ; the upper lip to be lift¬
ed up and thrust forwards y the muscles and all the parts
of the face sinking down and turning towards the object
which excites the passion.
14. The motions of scorn are lively and strong : 1 he
forehead is wrinkled 5 the eyebrow is knit y the side ot
it next the nose sinks down, and the other side rises ve¬
ry much y the eye is very open, and the eyeball is in
the middle y the nostrils rise, and draw towards the eyesf
and make wrinkles in the cheeks y the mouth shuts, its
sides sinking down, and the under-lip is pushed out be¬
yond the upper one*
15. An object despised sometimes causes horror, and
then the eyebrow knits, and sinks a great deal moi e.
The eyeball, placed at the bottom of the eye, is halt co¬
vered by the lower eyelid y the mouth is half open, hut
closer in the middle than the sides, which being drawn
TR ANQ TJILIjITY.
•To IT.
PASSIONS.
PIATE CCCCV.
slnMJIt /! TTOX.
SCOKX * H^trmd. Horror.
slS I'ONI&ITMEJV T.
JjSI UGH 'TER.
WEERJZTG .
PASSION'S.
PLin; cc( cw
^uri’TE distress or'Jiom- * Mis n.
C on i’-is si ox.
^ixosx Mixed with dear .
Drsn.tix.
//:. /so////'*//./ So/rfo •/
PAS
Passive.
Passion back, makes wrinkles in the cheeks; the face grows
pale, and the eyes become livid ; the muscles and the
veins are marked.
16. The violence of terror or fright, alters all the
parts of the face j the eyebrow rises in the middle j
its muscles are marked,'swelled, pressed one against
the other, and sunk towards the nose, which draws up as
well as the nostrils; the eyes are very open j the upper
eyelid is hid under the eyebrow j the white of the eye
is encompassed with red; the eyeball fixes toward the
lower part of the eye ; the lower part of the eyelid
swells and becomes livid; the muscles of the nose and
cheeks swell, and these last terminate in a point toward
the sides of the nostrils ; the mouth is very open, and its
corners very apparent; the muscles and veins of the
neck stretched ; the hair stands on end ; the colour of
the face, that is, the end of the nose, the lips, the ears,
and round the eyes, is pale and livid; and all ought to
be strongly marked.
17. The effects of anger show its nature. The eyes
become red and inflabied ; the eyeball is staring and
sparkling; the eyebrows are sometimes elevated and
sometimes sunk down equally : the forehead is very
much wrinkled, with wrinkles between the eyes ; the
nostrils are open and enlarged: the lips pressing against
one another, the under one rising over the upper one,
leaves the corners of the mouth a little open, making a
cruel and disdainful grin.
18. Hatred and jealousy wrinkles the forehead; the
eyebrows are sunk down and knit; the eyeball is
half hid under the eyebrows, which turn towards the
object; it should appear full of fire, as well as the white
of the eye and the eyelid ; the nostrils are pale, open,
more marked than ordinary, and drawn backward so
as to make wrinkles in the cheeks; the mouth is so
shut as to show the teeth are closed ; the corners of
the mouth are drawn back and very much sunk ; the
muscles of the jaw appear sunk ; the colour of the face
is partly inflamed and partly yellowish ; the lips pale or
livid.
19. As despair is extreme, its motions are so likewise;
the forehead wrinkles from the top to the bottom ; the
eyebrows bend down over the eyes, and press one ano¬
ther on the sides of the nose ; the eye seems to be on
fire, and full of blood ; the eyeball is disturbed, hid un¬
der the eyebrow, sparkling and unfixed ; the eyelid is
swelled and livid ; the nostrils are large, open, and lift-
ed up; the end of the nose sinks down ; the muscles,
tendons, and veins, are swelled and stretched; the upper
part of the cheeks is large, marked, and narrow towards
the jaw; the mouth drawn backwards is more open at
the sides than in the middle; the lower lip is large and
turned out; they gnash their teeth; they foam ; they
bite their lips, which are pale ; as in the rest of the
face ; the hair is straight and stands on end.
Passign Flower. See Passiflora, Botany In¬
dex.
PASsiON-JFeek, the week immediately preceding the
festival of Easter; so called, because in that week
our Saviour’s passion and death happened. The Thurs¬
day of this week is called Maunday Thursday; the
Friday, Good Friday; and the Saturday, the Great
Sabbath.
PASSIVE, in general, denotes something that suffers
the action of another, called an agent or active power.
Vol. XVI. Part L f
[ 33 ]
PAS
In grammar, the verb or word that expresses this passion Passive
is termed a passive verb : which, in the learned langua- !!
ges, has a peculiar termination ; as amor, doceor, &c. ^saive
in Latin; that is an r is added to the actives, a/no, ^kedience.
docco: and, in the Greek, the inflection is made by v
changing u into o(xui; as tvttIm, &c. But in
the modern languages, the passive inflection is performed
by means of auxiliary verbs, joined to the participle of
the past tense ; as, “ I am praised,” in Latin laudor,
and in Greek iTrzmopxt •, or, “ 1 am loved1” in Latin
amor, and in Greek (ptMopxi. Thus it appears that the
auxiliary verb am, serves to form the passives of Eng¬
lish verbs : and the same holds of the French ; as, Je
suisfoue, “ I am praised ;” j'aiete loue, “ I have been
praised, &c. See Grammar.
Passive Title, in Scots Law. See Law, Part ill.
N° clxxx. 30.
Passive Obedience, a political doctrine which has
been much misrepresented, and is, of course, very ob¬
noxious to the friends of freedom. Some nonjurors, in
the end of the last and in the beginning of the passing
century, imagining that monarchy is the only lawful
form of government, and that hereditary monarchy is
the only lawful species of that government, have coupled
with passive obedience the ridiculous notion of a divine,
hereditary, indefeasible right of certain families to go¬
vern with despotic sway all other families of the same
nation. The absurdity of this notion needs not to be
dwelt upon ; but it may not be improper, to observe,
that it has nothing to do with passive obedience.
As taught by the ablest reasoners, who think that
they are supported by the holy scripture, passive obedi¬
ence is as much a duty under republican as under mo¬
narchical governments; and it means no more, but that
private individuals are bound by the most solemn moral
ties not to resist the supreme power wheresoever placed
in any nation. The supreme power can only be the le¬
gislature ; and no man or body of men, who have not
the power of enacting and abrogating laws can, on this
principle, claim passive obedience from any subject.
hether the principle be well or ill founded, the ab¬
surdity which commonly attaches to the phrase passive
obedience, originates from the mistaken loyalty of the
adherents of the house of Stuart, who to aggravate the
illegality of the revolution, were wont to represent
James II. as supreme over both houses of parliament,
and of course over all law. That such reveries were
foolish, we need no farther evidence than the statute-
book, which shows, that in the office of legislation, the
king, lords, and commons, are co-ordlnat* ; and that
when any one of these powers shall take upon itself to
counteract the other two, the duty of passive obedience
will oblige the subject to support the legislature That
resistance to the legislature, if lawful on any occasion,
can be so only to oppose the most violent tyrannv, has
been shown by Mr Hume with great cogency of argu¬
ment, and is indeed a proposition self-evident. That it
can never be lawful on any occasion, Bishop Be rkeh y
endeavoured to prove by a chain of reasoning which
it would be difficult to break. We enter not into
the controversy, but refer our readers to Hume’s Es¬
says, and Berkeley’s Passive Obedience and Nonresist-
ance, or, as it was intitled by a late editor. The Mea¬
sure of Submission to Civil Government. We shall on¬
ly observe, that there is a great difference between
E active
PAS
[ 34 ]
Passive active ami passive obedience •, and that many who con-
Obedience Sxder themselves as bound on no accozm^ whatever to re-
il sist the supreme power, would yet suffer death rather
.Passover.. than do an jmm0ral action in obedience to any law ot
earthly origin. . .. . . , , ,
Passive Prayer, among the mystic divines, is a total
suspension or ligature of the intellectual faculties •, m
virtue whereof, the soul remains of itself, and as to its
own power, impotent with regard to the producing of
any effects. The passive state, according to Fenelon, is
only passive in the same sense as contemplation is, t. e.
it does not exclude peaceable, disinterested acts, but
only unquiet ones, or such as tend to our own interest.
In the pasive state, the soul has not properly any acti¬
vity, and sensation, of its own : it is a mere infinite
flexibility of the soul, to which the feeblest impulse et
jrrace gives motion.
PASSOVER, a solemn festival of the Jews, institu¬
ted in commemoration of their coming out of Egypt;
because the night before their departure, the destroying
angel, who put to death the first-born of the Egyptians,
passed over the houses of the Hebrews without entering
therein, because they were marked with the blood of
the lamb which was killed the evening before, and which
for this reason was called the paschal lamb. This feast
was calledpascha by the old Greeks and Romans} not
we presume from ‘irxo-y.u, “I suffer,” as Chrysostom, iie-
nseus, and Tertullian, suppose, but from the Hebrew
word pesah, passage, leap. The following is what God
ordained concerning the passover of the Jews, (Cxoi.
xii.). The month of the coming forth from Egypt was
looked upon from this time to be the first month of the
sacred or ecclesiastical year, and the fourteenth day ot
this month, between the two vespers, that is, between
the sun’s decline and his setting : or rather, according
to our manner of reckoning, between two o’clock in
the afternoon and six o’clock in the evening at the equi¬
nox, they were to kill the paschal lamb, and to abstain
from leavened bread The day following being the fif¬
teenth, counting from six o’clock ot the foregoing even¬
ing, which concluded the fourteenth, was the grand
fea-t of the passover, which continued seven days. But
it was only the first and the seventh day that were so¬
lemn. The lamb that was killed ought to be without
any defect, a male, and yeaned that year. If no lamb
could be found, they might take a kid. they killed a
lamb or a kid in every family ; and if the number ot
those that lived in the house was not sufficient to eat a
lamb, they might join two houses together. With the
blood of the paschal lamb they sprinkled the door-posts
and lintel of every house, that the destroying angel, at
the sight of the blood, might pass over them, and save
the Hebrew children. rl hey were to eat the lamb the
same night that followed the sacrifice*, they ate it roast¬
ed, with unleavened bread, and a salad of wild lettuce.
The Hebrew says literally, with bitter things, as suppose
mustard, or any thing of this nature to give a relish. It
was forbid to eat auy part of it rarf, or boiled in water,
nor were they to break a bone, (Exod. vii. 46. Numb,
ix. 12. John xix. 36.) *, and if any thing remained to
the day following, it was thrown into the fire. They
that ate it were to be in the posture of travellers, ha¬
ving their reins girt, their shoes on their feet, their staves
in their bands, and eating in a hurry. But this last part
«f the ceremony was but little observed, at least it was
3
PAS
of no obligation, but only upon that night they came Passover,
forth out of Egpyt. For the whole eight days of the “
passover no leavened bread was to be used j and who¬
ever should eat any, was threatened to be cut off
from his people. With regard to the ceremonies which
are observed in relation to the bread, see the article
Bread.
They keep the first and last day of the feast, yet so
as that it was allowed to dress victuals, which was for¬
bidden on the Sabbath-day. The obligation of keeping
the passover was so strict, that whoever should neglect to
do it, was condemned to death, (Numb. ix. 13 ). But
those who bad any lawful impediment, as a journey,
sickness, or any uncleanness, voluntary or involuntaiyj
for example, those that bad been present at a funeral, or
by any other accident had been defiled, were to defer
the celebration of the passover till the second month of
the ecclesiastical year, or to the fourteenth day of the
month Jair, which answers to April and May. It was
thus the Lord ordered Moses, upon the occasion of the
inquiry of some Israelites, who had been obliged to pay
their last offices to some of their relations, and who be¬
ing thus polluted, w’ere not capable of partaking ot the
paschal sacrifice, ( 2 Chr.xxx. 1, 2, &c.). The modern
Jews observe in general the same ceremonies that were
practised by their ancestors, in the celebration ot the
passover. On the fourteenth of Nisan, the first-born fast
in memory of God’s smiting the first-born ot the Egyp¬
tians. The morning prayers are the same with those
said on other festivals. They take the roll of the pen-
tateuch out of the chest, and read as far as the end of
the twelfth chapter of Exodus, and what is contained
in the eighteenth chapter of Numbers, relating to the
passover. The matron of the family then spreads a ta¬
ble, and sets on it two unleavened cakes, and two pieces
of the lamb, a shoulder boiled and another roasted, to
put them in mind that God delivered them with a
stretched-out arm. To this they add some small fishes,
because of the leviathan J a hard egg, because of the
some meal, because of the behemoth, (these three
animals being appointed for the feast ot the elect in the
other life) ; and pease and nuts for the children, to pro¬
voke their curiosity to ask the reason ot this ceremony.
They likewise use a kind of mustard, which has the ap¬
pearance of mortar, to represent their making bricks in
Egypt. The father of the family sits down with his
children and slaves, because on this day all are tree.
Being set down, he takes hitter herbs, and dips them in
the mustard, then eats them, and distributes to the rest.
Then they eat of the lamb, the history and institution
of which is at that time recited by the master of the
family. The whole repast is attended with hymns and
prayers. They pray for the prince under whose domi¬
nion they live, according to the advice of Jeremiah
(xxix 7.), “ Seek the peace of the city whither I have
caused vou to he carried away captives, and pray unto
the Lord for it: for in the peace thereof shall ye have
peace.” See the article Feast, &c. The same things
are put in practice the two following days \ and the fes¬
tival is concluded by the ceremony habdala or distinc¬
tion. This ceremony is performed at the closing 01 the
Sabbath-day, at which time the master of the house pro¬
nounces certain benedictions, accompanied with certain
formalities, requesting that everything may succeed well
the week following. After going out of the synagogue,
they
p A s [35
Passover, they then eat leavened bread for the last time. (Leo of
Passport. Modena, p. iii. c. 3. and the Rabbins). While the tem-
^ pie was standing, they brought their lambs thither, and
sacrificed them, offering the blood to the priest, who
poured it out at the foot of the altar. The passover
was typically predictive of Christ our Christian passover,
(1 Cor. v. 7.). As the destroying angel passed over the
houses marked with the blood of the paschal lamb, so
the wrath of God passes over them whose souls are
sprinkled with the blood of Christ. The paschal lamb
was killed before Israel was delivered, so it is necessary
Christ should suffer before we could be redeemed. It
was killed before Moses’s law or Aaron’s sacrifices were
enjoined, to show that deliverance conies to mankind by
none of them; but only the true passover, that Lamb
of God slain from the foundation of the world, (Rom.
iii. 25. Ileb. ix. 14.). It was killed the first month of
the year, which prefigured that Christ should suffer
death in this month, (John xviii. 28.). It was killed in
the evening, (Exod. xii. 6.). So Christ suffered in the
last days, and at this time of the day, (Matt, xxvii. 46.
Heb. i. 2. At even also the sun sets, which shows that
it was the Sun of Righteousness who was to suffer and die,
and at his passion universal darkness should be upon
the whole earth, (Luke xxiii. 44.). The passover wras
roasted with fire, to denote the sharp and dreadful pains
which Christ should suffer, not only from men, but from
God also. It was to be eaten with bitter herbs, not on¬
ly to put them in remembrance of their bitter bondage
in Egypt, but also to typify our mortification to sin, and
readiness to undergo afflictions for Christ, (Col. i. 24 ).
Many erroneously imagine, that the passover was institu¬
ted in memory of the Israelites passing the Red Sea j
though it is certain the feast was held, and had its name,
before the Israelites took a step of their way out of E-
gypt, and consequently several days before their passbig
-v. the Red Sea. Besides the passover celebrated on the
fourteenth of the first month, there was a second passover
held on the fourteenth of the second month after the
equinox, instituted by God in favour of travellers and
sick persons, who could not attend at the first, nor be at
Jerusalem on the day. The Greeks, and even some of
the catholic doctors, from the thirteenth, eighteenth, and
nineteenth, chapters, of St John, take occasion to con¬
clude, that Jesus anticipated the day marked for the pass-
over in the law 5 but the authority of three evangelists
seems to evince the contrary. See Whitby’s Disserta¬
tion on this subject, in an appendix to the fourteenth
chapter of St Mark. F. Lamy supposes, that our Lord
dul not attend at the passover the last year of his life 5
which sentiment has drawn upon him abundance of
opposers. F. Hardouin asserts, that the Galileans ce¬
lebrated the passover on one day, and the Jews on an¬
other.
PASSPORT, or Pass, a licence or writing obtain¬
ed from a prince or governor, granting permission and
a safe conduct to pass through his territories without
molestation : Also a permission granted by any state to
navigate in some particular sea, without hinderance or
molestation from it. It contains the name of the vessel,
and that of the master, together with her tonnage and
the number of her crew, certifying that she belongs to
the subjects of a particular state, and requiring all per¬
sons at peace with that state to suffer her to proceed on
her voyage without interruption.
] PAS
The violation of safe-conducts or passports expressly
gi anted by the king or by his ambassadors to the sub¬
jects of a foreign power in time of mutual war, or com¬
mitting acts of hostility against such as are in amity
league, or truce with us, who are here under a general
implied safe-conduct, are breaches of the public faith,
without which there can be no intercourse or commerce
between one nation and another; and such offences
may, according to the writers upon the law of nations,
be a proper ground of a national war. And it is enact-
ed by the statute 31 Hen. VI. cap. 4. still in force, that
it any of the king’s subjects attempt to offend upon the
sea, or m any port within the king’s obeysance, or a-
gamst any stranger in amity, league, or truce, or under
safe-conduct, and especially by attacking his person, or
spoiling him, or robbing him of his goods ; the lord-
chancellor, with any of the justices of either the king’s-
bench or common-pleas, may cause full restitution and
amends to be made to the party injured. Pasquier says
that passport was introduced for passe par-tout. Balzac
mentions a very honourable passport given by an empe¬
ror to a philosopher in these terms: “ If there be any
one on land or sea hardy enough to molest Potamon, let
him consider whether he be strong enough to wage war
with Caesar.”
is used likewise for a licence granted by a
prince for the importing or exporting merchandises,
moveables, &c. without paying the duties. Merchants
procure such passports for certain kinds of commodities:
and they are always given to ambassadors and ministers
for their baggage, equipage, &c.
Passport is also a licence obtained for the importing
or exporting of merchandises deemed contraband, and
declared such by tariff’s, &c. as gold, silver, precious
stones, ammunition of war, horses, corn, wool, &c. upon
paying duties.
PASSES, among the Romans, a measure of length,
being about four feet ten inches, or the thousandth part
of a Roman mile. The word properly signifies, the
space betwixt the feet of a man walking at an ordinary
rate. See Measure.
PASTE, in Cookery, a soft composition of flour,
wrought up with proper fluids, as water, milk, or the
like, to serve for cases or coffins, therein to bake meats,
fruits, &c. It is the basis or foundation of pyes, tarts,
patties, pasties, and other works of pastry. It is also
used in confectionary, &c. for a preparation of some
fruit, made by beating the pulp thereof with some fluid
or other admixture, into a soft pappy consistence,
spreading it into a dish, and drying it with sugar, till it
becomes as pliable as an ordinary paste. It is used oc¬
casionally also for making the crusts and bottoms of pyes,
&c. Thus, with proper admixtures, are made almond
pastes, apple pastes, apricot pastes, cherry, currant, le¬
mon, plum, peach, and pear pastes.
Paste is likewise used for a preparation of wheaten
flour, boiled up and incorporated with water; used by
various artificers, as upholsterers, saddlers, bookbinders,
&c. instead of glue or size, to fasten or cement their
cloths, leathers, papers, &c. When paste is used by
bookbinders, or for paper-hangings to rooms, they mix
a fourth, fifth, or sixth, of the weight of the flour of
powdered resin ; and where it is wanted still more te¬
nacious, gum arable or any kind of size may be added.
Paste may be preserved, by dissolving a little sublimate,
E 2 .in
Passport
1!
Paste.
PAS
C 35
Paste
Pastime.
in the proportion of a dram to a quart, in the water em¬
ployed for making it, which will prevent not only rats
and mice, but any other kind of vermin and insects, from
preying upon it.
Pastes, in the glass trade, or the imitation or coun¬
terfeiting of gems in glass $ see Gem.
PASTEBOARD, a kind of thick paper, formed of
several single sheets pasted one upon another. The chief
use of pasteboard is for binding books, making letter-
cases, &c. See Paper.
PASTERN of a Horse, in the manege, is the dk
stance betwixt the joint next the foot and the coronet of
the hoof. This part should be short, especially in mid¬
dle-sized horses because long pasterns are weak, and
cannot so well endure travelling.
Pastern-Joint, the joint next a horse’s foot.
PASTIL, or Pastel, among painters, a kind of
paste made of different colours ground up with gum-wa¬
ter, in order to make Crayons.
Pastil, in Pharmacy, is a dry composition of sweet-
smelling resins, aromatic woods, &c. sometimes burnt to
clear and scent the air of a chamber.
PASTIME, a sport, amusement, or diversion. Pa¬
stimes of some kind seem to be absolutely necessary, and
to none move than to the man of study for the most
vigorous mind cannot bear to be always bent. Constant
application to one pursuit, if it deeply engage the atten¬
tion, is apt to unhinge the mind, and to generate mad¬
ness: of which the Don Quixote of Cervantes, and the
astronomer of Johnson, are two admirably conceived in¬
stances. But though pastime is necessary to relieve the
mind, it indicates great frivolity when made the business
of life-, and yet the rich and the great, who are not
obliged to labour for the means of subsistence, too often
rove from pastime to pastime with as constant assiduity
as the mechanic toils for his family, or as the philosopher
devotes himself to the cultivation of science. When
those pastimes tend to give elasticity to the mind or
strength to the body, such conduct is not only allowable,
but praise-worthybut when they produce effects the
reverse of these, it is both hurtful and criminal. The
oamiog-table, the masquerade, the midnight assembly of
any sort, must of necessity enfeeble both the body and
the mind and yet such are the fashionable amusements
of the present day, to which many a belle and many a
beau sacrifice their beauty, their health, their quiet, and
their virtue.
Far different were the pastimes of our wiser ancestors:
Remote from vice and effeminacy, they were innocent,
] PAS
manly, and generous exercises. From the ancient rc- pastime.
cords of this country, it appears, that the sports, amuse-' 
merits, pleasures, and recreations, of our ancestors, as de¬
scribed by Fitz-Stephen (a), added strength and agility
to the wheels of state mechanism, while they had a di¬
rect tendency towards utility, b or most of these ancient
recreations are resolvable into the public defence of the
state against the attacks of a foreign enemy. The play
at ball, derived from the Romans, is first introduced by
this author as the common exercise of every school-boy.
The performance was in a field, where the resort of the
most substantial and considerable citizens, to give encou¬
ragement and countenance to this feat of agility, was
splendid and numerous. The intention of this amuse¬
ment at this period of time was to make the juvenile
race active, nimble, and vigorous } which qualities were
requisite whenever their assistance should be wanted in
the protection of their country. The next species of
pastime indeed does not seem to have this tendency-, but
it was only, as it seems, an annual custom : This was
cock-fighting. The author tells us, that in the after¬
noon of Shiove-Tuesday, on which day this custom pre¬
vailed, they concluded the day in throwing the ball :
which seem- to insinuate, that thecock-fighting was mere¬
ly in conformity to ancient usage, and limited only to
part of the day, to make way for a more laudable per¬
formance. We may reasonably suppose, although this
author is entirely silent upon this head, that while cock-
fighting was going on, cock-throwing was the sport of
the lowest class of people, who could not afford the ex¬
pence of the former (b). Another species of manly ex¬
ercise was truly martial, and intended to qualify the ad¬
venturers for martial discipline. It is related by I itz-
Stephen thus: “ Every Friday in Lent, a company of
young men comes into the field on horseback, attended
and conducted by the best horsemen : then march forth
the sons of the citizens, and other young men, with dis¬
armed lances and shields ; and there practise feats of
war. Many courtiers likewise, when the king is near
the spot, and attendants upon noblemen, do repair to
these exercises and while the hope of victory does in¬
flame their minds, tiny show by good proof how service¬
able they would be in martial aflairs.” This evidently
is of Roman descent, and immediately brings to our
recollection the Ludus Trojte, supposed to be the in¬
vention, as it was the common exercise, of Ascanius-
The common people, m this age of masculine man¬
ners, made every amusement where strength was exert¬
ed the subject-matter of instruction and improvement:
instructed
(a') Otherwise called William Stephanides, a monk of Canterbury, who lived m the reign of King Stephen to
the time of Richard I. He wrote a Latin treatise, in which he gives an account of the several pastimes winch
were countenanced in his time. Bale in his writings draws a phasing portrait of him. He ,s likewise sketched
in strong and forcible outlines of praise and commendation by Leland. Bale says thus of him . t nre w 11
other people usually misemployed in an idle and frivolous manner, he consecrated to inquiries which tended to in¬
crease the tame and dignity of his country : in doing which, he was not unworthy of being compared to a o ,
for like him, he made the study of men and heaven bis constant exercise.” , . ,
(s') There were places set apart for the battles of these animals, as at this day, where no one was admit ed
without money. These places, or pits commonly called, were schools, as at this day in which peop e were
instructed in the doctrines of chance, loss and gain, betting and wagers, and particularly in the i )era a
of laying; tiuo to one. Cock-throwing has been laudably abolished-, for it was a species of cruelty 0''’ar
innocent and useful animal j and such a cruelty as would have kindled compassion in the heart of the ran iest ar-
barian.
p A S r 37 ] PAS
Pastims. instructed to exert their bodily strength in the mainte-
—■ v ' nance of their country’s rights ; and tlieir minds im-
px-oved by such exertion, into every manly and generous
principle.
In the vacant intervals of industry and labour, com¬
monly called the holy-days, indolence and inactivity,
which at this day mark this portion of time, were found
only in those whose lives were distempered with age ox-
infirmity. The view which Fitz Stephen xxives us of the
Easter holydays is animated “ In Easter holydays
they fight battles upon the water. A shield is hanged
upon a pole, fixed in the middle of the stream. A boat
is prepared without oars, to be borne along by the vio¬
lence of the water; and in the forepart thereof stand-
eth a young man, ready to give charge upon the shield
with his lance. If so be that he break his lanc e against
the shield, and doth not fall, he is thought to have per¬
formed a worthy deed. If without breaking his lance
he runs strongly against the shield, down he falleth into
the water*, for the boat is violently foi-ced with the
tide : but on each side of the shield ride two boats, fur¬
nished with young men, who recover him who falleth
soon as they may. In the holydays all the summer the
youths are exexcised in leaping, dancing, shooting,
wrestling,casting the stone,and practising their shields;
and the maidens trip with their timbrels, and dance as
long as they can well see. In winter, every holyday
before dinner, the boars prepared for brawn are set to
fight, or else bulls or bears are baited.”
These were the laudable pursuits to which leisure was
devoted by our forefathers, so far hack as the year
1130. Their immediate successors breathed the same
generous spirit. In the year 1222, the sixth year of
Henry ILL. we find, that certain masters in exercises
of this kind made a public profession of their instruc¬
tions and discipline, which they imparted to those who
were desirous of attaining excellence and victory in
these honourable achievements. About this period,
the persons of better rank and family introduced the
play of Tennis (c) ; and erected courts or oblong edi¬
fices for the performance of the exercise.
About the year 1 253, in the 38th year of Henry III.
the Quintan was a sport much in fashion in almost every
part of the kingdom. This contrivance consisted of an
upright post firmly fixed in the ground, upon the top of pastime.
winch was a cross piece of wood, moveable upon a spin-  v—
die ; one end of which was broad like the flat part of
a halberd, while at the other end was hung a bag of
sand. I he exercise was performed on horseback. The
masterly performance was, when, upon the broad part
being struck with a lance, which sometimes bx*oke it,
the assailant rode swiftly on, so as to avoid being struck
on the back by the bag of sand, which turned round in¬
stantly upon the stx-oke given with a very swift motion.
He who executed this feat in the most dexterous man¬
ner was declared victor, and the prize to which he be¬
came intitied was a peacock. But if, upon the aim
taken, the contender miscarried in striking at the broad¬
side, his impotency of skill became ihe° ridicule and
contempt of the spectators.
Dr Plott, in bis Natural History of Oxfordshire,
tells us, that this pastime was in practice in his time at
Deddmgton in this county. “ They first (says this
author) fixed a post perpendicularly in the ground, and
tlxen placed a small piece of timber upon the top of it,
fastened on a spindle, with a board nailed to it on one
end, and a bag of sand hanging at the other. Against
this board they anciently rode with spears : now as I
saw it at Deddington only with strong staves, w-hieh
violently bringing about the bag of sand, if they make
not good speed away, it strikes them in the neck or
shoulders, and sometimes pei-haps strikes them down
from their horses; the great design of the sport being
to try the agility both of man and horse, and to break
the board; which, whoever did, was accounted con¬
queror: for whom heretofore there was some reward al¬
ways appointed.” (d)
Matthew Paris, speaking of this manly diversion, says,
“ The London youths made trial of their strength on
horseback, by running at the Quintan ; in doing which
whoever excelled all the rest was rewarded with a pea¬
cock.” This sport is continued to this day in Wales -
and being in use only upon marriages, it may be consi¬
dered as a votive pastime, by which these heroic spirits
seem to wish, tlxat the male issue of such marriage may
be as strong, vigorous, and active, as those who are at
that time engaged in the celebration of this festive ex¬
ertion of manhood. Virtuous exercises of this kind
would
(c) The word Tennis seems to owe its original to the French language: if so, the game is of French produc-
txom Yet the word tenez, will hardly be found to afford incontrovertible evidence upon this subject. For the
holding or keeping possession of the ball is no part of the game, but rather a circumstance casually attending it
since, during the performance of it the hall is in continual motion, so there can be no tenez at this juncture. Per¬
haps a place in France called Tennois (as there is a town which differs only in a letter, called Sennois. in the di-
tnct of Champagne) was the place where the balls were first made, and the game first introduced.
(D) I Ins was cert unly an exercise derived from a military institution of the Romans, though not instrumental-
ly the same. Whoever con aders the form and disposition of the Roman camps, which were formed into a square
ligure, will find there were four pnnei al gates or passages. Near the Qu&storinm, or Quaxtor’s apartment, was
the lorum, or what is now calling a suttling house, and from belli!) near the Quaestor’s station called Qucestori-
um forum. At this part was a fifth gate Quintana, where the soldiers were instructed in the discipline of the
Tolana, which was to aim at and strike their javelins against an upright post fixed in the ground, as a kind of
prolusion to a real engagement with an enemy. By the frequent practice of this exercise, sometimes called ercr-
cthum ad P(}lum hY R"man writers, the soldiers at length acquired not onlv a dexterity and address in the ma¬
nagement of their arms, but a constant and regular exactness in the direction of them. Titus Livius Patavinus
cap. 2. Paneuollus Reruin Memoral. lib. ii tit. 21. Vulturius in Augustanis Monumentis, lib. li. p. 237.
pon the irruption of the Istri into the Roman camps, which they plundered, says Livius, ad Qucestorium fo¬
rum, qumtanampue pervenerunt. J
PAS
[ 38 ]
PAS
Pastime.
Would be too rude and barbarous for the attendants on
1 pleasure in the present age. The hand would tremble
at the weight of the javelin j and the heart would pant
upon the apprehension of personal insecunty. 11 e
these exertions of triumphant prowess continued, the
sordid degeneracy of disposition, the supple baseness ot
temper, were unknown : for the love ot country, as the
Roman orator has wisely observed, included all other
virtues. But if we guard the palace of honour, like
the braz.cn castle of Danae, with every possible security,
importunate corruption will be ever waiting at the gate,
to seize an opportunity of intrusion. These feats of ho¬
nourable contest were succeeded by the gilded banners
of exhibition, and all the long train of dependents' in
the interest of indolence : for the writers of these times
inform us, that the soft pleasures of the stage forced the
passes to public favour in the year 1391, and likewise
in the year 1409 ; so that utility, which before stood on
the right hand of pleasure, was now ordered to withdraw
for a season. The drama, it seems, was attempted by
set of useless and insignificant persons called parish-
clerks; who, because they had the knowledge of the
alphabet, ignorantly presumed that this included every
other species of knowledge. The subject was truly se¬
rious, the creation of the world ; but the performance
must have been ludicrous. It was, however, honoured
kind were made of yew; and that this wood might be Pastime,
readily obtained for this purpose, yew-trees were planted
in church-yards. The sons of those only who were per¬
sons of fortune and fashion, if under 17 years of age,
were permitted to use such bows. The words of the
statute are singular, and ran thus : “ No person undti
seventeen years, except he, or his father ormothei,
have lands or tenements to the yearly value of ten
pounds, or be worth in value or moveables the sum of
forty marks sterling, shall shoot with any bow of yew,
which shall be bought for him, after the feast of our La¬
dy next coming, under the pain to lose and forfeit six
six shillings and eightpence.” woobsei rations arise here
upon these words. One, that the yew-wood, not being
so common as other wood, might probably be soon found
deficient, as it was the best wood for making bows, if
not restrained in the use of it to particular ages and per¬
sons, as young people wantonly destroy what is put into
their hands for useful purposes. The other observation
is, that the age of 17 is by this statute distinguished as
the age of discretion, when young people are more at¬
tentive and considerate in things of private concern } an
age in these times which few ever arrive at, and some
This statute makes provision of other kinds of
never.
with the attendance of noble personages j and royalty
itself deigned to cast a favourable eye upon it, for the
king and queen were present. These interludes lasted
no longer than the time requisite for the former confe¬
deracy of utility and pleasure to resume its powers; as
when the pliable bow by being too much bent is put out
of shape, and by its elasticity recovers its former posi¬
tion. The lance, the shield, the ball, and the equestrian
procession, came forward again, and put the dramatic
Usurper to flight. After this period, these objects of ge¬
nerous pleasure seem to have had their audience of leave,
and one general object, indeed no less manly than the
former, to have filled their stations, which was archery.
This had a continuance to the reign of Charles 1.; for
we find in many hospitals founded in that reign, among
the articles of benefaction recorded upon their walls,
this singular provision, arms for the boys, which signi¬
fied foius owe/o/roius. . , ' , , ,
There are many places at this day, formerly resorted
to for the practice of this noble art, distinguished by
appellations which indicate their ancient usage : such as
Brentford Butts, Newington Butts and many others ot
the like denomination. It appears from 33 Hen. Mil.
that by the intrusion of other pernicious games, archery
had been for a long time disused •, to revive which this
statute was made. It seems that the bows of the best
wood for the common people in the following manner :
“ To the intent that every person may have bows of
mean price, be it enacted, that every bowyer shall, for
every bow that he maketh of yew, make four other bow's,
meet to shoot with, of elm, witch hasill, ash, or other
wood apt for the same, under pain to lose and forfeit for
every such bow so lacking the sum of three shillings and
fourpence.” It seems there was a species of yew at this
time called elk, which wood was stronger and more
pliant than the common yew mentioned in this statute,
and the price of it fixed. “ Moreover, no bowyer
shall sell or put to sale to any of the king’s subjects,
any bow of yew of the tax called elk, above the price
of three shillings and fourpence, under the pain to
forfeit twenty shillings for every bow sold above the
said price.”
From these several considerations which occur in
this statute, we can trace three resplendent qualities,
courage, strength, and agility 5 which three united,
inspired to more, generosity and magnanimity. Lp-
on the decline of this and other polished (e) amuse¬
ments, a savage deformity of manners sprung up, but
spangled here and there with the opposite character oi
lazy opulence, which began now to erect her velvet
standard in defiance of chaste and regular^ manners.
Towards the beginning of James I.’s reign, military
prowess seems to have sounded a retreat (f). He, to
gratify the importunity of the common people, and ^at
fE") How widely different the conceptions of politeness at this day from what they Were in the most refinea
liteness in i™rt and trne evasion, and every
?nrSn 'artffice PThere can be no seenrity, no happiness, no prosperity awaiting tins ktngdom so long as we
fawl to fashions that disgrace hnmanity and to tnanners with ter.
(F) It has been confidently asserted by some instonans, bestow ng the honour of
r upon the sight of a drawn sword ; winch was the reason ot hts great unwillingness in “stowing a
Pa
Pas!
u*1
SOI
PAS
Pastime,
Pastinaca,
the same time to obviate his own fears upon a refusal,
published a book of sports, in which the people had
* been some time before usually indulged on Sunday even¬
ings, but which had been lately prohibited. These sports
consisted of dancing, singing, wrestling, church ales,
and other profanations of that day.
Charles, his successor, wisely, in the very entrance
©f his reign, abolished these sports. The act of Charles
states the several amusements in part \ by which we
may conjecture what was the remainder as stated in
the book of sports by James. It is necessary to tran¬
scribe that part of the act relating to this subject.
“ Forasmuch as there is. nothing more acceptable to
God, than the true and sincere worship of Him, and
service according to His holy will, and that the holy
keeping of the Lord’s day is a principal part of the:
service of God, which in many places of this realm
hath been, and now is, prophaned and neglected by a
disorderly sort of people, in exercising and frequenting'
bear-baiting, bull-baiting,interludes, and common-plays,
and other unlawful exercises and pastimes, neglecting
divine service both in their own parishes and elsewhere :
Be it enacted, that from and after forty days next after
the end of this session of parliament, there shall be no
meetings, assemblies, or concourse of people, out of their
own parishes, on the Lord’s day, within this realm of-
England, or any the dominions thereof, for any spoits
or pastimes whatsoever : nor any bear-baiting, bull-bait¬
ing,interludes,common plays,orotherunlawful exercises
or pastimes, used by any person or persons within their
own parishes: and that every person and per-ons offending
in any of the said premises, shall forfeit for every offence
the sum of three shillings and fourpence j the same to
be employed and converted to the use of the poor of the
parish where such offence shall be committed.” All this
was perhaps proper, and showed the distinguished piety
of this unfortunate monarch. But in this age likewise
ended the manly sports of Britons, and nothing was in¬
troduced that could compensate for the loss.
All these lusory arts, considered as vehicles of plea¬
sure, from the variety of their inventions, represent plea¬
sure as a fleeting phantom : evincing at the same time
the stability of happiness as springing from internal
order. Even reflex acts, pregnant with future hopes
of solace and social recreation, have more true feelings
in expectancy than those which arise from the object
in possession. Nay, pleasure is found frequently in the
imagination only : for Ixion’s disappointment frequent¬
ly awaits us when we advance to embrace this Juno of
our desires.
Upon the whole, happiness, the only thing of intrinsic
value, must arise in the heart, and be something more
solid than what mere amusement can possibly supply.
Amusements or pastimes ought to be considered only as
necessary relaxations from severer and more useful em¬
ployment •, and in this point of view they may be solely
pursued •, but they become criminal when they occupy
the place of the business of life.
PASTINACA, the Parsnep, a genus of plants
1 39 3
PAS
belonging to the pentandria class j and in the natural Pastinaoa
method ranking under the 45th order, Umbellatce. ||
See Botany Index. Patieci.
PASTOPHORI, among the ancients, were priests ' v
whose office it was to carry the images, along with the
shrines of the gods, at solemn festivals, when they wer,e
to pray to them for rain, fair weather, or the like. The
Greeks had a college of this order of priests in Sylla’s
time. The cells or apartments near the temples, where
the pastophori lived, were called pastnphoria. There
were several lodging rooms for the priests of a similar
kind in the temple of Jerusalem.
PASTORAL, in general, something that relates
to shepherds : hence we say, pastoral "life, manners,
poetry, &c.
Pastoral life may be considered in three differentials
views ; either such as it now actually is j when the Lectures,
state ot shepherds is reduced to be a mean, servile, and V°1 id-
laborious state; when their employments are becomeP1 ll?'
disagreeable, and their ideas gross and low: or such
as we may suppose it once to have been, in the more
early and simple ages, when it was a life of ease and
abundance ; when the wealth of men consisted chiefly
in flocks and herds, and the shepherd, though unre¬
fined in his manners, was respectable in his state ; or
lastly, such as it never was, and never can in reality
be, when, to the ease, innocence, and simplicity of the
early ages, we attempt to add the polished taste and
cultivated manners of modern times. Of these three
states, the first is too gross and mean, the last too re¬
fined and unnatural, to be made the groundwork of
pastoral poetry. Either of these extremes is a rock
upon which the poet will split, if he approach too near
it. We will be disgusted if he give us too much of
the servile employments and low ideas of actual pea¬
sants, as Theocritus is censured for having sometimes
done; and if, like some of the French and Italian
writers of pastorals, be make his shepherds discourse as
if they were courtiers and scholars, he then retains the
name only, but wants the spirit of pastoral poetry.
Pastoral Poetry. See Poetry, Part II. sect. 4.
PASTRY, that branch of cookery which is chiefly
taken up in making pies, pasties, cakes, &c. See Paste.
Dr Cullen observes, that paste is very hard and in¬
digestible without butter; and even with it, is apt to
produce heartburn and acescency. Perhaps this is in¬
creased by the burned butter, from a certain sensibili¬
ty in the stomach, which occasions all empyreumatic.
oils to be long retained, and so produce acidity.
PASTURE, or Pasture Land, is that reserved for
feeding cattle. See Agriculture Index.
PAT/ECI, in Mythology, images of gods which
the Phoenicians carried on the prows of their gallies.
Herodotus, lib. iv. calls them tmIuhcoh The word is
Phoenician, and derived from pethica, i. e. litulus. See
Bocchart’s Chanaan, lib. ii. cap. 3. But Scaliger does
not agree. Morin derives it from monkey, this
animal having been an object of worship among the
Egyptians, and hence might have been honoured by
their
knighthood. For at this juncture, he had such a tremor upon him, that instead of laying the sword upon the
shoulder of the person to be knighted, he frequently would be observed almost to thrust the point of it into the
iace ol the party : which occasioned those about him to assist him in the direction of his hand.
PAT [ 4°
Pateei, their nelglibours. Mr Eisner has observed, that He-
r,at3£Cl tucjLA ^ 7 i I . i
Patagonia.rodotus does not call the pataeci gods; but that they
' v 'obtained this dignity from the liberality of Hesychms
and Suidas, and other ancient lexicographers, who
place them at the stern of ships ; whereas Herodotus
placed them at the prow. Scaliger, Both art, and bel-
den, have taken some pains about this subject.—M.
Morin has also given us a learned dissertation on this
head, in the Meimires de P Acad, dcs Inscript, et Belles
Lettres, tom. i.; but Mr Eisner thinks it defective in
point of evidence.
PATAGONIA, a country of South America, com¬
prehending all that country extending from Chili and
Paraguay''to the utmost extremity of South America;
that is, from 350 almost to 540 oi latitude : heill6 Sl!r‘
rounded by the countries just mentioned, the South and
North seas, and the straits of Magellan, which separate
it from the island called Terra del Fuego, and extend
about 116 leagues in length from sea to sea, but only
from half a league to three or four in breadth.
This country had the name of Terra Alagellamca,
from Ferdinand Magellan, a Portuguese officer in the
service of the Catholic king, who is reported to have
sailed through the straits that also bear his name, horn
the North to the South sea, in the year 1519.
The lofty mountains of the Andes, which are cover¬
ed with snow a great part of the year, traversing the
country from north to south, the air is said to be much
colder than in the north under the same parallels of
latitude. Towards the north, it is said to be covered
with wood, and stored with an inexhaustible fund oi
large timber ; whereas, to the southward, not so much
as a single tree fit for any mechanical purpose is to be
seen : yet there is good pasture, and incredible num¬
bers of wild horned cattle and horses, which were first
brought hither by the Spaniards, and have increased
amazingly. Fresh water, we are told by some writers,
is very scarce; but if that were really the case, it is
difficult to conceive how the present inhabitants and
such multitudes of cattle could subsist. The east coast
is mostly low land, with few or no good harbours : one
of the best is Port St Julian.
Patagonia is inhabited by a variety of Indian tribes ,
as the Patagons, from which the country takes its
name ; the Pampas, the Cossares, &c. ol whom we
know very little. Only it appears, from the accounts ot
former voyagers, lately confirmed by Commodore Byron
and his crew, and the testimonies of other navigators,
that some of them are of a gigantic stature, and clo¬
thed with skins ; but it would seem that there are
others who go almost quite naked, notwithstanding the
inclemency of the climate. Some of them also, tlia
live about the straits, if we may credit the navigators
who have passed that way into the South sea, are per¬
fect savages : but those with whom Commodore Byron
and his people conversed, are represented as of a more
gentle, humane disposition ; only, like other savages,
they live on fish and game, and the spontaneous pro¬
ductions of the earth. , . ' ,
The Spaniards once built a fort upon the straits, and
left a garrison in it, to prevent any other European na¬
tion passing that way into the South sea: but most ot
the men perished by famine, whence the place obtained
the name of Port Famine; and no people have attempt¬
ed to plant colonies here ever since.
] PAT
About the middle of the strait is a promontory called Patagonia.
Cape Froisard, which is the most southerly on the con- v "J
tinent of South America.
On the coasts of Patagonia lie a great number of
islands, or clusters of islands. On the west coasts are
the islands Madre de Dios, Santa Irinidad, Santa Cruz,
the isles of the Chunians and Huillans, the Sarmientos,
and many others ; to the number of 80 in all, as some
say. Of those on the south coast, the most consider¬
able are Terra del Fuego, and Staten Land. See these
articles. # # c
A vast deal has been said respecting the stature oS:
the Patagonians, by people of different nations, and on
various occasions. We shall insert the following letter
from Mr Charles Clarke, who was on hoard Byron’s
ship in 1764, and gave this account to Dr Maty.
“ We had not got above 10 or 12 leagues into the
straits of Magellan, from the Atlantic ocean, before
we saw several people, some on horseback, sense on loot,
upon the north shore (continent), and with the help or
our glasses could perceive them beckoning to us to
come on shore, and at the same time observed to each
other, that they seemed to be of an extraordinary size .
However, we continued to stand on, and should have
passed without taking the least farther notice ol them,
could we have proceeded ; but our breeze dying away,
and the tide making against us, we were obliged to
anchor ; when the commodore ordered his boat ot 1Z
oars, and another of six, to be hoisted out, manned, ami
armed. In the first went the commodore, m the other
Mr Cummins our first lieutenant, and myseli. At our
first leaving the ship, their number did not exceed 40;
but as we approached the shore, we perceived them poui-
ing down from all quarters, some galloping, others run¬
ning, all making use of their utmost expedition. 1 ney
collected themselves into a body just at the place we
steered off for. When we had got within 12 or 14 yards
of the beach, we found it a disagreeable flat shore, with
very large stones, which we apprehended would injure
the boats; so looked at two or three different places to
find the most convenient for landing. They supposed
we deferred coming on shore through apprehensions oi
danger from them ; upon which they all threw open the
skins which were over their shoulders, which was the
only clothing they had, and consequently the only
thing they could secret any kind of arms with, and
.. . *L i..,r tn the water’s edue.— I he
many of them lay down close to the water’s edge. Hie
commodore made a motion for them to go a little way
from the water, that we might have room to land,
which they immediately complied with, and withdrew
20 or 40 yards ; we then landed, and formed each man
with his musket, in case any violence should be oftered.
As soon as we were formed, the commodore went from
us to them, then at about 20 yards distance : they seem¬
ed vastly happy at his going among them, immediately
gathered round him, and made a rude kind ot noise,
which I believe was their method of singing; as their
countenances bespoke it a species of jollity. The com-,
modore then made a motion to them to sit down, which
they did in a circle, with him in the middle, when Mr
Byron took some beads and ribbons, which he had
brought for that purpose, and tied about the women s
recks, with which they seemed infinitely pleased. We
were struck.with the greatest astonishment at the sight
of people of such a gigantic stature, notwithstanding our
1 r previous
PAT [41 j PAT
J’atagoma. previous notice with glasses from the ship. Their body
' v"" was increased, by the time we got in there, to the num¬
ber of 500, men, women, and children. The men and
women both rode in the same manner j the women had a
kind of belt to close their skins round the waist, which
the men had not, as theirs were only flung over their
shoulders, and tied with two little slips, cut from the
skin, round the neck. At the time of the commodore’s
motion for them to retire farther up the beach, they
all dismounted, and turned their horses loose, which
were gentle, and stood very quietly. The commodore
having disposed of all his presents, and satisfied his cu¬
riosity, thought proper to retire •, but tbey were vastly
anxious to have him go up into the country to eat
with them. That they wanted him to go with them
to eat, we could very well understand by their motions,
but their language was wholly unintelligible to us.—
There was a very great smoke to which they pointed
about a mile from us, where there must have been se¬
veral fires } but some intervening hills prevented our
seeing any thing but the smoke. The commodore
returned the compliment, by inviting them on board
the ship; but they would not favour him with their
company; so we embarked, and returned to the ship.
M e were with them near two hours at noon-day with-
in a very few yards, though none had the honour of
shaking hands but J\lr Uyron and Mr Cummins ; how¬
ever, we were near enough, and long enough with
them, to convince our senses, so far as not to be cavil¬
led out of the very existence of those senses at that
time, which some of our countrymen and friends would
absolutely attempt to do. They are of a copper co¬
lour, with long black hair ; and some of them are cer¬
tainly nine feet, if they do not exceed it. The com¬
modore, who is very near six feet, could but just reach
the top of one of their heads, which he attempted on
tip-toes, and there were several taller than the person
on whom the experiment was tried. They are prodigi¬
ous stout, and as well and as proportionally made as
ever I saw people in my life. That they have some
kind of arms among them, is, I think, indisputable,
from their taking methods to convince us they had none
at that time about them. The women, I think, bear
much the same proportion to the men as our Europeans
do; there Avas hardly a man there less than eight feet,
most of them considerably more. ’Ihe women, I be¬
lieve, run from seven and a half to eight feet.—Their
horses were stout and bony, but not remarkably tall ;
tbey arc, in my opinion, from 15 to I5f bands. They
had a great number of dogs, about the size of a middling
pointer, with a fox nose. They continued en the beach
till we got under way, which was two hours alter we
got on board. I believe they had some expectations of
our returning again ; but as soon as they saw us getting
off, they betook themselves to the country.
“ 1 he country of Patagonia is rather hilly, though
not remaikably so. ^ 011 have here and there a ridge
of lulls, but no very high ones. We lay some time at
Port Desire, which is not a great way to the north¬
ward of the straits, where we traversed the country many
miles round. We found fire-brands in dift’erent places,
which convinced us there had been people, and we sup¬
pose them to have been the Patagonians. The soil is
sandy, produces nothing but a coarse harsh grass, and a
few small shrubs, of which Sir John Narborough remark-
Vox.. XVI. Part J. t
ed, he could not find one of size enough to make the Patagonia
helve ot a hatchet ; which observation we found very v • ■ v——
just. It was some time in the winter we made this visit
to our gigantic friends. I am debarred being so parti-
ciilar as I could wish, from the loss of my journals, which
were demanded by their lordships of the admiralty im¬
mediately upon our return.*’
I hat the whole of this account is true, we cannot
assert; hut that the writer has been misled in some re¬
spects, and misinformed with regard to some of his
facts, is at least probable : for Captain Wallis, who
went out to the straits of Magellan after Byron’s re¬
turn, gives a different turn to many of the observations ;
and with respect to the stature of the people, he differs
very materially. We shall give the following epitome
of his remarks on what occurred to him.—He had
three ships with him, which entered the straits on the
16th December 1766, and came to an anchor in a bav
south of Cape Virgin Mary, where they were imme¬
diately accosted by a whole troop of Patagonians, who
made signs for them to come on shore. The captain,
having made previous dispositions for the security of
his men in case of an attack, manned all the boats be¬
longing to the three ships, and with a party of ma¬
rines landed on the beach where those giants had as¬
sembled. The commanders of the three ships, and most
of their officers, were of this party. On their leaping
ashore, the Indians seemed to welcome them ; and being
by signs desired to retreat, they all fell back, and made
room for the marines to form When they were drawn
up, Captain Wallis advanced, and by signs directed
the Indians to seat themselves in a semicircle, which
they readily understood and obeyed. He then distri¬
buted among them knives, scissars, buttons, beads,
combs, and particularly ribbons, with which he com¬
plimented the women, who received them with a mix¬
ture of pleasure and respect. He then gave them to
understand that he had still more valuable articles to
bestow, and showed them axes and bill-hooks ; hut, at
the same time, pointed to some guanicoes and ostriches,
intimating that he expected some of those in return:
but they either did not, or would not, understand him ;
so that no traffic took place.
The whole company that were assembled on this oc¬
casion, had each a horse with a saddle and bridle. The
saddle had a sort of stirrups, and the bridle was made
of thongs of leather very well put together, for the pur¬
pose of guiding the horses. The women, as well as the
men, rode astride. The men, in general, wore each a
wooden spur : but one of them bad a large pair of Spa¬
nish spurs, brass stirrups, and a Spanish scimitar. Their
horses were nimble and spirited, but small in proportion
to their riders, seemingly not above 14 hands high.
Their dogs were of the Spanish breed. The captain,
having purposely provided himself with measuring rods,
found that the tallest man among them measured only
six feet seven inches high ; several tvere within an inch
or two as tall : but the ordinary size was from five feet
ten inches to six feet. It is pity that none of our voy¬
agers thought of measuring the whole size of one of
those gigantic men. They tell us, indeed, that they
are well made, that they are proportionally large, and
that they arc robust and bony ; but they give us no cri¬
terion to judge of their hulk, nor one instance of their
extraordinary strength. As they are represented not on!y
F peaceable,
P A T
[ 42 ]
PAT
Patagonia, peaceable, but remarkably tractable, 'some trials might
C14 ' have been made of the weight they could have lilted,
and how much they could exceed in that respect the
strongest man in the ships. This, in a great measure,
would have determined the point, which is yet lett
doubtful by the different relations that are given by the
different voyagers who have seen these people, no two
of them agreeing in the same description. A 1 agree,
however, that their hair is black, and harsh like bristles -,
that they are of a dark copper colour, and that then-
features are rather handsome than ugly J that they
clothe themselves decently with the skins ol guanicoes,
that they paint themselves variously and there is rea¬
son to suspect, that by that variety they distinguish then-
tribes. Those seen by Commodore Byron were painted
round both eyes, no two of them alike-, those seen >y
Captain Wallis had only a red circle round the lett eye -,
and those seen by Bougainville had no circle round
the eyes, but had their cheeks painted red. I his may
account for the different reports of voyagers concerning
their stature : it is not impossible, nay, it is very pro¬
bable, that they may vary in this particular, according
to their tribes} as is seen in the Highlands of Scotland,
where one clan of the Campbells is remarkably tall,
and another of the Frasers remarkably short. VV ere it
not for some such natural discrimination, there could not
be so wide a difference in the descriptions of gentlemen,
who, having no ends to serve, either in falsifying one
another’s reports, or in imposing upon the public, can¬
not be supposed to mistake wilfully.
One remarkable observation made by our vovagers
must not be omitted-, and that is that though our
people could distinguish but one word of then-language,
which the English pronounce chewow, and the f rencli
,/iawa, yet the Patagonians could repeat whole senten¬
ces after our men more distinctly than almost any Eui a-
pean foreigner of what nation soever. This appears the
more singular, as, among the islanders between the tro¬
pics, it was hardly possible to make them articulate any
of our words. Sydney Parkinson, in a specimen he has
given us, says, that though the English remained at
Otaheite three months, the nearest the natives could
approach the sound of Cook was Toote; Banks, Opane;
Solander, Tola no ; Gore, Towara; Monkhouse, Mata;
and so of the rest: whereas the Patagonians presently
o-ot by heart this sentence of invitation, Come ashore,
'Englishmen ! which they showed they well understood,
by repeating it afteiwards whenever the ships came so
near the shore as to be within call. i
Another very remarkable particular is, that they had
none of the characters of a ferocious people } there was
no offensive weapon among them, except the scimitar
already mentioned. The men, indeed, had a kind of
sling, which they use in hunting, consisting of two round
stones of about a pound weight each, connected togethei
by a thong. These stones were fastened to the extre¬
mities of the thong-, and, when they threw them, they
held one stone in the hand, and swung the other about
the head. “ They are so expert in the management of
this double-headed shot (says the writer of the voyage),
that they will hit a mark not bigger than a shilling
with both these stones at the distance of fifteen yards -,
but their method of availing themselves of their dexteri¬
ty against the guanicoe and ostrich is, to sling the stones
so as to entangle their legs, by which means they are re- Patagonia
tarded in their flight, and easily overtaken. Bougain- patJI.
ville speaks of these slings as common among other In- , ' ^
dian nations in South America ; but we do not remem¬
ber to have seen this assertion confirmed by any other
voyager.
These people certainly dress differently as well as
paint differently -, for the dress described by Bougain¬
ville is very unlike the dress of those seen by the Eng¬
lish voyagers. Captain Wallis invited some of them
on board his ship: but, among all the wonders that
were shown them, none seemed to attract their notice
so much as the looking-glasses : they looked in the
glasses and at each other ; they laughed and gazed,
and gazed again and laughed } in short, there was no
end to their merriment when in possession of this article
of curiosity. They ate whatever was given them, but
would drink nothing but water. In this they differ
from all the tribes of Indians in North America, who
are immoderately fond of spirituous liquors. They
admired the European sheep, hogs, and poultry j but
did not seem over-desirous of any thing they saw ex¬
cept clothes. When the marines were exercised to en¬
tertain them, they appeared disconcerted ; an old man
among them made signs, by striking his breast, and
tumbling down and lying as if he had been dead upon
deck, that he knew the effect of their guns j and none
of them seemed easy till the firing was over. W hen
the captain had satisfied his own curiosity, and, as he
imagined, theirs, he gave them to understand, that he
was going to sail, and that they must depart 5 w-hich
they were very unwilling to do. However, having
given each of them a canvas bag, with some needles
ready threaded, a knife, a pair of scissars, a few beads,
a comb, and a looking-glass, he dismissed them, until
great reluctance on their part, particularly on that of
the old man’s, who by very significant signs expressed
his desire to stay till sunset.
PATAGONULA, in Botany, a genus of plants be¬
longing to the pentandria class. See Botany Index.
PAT AN, a kingdom of Asia, in the East Indies,
and in the peninsula of Malacca, and on the eastern
coast between the kingdoms of Siam and Paha. The
inhabitants are partly Mahometans and partly Gentoos j
but they are all very voluptuous. rI he air is wholesome,
though very hot j and they have no seasons but the
winter and summer. The former is more properly the
rainy season j and contains the months of November,
December, and January. The woods are full of ele¬
phants and many wild animals. Some voyagers pre¬
tend that this country is governed by a queen, who never
marries, but may have as many gallants as she pleases.
They have some trade with the Chinese j and the prin¬
cipal town is of the same name, which is one of the
strongest in these parts, having a well defended harbour.
Patan, a town of Hindoostan, in the valley of Ne-
paul, about a mile and a half from Katmandoo, the ca¬
pital. E. Long. 85. 40. N. Lat. 27. 30.
PATAVINITY, among critics, denotes a peculi¬
arity of Livy’s diction-, derived from Patavium or Pa¬
dua, the place of his nativity ; but wherein this pata-
vinity consists, they are by no means agreed.
Asinius Pollio, according to Quintilian, taxed Livy
with patavinity. But what he meant by this censure
we
PAT [
[Patavinity'tve ^e|ie^e no man can say. Morhof believes it to be
|| a singular turn of expression, anti sgme phrases peculiar
Patella, to the Paduese. All we certainly know about it is,
v that it was a fault in the language of Livy, not in the
sentiments or manners. In all probability, it is one of
those delicacies that are lost in a dead language. Dan.
Georg. Morhof published a treatise De Patavinitate
Livianu, at Kiel, in 1685, where he explains, very
learnedly, the urbanity and peregrinity of the Latin
tongue.
PATARA, (Livy, Mela) ; the capital of Lycia, to
the east of the mouth of the river Xanthus j famous for
a temple and oracle of Apollo, thence called Patareus,
three syllables only j but PatarceuSy (Horace). For the
six winter months, Apollo gave answers at Patara; and
for the six summer at Delos, (Virgil, Servius) : these
are the Lycice Sortes of Virgil. The town was situated
in a pe n i n s u 1 a, cal le d L trio rum Chersonesus, (Stephanos),
Acts xxi. I. St Paul in his passage from Philippi to
Jerusalem, came to Miletus, hence to Coos, then to
Rhodes, and from Rhodes to Patara j where having
found a ship that was bound for Phoenicia, he went on
board and mrived at Jerusualem, to be at the feast of
Pentecost.
PAT AVIUM (Tacitus, Strabo), a town of the
Transpadana, situated on the left or north bank of the
Medoacus Minor; founded by Antenor the Trojan,
(Mela, V irgil, Seneca) •, Patavini, the people. (Livy)j
who himself was a native, and by Asinius Pollio char¬
ged with patavinity. Now Padua in the territory and
to the west of Venice. E. Long. 12. 15. N. Lat. 45.
3°
PATAY, a town of France, in the province of Or-
leannois, remarkable for the defeat of the English in
1429, and where Joan of Arc did wonders. E. Long.
1. 43. N. Lat. 48. 5.
PATE, in Fortification, a kind of platform, resem¬
bling what is called an horse's shoe.
PATEE, orPATTEE, in Heraldry, a cross, small in
the centre, and widening to the extremities, which are
very broad.
PATELLA, or Knee-pan, in Anatomy. See Ana¬
tomy Index.
Patella, or Limpet, a genus of shell-fish belong¬
ing to the order of vermes testacea. See Conchology
Index.
Patella, in the History of Insects, a name given
by Lister and other authors to a little husk or shell,
found on the bark of the cherry, plum, rose, and other
trees, containing an animal within, and useful in colour¬
ing. These patellse are of the form of globes, except
where they adhere to the tree, and are for the most part
of a shining chesnut colour. The husk itself strikes avery
fine crimson colour on paper, and within it is found a
white maggot which is of no value: this, in time,
hatches into a very small but beautiful bee. The size
of this bee is about half that of an ant. They have a
sting like bees, and three spots placed in a triangle on
the forehead, which are supposed to be eyes. They are
of a black colour, and have a large round whitish or
pale yellow spot on the back. The upper pair of wings
are shaded and spotted, but the under pair are clear. It
might be worth while to try the shells or husks in order
to discover whether the colour they yield might not be
43 ] PAT
useful. It is to be remarked, that the deepest coloured
husks afford the finest and deepest purple : they must be
used while the animal in them is in the maggot form •
for when it is changed into the bee state the shell is dry
and colourless. Lister, who first observed these patella-
went so far, on comparing them with the common
kermes, as to assert that they were of the same nature
with that production : but his account of their bein-r
the workmanship of a bee, to preserve her young maggot
in, is not agreeable to the true history of the kermes;
tor that is an insect of a very peculiar kind. He has in
other instances been too justly censured for his precipi¬
tancy of judging of things, and perhaps has fallen into
an error by means of it here. It is very possible that
t lese patellte may be the same sort of animals with the
kermes, but then it produces its young within the shell
or husk, which is no other than the skin of the body of
the mother animal 5 but as there are many flies whose
worms or maggots are lodged in the bodies of other
animals, it may be that this little bee may love to lay
its egg in the body of the proper insect, and the mag^-
got hatched from that egg may eat up the proper pro-
geny, and, undergoing its own natural changes there
issue out at length in form of the bee. This may have
been the case in some few which Dr Lister examined ;
and he may have been misled by this to suppose it the
natural change of the insect.
^*(^1 ENi, in general, denotes something that
stands open or expanded : thus a leaf is said to be pa¬
tent, when it stands almost at right angles with the
stalk.
Patent, or Letters Patent. See Letter.
PATER NOSTER, the Lord's Prayer, so called from
the two first words thereof in Latin.
Pateh Noster, islands of Asia, in the East Indian
sea, so called because of the great number of rocks,
which sailors have likened to the beads with which tlie
Papists tell their pater-noster. They abound in corn
and fruits, and are very populous.
Pater I atratus, was the name of the first and princi¬
pal person in the college of heralds called Fecialcs. Some
say the Pater Patratus was a constant officer and per¬
petual chief of that body j and others suppose him to
have been a temporary minister, elected upon account
of making peace or denouncing war, which were botli
done by him. See Feciales.
PATERA, among antiquaries, a goblet or vessel
used by the Romans in their sacrifices 5 wherein they
offered their consecrated meats to the gods, and where¬
with they made libations. See Sacrifice and Liba¬
tion.
The word is Latin, formed from pateo, “ I am open .;”
quod pateat, because it has a great aperture in con-
ti adistinction to bottles, Sic. which have only narrow-
necks, or whose aperture is less than the body of the
vessel.
On medals the patera is seen in the hands of several
deities; and frequently in the hands of princes, to
mark the sacerdotal authority joined with the impe¬
rial, &c.
Hence F. Joubert observes, that besides the patera,
there is frequently an altar upon which the patera seems
to be pouring its contents.
The.patera was of gold, silver, marble, brass, glass, or
I 2 earth ;
P A T
earth ; ami they used to inclose it in urns will
of the deceased, after it had served for the libations ot
the wine and liquors at the funeral.
The patera is an ornament in architecture, frequently
seen in the Doric frieze, and the tympans of arches *,
and they are sometimes used by themselves, to ornament
a space ; and in this case it is common to bang a string
of husks or drapery over them: sometimes they are much
enriched with foliage, and have a mask or a head in the
6 PATERCULUS, Caius Velleius, an ancient Ro¬
man historian, who flourished in the reign of Tiberius
Ciesar, was born in the year of Rome 735. Dis ance¬
stors were illustrious for their merit and then 0 ces'
His cn-andfather espoused the party of Tiberius fSero,
the emperor’s father*, but being old ami infirm, and not
able to accompany Nero when he retired from Naples,
he ran himself through with his sword. His father vvas
a soldier of rank, and so was Paterculus himself. He
was a military tribune when Cains Caesar, a grandson ot
An mist ns, had an interview with the king of the rar-
thians, in an island of the river Euphrates, in the year
7 -3. He commanded the cavalry in Germany under
Tiberius*, and accompanied that prince for nine years
successively in all his expeditions. He received honour¬
able rewards from bim *, but we do not find that be was
preferred to any higher dignity than the pnetorship.
The nraises he bestows upon Sejanus give some probabi¬
lity to the conjecture, that he was looked upon as a
friend of this favourite, and consequently that he was
involved in his ruin. His death is placed by Mr Dod-
well in the year of Rome 784, when he was m his 50th
He wrote an abridgement of the Roman History in
two books, which is very curious. His purpose was
only to deduce things from the foundation of Rome to
the"time wherein he lived *, but he began Ins work with
thinp'S previous to that memorable era j tor, though the
beginning of his first book is wanting, we. yet hnd in
what remains of it, an account of many cities more an-
cicnt than Rome. He promised a larger history *, and
no doubt would have executed it well: for during his
military expeditions he had seen, as jie tells us, the pio-
vinces of Thrace, Macedonia, Achaia, Asia Minor, and
other more easterly regions *, especially upon the shores
of the Euxine sea, which had furnished his mind with
much entertaining and useful knowledge. In the A-
bridgement which we have, many particulars are related
that are nowhere else to be found *, and this makes it
the more valuable. The style of Paterculus, though
miserably disguised through the carelessness of transcri¬
bers, and impossible to be restored to purity tor want
of manuscripts, is yet manifestly worthy of his age,
which was the time of pure Latinity. 'I he greatest
excellence of this historian lies in his manner of com¬
mending and blaming those he speaks of; which he does
m the finest terms and most delicate expressions. He is,
however, condemned, and indeed with the greatest sea-
apn, for his partiality to the house of Augustus ■, and for
making the most extravagant eulogies, not only upon
Tiberius, hut even upon his favourite Sejanus: whom,
though a vile and cruel monster, Paterculus celebrates
as one of the most excellent persons the Roman com¬
monwealth had produced. Lip-ms, though he praises
Iiitn ill other respects, yet censures him most severely for
[ 44 1 PAT
the ashes his insincerity and partiality. “ Velleius Paterculus palcrcuiOT
(says he) raises my indignation: he represents Sejanus I!
as endowed with all good qualities. The impudence of
this historian ! But we know that he was born, and
died, to the destruction of mankind. After many com¬
mendations, he concludes, that Liva was a woman more
resembling the gods than men : and as to Tiberius, he
thinks it a crime to speak otherwise of him than as oi
an immortal Jove. What sincere and honest mind can
bear this ? On the other hand, how artfully does he
everywhere conceal the great qualities of Caesar Germa-
nicus ! how obliquely does lie ruin the reputation of
Agrippina and others, whom Tiberius was thought to
hate! In short, he is nothing but a court-prostitute.
You will say, perhaps, it was unsafe to speak the truth
as those times : I grant it j but it he could not write
the truth, he ought not to have written lies: none are
called to account for silence.” La Mothe le A ayar has
made a very just remark upon this occasion: “ The
same fault (says he) may be observed in many others,
who have written the history of their own times, with
a design to be published while they lived.”
It is strange, that a work so elegant and worthy to
be preserved, and of which, by reason of its shortness,
copies might be so easily taken, should have been so
near lieing lost. One manuscript only has had the luck
to be found, as well of this author among the Latins
as of Hesychius among the Greeks: in which, says a
great critic ot our own nation, il The faults of the
scribes are found so numerous, and the defects so be¬
yond all redress, that notwithstanding the pains of the
Jearned and most acute critics for two whole centuries,
these books still are, and are like to continue, a mere
heap of errors.” No ancient author but Priscian makes
mention of Paterculus : the moderns have done him in¬
finitely more justice, and have illustrated him with notes
and commentaries. He was first published fiom the
manuscript ot Mbrhac, by Rbenanus, at Basil in 1520.
afterwards by Lipsius at Leyden in 1581; then by
GerardVossius in 1639; next byBoeclerus at Strasburg
in 16425 then by Thysius and others 5 and, lastly, by
Peter Burman at Leyden, 1719, in 8vo. To the Ox¬
ford edition in 1693, 8vo, were prefixed the Ann ales
Velkiani of Mr Dodvvell, which show deep learning and
a great knowledge of antiquity.
PATH, in general, denotes the course or track
marked out or run over by a body in motion.
Eor the path of the moon, &c. see Moon, &c.
Astronomy Index.
PATHETIC, whatever relates to the passions, or
that is proper to excite or awake them. The word
comes from the Greek passion or emotion. See
Passion.
Pathetic, in Music, something very moving, ex¬
pressive, or passionate 5 capable of exciting pity, com¬
passion, anger, or other passions. Thus we speak of
the pathetic style, a pathetic figure, pathetic song, &c.
The chromatic genus, with its greater and lessei semi¬
tones, either ascending or descending, is very proper
for the pathetic 5 as is also an artful management of
discords 5 with a variety of motions, now brisk, now
lamniishing, now swift, now slow. <
Nieuwentyt speaks of a musician at Venice who so
excelled in the pathetic, that he was able to play any
of his auditors into distraction: he says also, that the
gvea$
PAT [ 45 ] PAT'
Pathetic great means he made use of was the variety of mo¬
ll tions, &c.
Pati^Moe . PATHOGNOMONIC, among Physicians, an ap-
v pellation for a symptom, or concourse of symptoms, that
are inseparable from a distemper, and are found in that
only, and in no other.
PATHOLOGY, that part of medicine which ex¬
plains the nature of diseases, their causes and symp¬
toms. See Medicine.
PATHOS, a Greek term, literally signifying pas¬
sion.
PATHROS, a city and canton of Egypt, of which
the prophets Jeremiah and Ezekiel make mention *,
Jerem. xliv. i. 15. Ezek. xxix. 14. xxx. 14. We do
not very well know its situation, though Pliny and
Ptolemy the geographer speak of it by the name of
Phatuns } and it appears to have been in Upper Egypt.
Isaiah (xii. 2.) calls it Pathros ; and it is the country
of the Pathrusim, the posterity of Mizraim, of whom
Moses speaks, Gen. x. 14. Ezekiel threatens them
’■with an entire ruin. The Jews retired thither notwith¬
standing the remonstrances of Jeremiah } and the Lord
says by Isaiah, that he will bring them back from
thence.
PATIENCE, that calm and unruffled temper with
which a good man bears the evils of life, from a con¬
viction that they are at least permitted, if not sent, by
the best of Beings, who makes all things work together
for good to those who love and fear him.
The evils by which life is embittered may be redu¬
ced to these four : 1. Natural evils, or those to which
we are by nature subject as men, and as perishable ani¬
mals. The greatest of these are, the death of those
whom we love, and of ourselves. 2. Those from which
we might be exempted by a virtuous and prudent
conduct, but which are the inseparable consequences
of imprudence or vice, which we shall call punishments j
as infamy proceeding from fraud, poverty from prodiga¬
lity, debility and disease from intemperance. 3. Those
by which the fortitude of the good are exercised ; such
as the persecutions raised against them by the wicked,
lo these may be added, 4- J he opposition against which
we must perpetually struggle, arising from the diversity
of sentiments, manners, and characters of the persons
among whom we live.
Under all these evils patience is not only necessary
but useful : it is necessary, because the laws of nature
have made it a duty, and to murmur against natural
events is to affront providence ; it is useful, because it
renders our sufferings lighter, shorter, and less dan¬
gerous.
Is your reputation sullied by invidious calumnies?
rejoice that your character cannot suffer but by false
imputations. You are arraigned in a court of judi¬
cature, and are unjustly condemned : passion has in¬
fluenced both your prosecutor and your judge, and you
cannot forbear repining that you suffer although in¬
nocent. But would it have been better that you
should have suffered being guilty ? Would the greatest
misfortune that can befal a virtuous man be to you a
consolation ? The opulence of a villain, the elevated
station to which he is raised, and the honours that are
paid to him, excite your jealousy, and fill your bosom
with repinings and regret. What! say you, are riches,
dignity, and power, reserved for such wretches as this ?
Cease these groundless murmurs. If the possessions you
regret were real benefits, they would be taken from the
wicked and transferred to you. What would you say
of a successful hero, who, having delivered his country,
should complain that his services were ill requited, be¬
cause a few sugar-plums were distributed to some chil¬
dren in his presence, of which they had not offered him
a share ? Ridiculous as this would appear, your com¬
plaints are no better founded. Has the Lord of all no
reward to confer on you but perishable riches and empty
precarious honour ?
It is fancy, not the reason of things, that makes life
so uneasy to us. It is not the place nor the condition,
but the mind alone, that can make anybody happy or
miserable.
He that values himself on conscience, not opinion,
never heeds reproaches. When we are evil spoken of,
if we have not deserved it, we are never the worse } if
we have, we should mend.
Tiberius the Roman emperor, at the beginning of
his reign, acted in most tilings like a truly generous,
good natured, and clement prince. All slanderous re¬
ports, libels, and lampoons upon him and his admini¬
stration, he bore with extraordinary patience saying,
“ That in a free state the thoughts and tongues of
every man ought to be free j” and when the senate
would have proceeded against some who had published
libels against him, be would not consent to it \ saying,
“ Wre have not time enough to attend to such trifles $
if you once open a door to such informations, you will
be able to do nothing else *, for under that pretence every
man will revenge himself upon his enemies by accusing
them to you.” Being informed that one had spoken de-
tractingly of him : “ If he speak ill of me,” says he, “ I
will give him as good an account of my words and ac¬
tions as I can j and if that be not sufficient, I will satisfy
myself with having as bad an opinion of him as he has
of me.” Thus far even Tiberius may be an example
to others.
Men will have the same veneration for a person who
suffers adversity without dejection, as for demolished
temples, the very rains of which ai’e reverenced and
adored.
A virtuous and well-disposed person, is like to good
metal; the more he is fired, the more he is refined 5 the
more he is opposed, the more he is approved ; wrongs
may well try him and touch him, but cannot imprint
in him any false stamp.
The man therefore who possesses this virtue (patience),
in this ample sense of it, stands upon an eminence, and
sees human things below him : the tempest indeed may
reach him ; but he stands secure and collected against
it upon the basis of conscious virtue, which the severest
storms can seldom shake, and never overthrow.
Patience, however, is by no means incompatible
with sensibility, which, with all its inconveniences,
is to be cherished by those who understand and wish to
maintain the dignity of their nature. To feel for others,
disposes us to exercise the amiable virtue of charity, which
our religion indispensably requires. It constitutes that
enlarged benevolence which philosophy inculcates, and'
which is indeed comprehended in Christian charity. It
is the privilege and the ornament of man ; and the pain
which <
Patience.
I.
PAT [46
Prtiicncc Tvliicli It causes is abundantly recompensed by that
II sweet sensation which ever accompanies the exercise ot
Patkul. beneficence. . ,
To feel our own misery with lull force is not to be
deprecated. Affliction softens and improves the heart.
Tears, to speak in the style of figure, fertilize the soil in
which the virtues grow. And it is the remark ol one
who understood human nature, that the faculties ol the
mind, as well as the feelings of the heart, are meliorated
by adversity. /T. .
But in order to promote these ends, our sutlerings
must not be permitted to overwhelm us. We mustop¬
pose them with the arms of reason and religion ; and to
express the idea in the language of the philosopher, as
well as the poet, of Nature, every one, while he is com¬
pelled to feel his misfortunes like a man, should resolve
also to bear them like a man.
Resign’d in ev’ry state,
With patience bear, with prudence push, your fate j
By suffering well our fortune, we subdue,
Fly when she frowns, and when she calls pursue.
PAT I GUM O (a corruption of the words pate-de
8-mmaiive) ; the name of a sort of paste or cakes much
used on the continent as an agreeable and useful
remedy for catarrhal defluxions, and supposed by
Dr Percival to consist of gum-arabic combined with
sugar and the whites of eggs (see the article Hunger).
But we have been informed that the powdered substance
of the marshmallow is the chief ingredient of the com¬
position. .... ,1
PATIN, Guy, professor of physic in the royal col¬
lege of Paris, was born in 1602. He made his way
into the world merely by the force of his genius, being
at first corrector of a printing-house. He was a man ot
great wit and erudition: he spoke with the gravity ot
a Stoic, but his expressions were very satirical. He
hated bigotry, superstition, and knavery ; had an up¬
right soul, and a well-disposed heart. He was a most
tender father, courteous to every body, and polite in
the highest degree. He died in 1672, and did not owe
his reputation to any writings published in his lifetime
upon physic; but his letters which appeared after his
death have rendered his name famous. He left a son
mentioned in the ensuing article.
Patin, Charles, who made a great figure in the
world, and excelled in the knowledge of medals. He
was born in Paris in 1633 ; and made so surprising a
progress, that he maintained theses in Greek and Latin
on all parts of philosophy, in 1647. He studied the
law in compliance to an uncle, and was admitted an
advocate in the parliament of Paris; but could not
lay aside that of physic, for which he always had an
inclination. He therefore quitted the law, and devoted
himself to physic ; in which, after taking the doctor s
degree, he applied himself to practice with great suc¬
cess. He afterwards travelled into Germany, Holland,
England, Switzerland, and Italy. In 1676, he was
appointed professor of physic in Padua; and three years
after was created a knight of St Mark. He died in
that city in 1694. His works are many, and well
known to the learned world. His wife too, and his
daughters were authoresses.
PATKUL, John Reinhold, was born of a noble
family in Livonia, a northern province belonging to the
4
]
PAT
crown of Sweden. Thfe Livonians having been stript Patkul.
of their privileges, and great part of their estates, by “v
Charles XI. Patkul was deputed to make their com¬
plaint ; which he did with such eloquence and courage,
that the king, laying his hand upon his shoulder, said,
‘ You have spoken for your country as a brave man
should, and I esteem you for it.’
Charles, however, who added the baseness of hypo¬
crisy to the ferocity of a tyrant, was determined to
punish the zeal and honesty which he thought fit to
commend ; and a few days afterwards caused I atkul
to be declared guilty of high treason, and condemned
to die. Patkul, however, found means to escape into
Poland, where he continued till Charles was dead. He
hoped that his sentence would have been then reversed,
as it had been declared unjust even by the tyrant that
procured it: but being disappointed in this expectation
he applied to Augustus king of Poland, and solicited
him to attempt the conquest of Livonia from the
Swedes ; which, he said, might be easily effected, as
the people were ready to shake off their yoke, and the
king of Sweden was a child incapable of compelling
their subjection.
Augustus possessed himself of Livonia in consequence
of this proposal; and afterwards, when Chailes XU’
entered the province to recover it, Patkul commanded
in the Saxon army against him. Charles was victori¬
ous; and Patkul, some time afterwards, being disgust¬
ed at the haughty behaviour of General Fleming, Au¬
gustus’s favourite, entered into the service of the Cz.ar,
with whom Augustus was in strict alliance, and a little
before Charles compelled Augustus to abdicate the
throne of Poland, and his subjects to elect Stanislaus
in his stead. The Czar sent Patkul, with the title ot
his ambassador, into Saxony, to prevail with Augustus
to meet him at Grodno, that they might confer on the
state of their affairs. This conference took place ; and
immediately afterwards the Czar went from Grodno to
quell a rebellion in Astracan. As soon as the Czar was
gone, Augustus, to the surprise of all Europe, ordered
Patkul, who Avas then at Dresden, to be seized as a state
criminal. By this injurious and unprecedented action,
Augustus at once violated the law ot nations, and weak¬
ened his own interest; for Patkul was not only an am¬
bassador, but an ambassador from the only power that
could afford him protection. The cause, however, was
this : Patkul had discovered that Augustus’s ministers
were to propose a peace to Charles upon any terms; and
had therefore formed a design to be beforehand with
them, and procure a separate peace between Charles and
his new master the Czar. The design of Patkul was
discovered; and, to prevent its success, Augustus ven¬
tured to seize his person, assuring the Czar that he w as
a traitor, and had betrayed them both.
Augustus was soon after reduced to beg a peace of
Charles at any rate ; and Charles granted it upon cer¬
tain conditions, one of which was, that he should de¬
liver up Patkul. This condition reduced Augustus to
a very distressful dilemma : the Czar, at this very time,
reclaimed Patkul as his ambassador; and Charles de¬
manded, with threats, that he should be put into his
hands Augustus therefore contrived an expedient by
which he hoped to satisfy both : he sent some guards
to deliver Patkul, who was prisoner in the castle of
Konigstein, to the Swedish troops ; but by secret or-
PAT [ 47 ] PAT
Patkul. tiers privately dispatched, he commanded the governor
\ to let him escape. The governor, though he received
this order in time, yet disappointed its intention by his
villany and his avarice. He knew Patkul to be very
rich ; and having it now in his power to suffer him to
escape with impunity, he demanded of Patku! a large
sum for the favour : Patkul refused to buy that liberty
which he made no doubt would be gratuitously restored,
in consequence of the Czar’s requisition and remon¬
strance j and, in the mean time, the Swedish guards ar¬
rived with the order for his being delivered up to them.
By this party he was first carried to Charles’s head
quarters at Albranstadt, where he continued three
months, bound to a stake with a heavy chain of iron.
He was then conducted to Casimir, where Charles or¬
dered him to be tried ; and he was by his judges found
guilty. His sentence depended upon the king 5 and af¬
ter having been kept a prisoner some months, under a
guard of Mayerfeldt’s regiment, uncertain of his fate,
he was, on the 28th of September 1707, towards the
evening, delivered into the custody of a regiment of
dragoons, commanded by Colonel Nicholas Hielm. On
the next day, the 29th, the colonel took the chaplain of
his regiment aside, and telling him that Patkul was to
die the following day, ordered him to acquaint him with
his fate, and prepare him for it. About this very time
he was to have been married to a Saxon lady of great
quality, virtue, and beauty; a circumstance which ren¬
ders his case still more affecting. What followed in
consequence of the colonel’s order to the minister will
be related in his own words.
“ Immediately after evening service I went to his pri¬
son, where I found him lying on his bed. The first com¬
pliments over, I entered upon the melancholy duty of
my profession, and turning to the officer who had him
in charge, told him the colonel’s orders were, that I
should be alone with his prisoner. The officer having
withdrawn, Patkul grasping both my hands in his, cried
out with most affecting anxiety and distress, My dear
pastor 1 what are you to declare P what am I to hear ?
I bring you, replied I, the same tidings that the prophet
brought to King Hezekiah, Set thine house in order, for
thou must die. To-morrow by this time thou shalt be
no longer in the number of the living ! At this terrible
warning he bowed himself upon his bed and burst into
tears. I attempted to comfort him, by saying that he
must, without all doubt, have often meditated on this
subject: Yes, cried he, I know, alas ! too well, that
we must all die ; but the death prepared for me will he
cruel and insupportable. I assured him that the manner
of his death was to me totally unknown ; but, believing
that he would be prepared for it, I was sure his soul
would be received into the number of happy spirits.
Here he rose up, and folding bis hands together, Mer¬
ciful Jesus ! let me then die the death of the righteous!
A little after, with his face inclined to the wall, where
stood his bed, he broke out into this soliloquy : Augus¬
tus ! O Augustus, what must be thy lot one day! Must
thou not answer for all the crimes thou hast committed?
He then observed that he was driven out from his coun¬
try, by a sentence against his life, pronounced fordoing
what the king himself encouraged him to do, saying to
him one day in terms of much kindness, ‘ Patkul, main¬
tain the rights of your country like a man of honour,
and with all the spirit you are capable of. That flying
into an enemy’s country was also unavoidable, as the Patkul.
country of an ally would not have afforded him protec- —y—
tion ; but that he was in Saxony a wretched exile, not
a counsellor or adviser ; that before his arrival every
thing was already planned, the alliance with Muscovy
signed, and the measures with Denmark agreed upon.
‘ My inclination, (said he, after a pause) were always to
serve Sweden, though the contrary opinion has prevail¬
ed. The elector of Brandenburg owed his title of king
of Prussia to the services I did him ; and when, in re¬
compense, he would have given me a considerable sum
of money, I thanked him, and rejected the offer; add¬
ing, that the reward I most wished for was to regain the
king of Sweden’s favour by his intercession. This he
promised, and tried every possible method to succeed, but
without success. After this I laboured so much for the
interest of the late emperor in his Spanish affairs, that I
brought about what scarce any other man could have
effected. T. he emperor as an acknowledgement gave me
an assignment for 50,000 crowns, which I humbly laid
at his feet, and only implored his imperial majesty’s re¬
commendation of me to my king’s favour: this request
he immediately granted, and gave his orders according¬
ly, but in vain. Yet, not to lose any opportunity, I
went to Moscow while the Swedish ambassadors were at
that court; but even the mediation of the Czar had no
effect. After that I distributed among the Swedish pri¬
soners at Moscow at least 100,000 crowns, to show the
ardent desire I had, by all ways, to regain the favour of
their sovereign. Would to heaven I had been equally
in earnest to obtain the grace of God.’—At these words
another shower of tears fell from his eyes, and he re¬
mained for some moments silent, and overwhelmed with
grief. I used my best endeavours to comfort him with
the assurance that this grace would not be denied him,
provided he spent the few hours still left in earnestly im¬
ploring it; for the door of heaven’s mercy was never
shut, though that of men might be cruelly so. ‘ This
(replied he), this is my consolation ; for thou art God
and not man, to be angry for ever.’ He then inveighed
bitterly against Augustus, and reproached himself for
having any connection with a wretch who was wholly
destitute of all faith and honour, an atheist, without
piety, and without virtue. ‘ While he was at War¬
saw (said he), and heard the king was advancing to at¬
tack him, he found himself extremely distressed. He
was absolutely without money, and therefore obliged
to dismiss some of his troops. He had recourse to my
assistance, and intreated me, for the love of God, to bor¬
row whatever sum I could. I procured him 400,000
crowns ; 50,000 of which, the very next day, he squan¬
dered on trinkets and jewels, which he gave in presents
to some of his women. I told him plainly my thoughts
of the matter ; and by my importunity prevailed, that
the Jews should take back their toys, and return the
money they had been paid for them. The ladies were
enraged ; and he swore that I should one time or other
suffer for what I had done : there indeed he kept his
word; would to God he had always done so with those
he employed !’ I now left him for a short time, and at
seven in the evening I returned ; and the officer being
retired, he accosted me with a smiling air, and an ap¬
pearance of much tranquillity, ‘ Welcome, dear sir, the
weight that lay heavy on my heart is removed, and f al¬
ready feel a sensible change wrought in my mind. J am
PAT [48
ready to die : death is more eligible than the solitude of
a long imprisonment. Would to heaven only that the
kind of it were less cruel. Can you, my dear sir, intorm
me in what manner I am to suffer ?’ I answered, that it
had not been communicated to me ; but that I imagin¬
ed it would pass over without noise, as only the colonel
and myself had notice ot it. ‘ That (replied he) I
esteem'as a favour; but have you seen the sentence? or
must I die, without being either heard or condemned .
My apprehensions.are ot being put to intolerable toi-
tures.’ I comforted him in the kindest manner 1 could *,
but he was his own best comforter from the W ord ot
God, with which he was particularly acquainted ; quot¬
ing, among many other passages, the following in Greek,
Jfre must enter into the kingdom of heaven through many
tribulations. He then called for pen and ink, and in-
treated me to write down what he should dictate. 1 did
so, as follows: 7 .... r
‘ Testament!/m, or my last will as to the disposition oj
my effects after my death.—1. His majesty King Augu¬
stus', having firstexaminedhis conscience thoroughly, will
be so just as to pay back to my relations the sum he owes
me ; which being liquidated, wall amount to 50,000
crowns; and as my relations are here in the service ot
Sweden, that monarch will probably obtain it tor them.
“ At this he said, let us stop here a little ; I will
quickly return to finish this will ; but now let us ad¬
dress ourselves to God by prayer. Prayers being end¬
ed, ‘ Now (cried he) I find myself yet better, yet in
a quieter frame of mind: Oh ! were my death less
dreadful, with what pleasure would I expiate my guilt
by embracing it !—Yes (cried he, after a pause), 1
have friends in different places, who will weep oyer
my deplorable fate. What will the mother of the king
of Prussia say ? What will be the grief of the Countess
Levolde, who attends on her? But what thoughts must
arise in the bosom of her to whom my faith is plightei .
Unhappy woman! the news of my death will be tatal
to her peace of mind. My dear pastor, may I venture
to beg one favour of you ?’ I assured him he might
command every service in my power. ‘ Have the good¬
ness then (said he, pressing my hand), the moment 1 am
no more, to write—Alas ! how will you set about it . a
letter to Madam Einseidelern, the lady I am promised
to—Let her know that I die her’s ; inlorm her fully ot
my unhappy fate : Send her my last and eternal fare¬
well ! My death is in truth disgraceful; but my manner
of meeting it will, I hope by heaven’s and your assist¬
ance, render it holy and blessed. Tins news will be her
only consolation. Add farther, dear Sir, that I thanked
her with my latest breath for the sincere affection s ic
bore me : May she live long and happy : Hus is my
dying wish.’—I gave him my hand in promise that I
would faithfully perform all he desired.
“ Afterwards he took up a book : ‘ ibis (said lie)
is of my own writing. Keep it in remembrance of me
and as a proof of my true regard for religion. 1 could
wish it might have the good fortune to be presented to
the king, that he may be convinced with what little
foundation I have been accused of atheism. 1 along it
from his hand, I assured him that my colonel would not
fail to present it as soon as opportunity ottered.
“ The rest of his time was employed in prayer, which
he went through with a very fervent devotion On the
30th of September I was again with him at tom in the
PAT
morning. The moment he heard me he rose, and ren
]
Patkul.
dering thanks to God, assured me he had not slept so
soundly for a long time. We went to prayers ; and in
truth his piety and devout frame of mind were worthy
of admiration. About six he said he would begin his
confession, before the din and clamour of the people
without could rise to disturb his thoughts. He then
kneeled down, and went through his confession in a
manner truly edifying. The sun beginning to appear
above the horizon, he looked out of the window, saying,
Salvefesta dies! ‘ This is my wedding-day. I looked,
alas ! for another, but this is the happie; ; for to-day
shall my soul be introduced by her heavenly bridegroom
into the assembly of the blessed !’ He then asked me,
whether I yet knew in what way he was to die . 1 an¬
swered, that I did not. He conjured me, by the sacred
name of Jesus, not to forsake him ; for that he should
find in my company some consolation even in the midst
of tortures. Casting his eye on the paper that lay on
the table, ‘ This will (said he) can never be finished.
I asked him, whether he would put his name to what
was already written ? ‘ No (replied he, with a deep
sigh), I will write that hated name no more. My rela¬
tions will find their account in another place ; salute
them for me.’ He then addressed himself again to God
in prayer, and continued his devotions till the lieutenant
entered to conduct him to the coach. He wrapped him¬
self up in his cloak, and went forward a great pace,
guarded by 100 horsemen. Being arrived at the place
of execution, we found it surrounded by 300 loot sol¬
diers ; but at the sight of the stakes and wheels, las hor¬
ror is not to be described. Clasping me in his arms,
‘ Beg of God (he exclaimed) that my soul may not be
thrown into despair amidst these tortures !’ I comforted,
I adjured him to fix his thoughts on the death ol Jesus
Christ, who for our sins was nailed to a cross.
“ Being now on the spot where he was to sutler, he
bid the executioner to do his duty well, and put into hi^
hands some money which he got ready for that purpose.
He then stretched himself out upon the wheel; and
while they were stripping him naked, he begged me to
prav that'God would have mercy on him, and bear up
his'soul in agony. I did so ; and turning to all the
spectators, said to them, Brethren, join with me in
prayer for this unhappy man. ‘ Yes (cried he), assn,!
me all of you with your supplications to heaven. Here
the executioner gave him the first stroke. His cries were
terrible : ‘ O Jesus ! Jesus ! have mercy upon me. 1 his
cruel scene was much lengthened out, and ot the utmost
horror ; for as the headsman had no skill in his business,
the unhappy victim received upwards of 15 several
blows, with each of which were intermixed the most
piteous groans and invocations of the name ot God. At
length, after two strokes given on the breast, his strength
and voice failed him. In a faultering dying tone, he
was just heard to say, ‘ Cut off my head ?’ and the exe¬
cutioner still lingering, he himself placed Ins head on
the scaffold: After four strokes with an hatchet, the
head was separated from the body, and the body quar¬
tered. Such was the end of the renowned I atkul.
Charles XII. has been very generally and severely
censured for not pardoning him, and wc are not inclined
to vindicate the sovereign. Yet it must be remembered,
that Patkul was guilty of a much greater crime than
that which drew upon him the displeasure of Charles
I
PAT
Patkul
il
Patna,
XT. He incited foreign powers to attack his country
when under the government of a boy, hoping, as he
j said himself, that it would in such circumstances become
an easy conquest. He was therefore a rebel of the worst
kind 5 and where is the absolute monarch that is ready
to pardon such unnatural rebellion ? Let it be remem¬
bered, too, that Charles, amongst whose faults no other
instance of cruelty has been numbered, certainly thought
that, in ordering the execution of Patkul, he was dis¬
charging his duty. That monarch, it is known, believ¬
ed in the possibility of discovering the philosopher’s stone.
Patkul, when under sentence of death, contrived to im¬
pose so far upon the senate at Stockholm, as to persuade
them that he had, in their presence, converted into gold
a quantity of baser metal. An account of this experi¬
ment was transmitted to the king, accompanied with a
petition to his majesty for the life of so valuable a sub¬
ject*, but Charles, blending magnanimity with his se-
I XT 1 i o »v-wl« — a.1 . I i i
t 49 ]
PAT
150,oco. E. Long. 85. 15. palJU
verity, replied with indignation, that he would not
grant to interest what he had refused to the call of hu¬
manity and the intreaties of friendship.
I A CMOS, in Ancient Geographyt one of the Spo-
rades (Dionysius) ; 30 miles in compass (Pliny) ; con¬
cerning which we read very little in authors. It was
rendered famous by the exile of St John, and the Reve¬
lation showed him there. The greatest part of interpre¬
ters think that St John wrote them in the same place
during the two years of his exile ; but others think that
he did not commit them to writing till after his return
to Ephesus. The island of Patmos is between the island
of Icaria and the promontory of Miletus. Nothing has
done it more honour than to have been the place o°f the
banishment of St John. It is now called Patino, or Pac-
tino, or Patmol, or Palmosa. Its circuit is five and
twenty or thirty miles. It has a city called Patmos,
with a haibour, and some monasteries of Greek monks.
It is at present in the hands of the Turks. It is con¬
siderable for its harbours j but the inhabitants derive
little benefit from them, because the corsairs have ob¬
liged them to quit the town, and retire to a hill on which
St John’s convent stands. This convent is a citadel con¬
sisting of several irregular towers, and is a substantial
building seated on a very steep rock. The whole island
is very barren, and without wood ; however, it abounds
with partridges, rabbits, quails, turtles, pigeons, and
snipes. All their corn does not amount to 1000 barrels
in a year. In the whole island there are scarcely 300
men ; but there are above 20 women to one’ man, tvho
expect that all strangers who land in the island should
carry some of them away. To the memory of St John
is an hermitage on the side of a mountain, where there
is a chapel not above eight paces lonor and five broad.
Over bead they show a chink in the rock, through
wh.ch they pretend that the Holy Ghost dictated to
St John. E. Long. 26. 84. N. Lat. 37. 24.
PA I NA, a town of Hindoostan, where the English
have factories for saltpetre, borax, and raw silk. It
is the capital of the province of Bahar, a dependency
of Bengal, in the empire of Hindoostan, situated in a
pleasant country, 460 miles east of Agra. It extends
seven miles in length on the hanks of the Ganges,
and is auout half a mile in breadth.—Mr Rennel gives
strong reasons for supposing it to be the ancient Pali-
eothra. The town is large, but the houses are built
at a distance from each other. The number of inhabi-
Vol. XVI. Part I.
tants is estimated at
N* Lat; 25. 37. ^
I AIOMACK, a large river of Virginia, in North
America, which rises in the Alleghany mountains, se¬
parates Virginia from Maryland, and falls into Chesa-
peake. bay. It is navigable for near 300 miles.
Washington is situated on its north bank.
PATONCE, in Heraldry, is a cross, flory at the
ends; from which it differs only in this, that the ends
instead of turning down like a fleur-de-lis, are extend¬
ed somewhat in the pattee form. See Flory.
PA I K^E, a city of Achaia. This place was visit-
ec by Dr Chandler, who gives the following account
of it. “ It has often been attacked by enemies, taken,
and pillaged. It is a considerable town, at a distance
from the sea, situated on the side of a hill, which has
its summit crowned with a ruinous castle. This made
a brave defence in 1447 against Sultan Morat, and held
out until the peace was concluded, which first rendered
the Morea tributary to the Turks. A dry flat before it
was once the port, which has been choked with mud.
It has now, as in the time of Strabo, only an indifferent
road for vessels. The house of Nicholas Paul, Esq. the
English consul, stood on part of the wall either of the
theatre or the odeum. By a fountain was a fragment
Latin inscription. Y\ e saw also a large marble
bust much defaced j and the French consul showed us a
collection of medals. We found nothing remarkable in
the citadel. It is a place of some trade, and is inhabited
by Jews as well as by Turks and Greeks. The latter
have several churches. One is dedicated to St Andrew
the apostle, who suffered martyrdom there, and is of
great sanctity. It had been recently repaired. The
site by the sea is supposed that of the* temple of Ceres.
By it is a fountain. The air is bad, and the country
round about overrun with the low shrub called glyei/r-
rhvza or liquorice.”
Of its ancient state, the same author speaks thus:
“ Patras assisted the ./Etolians when invaded by the
Gauls under Brennus $ but afterwards was unfortunate,
reduced to extreme poverty, and almost abandoned. Au¬
gustus Caesar reunited the scattered citizens, and made
it a Roman colony, settling a portion of the troops which
obtained the victory of Actium, with other inhabitants
from the adjacent places. Patrae reflourished and enjoy¬
ed dominion over Naupactus, Oeanthe, and several ci¬
ties of Achaia. In the time of Pausanias, Patrse was
adorned with temples and porticoes, a theatre, and an
odeum which was superior to any in Greece but that of
Atticus Herodes at Athens. In the lower part of the
city was a temple of Bacchus iEsymnetes, in which was
an image preserved in a chest, and conveyed, it was
said, from Troy by Eurypylus ; who, on opening it,
became disordered in his senses. By the port were
temples and by the sea, one of Ceres, with a pleasant
grove and a prophetic fountain of unerring veracity in
determining the event of any illness. After supplicating
the goddess with incense, the sick person appeared”
dead or living, in a mirror suspended so as to touch the
surface of the water. In the citadel of Patree was a
temple of Diana Lapkria, with her statue in the habit of
a huntress, of ivory and gold, given by Augustus Csesar
when he laid waste Calydon and the cities of iEtolia to
people Nicopolis. The Patrensians honoured her with
a yearly festival, which is described by Pausanias who
G was
Patras.
Patrae
PAT [ 50 J P A T . . .
They formed a circle round tire allar by others to be an instance of prophetic inspiration more PatnarA
*1 7 ■ - ' --1 than of patriarchal power. The fourth instance is that' v
was a spectator. ^ —  . , . , .
ti with pieces of green wood, each 16 cubits long, ami
Patriarch within heaped dry fuel. The solemnity began with a
^   ' most rnagniheent procession, which was closed by the
virgin-priestess in a chariot drawn by stags. Uu the
following day, the city and private persons offered at the
altar fruits, and birds, and all kinds of victims, wild-
boars, stags, deer, young wolves, and beasts full grown J
after which the fire was kindled. He relates, that a
bear and another animal forced a way through the fence,
but were reconducted to the pile. It was not remem¬
bered that any wound had ever been received at this ce¬
remony, though the spectacle and sacrifice were as dan¬
gerous as savage. The number of women at Patrae was
double that of the men. They were employed chiefly
in a manufacture of flax which grew in Ellis, weaving
garments, and attire for the head.”
° PATRANA, or Pastrana, a town of New Castile
in Spain, with the title of a duchy. It is seated between
the rivers Tajo and Tajuna, in W. Long. 2. 45. N. Eat.
4°PATUAS, an ancient town of European Turkey, in
the Morea, with a Greek archbishop’s see. It con¬
tains about 440 families j and the Jews, who are one-
third part of the inhabitants, have four synagogues.
There are several handsome mosques and Greek,
churches. The Jews carry on a trade in silk, leather,
honey, wax, and cheese. There are cypress trees of a
prodigious height, and excellent pomegranates, citrons,
and oranges. It stands at a little distance from the
sea, and its port is now choaked up with mud. is
in the hands of the Turks. E. Long. 21. 45- Hat.
’ PATRICA, a town of Italy, in the territory of the
church, and in the Campagna of Rome, towards the
sea-coast, and eight miles east of Ostia. About a mi e
from this place is a hill called Monte de Livano which
some have thought to be the ancient Lavimum founded
ypATRES conscripti. See Conscript and Se-
^ PATRIARCH, PATRIARCHA, one of those first fa¬
thers who lived towards the beginning of the world, and
who became famous by their long lines of descendants.
Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and his twelve sons are the
patriarchs of the Old Testament j Seth, Enoch, &c.
were antediluvian patriarchs. . •
The authority of patriarchal government existed in
the fathers of families, and their first-born a.ter them,
exercising all kinds of ecclesiastical and civil authority
in their respective households 5 and to this government,
which lasted till the time of the Israelites dwelling m
Egypt, some have ascribed an absolute and despotic
power, extending even to the punishment by death. In
proof of this, is produced the curse pronounced by Noah
upon Canaan (Gen ix. 25.) i hut it must be observed,
that in this affair Noah seems to have acted rather as a
prophet than a patriarch. Another instance of supposed
despotic power is Abraham’s turning Hagar and Isl.mael
out of his family (Gen. xxi. 9, &c.) ; but this can hard¬
ly be thought to furnish evidence of any singular autho-
/ity vested in the patriarchs, as such and peculiar to
those ages. The third instance brought forward to the
same purpose is that of Jacob’s denouncing a curse upon
Simeon and Levi (Gen. xUx. 7.), which ts maintained
of Judah with regard to Tamar (Gen. xxxviii. 24.)with
regard to which it is remarked, that Jacob, the father of
Judah, was still living j that Tamar was not one of his
own family j and that she had been guilty of adultery,
the punishment of which was death by burning } and
that J udali on this occasion might speak only as a prose¬
cutor.
On the whole, however, it is difficult to say which ot
these opinions is most agreeable to truth. Men who
believe the origin of civil government, and the obliga¬
tion to obedience, to arise fiom a supposed original con¬
tract, either real or implied, will be naturally led to
weaken the authority of the patriarchs: and those
again who esteem government to be a divine institution,
will be as apt to raise that authority to the highest pitch
that either reason or scripture will permit them. It
cannot be denied, that authority existed in fathers, and
descended to their first-born, in the first ages of the
world j and it is neither unnatural nor improbable to
imagine, that the idea of hereditary power and heredi¬
tary honours was first taken from this circumstance.
But whether authority has descended through father
and son in this way to our times, is a circumstance
that cannot in one instance be asserted, and can be de¬
nied in a thousand. The real source of the dignity
and of the authority of modern times seems to have
been, skill in the art of war, and success in the conduct
of conquests.
Jewish Patriarch, a dignity, respecting the origin
of which there are a variety of opinions. 1 he learned
authors of the Universal History think, that the first
appearance and institution of those patriarchs happened
under Nerva the successor of Domitian. It seems pro¬
bable that the patriarchs were of the Aaromc or Levi-
tical race ; the tribe of Judah being at that time too
much depressed, and too obnoxious to the Romans to be
able to assume any external power. But ot whatever
tribe they were, their authority came to be very consi¬
derable. Their principal business was to instruct the
people j and for this purpose they instituted schools m
several cities. And having gained great reputation tor
their extraordinary learning, zeal, and piety, they might,
in time, not only bring a great concourse of other Jews
from other parts, as from Egypt and other western pro¬
vinces of their dispersion, but likewise prove the means
of their patriarchal authority’s being acknowledged
there. From them they ventured at length to levy a
kind of tribute, in order to defray the charges of their
dignity, and of the officers, (viz. the Apostoh or Legati ),
under them, whose business it was to carry their orders
and decisions through the other provinces of their dis¬
persion, and to see them punctually executed by all, that
some shadow of union at least might he kept up among
the western Jews. They likewise nominated the doctors
who were to preside over their schools and academies j
and these were in process of time styled chufs and prin¬
ces in order to raise the credit ol that dignity, or to im-
plv the great regard which their disciples were to pay
fo them. These chiefs became at length rivals of the
patriarchs •, and some of them possessed both dignities at
once; an usurpation which caused not only great contu¬
sion amongst them, but oftentimes very violent and
bloody contests. However, as the Jewish Rabbles have
J trumped
P A T
[ 5i
(Patriarch, tr'umped up a much older era for this patriarchal dig-
'  1 and have given us a succession of them down to
the fifth century, in which it was abolished, it will not
he amiss to give our readers the substance of what they
have written of the rise and progress of this order of
men , and at the same time to show them the absurdity
and falsehood of that pretended succession to this ima¬
ginary dignity.
According to them, the first patriarch rvas Hillel,
surnamed the Babylonian, because he was sent for from
thence to Jerusalem about 100 years before the ruin of
their capital, or 30 years before the birth of Christ, to
decide a dispute about the keeping of Easter, which on
that day fell out on the Sabbath-day j and it was on
account of his wise decision that he was raised to that
dignity, which continued in his family till the said fifth
century. He was likewise looked upon as a second
Moses, because he lived like him 40 years in obscurity,
40 more in great reputation for learning and sanctity,
and 40 more in possession of this patriarchal dignity.
They make him little inferior to that lawgiver in other
of his excellencies, as well as in the great authority he
gained over the whole Jewish nation. The wonder will
be, how Herod the Great, who ivas so jealous of his
own power, could suffer a stranger to be raised to such
a height of it, barely for having decided a dispute
which must in all likelihood have been adjudged by
others long before that time. ° J
However, Hillel was succeeded by his son Simeon,
whom many Christians pretend to have been the vene¬
rable old person of that name, who received the divine
infant in his arms. The Jews give him but a very ob¬
scure patriarchate j though the authors above quoted
make him, moreover, chief of the sanhedrim ; and Epi-
phamus says, that the priestly tribe hated him so much
forgiving so ample a testimony to the divine child, that
they denied him common burial. But it is hardly cre¬
dible that St Luke should have so carelessly passed over
his twofold dignity, if he had been really possessed of
them, and have given him no higher title than that of a
just and devout man.
He wras succeeded by Jochanan, not in right of de¬
scent, but of his extraordinary merit, which the Bab¬
bies, according to custom, have raised to so surprising
a height, that, according to them, if the whole heavens
were paper, all the trees in the world pens, and all the
men writers, they would not suffice to pen down all his
lessons. He enjoyed his dignity but two years, accord¬
ing to some, or five according to others: and was the
person who, observing the gates of the temple to open
of their own accord, cried out, “ O temple, temple !
why art thou thus moved ! We know that thou art to
be destroyed, seeing Zechariah hath foretold it, saying,
“ °Pen % gates, O Lebanus, and let the flames con¬
sume thy cedars.” Upon this he is further reported
to have complimented Vespasian, or rather, as some
have corrected the story, Titus, with the title of king,
assuring him that it was a royal person who was to
destroy that edifice; on which account they pretend
that general gave him leave to remove the sanhedrim to
Japhne.
Ihe Jewish writers add, that he likewise erected an
academy there, which subsisted till the death of Akiba ;
and was likewise the seat of the patriarch j and consist¬
ed of 300 schools, or classes of scholars. Another lie
J PAT
erected at Lydda, not far from Japline, and ivlitro the pa.
Christians have buried their famed St George. He li- ;
ved 120 years, and being asked, what he had done to
prolong ins life ? lie gave this wise answer; I never
made water nearer a house of prayer than four cubits :
1 never disguised my name: I have taken care to cele¬
brate all lestivals: and my mother hath even sold my
head ornaments to buy wine enough to make me merry
nn cur'll 4-i.Avrri .  1 1 iV .1 1 . . J
on suen days j and left me at her death 300 hogsheads
of it, to sanctify the Sabbath.—The' doctors who
flourished in his time were no less considerable, both
for their, number and character j particularly the famed
iXabbi Llianma, ol whom the Bath Col was heard to say,
tliat the world was preserved for the sake of him ; and
K. JNicodemus, whom they pretend to have stopped the
course of the sun, like another Joshua.
He was succeeded by Gamaliel, a man, according to
t hem, of unsufferable pride j and yet of so universal au¬
thority over all the Jew's, not only in the west, but
oyer tlie whole world, that the very monarchs suffered
Jus laws to be obeyed in their dominions, not one of
them offering to obstruct the execution of them. In his
days flourished Samuel the Less, who composed a pray¬
er full of the bitterest curses against heretics, by which
they mean the Christians; and which are still in useto
this day. Gamaliel was no less an enemy to them ;
and yet both have been challenged, the former as the
celebrated master of our great apostle, the other as his
disciple in bis unconverted state.
Simon II. bis son and successor was the first martyr
who died during the siege of Jerusalem. The people
so regretted his death, that an order was given, instead
of 10 bumpers of wine, which were usually drank at
the funeral of a saint, to drink 13 at bis, on account of
bis martyrdom. These bumpers were in time multiplied,
they tell us, to such shameful height, that the sanhe¬
drim was forced to make some new regulations to pre¬
vent that abuse. 1
These are the patriarchs which, the Babbies tell us,
preceded the destruction of the temple ; and we need no
faitber confutation of this pretended dignity, than the
silence of the sacred historians, who not only make not
the least mention of it, but assure us all along that they
were the high-priests W’ho presided in the sanhedrim;
and before whom all cases relating to the Jewish reli¬
gion were brought and decided. It was the liigb priest
who examined and condemned our Saviour ; that con¬
demned St Stephen ; that forbade the apostles to preach
in Christ’s name; and who sat as judge on the great apo¬
stle at the head of that supreme court. The same may
be urged from Josephus, who must needs have known
and mentioned this pretended dignity, if any such there
had been; and yet is so far from taking the least notice
of it, that, like the evangelists, he places the pontiffs
alone at the head of all the Jewish aflaii's ; and names
the high-priest Ananus as having the care and direction
of the war against the Romans ;—-which is an evident
proof that there were then no such patriarchs in being.
lo all this let us add, that if there had bien a' y
such remarkable succession, the Talmudists would have
preserved it to future ages; whereas, neither they, nor
any of the ancient authors of the Jewrih church, make
any menaon of it ; but only some of their doctors, who
have written a considerable time after them, as of wri¬
ters to whom little credit can he given in points of this
G 2 nature;
PAT [ 52 J
• especially as there are such nnsurmountaWe
Patriawhs contradictions between them a, no aathors etther Je„-
 V—ish or Christian have, \Vith all their pains, been hithe
“ ltirt0succCe“"lon: according .0 the generality of those
^SiMt Bahyl0ol"- - s".n »f ^
lei a. Gamaliel the son of Simeon. 4. Simeon 11.
Se son of Gamaliel. 5 Gamaliel II. the son »f S,m.-
on II. 6. Simeon III. the son of Gamaliel II. ?• Ju
,lah the son of Simeon III. 3. Gamaliel II . ie s^
of Judah. O. Judah 11. the son of Gamaliel III. io.
Hillel II. son of Judah II. 11- Judah HI. son of Hil-
lel II. 12. Hillel III. son of Judah HI. ij* Gama‘
liel IV. son of Hillel HI. . ,
According to Gants Tiemach David, who hath re¬
duced them to io, they are, r
i Hillel the Babylonian. 2. Simeon the son of Hil-
lel. ‘ o Babb. Gamaliel Rebona. 4. R. Simeon the son
of Gamaliel. 5. Rabban Gamaliel his son. 6. R. Je-
heid tt prini. P. Hillel the prince lus son 8.
Rabban Gamaliel the Old. 9. Simeon HI. 10. K.
Judah, Nassi or prince. . , . , . ...
On the whole, it cannot be doubted but that their
first rise was in Nerva’s time, however much Jewish
pride may have prompted them to falsify, and to asser
their origin to have been more ancient that it rea y
was. Nor have the Jews been faithful m giving an
account of the authority of these men. They have ex¬
aggerated their power beyond all bounds for the p
nose of repelling the arguments of Christians . foi thei
power was certainly more showy than substantial. In
time, however, they certainly imposed upon the peo¬
ple * and what power they did possess (which the -
mans only allowed to he in religious matters, or m such
as were connected with religion) they exercised with
<rreat rigour. Their pecuniary demands, in particular,
became very exorbitant •, aryl was the cause of their
"'CatriaVcHS^ among Chnstians, are ecclesiastical dig¬
nitaries, or bishops, so called from their paternal autho-
Htv in the church. The power of patriarchs was no
the7 same in all, but differed according to the different
customs of countries, or the pleasures of kings and coun-
cib. Thus the patriarch of Constantinople grew to he
PAT
a patriarch over the patriarchs of Ephesus and Caesarea, Patriarchs,
and was called the (ecumenical and universal patriarch;
and the patriarch of Alexandria had some prerogatives
which no other patriarch hut himself enjoyed, such as
the right of consecrating and approving every single bi¬
shop under his jurisdiction.
The patriarchate has been ever esteemed the supreme
dignity in the church : the bishop had only under him
the territory of the city of which he was bishop j the
metropolitan superintended a province, arid had 01 su -
fragans the bishops of his province j the primate was
the chief of what was then called a diocese (a), and had
several metropolitans under him ; and the patriarch had
under him several dioceses, composing one exarchate,
and the primates themselves were under him.
Usher, Pagi, De Marca, and Morinus, attribute the
establishment of the grand patriarchates to the apostles
themselves •, who, in their opinion, according to the de¬
scription of the world then given by geographers, pitch¬
ed on the three principal cities in the three parts of the
known world j viz. Rome in Europe, Antioch m Asia,
and Alexandria in Africa : and thus formed a trinity of
patriarchs. Others maintain that the name patriarch
was unknown at the time of the council of Nice ; and
that for a long time afterwards patriarchs and primates
were confounded together, as being all equally chiefs ot
dioceses, and equally superior to metropolitans, who
were only chiefs of provinces. Hence Socrates gives
the title patriarch to all the chiefs of dioceses, and rec¬
kons ten of them. Indeed,it does not appearthat the c ig-
nitv of patriarch was appropriated to the five grand sees
of Rome, Constantinople, Alexandria, Antioch, and Je¬
rusalem, till after the council of Chalcedon in 451 j loi
when the council of Nice regulated the limits and pre¬
rogatives of the three patriarchs ot Rome, Antioch, and
Alexandria, it did not give them the title of patriarchs,
though it allowed them the pre-eminence and privileges
thereof; thus when the council of Constantinople ad-
iudged the second place to the bishop of Constantinople,
who till then was only a suffragan of Heraclea, it said
nothing of the patriarchate. Nor is the term patri¬
arch found in the decree of the council of Chalcedon,
whereby the fifth place is assigned to the bishop ot
Jerusalem 5 nor did these five patriarchs govern all the
churches. There
(a) The word diocese was then of very different ^ extentTnd the jurisdiction of their bishops
rv.1t was observed, that «l.e first founders of these divisiL was into provinces and
by the divisions of the Roman empire in 0 J . sujAectetl to the authority of one chief magistrate,
dioceses. A province contprised was a still largi, district, contpreltentta
who resided in the metropolis or chief city of the piovn • trat ,vl10sc residence was in the metropoha
within it several provinces si^ect to the controu of a ^ was estabfished upon this model The
of the diocese. Ihe jurisdiction of the hnhops he together with the adjacent villages
authority of a private bishop extern ^ on y though it comprehended many parishes m
and surrounding tract ot conn ry. l*1 , Honorius the empire was divided into thirteen dioceses ,
the modern sense of that word. Under Arcadms and Hoi^rius the emp ^ inces . 3. The Asiatic
j The Oriental diocese, containing fifteen provinces ,2. diocese of Thrace, six provinces ; 6. The
diocese, ten provinces-, 4. The Pontic diocese ten provinces J flalic diocese, seventeen
diocese of Macedonia, six provinces-, 7. Ihe diocese of Decia, P . provinces 5 11 The Spanish
provinces 9- The dio^ of lUyncum six^es. ^ ^^^3-The Stannic diocese five p-
f provbcef omppehendefi nulnv and cad, many modern panshe. See
Bingham's Origines Sacra, Book is.
L 53 ] PAT
Patriarchs There were besides many independent chiefs of dio-
!! ceses, who, far from owning the jurisdiction of the grand
.Patrician-. patriarchs, called themselves patriarchs ; such as that of
Aquileia: nor was Carthage ever subject to the patri-
* Keeles.. arch 0f Alexandria. Mosheim * imagines that the bi-
p“54.° * shops, who enjoyed a certain degree of pre-eminence
over the rest of their order, were distinguished by the
Jewish title of patriarchs in the fourth century. The
authority of the patriarchs gradually increased, till, about
the close of the fifth century, all affairs of moment with¬
in the compass of their patriarchate came before them,
either at first hand or by appeals from the metropolitans.
They consecrated bishops; assembled yearly in council
the clergy of their respective districts ; pronounced a
decisive judgment in those cases where accusations were
brought against bishops j and appointed vicars or depu¬
ties, clothed with their authority, for the preservation
of order and tranquillity in the remoter provinces. In
short, nothing was done without consulting them; and
their decrees were executed with the same regularity
and respect as those of the princes.
It deserves to be remarked, however, that the autho¬
rity of the patriarchs was not acknowledged through
all the provinces without exception. Several districts,
both in the eastern and western empires, w-ere exempted
from their jurisdiction. The Latin church had no pa¬
triarchs till the sixth century j and the churches of Gaul,
Britain, &c. were never subject to the authority of the
patriarch of Rome, w’hose authority only extended to the
suburbicary provinces. There was no primacy, no ex¬
archate nor patriarchate, owned here j but the bishops
with the metropolitans, governed the church in com¬
mon. Indeed, after the name patriarch became fre¬
quent in the west, it was attributed to the bishops of
Bourges and Lyons ; but it was only in the first signifi¬
cation, viz. as heads of dioceses. I3u Cange says, that
there have been some abbots who have borne the title
of patriarchs.
PATRIARCHAL cross, in Heraldry, is that
where the shaft is twice crossed j the lower arms being
longer than the upper ones.
PATRICIAN, a title given, among the ancient
Romans, to the descendants of the hundred, or, as some
will have it, of the two hundred, first senators chosen
by Romulus j and by him called patres, “ fathers.”
Romulus established this order after the example of the
Athenians ; who were divided into two classes, viz. the
ivTTxr^xi, patricios, and dyusTiKavs, populares. Patri¬
cians, therefore, were originally the nobility; in opposi¬
tion to the plebeians. They were the only persons whom
Romulus allowed to aspire to the magistracy ; and they
exercised all the functions of the priesthood till tlie year
of Rome 495. But the cognizance and character of
these ancient families being almost lost and extinguished
by a long course of years, and frequent changes in the
empire, a new kind of patricians were afterwards set on
loot, who had no pretensions from birth, but whose title
depended entirely on the emperor’s favour. This new
patriciate, Zozimus tells us, was erected by Constantine,
who conferred the quality on his counsellors, not because
they were descended from the ancient fathers of the se¬
nate, but because they were the fathers of the republic
or of the empire. This dignity in time became the
highest of the empire. Justinian calls it summam dig¬
nitatem. In effect, the patricians seem to have had the
precedence of the consulares, and to have taken place Patrician
before them in the senate ; though F. Faber asserts the ||
contrary. What confounds the question is, that the two Patrick,
dignities often met in the same person ; because the pa-
triciate was only conferred on those who had gone
through the first offices of the empire, or had been con¬
suls. Pope Adrian made Charlemagne take the title of
patrician before he assumed the quality of emperor ; and
other popes have given the title to other kings and prin¬
ces by reason of its eminence.
Patrician is also a title of honour often conferred
on men of the first quality in the time of our Anglo-
Saxon kings. See Thank.
1 a riucuy Hetties, Patricii Hit, in Mythology, were
Janus, Saturn, the Genius, Pluto, Bacchus, the Sun,
the Moon, and the Earth.
PatPvICIANS, in ecclesiastical writers, were ancient
sectaries, who disturbed the peace of the church in the
beginning of the third century : thus called from their
founder Patricias, preceptor of a Marcionite called
Symmachus. His distinguishing tenet was, that the
substance of the flesh is not the work of God, but that
of the devil : on which account his adherents bore an
implacable hatred to their own flesh ; which sometimes,
carried them so tar as to kill themselves. They were
also called Tatianites, and made a branch of the En-
CRATIT7E.
PA 1 RICK, St, the apostle of Ireland, and second
bishop of that country. He was born April 5th A. D.
373> °‘ a go°d family, at Kirk Patrick near Dumbarton^
in what is now called Scotland, but then comprehended
under the general nameofBritain.—His baptismal name
Suceath, signifies, in the British language, “ valiant in
war.” On some inroad of certain exiles from Ire¬
land he was taken prisoner, and carried into that king¬
dom, where he continued six years in the service of Mil-
cho, who had bought him of three others, when Patrick
acquired the new name of Cothraig, or Ceathar-Tigh,
i. e four families. In this time he made himself master
of the Irish language, and at last made his escape, and
returned home on board a ship. About two years after,
he formed a design of converting the Irish either in
consequence of a dream, or of reflection on what he
had observed during his acquaintance with them. The
better to qualify himself for this undertaking, he travel¬
led to the continent, where he continued 3 $ years, pur¬
suing his studies under the direction of his mother’s un¬
cle St Martin, bishop of Jours, who had ordained him
deacon ; and after his death, with St German, bishop
of Auxerre, who ordained him priest, and gave him his
third name Mown or Maeinim.
An ancient author, Henricus Antisioderensis, who
wrote a book concerning the miracles of St German
considers it as the highest honour of that prelate to have
been the instructor of St Patrick : “ As the glory of a
father shines in tire government of his sons ; out of the
many disciples in religion whe are reported to have been
his sons in Christ, suffice it briefly to mention one by far
the most famous, as the scries of his actions shows,"Pa¬
trick the particular apostle of Ireland, who being under
his holy discipline 18 years, derived no little knowledge
in the inspired writings from such a source. The most
godly divine pontiff, considering him alike distinguish¬
ed in religion, eminent for virtue, and stedfast in doc¬
trine ; and thinking it absurd to let one of the lest la¬
bourers
Patrick.
PAT _ [ 54 ]
bourers remain inactive in the Lord’s vineyard, rc-
' commended him to Celestine, pope of Rome, by his
presbyter Segetius, who was to carry to the apostolic
see a tetimonial of ecclesiastical merit ol this excel¬
lent man. Approved by his judgment, supported by
his authority, and confirmed by his blessing, he set
out for Ireland j and being peculiarly destined to that
people as their apostle, instructed them at that time by
his doctrine and miracles •, and now does ami will for¬
ever display the wonderful power of his apostleship.^
Lastly, Pope Celestine consecrated him bishop, and
gave him his most familiar name Patncius, expressive
of his honourable descent; and to give lustre and
weight to the commission which he now charged him
with to convert the Irish. Palladius had been heie a
year before him on the same design, but with little
success : the saints Kieran, Ailbe, Declan, and Ibar,
were precursors both to Palladius and 1 atrick. Rut
the great office of apostle of Ireland was reserved for our
prelate, who landed in the country of the Evolein, or at
Wicklow, A. D. 441. His first convert was Smell,
-eighth in descent from Cormac king ol Leinster j but
not meeting with encouragement, he proceeded to Dub¬
lin, and tlience to Ulster, where he lounded a church
(afterwards the famous abbey of Saul, in the county oi
Down), remarkable for its position, being made out ot
a barn, and its greatest length reaching Irom north to
south. After labouring seven years indefatigably in Ins
great work, he returned to Britain, which he delivered
from the heresies of Pelagius and Arius-, engaged seve¬
ral eminent persons to assist him ; visited the isle ol
Man, which he converted in 440, when the bishopric
was founded •, and, A. D. 448, returned to the see of
Armagh (a), which he had founded three years before ;
and in 13 years more completed the conversion ot the
whole island (b). After giving an account of his com¬
mission at Rome, he once more returned hither, and
spent the remainder of his life between the monasteries
of Armagh and Saul, superintending and enforcing the
great plan of doctrine and discipline which he had esta¬
blished. After having established schools, or an aca¬
demy here, he closed his life and ministry at Saul ab¬
bey, in the 120th year of his age, March 17. A. D.
and was buried at Down afterwards, m the same
^ave with St Bridget and St Columb, m the same
place. Respecting his burial-place, however, there
have been great disputes j and it has been as^great a
subject of debate with the religious, as Homer s birth¬
place was formerly among the cities of Greece. Ihose
PAT
of Down lay claim to it, on the authority of the follow-
ing verses : v—-y—.
These three in Down lie in tomb one,
Briget, Patricius, and Columba pious.
Those of Glastenbury in England, from the. old monu¬
ments of their church : Ami some Scots affirm him to
have been both born and buried among them at Glas¬
gow. His genuine.works were collected and printed by
Sir James Ware, 1656. His immediate successor in
this see was St Binen or Begnus.
Order of St Patrick, an institution which took place
in Ireland in the year 1783. On the fifth of Febru¬
ary, in that year, the king ordered letters-patent to
be passed under the great seal of the kingdom of Ire¬
land, for creating a society or brotherhood, to be called
knights of the illustrious order of St Patrick, ot which his
majesty, his heirs and successors, shall perpetually he
sovereigns, and his majesty’s lieutenant-general and
general-governor of Ireland, &c. for the time being,
shall officiate as grand-master *, and also for appointing
Prince Edward, and several of the prime nobility of Ire¬
land, knights companions ol the said illustrious order.
Patrick, Simon, a very learned English bishop,
was born at Gainsborough m Lincolnshire in 1626.
In 1644 he was admitted into Queen’s college, Cam¬
bridge, and entered into holy orders. After being ior
some time chaplain to Sir Walter St John, and vicar of
the church at Battersea in Surrey, he was preferred to
the rectory of St Paul’s, Covent-garden, in London,
where he continued all the time of the plague 111 1663
among his parishioners, to their great comfort. In
j 668 he published his Friendly Debate between a Con¬
formist and a Nonconformist. This was answered by
the Dissenters, whom he had much exasperated by it)
but by his moderation and candour toward them alter-
wards, they were perfectly reconciled to him, and he
brought over many of th'em to the communion of the
established church. In 1678 he was made dean of
Peterborough, where he was much beloved. In 1682,
Dr Lewis tie Moulin, who had been a history-profes¬
sor at Oxford, and written many bitter books against
the church of England, sent for Dr Patrick upon his
sick bed, and made a solemn declaration of his regret
on that account, which he signed, and it was publish¬
ed after his death. During the reign of King James,
the dean’s behaviour shewed that he had nothing more
at heart than the Protestant religion ; for which he
ventured all that was dear to him, by preaching and
(A) At Armagh St Patrick in the I2th century. It was grant-
“f A Da“6 .T to Sir Toty Caolfiold, knight! St Patrick also founded there a house ot canonesses ot the same
erct^,' uniter his* sister Capita, called or the^“ j^^^ofS^Patrick ; in consequence of which it
bishops and priests, hot also by kings and bishops, as the venerable
Bede informs us. t r n ^ T;, near the source of the Liffey, which, it is pretend-
,(b) Tlir w w ^ »;
ed, was dug by Uly.ses, in orue Patrick’s Purgatory.” They affirm, with a pious credulity, that
"r,! the IS and ^ThUmed of God by his earnest prayers, that the
^"lerwhict await tU wicked after this life might be here set forth to v.ew, .n order the more easrly
to recover the Irish from their sinful state and heathenish errors.
[ 55 ] P A T
Patrick writing against the errors of the church of Rome. In
|| 1687 he published a prayer composed for that difficult
Patriotism, time, when persecution was expected by all who stood
'~J’ v ’ firm to their religion. The year after the Revolution,
the dean was appointed bishop of Chichester, and was
employed with others of the new bishops to settle the
affairs of the church in Ireland. In 1691 be Avas
translated to the see of Ely, in the room of the de¬
prived Bishop Turner. He died in 1707, after having
published various Avorks ; among Avhich the most dis¬
tinguished are his Paraphrases and Commentaries on
the Holy Scriptures, three volumes folio. These, with
Lowth on the Proverbs, Arnold on the Apocrypha,
and Whitby on the New Testament, make a regular
continued commentary in English on all the sacred
books.
PATRIMONY, a right or estate inherited by a
person from his ancestors.
The term patrimony has been also given to church-
estates or revehues ; in Avliich sense authors still say,
the patrimony of the church of Rimini, Milan, &c.
The church of Rome hath patrimonies in France, A-
frica, Sicily, and many other countries. To create
the greater respect to the estates belonging to the
church, it Avas usual to give their patrimonies the names
of the saints they held in the highest veneration : thus
the estate of the church of Ravenna Avas called the pa¬
trimony of St Apollinarius; that of Milan, the patrimony
of St Ambrose 1 and the estates of the Roman church
Avere called the patrimony of St Peter in Abrirzzo, the
patrimony of St Peter in Sicily, and the like.
W hat is noAV called St Petals patrimony is only the
duchy of Castro, and the territory of Orvietto. See
Castro, &c.
PATRIOTISM, a love of one’s country, which is
one of the noblest passions that can Avarm and animate
the human breast. It includes all the limited and par¬
ticular affections to our parents, children, friends, neigh-
hours, fellow-citizens, and countrymen. It ought to
direct and limit their more confined and partial actions
within their proper and natural bounds, and never let
them encroach on those sacred and first regards avc. owe
to the great public to which avc belong. Were avc so¬
litary creatuies, detached from the rest of mankind,
and Avithout any capacity of comprehending a public in¬
terest, or Avithout affections leading us to desire and pur¬
sue it, it would not be our du'y to mind it, nor crimi¬
nal to neglect it. But as Ave are parts of the public
system, and are not only capable of taking large views
of its interests, but by the strongest affections connected
Avith it, and prompted to take a share of its concerns,
vye are under the most sacred tie, to prosecute its secu¬
rity and Avelfare Avith the utmost ardour, especially in
times of public trial.
“ Zeal for the public good (says Mr Addison) is the
characteristic of a man of honour and a gentleman, and
must take place of pleasures, profits, and all other private
gratifications : that whosoever wants this motive, is an
open enemy, or an inglorious neuter to mankind, in pro¬
portion to the misapplied advantages Avith which na¬
ture and fortune have blessed him.” This love of our
country does not import an attachment to any parti¬
cular soil, climate, or spot of earth, Avhere perhaps Ave
first drew our breath, though those natural ideas are
often associated Avitb the moral ones j and, like ex-
°r Vn'bols> .«> aortal,, and bind Patr;oti,m.
them , but it imports an affection to that moral sys- 1 y i
tern or community, which is governed by the same
laivs and magistrates, and whose several parts are va¬
riously connected one Avith the other, and all united
upon the bottom of a common interest. Wherever
this love ot our country prevails in its genuine vigour
and extent, it swallows up all sordid and selfish^ re¬
gards j it conquers the love of ease, power, pleasure,
and wealth 5 nay, when the amiable partialities of
friendship, gratitude, private affection, or regards to a
family, come in competition with it, it Avili teach us
to sacrifice all, in order to maintain the rights, and
piomote and defend the honour and happiness of our
country, lo pursue, therefore, our private interests in
subordination to the good of our country; to be examples
m it of virtue, and obedient to the JaAvs ; to choose such
representatives as avc apprehend to he the best friends to
its constitution and liberties 5 and if Ave have the power,
to promote such laws as may improve and perfect it,
readily to embrace every opportunity for advancing its
prosperity ; cheerfully to contribute to its defence and
support; and, if need he, to die for it:—these are
among the duties which every man, who has the happi¬
ness to be a member of our free and Protestant consti¬
tution, owes to his country.
The constitution of man is such, that the most selfish
passions, if kept within their proper hounds, have a ten¬
dency to promote the public good. There is no passion
ol more general utility than patriotism; but its origin
may unquestionably be termed selfish. The love of
one s relations and friends is the most natural expansion
of self-love : this affection connects itself too with local
circumstances, and sometimes cannot easily he separated
from them. It often varies, as relationship or place
varies ; hut acquires new poiver Avhen the whole com¬
munity becomes its object. It Avas therefore Avith sin¬
gular propriety that the poet said, “ Self-love and social
are the same.” Under the article Calais we have al-t- ,
ready given the outlines of the transactions of its siege m^Eng.
by Edward III. during which the inhabitants displayed Edf. 111.
a degree of patriotism truly wonderf ul. History scarce¬
ly affords a more distinguished instance of true pa¬
triotic virtue than on this occasion. We shall therefore
give a fuller account of this remarkable affair, as one of
the best examples that can possibly be selected of the vir¬
tue avc have been explaining. The inhabitants, under
Count Vienne their gallant governor, made an admir¬
able defence against a Avell disciplined and powerful
army. Hay after day the English effected many a
breach, Avhich they repeatedly expected to storm by
morning ; but, when morning appeared, they Avondered
to behold nenv ramparts raised nightly, erected out of
the ruins which the day had made. Yrance had noAV
put the sickle into her second harvest since Edward Avith
his victorious army sat down before the toAvn. The
eyes of all Europe were intent on the issue. TheEng-
lish made their approaches and attacks without remis¬
sion ; but the citizens Avere as obstinate in repelling all
their efforts. At length, famine did more for EdAvard
than arms. Alter the citizens had devoured the lean
carcases of their half-starved cattle, they tore up old
foundations and rubbish in search of vermin : they fed
on boiled leather, and the Aveeds of exhausted gardens;
and a morsel of damaged corn was accounted matter of
luxury.
P A T
[ 56 J
PAT
Patriotism luxury. In this extremity they resolved to attempt the
enemy’s camp. They boldly sallied forth; the Eng¬
lish joined battle *, and, after a long and desperate en¬
gagement, Count Vienne was taken prisoner j and the
citizens, who survived the slaughter, retired within their
gates. On the captivity of their governor, the com¬
mand devolved upon Eustace Saint Pierre, the mayoi
of the town, a man of mean birth, but of exalted virtue.
Eustace soon found himself under the necessity of capi¬
tulating, and offered to deliver to Edward the city,
with all the possessions and wealth of the inhabitants,
provided he permitted them to depart with life and li¬
berty. As Edward had long since expected to ascend
the throne of France, he was exasperated to the last de¬
gree against these people, whose sole valour had defeat¬
ed his warmest hopes ; he therefore determined to take
an exemplary revenge, though he wished to avoid the
imputation o'f cruelty. He answered by Sir \V alter
Mauny, that they all deserved capital punishment, as
obstinate traitors to him, their true and notable so¬
vereign ; that, however, in his wonted clemency, he
consented to pardon the bulk of the plebeians, provided
they would deliver up to him six of their principal ci¬
tizens with halters about their necks, as victims of due
atonement for that spirit of rebellion with which they
had inflamed the common people. All the remains of
this desolate city were convened in the great square •,
and like men arraigned at a tribunal from whence there
was no appeal, expected with throbbing hearts the sen-
tence of their conqueror. When Sir A\ alter had declar-
ed his message, consternation and pale dismay was im¬
pressed on every face : each looked upon death as his
own inevitable lot *, for how should they desire to be
saved at the price proposed ? Whom had they to deliver
up, save parents, brothers, kindred, or valiant neigh-
hours, who had so often exposed their lives in their de¬
fence ? To a long and dead silence, deep sighs and
groans succeeded, till Eustace Saint Pierre ascending a
little eminence, thus addressed the assembly: “My
friends and fellow-citizens, you see the condition to
which we are reduced 5 we must either submit to the
terms of our cruel and ensnaring conqueror, or yield up
our tender infants, our wives, and chaste daughters, to
the bloody and brutal lusts of the violating soldiery.
We w7el l know what the tyrant intends by his specious
offers of mercy. It does not satiate his vengeance to
make us merely miserable, he would also make us cri¬
minal : he would make us contemptible : be will grant
us life on no condition, save that of our being unworthy
of it. Look about you, my friends, and hx your eyes
on the persons whom you wish to deliver up as the vic¬
tims of your >wn safety. Which of these would you
appoint to the rack, the axe, or the halter ? Is there any
here who has not watched for you, who has not fought
for you, who has not bled for you ? Who, through
the length of this inveterate siege, has not suffered fa¬
tigues and miseries a thousand times worse than death,
that you and yours might survive to days of peace and
prosperity ? Is it your preservers, then, whom you
would destine to destruction ? You will not, you can¬
not, do it. Justice, honour, humanity, make such a
treason impossible. Where then is our resource ? Is
there any expedient left, whereby we may avoid guilt
and infamy on the one hand, or the desolation and hor¬
rors of a sacked city on the other ? There is, my
4
friends, there is one expedient left j a gracious, an ex- Patriolism.
cellent, a god-like expedient! Is there any here to ' -~v~—'
whom virtue is dearer than life ! Let him offer him¬
self an oblation for the safety of his people ! he shall
not fail of a blessed approbation from that power, who
offered up his only Son for the salvation of mankind.”
He spoke—but an universal silence ensued. Each man
looked round for the example of that virtue and mag¬
nanimity in others, which all wished to approve in
themselves, though they wanted the resolution. At
length Saint Pierre resumed : “ It had been base in
me, my fellow-citizens, to promote any matter of da¬
mage to others, which I myself had not been willing
to undergo in my own person. But I held it unge¬
nerous to deprive any man ol that preference and esti¬
mation, which might attend a first offer on so signal
an occasion : for I doubt not but there are many here
as ready, nay, more zealous for this martyrdom than I
can be, however modesty and the fear of imputed osten¬
tation may withhold them from being foremost in ex¬
hibiting their merits. Indeed the station to which
the captivity of Count Vienne has unhappily raised me,
imports a right to be the first in giving my life for
your sakes. I give it freely, I give it cheerfully. Who
comes next ?■ Your son ! exclaimed a youth, not yet
come to maturity.—Ah, my child 1 cried St Pierre ; I
am then twice sacrificed.—But no—I have rather be¬
gotten thee a second time.—Thy years are few, but full,
my son j the victim of virtue has reached the utmost
purpose and goal of mortality. Who next, my friends ?
This is the hour of heroes.—Your kinsman, cried
John de Aire ! Your kinsman, cried James Wissant!
Your kinsman, cried Peter Wissant!—“Ah ! (exclaim¬
ed Sir Walter Mauny, bursting into tears), why was I
not a citizen of Calais?” The sixth victim was still
wanting, but was quickly supplied by lot, from num¬
bers who were now emulous of so ennobling an example.
The keys of the city were then delivered to Sir Walter.
He took the six prisoners into his custody. He ordered
the gates to be opened, and gave charge to his attend¬
ants to conduct the remaining citizens with their fami¬
lies through the camp of the English. Before they de¬
parted, however, they desired permission to take their
last adieu of their deliverers.—What a parting ! what a
scene 1 they crowded with their wives and children about
St Pierre and his fellow-prisoners. They embraced,
they clung around, they fell prostrate before them.
They groaned ; they wept aloud 5 and the joint cla¬
mour of their mourning passed the gates of the city,
and was heard throughout the camp. At length Saint
Pierre and his fellow-victims appeared under the con¬
duct of Sir Walter and his guard. All the tents of
the English were instantly emptied. The soldiers
poured from all parts, and arranged themselves on
each side to behold, to contemplate, to admire this
little hand of patriots as they passed. They murmur¬
ed their applause of that virtue which they could not
but revere even in enemies; and they regarded those
ropes which they had voluntarily assumed about their
necks as ensigns of greater dignity than that of the
British Garter. As soon as they had reached the
royal presence, “ Mauny (says the king), are these the
principal inhabitants of Calais ?” “ They are (says
Mauny) ; they are not only the principal men of Ca¬
lais they are the principal men of France, my lord,
> if
Patriotism
■ Autarch’s
l^{%'
ion, lib.
P- 570-
|d Rol-
-’s Rom.
-st. vol. i
h66.
if virtue bas any share in the act of ennobling.”
-> “ Were they delivered peaceably, (says Edward) f
Was there no resistance, no commotion among the
people !” “Not in the least, my lord. They are self-
delivered, self-devoted, and come to offer up their in¬
estimable heads as an ample equivalent for the ransom
of thousands.”
The king, who was highly incensed at the length
and difficulty of the siege, ordered them to be carried
away to immediate execution ; nor could all the re¬
monstrances and intreaties of his courtiers divert him
from his cruel purpose. But what neither a regard
to his own interest and honour, what neither the dic¬
tates of justice, nor the feelings of humanity, could
effect, was happily accomplished by the more powerful
influence of conjugal affection. The queen, who was
then big with child, being informed of the particulars
respecting the six victims, flew into her husband’s pre¬
sence, threw herself on her knees before him, and, with
tears in her eyes, besought him not to stain his character
with an indelible mark of infamy, by committing such
a horrid and barbarous deed. Edward could refuse no¬
thing to a wife whom he so tenderly loved, and especi¬
ally in her condition j and the queen, not satisfied with
having saved the lives of the six burghers, conducted
them to her tent, where she applauded their virtue, re¬
galed them with a plentiful repast, and having made
them a present of money and clothes, sent them back
to their fellow citizens.
The love of their country, and of the public good,
seems to have been the predominant passion of the Spar¬
tans. 1 edaretus having missed the honour of being
chosen one of the three hundred who had a certain
lank of distinction in the city, went home extremely
pleased and satisfied ; saying, “ He was overjoyed there
were three hundred men in Sparta more honourable than
himself.”
Ihe patriotism of the Romans is well known, and has
been justly admired. We shall content ourselves at pre¬
sent with the following example; a zeal and patriotic
devotion similar to which is perhaps scarcely equalled,
and certainly is not exceeded, in history.
Rome, under the consuls Cseso Fabius and T. "Vir-
ginius, had several wars to sustain, less dangerous than
troublesome, against the iEqui, Volsci, and Veientes.
io put a stop to the incursions of the last, it would
have been necessary to have established a good garrison
upon their frontiers to keep them in awe. But the
commonwealth, exhausted of money, and menaced by
abundance of other enemies, was not in a condition to
provide for so many different cares and expences. The
family of the fabii showed a generosity and love of
their country that has been the admiration of all ages,
zhey applied to the senate, and by the mouth of the
consul demanded as a favour that they would be pleas¬
ed to transfer the care and expences of the garrison
necessary to oppose the enterprises of the Veientes to
their house, which required an assiduous rather than a
numerous body, promising to support with dignity the
honour of the Roman name in that post. Every body
was charmed with so noble and unheard of an offer j
and it was accepted with great acknowledgment. The
news spread over the whole city, and nothing was talk¬
ed of but the Fabii. Every body praised, every body
admired and extolled them to the skies. “ If there
Vol. XVI. Part I. f
were two more Such families in Rome,” said they, “the Patriotism,
one might take upon them the war against the Volsci, 1 t * ~ 1
and the other against the iEqui, whilst the common-
w’ealth remained quiet, and the forces of particulars sub¬
dued the neighbouring states.”
Early the next day the Fabii set out, with'the con¬
sul at their head, robed, and with his insignia. Never
was there so small, and at the same time so illustrious,
an army seen j for which we have the authority of
Eivy. Three hundred and six soldiers, all patricians,
and of the same family, of whom not one but might
be judged worthy of commanding an army, march
against the \ eii full of courage and alacrity, under a
captain of their own name, Fabius. They were fol¬
lowed by a body' of their friends and clients, animated
by the same spirit and zeal, and actuated only by great
and noble views. The whole city flocked to see so fine
a sight; praised those generous soldiers in the highest
terms ; and promised them consulships, triumphs, and
the most glorious rewards. As they passed before the
capitol and the other temples, every body implored the
gods to take them into their protection ; to favour their
departure and undertaking, and to afford them a speedy
and happy return. But those prayers were not heard.
When they arrived near the river Cremera, which is not
far from \eii, they built a fort upon a veryr rough and
steep mountain for the security of the troops, which they
surrounded with a double fosse, and flanked with several
towers. Ihis settlement, which prevented the enemy
from cultivating their ground and ruined their com¬
merce vyith strangers, incommoded them extremely.
"I he \ eientes not finding themselves strong enough to
ruin the fort which the Romans had erected, applied
to the Hetrurians, who sent them very considerable
aid. In the mean time the Fabii, encouraged by the
great success of their incursions into the enemy’s coun-
tiy, made farther progress every day. Their excessive
boldness made the Hetrurians conceive thoughts of
laying ambuscades for them in several places. During
the night they seized all the eminences that command¬
ed the plain, and found means to conceal a great number
of troops upon them. The next day they dispersed
more cattle about the country than they had done be¬
fore. The Fabii being apprised that the plains were
covered with flocks and herds, and defended by only a
very small number of troops, they quitted their fort,
leaving in it only a sufficient number to guard if. The
hopes of a great booty quickened their march. They
arrived at the place in order of battle j and were pre¬
paring to attack the advanced guard of the enemy,
when the latter, who had their orders, fled without stay¬
ing till they were charged. The Fabii, believing them¬
selves secure, seized the shepherds, and were preparing
to drive away the cattle. The Hetrurians then quitted
their skulking places, and fell upon the Romans drom
all sides, who were most of them dispersed in pursuit of
their prey. All they could do was to rally immedi¬
ately j and that they could not effect without great dif¬
ficulty. They soon saw themselves surrounded on all
sides, and fought like lions, selling their lives very dear.
But finding that they could not sustain this kind of Cofn-
bat long, they drew up in a wedge, and advancing with
the utmost fury and impetuosity, opened themselves a
passage, through the enemy that led to the side of the
mountain. YVhen they came thither, they halted, and
H fought
PAT [ 58 ]
Patriotism fought with fresh courage, the enemy leaving them no loudest lamentatums.
|| time to respire. As they were upon the higher groun ,
Patrodus. defended themselves with advantage, notwitnstan
' ^   ing their small number •, and beating down the enemy,
who spared no pains in the attack, they made a great
slaughter of them. But the Veientes having gained the
top of the mountain by taking a compass, fell suddenly
upon them, and galled them exceedingly from above
wUh a continual shower of darts. The ^bu defended
themselves to their last breath, and were *11 kiHed to a
man. The Roman people were highly aflected with
the loss of this illustrious band of patriots, i he day ot
their defeat was ranked amongst the unfortunate days,
called nefasti, on which the tribunals were shut up, and
no public affair could be negociated, or at least con¬
cluded. The memory of these public-spirited patrici¬
ans, who had so generously sacrificed their lives and for¬
tunes for the service of the state, could not be too much
h°PATRIPASSIANS, Patripassiani, in church
history, a Christian sect, who appeared about the lat¬
ter end of the second century, so called fiom thei
ascribing the passion to the Father j for they asseited
the unity of God in such a manner as to destroy all di-
unctions of persons, and to make the Father and Son
precisely the same J in which they were followed by
the Sabellians and others. The author 'mad «Hhe
Patripassians was Praxeas, a philosopher of }
Asia. Swedenbourg and his followers seem to hold
fe:iIpATROCLUS, a Grecian chief at the Trojan war.
He was the son of Menoetius, by Sthenele, whom some
call Philomela or Polymela. The murder of Clysony-
mus the son of Amphidamas, by accident, in the time
of his youth, made him fly from Opus, 'vhere his_father
reigned. He went to the court ot Peleus king of Phthia.
HeSwas cordially received, and contracted the most in¬
timate friendship with Achilles the king's son. When
the Greeks went to the Trojan war, Patroclus uent
with them at the express desire of his father, who ha
visited the court of Peleus *, and he accordingly em-
barked with ten ships from Phthia. He was the con¬
stant companion of Achilles •, lodged in same tent
Ind when he refused to appear m the field of battle,
anu, wiy . , Rv Ao-nmemnon. Patro-
P A T
His funerals were observed with Patroclus
the greatest solemnity. Achilles sacrificed near the
burning pile twelve young Trojans, four of his horses, v ^
and two of his dogs •, and the whole was concluded
by the exhibition of funeral games, in which the con¬
querors were liberally rewarded by Achilles. Ihe
death of Patroclus, as described by Homer, gave rise
to new events. Achilles forgot his resentment against
Agamemnon, and entered the field to avenge the
fall of his friend *, and his anger vyas gratified only
by the slaughter of Hector, who had more powerfully
kindled his wrath by appearing at the head of the Iro-
ian armies in the armour which had been taken from
the body of Patroclus. The patronymic ot Actorules
is often'applied to Patroclus, because Actor was father
to Menoetius. . .
PikTROL, in war, a round or march made by th
guards or watch in the night time, to observe what
passes in the streets, and to secure the peace and tran¬
quillity of a city or camp. The patrol ge"era,1>’ co?"
sists of a body of five or six men, detached from a bod)
on guard, and commanded by a serjeant.
They go every hour of the night, from the beating
of the tattoo until the reveille: they are to wa k in the
streets in garrisons, and all over the camp in the field,
to prevent^disorders, or any number of people Irom as¬
sembling together: they are to see the lights m the sol¬
diers barracks put out, and to take up all the .oldi
they find out of their quarters. Sometimes patrols con¬
sist of an officer and 30 or 40 men, as well infantry as
cavalry *, but then the enemy is generally near at hand,
and consequently the danger the greater.
PATRON, among the Romans, was an appellation
given to a master who had freed his slave. As soon as
the relation of master expired, that of patron began .
for the Romans, in giving their slaves their freedom,
did not despoil themselves of all rights and pm 1 g
in them 5 the law still subjected them to considerably
services and duties towards their patrons, the neglect of
which was very severely punished.
Patron was also a name which the people of Rom
gave to some great man, under whose protection they
usually put themselves-, paying him all kinds of honour
and respect, and denominating themselves his clients ,
f . . . i-* tlipm his credit
vStant comp«umMi ui * 7 #o battle and respect, and aenominauiik
und, when he refused to appear m the field ot battle, ^ ’ on h;s side, granted them his credit
because he had been offended by Agamemnon, Pa e lection They were therefore mutually attach-
^ ^ ^ h‘s “bsence ^ “a and mmuaily ohlig«d to each other ; and by this
means, in consequence of reciprocal ties, all those sedi¬
tions, jealousies, and animosities, which are someUme*
the effect of a difference of rank, were prudently a-
voided : for it was the duty of the patron to advise his
clients in points of law, to manage their suits, to take
caie of them as of his own children, and secure their
peace and happiness. The clients were to assist their
patrons with money on several occasions 5 to lansom
diem or their children when taken m warj to contri¬
bute to the portions of their daughters ; an o e iay,
in part, the charges of their public employments. 1 hey
were never to accuse each other, or take contrary sides,
and if either of them was convicted of having violated
this law the crime was equal to that of tieason, and
any one’was allowed to kill the offender with impunity.
This natronage was a tie as effectual as any consangui¬
nity or alliance, and had a wonderful effect towards
maintaining union and concord among the people for
Rfranse he hatl oeen uhcuucu -^5”
du. imitated I,is example and by ns ab«nc‘ "as
the cause of much evil to the Greeks. At last, how
ever" Nestor prevailed upon him to return to the war,
and Achilles permitted him to appear in lus
mour The bravery of Patroclus together with the
terror *hich the sight of the arms of AchiUes inspwed
soon routed the victorious armies of Jhe lr0j}anh; ^
obliged them to fly to the city for safety, t
have broken down the walls j but ApoHo, who
Tested himself for the Trojans, opposed him j and Hec¬
tor at the instigation of that god, dismounted from
his’chariot to attack him as he attempted to strip one
of the Trojans whom he had slain. 1 his engagement
Is obstinatebut Patroclus was at length over-
Lwered by the valour of Hector, and the interposition
!,f Apollo.7 His arms became the property of the
conqueror-, and Hector would have severed his head
from his body bad not Ajax and Menelaus proven ed
botlv was at last recovered, and carried to the
Grecian camp, Where Achillea received U <vuh the
Patron.
IPatrom.tre
PAT t
the space of 600 years ; during which time we find no
dissensions or jealousies he tween the patrons and their
 clients, even in the times of the republic, when the po¬
pulace frequently mutinied against those who were most
powerful in the city.
Patron, in the church of Rome, a saint whose name
a person bears, or under whose protection he is put, and
whom he takes particular care to invoke $ or a saint in
whose name a church or order is founded.
Patron, in the canon or common law, is a person
who, having the advowson of a parsonage, vicarage, or
the like spiritual promotion, belonging to his manor,
hath on that account the gift and disposition of the be¬
nefice, and may present to it whenever it becomes va¬
cant. file patron’s right of disposing of a benefice ori¬
ginally arises either from the patron or his ancestors,
&c. being the founders or builders of the church j from
their having given lands for the maintenance thereof j
or from the church’s being built on their ground 5 and
frequently from all three together.
PATRONAGE, or Advowson, a sort of incor¬
poreal hereditament, consisting 111 the right of presen¬
tation to a church or ecclesiastical benefice. Advovv-
son, advocat/o, signifies in clientelam red perthe taking
into protection ; and therefore is synonymous with pa¬
tronage, patronatus: and he who has the right of ad¬
vowson is called the patron of the church. For when
. lords of manor's first built churches on their own de¬
mesnes, and appointed the tithes of those manors to be
paid to the officiating ministers, which before were given
to the clergy in common (from whence arose the divi¬
sion of parishes), the lord who thus built a church, and
endowed it with a glebe or land, had of common right a
power annexed of nominating such minister as he pleas¬
ed (provided he were canonically qualified) to officiate
in that church, of which he -was the founder, endower,
maintainer, or, in one word, the patron.
Advowsons are either ad vowsons appendant, oradvow-
sons in gross. Lords of manors being originally the only
founders, and of course the only patrons, of churches, the
right of patronage or presentation, so long as it continues
annexed to the possession of the manor, as some have
done fiom the foundation of the church to this day, is
called an advowson appendant: and it will pass, or be
conveyed, together with the manor, as incident and
appendant thereto, by a grant of the manor only, with¬
out adding any other words. But where the property
of the advowson has been once separated from the pro¬
perty of the manor by legal conveyance, it is called an
advowson in gross, or at large, and never can be ap¬
pendant any more j but it is for the future annexed to
the person of its owner, and not to his manor or lands.
Adyowsons are also either presentative, collative, or
donative. An advowson presentative, is where the pa¬
tron hath a right of presentation to the bishop or ordi¬
nary, and moreover to demand of him to institute
his clerk if he finds him canonically qualified : and
this is the most usual advowson. An advowson colla¬
tive, is where the bishop and patron are one and the
same person: in which case the bishop cannot present
to himself j but he does, by the one act of collation,
or conferring the benefice, the whole that is done in
common cases, by both presentation and institution.
An advowson donative, is when the king, or any sub¬
ject by his licence, doth found a church or chapel, and
59 } PAT
ordains that it shall be merely in the gift or disposal of PatroRR^c,
the patron; subject to his visitation only, and not to Patrouy-’
that of the ordinary ; and vested absolutely in the clerk mi<:-
by the patron’s deed of donation, without presentation, v-' *
institution, or induction. This is said to have been an¬
ciently the only way of conferring ecclesiastical bene¬
fices in England ; the method of institution by the bi¬
shop not being established more early than the time of
Archbishop Rocket in the reign of Henry II. and there¬
fore, though Pope Alexander III. in a letter to Becket,
severely inveighs against the/?rai>a con sue tv do, as he calls
it, of investiture conferred by the patron only, this how¬
ever shows what was then the common usage. Others
contend that the claim of the bishops to institution is as
old as the first planting of Christianity in this island ;
and in proof of it they allege a letter from the English
nobility to the pope in the reign of Henry the Third, re¬
corded by Matthew Paris, which speaks of presentation
to the bishop as a thing immemorial. The truth seems
to be, that, where the benefice was to be conferred on
a mere layman, he was first presented to the bishop in
order to receive ordination, who was at libertv to exa¬
mine and refuse him : but where the clerk was already
in orders, the living was usually vested in him by the
sole donation of the patron ; till about the middle of the
1 2th century, when the pope and his bishops endeavour¬
ed to introduce a kind of feodal dominion over ecclesi¬
astical benefices, and, in consequence of that, began to
claim and exercise the right of institution universally, ae
a species of spiritual investiture.
However this may be, if, as the law now stands, the
true patron once waves this privilege of donation, and
presents to the bishop, and his clerk is admitted and in¬
stituted, the advowson is now become for every presenta¬
tive, and shall never be donative any more. For these
exceptions to general rules and common right are ever
looked upon by the law in an unfavourable view, and
construed as strictly as possible. If therefore the patron,
in whom such peculiar right resides, does once give up
that right, the law, which loves uniformity, will inter¬
pret it to he done with an intention of giving it up for
ever; and will therefore reduce it to the standard of
other ecclesiastical livings. See further, Law, Part III.
Sect. v. N° clix. 5—10.
Arms of Patronage, in Heraldry, are those on the
top of which are seme marks of subjection and depen¬
dence : thus the city of Paris lately bore the fleurs-de-
lis in chief, to show her subjection to the king; and the
cardinals, on the top of their arms, bear those of the
pope, who gave them the hat, to show that they are his
creatures.
PATRONYMIC, among grammarians, is applied
to such names of men or women as are derived from
those of parents or ancestors.
Patronymics are derived, I. From the father; as
Pelides, 1. e. Achilles the son of Peleus. 2. From
the mother; as Philyrides, i. e. Chiron the son of
Philyra. 3. From the grandfather on the father’s
side ; as iEacides, i. e. Achilles the grandson of yEa-
cus. 4. From the grandfather by the mother’s side;
as Atlantiades, i. e. Mercury the grandson of Atlas.
And, 5. From the kings and founders of nations ; as
Romulidse, i. e. the Romans, from their founder King
Romulus.
The terminations of Greek and Latin patronymics
H 2 are
PAT
[ 60 ]
P A U
Pattans.
Patronymic are chiefly four, viz. dcs, of which we have examples
above 5 as, as Thaumantias, 1. e. Iris the daughter ot
, Thaumas is, as Atlantis, i. e. Electra the daughter of
Atlas j and ne, as Nerine, the daughter of Nereus. Ot
these terminations des is masculine ; and as, is, and nc,
feminine j des and ne are ot the hrst declension, as and
is of the third.
The Ilusians, in their usual mode of address, never
preiix any title or appellation of respect to their names j
but persons of all ranks, even those of the flrst distinc¬
tion, call each other by their Christian names, to which
they add a patronymic. These pationymics are formed
in some cases by adding Vitch (the same as our Fitz, as
Eitzherbert, or the son of Herbert) to the Christian
name of the father •, in others by Of or Et} the tormei
is applied only to persons of condition, the latter to
those of inferior rank. Thus, , „
Ivan Ivanovitch, Ivan Ivanof, is Ivan the son ot
Ivan : Peter Alexievitch, Peter Alexeof, Peter the son
of Alexey.
The female patronymic is Efna or Ofna, as Sophia
Alexeefna, or Sophia the daughter of Alexey, Maria
Ivanofna, or Maria the daughter of Ivan. . , , ,
Great families are also in general distinguished by
a surname, as those of Romanof, Galitzin, Shereme-
tof, &C. , T' 1 • 1
PATROS, mentioned by Jeremiah and Ezekiel, ap¬
pears from the context to be meant of A part ol E-
o-ypt. Bocchart thinks it denotes the Higher Egypt;
the Septuagint translate it the country of Pat/iure ; m
Pliny we have the Nomas Pathurites in the Thebais; in
Ptolemy, Pathyris, probably the metropolis. From the
Hebrew appellation Patvos comes the gentihtious name
Pathrusim, (Moses).
PATTANS, Patans, or Afghans, a very warlike
race of men, who had been subjects of the vast empire
of Bochara. They revolted under their governor Ab-
stagi, in the 10th century, and laid the foundation 01 the
empire of Ghizni or Gazna. In the Dissertation pre¬
fixed to vol. iii. of Dow’s History, we have this account
of the Pattans. ...
“ They are divided into distinct communities, each
of which is governed by a prince, who is considered
by his subjects as the chief of their blood, as well as
their sovereign. They obey him without reluctance,
as they derive credit to their family by his greatness.
They attend him in his wars with the attachment which
children have to a parent-, and his government, though
severe, partakes more of the rigid discipline ot a general
than the caprice of a despot. Rude, like the iace o
their country, and fierce and wild as the storms which
cover their mountains, they are addicted to incursions
and depredations, and delight in battle and in plunder.
United firmly to their friends in war, to their enemies
faithless and cruel, they place justice in force, and con¬
ceal treachery under the name of address.”
The empire, which took its rise from the revolt of
the Pattans, under a succession of warlike princes rose to
a surprising magnitude. In the beginning of the nth
century, it extended from Ispahan to Bengal, and from
the mouths of the Indus to the banks ot the Jaxartes,
which comprehends at least half of the continent of Asia.
They had fled to the mountains on the borders of Per¬
sia, that they might escape the sword, or avoid submit¬
ting to the conquerors of India; and there they formed
Pattans,
Pau.
their state, which the Moguls were never able thorough¬
ly to subdue. Indeed they sometimes exercised depre- .
dations on the adjacent countries j nor was it possible
for the Moguls either to prevent it or to extirpate them.
They were sensible that the climate and soil ot the deli¬
cious plains would only serve to rob them of that hardi¬
ness they contracted in the lulls to which they were con¬
fined } they, therefore, for a long time gave no indica¬
tions of a desire to exchange them for more pleasing a-
bodes, or a more accessible situation. This enabled them
to brave the victorious army of Nadir Shah, whose troops
they quietly suffered to penetrate into Hindostan, ami
waited his return with the spoils of that country. Ihey
then harassed his army in the straits and defiles of the
mountains, and proved themselves such absolute masters
of the passes, that they forced him to purchase from them
his passage into Persia.
In the beginning of the 18th century, they had
spread themselves over the adjoining province of Kanda¬
har and such was the imbecility of the Persian empire
at that time, that many other provinces and tributary
states were also induced to revolt. When the king or
shah of that time, whose name was Hussein, opposed the
growing power of this warlike people, he was totally de¬
feated, and Ispahan was besieged and obliged to surren¬
der, alter having suffered dreadful calamities, to an ai-
my consisting of only 30,000 men. In consequence of
this, they brought about a revolution in Persia, and
subjected it to themselves. This sovereignty, however,
they only held for seven years and 21 days, having fal¬
len a sacrifice to the enterprising spirit of Kouli Khan,
or Nadir Shah. See Persia and Afghans.
PAU, a town of France, in the department of Low
Pyrenees, having formerly a parliament, a mint, and
a castle. “ The city of Pau (says Wraxal ) will ^ TW
be for ever memorable in history, since it was t*16 France
birthplace of Henry IV. That immortal prince was
born in the castle, then the usual residence of the kings
of Navarre. It stands on one of the most romantic and
singular spots I have ever seen, at the west end of the
town, upon the brow of a rock which terminates per¬
pendicularly. Below runs the Gave, a river or rather
a torrent which rises in the Pyrenees, and empties itself
into the Adour. On the other side, about two miles
off, is a ridge of hills covered with vineyards, which
produce the famous Vin de Jorenfon, so much admired j
and beyond all, at the distance of nine leagues, appear
the Pyrenees themselves, covering the horizon from east
to west, and bounding the prospect. Ihe castle, though
now in a state ot decay, is still habitable ^ and the apart¬
ments are hung with tapestry, said to be the work of
Jane queen of Navarre, and mother of Henry I\ . Ga¬
ston IV. count de Foix, who married Leonora heiress of
the crown of Navarre, began the edifice in 1464 } but
his successor Heni’y d’Albret completed and enlarged it
about tke year 1519, when he made choice of the city of
Pau for his residence, and where, during the remainder
of his reign, he held his little court. In a chamber,
which by its size was formerly a room of state, is a fine
whole-length portrait of .that Jane queen of Navarre
whom I have just mentioned. Her dress is very splen¬
did, and resembles those in which our Elizabeth is usual¬
ly painted. Her head-dress is adorned with pearls ;
round her neck she wears a ruff > and her arms, which
are likwise covered with pearls, are concealed by her
habit
PAY . [ 61 ] PAY
paU) habit quite down to the wrist. At her waist hangs by a
Pavan. chain a miniature portrait. The fingers of her right
■v—" 1 hand play on the strings of a guitar 5 and in her left
she holds an embroidered handkerchief. The painter
has drawn her as young, yet not in the first bloom of
youth. Her features are regular, her countenance thin,
but rather inclining to long; the eyes hazel, and the eye¬
brows finely arched. Her nose is well formed, though
large, and her mouth pretty. She was a great princess,
of high spirit, and undaunted magnanimity. Her me¬
mory is not revered by the French historians, because
she was the protectress of the Huguenots and the friend
of Coligni; but the actions of her life evince her dis^
tinguislied merit.
“ In one of the adjoining chambers, is another por¬
trait of Henry IV. himself when a boy; and on the se¬
cond floor is the apartment in which he was born. The
particulars of his birth, are in themselves so curious, and
and as relating to so great and good a prince, are so pe¬
culiarly interesting, that I doubt not you will forgive
my enumerating them, even though you should have seen
them elsewhere.—His mother Jane had already lost two
sons, the duke de Beaumont and the count de Marie.
Henry d’Albret, her father, anxious to see an heir to
his dominions, enjoined her (when she accompanied her
husband Anthony of Bourbon to the wars of Picardy
against the Spaniards), if she proved with child, to re¬
turn to Pau, and to lie in there, as he would himself su¬
perintend the education of the infant from the moment
of its birth. He threatened to disinherit her if she fail¬
ed to comply with this injunction. The princess, in
obedience to the king’s command, being in the ninth
month of her pregnancy, quitted Compiegne in the end
of November, traversed all France in 15 days, and ar¬
rived at Pau, where she was delivered of a son on the
13th December 1553. She had always been desirous to
see her father’s will, which he kept in a golden box ;
and he promised to show it to her, provided she admit¬
ted of his being present at her delivery, and would, du¬
ring the pains of her labour, sing a song in the Bearnois
language. Jane had courage enough to perform this
unusual request; and the king being called on the first
news of her illness, she immediately sung a Bearnois
song, beginning, ‘ Notre Dame du bout du pont, aidez
I *SeeJfr«. moi en cette heure.’—As she finished it, * Henry was
born. The king instantly performed his promise, by
| of ranee, giving lier the box, together with a golden chain, which
he tied about her neck ; and taking the infant into his
own apartment, began by making him swallow some
drops of wine, and rubbing his lips with a root of gar¬
lic. They still show a tortoise-shell which served him
for a cradle, and is preserved on that account. Several
of the ancient sovereigns of Navarre resided and died in
the castle of Pau. Francois Phoebus, who ascended the
throne in 1479, died here in 1483.”
Pau is a handsome city, well built, and contained
8585 inhabitants in 1800. It is a modern place, hav¬
ing owed its existence entirely to the castle, and to the
residence of the kings of Navarre. W. Long. o. 4.
N. Lat. 43. 15.
PAVAN, or Pa VANE, a grave dance used among
the Spaniards, and borrowed from them ; wherein the
performers made a kind of wheel or tail before each
other, like that of pavo, “ a peacockfrom whence
the name is derived. The pavane was formerly in great
3
repute ; and was danced by gentlemen with cap and Pavan
sword; by those of the long robe in their gowns, by j|
princes with their mantles, and by the ladies with their t Pavilion,
gown tails trailing bn the ground. It was called the v
grand bad, from the solemnity with which it was per¬
formed. To moderate its gravity, it was usual to intro¬
duce several flourishes, passades, capers, &c. by way of
episodes. Its tablature or score is given at large by
Thoinot Arbeau in his Orchesographia.
PAVETTA, a genus of plants belonging to the te-
trandria class ; and in the natural method ranking under
the 47th order, Stellate. See Botany Index.
PAVIA, an ancient and celebrated town of Italy,
in the duchy of Milan, and capital of the Pavesan, with
an university and bishop’s see. It was anciently called
Ticinnm, from its situation on that river. It lies 20 miles
to the soutlrward of Milan, and contains about 30,000
inhabitants. It was formerly the capital of the Longo-
bardic kingdom, and is still remarkable for the broad¬
ness of its streets, the beauty and richness of some of
its churches, for its university founded by Charlemagne,
and for several other literary institutions. The bishop’s
see, which was once the richest in Italy, is now depen¬
dent on the pope ; and upon the whole the city is gone
to decay. The few objects within it worth the public
attention belong to the clergy or monks ; and the church
and convent of the Carthusians are inexpressibly noble,
the court of the convent being one of the finest in the
world. It is defended by strong walls, large ditches,
good ramparts, excellent bastions, and a bridge over
the river Jasin. In the centre of the town is a strong
castle, where the duke of Milan was wont to reside. It
was taken by the duke of Savoy in 1706; by the French
in 1733 ; by the French and Spaniards in 1745 ; but
retaken by the Austrians in 1746. It fell into the
hands of the P rench in 1796) was recovered by the Aus¬
trians in 1798, but surrendered again to the French in
1800 ; and formed a part of the kingdom of Italy, till
the peace of Paris in 1815 restored it to tlie Austrians,
E. Long. 9. 5. N. Lat. 45. 10.
PAVILION, in Architecture, signifies a kind of tur¬
ret, or building, usually insulated, and contained under
a single roof ; sometimes square, and sometimes in form
of a dome: thus called from the resemblance of its roof
to a tent. • • •
Pavilions are sometimes also projecting pieces, in the
front of a building, marking the middle thereof; some¬
times the pavilion flanks a corner, in which case it is
called an angular pavilion. The Louvre is flanked with
four pavilions : the pavilions are usually higher than the
rest of the building. There are pavilions built in gardens,
commonly called summer-houses, pleasure-houses, &c.
Some castles or forts consist only of a single pavilion.
Pavilion, in military affairs, signifies a tent raised
on posts, to ledge under in the summer time.
Pavilion, is also sometimes applied to flags, colours,
ensigns, standards, banners, &c.
Pavilion, in Heraldry, denotes a covering in form
of a tent, which invests or wraps up the armories of di¬
vers kings and sovereigns, depending only on God and
their sword;
The pavilion consists of two parts; the top, which is
the chapeau, or coronet; and the curtain, which makes
the mantle.
None but sovereign monarchs, according to the French
heralds.
Pavilion
II
Paving-.
P A V [62
heralds, may bear the pavilion entire, and in al! its parts.
Those who are elective, or have any dependence, say
the heralds, must take off the head, and retain nothing
but the curtains.
Pavilions, among jewellers, the undersides and cor¬
ners of the brilliants, lying between the girdle and the
collet.
PAVING, the construction of ground-floors, streets,
or highways, in such a manner that they may be conve¬
niently walked upon. In Britain, the pavement ot the
grand streets, &c. is usually of flint, or rubble-stone ;
courts, stables, kitchens, halls, churches, &c. are payed
with tiles, bricks, flags, or fire-stone 5 sometimes with
1
P A V
ij. Granite, a hard material, brought also from bcot-
land, of a reddish colour, very superior to the blue
whynn quarry, and at present very commonly used in
London.
6. Guernsey, which is the best, and very much in use;
it is the same stone with the pebble before spoken of, but
broken with iron hammers, and squared to any dimen¬
sions required of a prismoidical figure, set w'ith its small¬
est base downwards. The whole of the foregoing pav¬
ing should be bedded and paved in small gravel.
7. Purbeck paving, for footways, is in general got in
large surfaces about two inches and a halt thick •, the
blue sort is the hardest and the best of this kind of
Pav
a kind of freestone and ragstone.
In some streets, e. g. of A enice, the pavement is of
brick : churches sometimes are paved with marble, and
sometimes with mosaic work, as the church of St Mark
at Venice. In France, the public roads, streets, courts,
&c. are all paved with gres or gritt, a kind ot free¬
stone.
In Amsterdam and the chief cities of Holland, they
call their brick pavement the burghermasters pavement,
to distinguish it from the stone or flint pavement, which
usually takes up the middle of the street, and which
serves for carriages \ the brick which borders it being
destined for the passage of people on foot.
Pavements of free-stone, flint, and flags, in streets, &c.
are laid dry, i. e. in a bed of sand j those of courts, sta¬
bles, ground-rooms, &c. are laid in a mortar of lime and
sand j or in lime and cement, especially if there be vaults
or cellars underneath. Some masons, after laying a
floor dry, especially of brick, spread a thin mortar over
it 5 sweeping it backwards and forwards to fill up the
joints. The several kinds of pavement are as various as
the materials of which they are composed, and whence
they derive the name by which they are distinguished j
as,
1. Pebble-paving, which is done .with stones collected
from the sea-beach, mostly brought from the islands of
Guernsey and Jersey : they are very durable, indeed the
most so of any stone used for this purpose. They are
used of various sizes, but those which are from six to
nine inches deep, are esteemed the most serviceable.
■When they are about three inches deep, they are deno¬
minated holders or bowlers; these are used for paving
court-yards, and other places not accustomed to receive
carriages with heavy weights j when laid in geometri¬
cal figures, they have a very pleasing appearance.
2. Pag-paving wTas much used in London, but is very
inferior to the pebbles.; it is dug in the vicinity of
Maidstone in Kent, from which it has the name of Kent¬
ish ragstone ; there are squared stones of this material
for paving coach tracks and footways.
3. Purbeckpitchens; square stones used in footways;
they are brought from the island of Purbeck, and also
frequently used in court-yards; they are in general
from six to ten inches square, and about five inches
deep.
4. Squared paving,for distinction by some called Scotch
paving, because the first of the kind paved in the man¬
ner that has been and continues to be paved, came from
Scotland; the first,was a clear close stone, called blue
whynn, which is now disused, because it fias been found
inferior to others since introduced in the order they, are
hereafter placed.
paving.
8. Yorkshire paving, is an exceeding good material
for the same purpose, and is got of almost any dimensions
of the same thickness as the Purbeck. This stone will
not admit the wet to pass through it, nor is it affected
by the frost.
9. Rycgate or firestone paving, is used for hearths,
stoves, oven, and such places as are liable to great beat,
which does not affect the stone if kept dry.
10. Newcastle flags, are stones about two feet square,
and one inch and a halt or two inches thick ; tiiey an¬
swer very w'ell for paving out-offices : they are some¬
what like the Yorkshire.
11. Portland paving, with stone from the island of
Portland ; this is sometimes ornamented with black
marble dots.
12. Swedland paving, is a black slate dug in Leices¬
tershire, and looks w'ell for paving halls, or in party-
coloured paving.
13. Marble paving, is mostly variegated with differ¬
ent marbles, sometimes inlaid in mosaic.
14. Flat brick paving, done with brick laid in sand,
mortar, or groute, as when liquid lime is poured into
the joints.
15. Brick-on-edge paving, done with brick laid edge¬
wise in the same manner.
16. Bricks are also laid flat or edgewise in herring¬
bone. •
17. Bricks are also sometimes set endwise in sand,
mortar, or groute.
18. Paving is also performed with paving bricks.
19. With ten inch tiles.
20. With foot tiles.
2L. With clinkers for stables and outer offices.
22. W ith the bones of animals, for gardens, &c.
And, 23. We have knob paving, with large gravel-
stones, for porticoes, garden-seats, &c.
Pavementsof churches,&c. frequently consist of stones
of several colours ; chiefly black and white, and of seve¬
ral forms, but chiefly squares and lozenges, artfully dis¬
posed. Indeed, there needs no great variety of colours
to make a surprising diversity of figures and arrange¬
ments, M. Truchet, in the Memoirs of the French A-
cademy, has shown by the rules of combination, that
two square stones, divided diagonally into two colours,
may be joined together chequerwise 64 different ways :
which appears surprising enough ; since two letters or
figures can only be combined two ways.
The reason is, that letters only change their situation
with regard to the first and second, the top and bottom
remaining the same ; but in the arrangement of these
Stones, each admits of four several situations, in each
whereof
P A U [ 63 ] P A U
Paving, whereof the other square may he changed 16 times,
Paul. which gives 64 combinations.
Indeed, from a further examination of these 64 com.
binations, he found there were only 32 different figures,
each figure being repeated twice in the same situation,
though in a different combination ; so that the two only
differed from each other by the transposition of the dark
and light parts.
PAUL, formerly named Saul, was of the tribe of
Benjamin, a native of Tarsus in Cilicia, a Pharisee by
profession ; first a persecutor of the church, and after¬
wards a disciple of Jesus Christ, and apostle of the Gen¬
tiles. It is thought he was born about two years before
our Saviour, supposing that he lived 68 years, as we
read in a homily which is in the 6th volume of St Chry-
sostoni’s works. He was a Roman citizen (Acts xxii.
27, 28.), because Augustus had given the freedom of
the city to all the freemen of Tarsus, in consideration
of their firm adherence to his interests. His parents sent
him early to Jerusalem, where he studied the law at the
feat of Gamaliel a famous doctor (id. xxii. 3.). He made
very great progress in his studies, and his life was al¬
ways blameless before men j being very zealous for the
whole observation of the law of Moses (id. xxvi. 4, 3.).
But his zeal carried him too far ; he persecuted the
church, and insulted Jesus Christ in his members (1 Tim.
x. 13.) j and when the protomartyr St Stephen was
stoned, Saul was not only consenting to his death, but
he even stood by and took care of the clothes of those
that stoned him (Acts vii. 58, 59.). This happened in
the 33d year of the common era, some time after our
Saviour’s death.
At the time of the persecution that was raised against
the church, after the death of St Stephen, Saul was one
of those that showed most violence in distressing the be¬
lievers (Gal. i. 13. and Acts xxvi. 11.). He entered
inter their houses, and drew out by force both men and
women, loaded them with chains, and sent them to pri¬
son (Acts viii. 3. and xxii. 4.). He even entered into
the synagogues, where he caused those to be beaten with
rods that believed in Jesus Christ, compelling them to
blaspheme the name of the Lord. And having got ere- Pauf.
dentials from the high-priest Caiaphas, and the elders of *
the Jews, to the chief Jews of Damascus, with power to
bring to Jerusalem all the Christians he should find thei*e,
he went away full of threats, and breathing nothing but
blood (Acts ix. 1, 2, 3, &c.). But as he was upon the
road, and now drawing near to Damascus, all on a sudden
about noon, he perceived a great light to come from hea¬
ven, which encompassed him and all those that were with
him. This splendour threw them on the ground j and
Saul heard a voice that said to him, “ Saul, Saul, why
persecutest thou nw ?” It was Jesus Christ that spoke
to him. To whom Saul answered, “ Who art thou,
Lord ?” And the L ord replied to him, “ 1 am Jeus of
Nazareth whom thou persecutest; it is hard for thee to
kick against the pricks.” Saul, all in consternation,
asked, “ Lord, what is it that thou xvouldst have me
do?” Jesus bid him arise and go to Damascus, where
the will of the Lord should be revealed to him.
Saul then rose from the ground, and felt that he was
deprived of sight ; but his companions led him by the
hand, and brought him to Damascus, where he conti¬
nued three days blind, and without taking any nourish¬
ment. He lodged at the house of a Jew named Judas.
On the third day, the Lord commanded a disciple of
his, named Ananias, to go to find out Saul, to lay his
hands upon him, and to cure his blindness. And as
Ananias made excuses, saying that this man was one of
the most violent persecutors of the church, the Lord said
to him, Go and find him, because this man is an instru¬
ment that I have chosen, to carry mv name before the
Gentiles, before kings, and before the children of Is-
x-ael ; for I will show him how many things he must
suffer for my name. Ananias went therefore, and
found Saul, laid his hand upon him, and restored him to
his sight ; then rising, he was baptized, and filled with
the Holy Ghost. After this he continued some days
with the disciples that were at Damascus, preaching in
the synagogues, and proving that Jesus was the Mes¬
siah (a).
From Damascus he went into Arabia (Gal. i. 17.),
probably
(a) The convex-sion of such a man, at such a time, and by such means, furnishes one of the most complete
proofs that have ever been given of the divine origin of our holy religion. That Saul, from being a zealous per¬
secutor of the disciples of Christ, became all at once a disciple himself, is a fact which cannot be controverted
without overturning the credit of all history. He must therefore have been converted in the miraculous manner in
which he himself said he was, and of course the Christian religion be a divine revelation ; or he must have been
cither an impostor, an enthusiast, or a dupe to the fraud of others. There is not another alternative possible.
If he was an impostor, who declared what he knew to be false, he must have been induced to act that part by
some motive : (See Miracle). But the only conceivable motives for religious imposture are, the hopes of ad¬
vancing one’s temporal interest, credit, or power ; or the prospect of gratifying some passion or appetite under the
authority of the new religion. That none of these could be St Paul’s motive for professing the faith of Christ cru¬
cified, is plain from the state of Judaism and Christianity at the period of his foi*saking the former and embracing
the latter faith. Those whom he left were the disposers of wealth, of dignity, of power, in Judea: those to whom
he went were indigent men, oppressed, and kept from all means of improving their fortunes. The* certain conse¬
quence therefore of his taking the part of Christianity was the loss not only of all that he possessed, but of all hopes
of acquiring more ; whereas, by continuing to persecute tire Christians, he had hopes rising almost to a certainty of
making his fortune by the favour of those who were at the h^ad of the Jewish state, to whom nothing could so
much recommend him as the zeal which he bad shown in that persecution. As to credit or reputation, could the
scholar of Gamaliel hope to gain either by becoming a teacher in a college of fishermen ? Could he flatter himself,
that the doctrines which he taught would, either in or out of Judea, do him honour, when he knew that “ they
were to the Jews a stumbling block, and to the Greeks foolishness?” Was it then the love of power that induced
him to make this great change 5 Power ! over whom ? over a flock of sheep whom he himself had assisted to de¬
stroy,
Paul
P A U [64
probably into the neighbourhood of Damascus, being
then under the government of Aretas king of Arabia $
and having remained there for a little while, he retain¬
ed to Damascus, where he began again to preach the
g-ospel. The Jews could not bear to see the progress
that the gospel made here 5 and so resolved to put him
to death : and they gained to their side the governor of
Damascus, who was to apprehend him, and to deliver
him to them. Of this Saul had early notice; and
knowing that the gates of the city were guarded night
and day to prevent him from making his escape, he
•was let down over the wall in a basket. And coming
to Jerusalem to see Peter (Gal. i. 38.), the disciples
were afraid to have any correspondence with him, not
believing him to be a convert. But Barnabas having
brought him to the apostles, Saul related to them the
manner of his conversion, and all that had followed in
consequence of it. Then he began to preach both to
the Jews and Gentiles 5 and spoke to them with such
strength of argument, that not being able to withstand
him in reasoning, they resolved to kill him. For this
reason, the brethren brought him to Caesai-ea of Pale¬
stine, from whence he came, probably by sea, into his
own country Tarsus in Cilicia.
There he continued about five or six years, from the
year of Christ 37 to the year 43 *, when Barnabas com¬
ing to Antioch by the order ot the apostles, and theie
having found many Christians, went to Tarsus to see
Saul, and brought him with him to Antioch (Acts xi.
20, 25, 26.) *, where they continued together a whole
year, preaching to and instructing the faithful. Dur¬
ing this time, there happened a great famine in Judea
]
P A U
(ib. ib. 27, 28, &.C.), and the Christians ol Antioch
having made some collections to assist their brethren at
Jerusalem, they made choice of Paul and Barnabas to
go thither with their offering. They arrived there in
the year of Christ 44 ; and having acquitted themselves
of their commission, they returned again to Antioch.
They had not been there long before God warned them
by the prophets he had in this church, that he had ap¬
pointed them to carry his word into other places. Then
the church betook themselves to fasting and praying,
and the prophets Simeon, Lucius, and IVJanaen, laid
their hands on them, and sent them to preach whither
the Holy Ghost should conduct them. And it was pro¬
bably about this time, that is, about the year of Christ
44, that Paul being rapt up into the third heaven, saw
there ineffable things, and which were above the com¬
prehension of man (2 Cor. xii. 2, 3, 4. and Acts xiii.
4, 5, 6, &c.)
Saul and Barnabus went first into Cyprus, where they
began to preach in the synagogues of the Jews. When
they had gone over the whole island, they there found a
Jewish magician called Bar-jesus, who wTas with the
proconsul Sergius Paulus; and who resisted them, and
endeavoured to prevent the proconsul from embracing
Christianity : wdiereupon St Paul struck him with blind-
by which miracle the proconsul, being an eye-
Paul.
witness of it, was converted to the Christian faith.
From this conversion, which happened at the city of
Paphos, in the year of Christ 45, many think, that the
apostle first began to bear the name of Patil, which St
Luke always gives him afterwards, as is supposed in
memory of his converting Sergius Paulus. Some be¬
lieve
stmv and whose very Shepherd had lately been murdered? Perhaps it was with the view of gratifying some li¬
centious passion, under the authority of the new religion, that he commenced a teacher of that religion . 11ns
cannot be alleged 5 for his writings breathe nothing but the strictest morality, obedience to magistrates, order,
and TOvernment, with the utmost abhorrence of all licentiousness, idleness, or loose behaviour, under the cloak
of reticrion We nowhere read in his works, that saints are above moral ordinances ; that dominion is founded m
grace f that monarchy is despotism which ought to be abolished j that the fortunes of the rich ought to be divided
a mono- the poor; that there is no difference in moral actions; that any impulses of the mind .are to dnect us
avainst the light of our reason and the laws of nature ; or any of those wicked tenets by which the peace of so¬
ciety lias been often disturbed, and the rules of morality often broken, by men pretending to act under the sanc¬
tion of divine revelation. He makes no distinctions like the impostor of Arabia in favour of himself; nor does
anv part of his life, either before or after his conversion to Christianity, bear any mark of a libertine disposition.
As among the Jews, so among the Christians, his conversation and manners were blameless.—It has been-some¬
times obiected to the other apostles, by those who were resolved not to credit their testimony, that having been
deeply engaged with Jesus during his life, they were obliged, for the support of their own credit, and from hav¬
ing1 gone too far to return, to continue the same professions alter his death ; but this can by no means be said of
St Paul On the contrary, whatever force there may be in that way of reasoning, it all tends to convince us, that
St Paul must naturally have continued a Jew, and an enemy to Christ Jesus. If were engaged on one side,
he was as strongly engaged on the other. If shame withheld them from changing sides much more ought it to
have stopped him ; who, from his superior education, must have been vastly more sensible to that kind of shame
than the mean and illiterate fishermen of Galilee. The only other difFerence was, that ther/, by quitting their
Master after his death, might have preserved themselves; whereas he, by quitting the Jews, and taking up the
cross of Christ, certainly brought on his own destruction. > T — ....
As St Paul was not an impostor, so it is plain he was not an enthusiast. Heat ot temper, melancholy, igno¬
rance and vanity, are the ingredients of which enthusiasm is composed; but from all these, except the first, the
apostle appears to have been wholly free. That he had great fervour of zeal, both when a Jew and when a Chris¬
tian in maintaining what he thought to be right, cannot be denied; but he was at albtimes so much master of his
temper as, in matters of indifference, to “ become all things to all men,” with the most pliant condescension,
bending his notions and manners to theirs, as far as his duty to God would permit; a conduct compatible neither
with the stiffness of a bigot nor with the violent impulses of fanatical delusion, lhat he was not melancholy, is
ulain from his conduct in embracing every method which prudence could suggest to escape danger and shun perse-
^ cution,
P A U [
Paul, lieve that lie changed his name upon his own conver-
•—v—sion 5 and Chrysostom will have this change to take
place at his ordination, when he received his mission at
Antioch > while others say, he took the name Paul on¬
ly when he began to preach to the Gentiles : and,
finally, several are of opinion, that he went by the
name of both Sard and Paw/, like many other Jews
who had one Hebrew name and another Greek or Latin
one.
From the isle of Cyprus, St Paul and his company
went to Perga in Pamphylia, where John Mark left
them, to return to Jerusalem: but making no stay at
Perga, they came to Antioch in Pisidia 3 where going
into the synagogue, and being desired to speak, St Paul
made them a long discourse, by which he showed, that
Jesus Christ was the Messiah foretold by the prophets,
and declared by John the Baptist; that he had been un¬
justly put to death by the malice and jealousy of the
Jews; and that he rose again the third day. They
heard him very attentively ; and he was desired to dis¬
course again on the same subject the next Sabbath-day ;
and several, both Jews and Gentiles, followed them, to
receive particular instructions more at leisure. On the
Sabbath-day following, almost all the city met together
to hear the word of God: but the Jews, seeing the con¬
course of people, were moved with envy at it; opposed,
with blasphemies, what St Paul said ; and not being
able to bear the happy progress of the gospel in this
country, they raised a persecution against the two
apostles : whereupon Paul ahd Barnabas, shaking off the
dust upon their feet against them, came from Antioch in
65 ] P A U
1 isidia to Iconium. Being come thither, they preach¬
ed in their synagogue, and converted a great number,
both of Jews and Gentiles ; and God confirmed their
commission by a great number of miracles (Acts xiv. 1,
2, &c.). In the mean time, the unbelieving Jews, ha¬
ving incensed the Gentiles against Paul and Barnabas,
and threatening to stone them, they were olfliged to re¬
tire to Lystraand Derbe, cities of Lycaonia, where they
preached the gospel. At Lystra, there was a man who
had been lame from his mother’s womb. This man fix¬
ing his eyes on St Paul, the apostle bid him rise, and
stand upon his feet: whereupon he presently rose up,
and walked ; the people, seeing this miracle, cried out'
that the gods were descended among them in the shape'
ot men. They called Barnabas Jupiter, and Paul Mer¬
cury, because ot his eloquence, and being the chief
speaker. I he priest ot Jupiter brought also garlands
and bulls before the gate, to offer sacrifices to them :
but I aul and Barnabas tearing their clothes, and casting
themselves into the middle ot the multitude, cried out
to them, I riends, what do you do ? we are men as well
as yourselves ; and we are preaching to you to turn
away from these vain superstitions, and to worship only
the true God, who has made heaven and earth. But
whatever they could say, they had much ado to restrain
them from offering sacrifices to them.
In the mean time, some Jews of Antioch in Pisidia
and of Iconium coming to Lystra, animated the people
against the apostles. They stoned Paul, and drew him
out of the city, thinking him to be dead. But the dis¬
ciples gathering together about him, he rose up among
them
cution, when he could do it without betraying the duty of his office or the honour of his God. A melancholy en-
msiast courts persecution; and when he cannot obtain it, afflicts himself with absurd penances: but the holiness
of St Paul consisted only in the simplicity of a godly life, and in the unwearied performance of his apostolical du-
ics. lhat he was ignorant, no man will allege who is not grossly ignorant himself; for he appears to have been
wh/T! "r °n l °f 1,6 learmng’ but a\so of tbe ^eek philosophy, and to have been very conversant even
?th the Greek poets, lhat he was not credulous, is plain from his having resisted the evidence of all the mira-
c es performed on earth by Christ, as well as those that were afterward worked by the apostles; to the fame of
W'hich, as he lived in Jerusalem, he could not possibly have been a stranger. And that he was as free from va¬
nity as any man that ever lived, may be gathered from all that we see in his writings, or know of his life. He
represents himself as the least of the apostles, and not meet to be called an apostle. He savs that he is the chief
ot smners ; and he prefers, in the strongest terms, universal benevolence to faith, and prophecy, and miracles,
and all the gifts and graces with which he could be endowed. Is this the language of vanity or enthusiasm ? Did
ever fanatic prefer virtue to Ins own religious opinions, to illuminations of the spirit, and even to the merit of
martyrdom r r
Having thus shown that St Paul was neither an impostor nor an enthusiast, it remains only to be inquired, whe-
er he was deceived by the fraud ot others : but this inquiry needs not be long, for who was to deceive him P A
ew illiterate fishermen of Galilee ? It was morally impossible for such men to conceive the thought of turning the
mo enlightened of their opponents, and the cruellest of their persecutors, into an apostle, and to do this by a
traucl iu the very instant of his greatest fury against them and their Lord. But could they have been so extrava-
gant as to conceive such a thought, it was physically impossible for them to execute it in the manner in which we
md lus conversion to have been effected. Could they produce a light in the air, which at mid-day was
brighter than the sun ? Could they make Saul hear words from out of that light which were not heard by the rest
ot the company P Could they make him blind for three days after that vision, and then make scales fall off’from
is eyes, and restore him to sight by a word P Or, could they make him and those who travelled with him be-
aTlThis1”*1 a11 t,iese things had happened, if they had not happened ? Most unquestionably no fraud was equal to
Since then St Paul was neither an impostor, an enthusiast, nor deceived by the fraud of others, it follows, that
.1S conversi°n was miraculous, and that the Christian religion is a divine revelation. See Lyttleton’s “ Observa-
tions on the Conversion of St Paul;” a treatise to which it has been truly said, that infidelity has never been able
° Vox!C\YI SjjC^0Uj answer» an^ which-this note is a very short and imperfect abridgement.
Paul.
P A U [
them, entered again into the city, and the day after
' left it with Barnabas to go to Derbe. And having here
preached the gospel also, tl.ey returned to Lystra, to
Iconium, and to Antioch of Pisid.a Passing through-
out Pisidia, they came to Pamphyha, and having
preached the word of God at Perga, they wen ow
into Attalia. From hence they set sail for Antioch in
Svria, from whence they had departed a year before.
Being arrived there, they assembled the church together,
and told them the great things God had done by thei
means, and how he had opened to the Gentiles a door
of salvation •, and here they continued a good while w
the disciples. . r t> \
St Luke does not inform us of the actions of St Paul
from the 45th year of Christ to the time of the council
at Jerusalem, which was held in the 50th year 0 _ ^m'j •
There is great likelihood that it was during this interva
that St Paul preached the gospel from Jerusalem to Illy-
ricum, as he informs us in his epistle to the Romans
fxv. iq.) ; and this without making any stay m those
places where others had preached before him. He does
not acquaint us with the particulars of these journeys,
nor with the success of his preaching} but he says in ge¬
neral, that he had suflered more labours than any other,
and had endured more prisons. He was often very near
death itself, sometimes upon the water and sometimes
among thieves. He run great dangers, sometimes from
the Jews and sometimes among false brethren and per¬
verse Christians 5 he was exposed to great hazards, as
■well in the cities as in the deserts: he suffered hunger,
thirst, nakedness, cold, fastings, watchings (2 Cor. xi.
22.-27.), and the fatigues inseparable from long jour¬
neys, which were undertaken without any prospect of
human succour ; in this very different from the good
fortune of others who lived by the gospel, who received
subsistence from those to whom they preached it, and
who were accompanied always by religious women, who
‘ ministered to them in their necessary occasions. Me
made it a point of honour to preach gratis, working
with his hands that he might not be chargeab e to any
one f 1 Cor. ix. 1—15.) 5 for he had learned a trade,
as was usual among the Jews, which trade was to ma 'e
tents of leather for the use of those that go to war.
(Acts xviii. 3.). . • , 1
St Paul and St Barnabas were at Antioch when some
persons coming from Judea (Acts xv. I, 2, &c.) pre¬
tended to teach, that there was no salvation without cir¬
cumcision, and without the observation of the other le¬
gal ceremonies. Eptphanius and Philaster say, that he
that maintained this was Cerinthus and Ins followers.
Paul and Barnabas withstood these new doctors j and it
was agreed to send a deputation to the apostles and el¬
ders at Jerusalem about this question. Paul and Barna¬
bas were deputed 5 and being arrived at Jerusalem, they
reported to the apostles the subject of their commission.
Some of the Pharisees that had embraced the faith, as¬
serted, that the Gentiles that were converted ought to
receive circumcision, and to observe the rest of the law.
But the apostles and elders assembling to examine into
this matter, it was by them decreed, that the Gentiles,
who were converted to Christianity, should not be obli¬
ged to submit to the yoke of the law, but only to avoid
idolatry, fornication, and the eating of things strangled,
and blood. . .
St Paul and St Barnabas were then sent back to An-
3
66 ] P A U
tioch with letters from the apostles, which contained
the decision of the question, and the resolution of that
august assembly. The apostles also deputed Jude sur-
named Barsabas and Silas, who were principal brethren,
to go to Antioch with Paul and Barnabas to give
their testimony also of what had been decreed at Jeru¬
salem. Being arrived at Antioch, they assembled the
faithful, read to them the apostles letter, and acquaint¬
ed them, that it had been resolved to discharge them
from the yoke of the ceremonial law. Some time after
this, St Peter coming to Antioch, and joining himselt
to the converted Gentiles, 1m lived with them without
scruple; but some brethren happening to arrive there
from Jerusalem, he separated himself from the Gentile
converts, and did no longer eat with them : for which
conduct St Paul publicly censured him (Gal. 11.11—10.>
St Paul (id. ii. 2, 3, &c.) in the same journey to Jeru¬
salem, declared openly to the faithful there the doctrine
he preached among the GentHes 5 and besides, discour¬
sed of it in private among the chief of them m presence
of Barnabas and Titus. St Peter, St James, and St
John, with whom he had these conversations, could find
nothing to be either added or amended m so pure and
so sound a doctrine and demeanour. They saw with joy
the grace that God had given him •, they acknowledged
that he had been appointed the apostle of the Gentiles,
as St Peter had been of the circumcision. I hey con¬
cluded that Paul and Barnabas should continue to preach
among the Gentiles ; and only recommended to them to
take care concerning the collections for the poor 5 that
is to say, to exhort the converted Christians among the
Gentiles, to assist the faithful brethren in Judea, who
were in necessity; whether it were because they had sold
and distributed their goods, or because they had been
taken away from them (Heb. x. 540*
After Paul and Barnabas had continued some days at
Antioch, St Paul proposed to Barnabas to return and
visit the brethren through all the cities wherein they
had planted the gospel, to see in what condition they
were. Barnabas consented to the proposal ; but insisted
upon taking John Mark along with them. This was
opposed by Paul, which produced a separation between,
them. Barnabas and John Mark went together to Cy¬
prus; and St Paul, making choice of Silas, crossed over
Syria and Cilicia, and came to Derbe, and afterwards
to Lystra (Acts xvi. I, 2, &c.). Here they found a
disciple, called Timothy, whom St Paul took With him,
and circumcised him that he might not offend the Jews
of that country. When, therefore, they had gone over
the provinces of Lycaonia, Phrygia, and Galatia, the
Holy Ghost would not allow them to preach the gospel
in the proconsular Asia, which contained Ionia, iLolia,
and Lydia. They therefore went on to Mysia, and
coming to Troas, St Paul had a vision in the night. A
man, habited like a Macedonian, presented himselt be¬
fore him, and said. Pass into Macedonia and come and
succour us. Immediately he set out on this journey, not
doubting but that God had called him into this coun-
tiyEmbarking therefore at Troas, they sailed toNeapo-
lis. Thence they came to Philippi, where upon the
sabbath-day they went near the river side, where the
Jews had a place of devotion, and where they found
some religious women, among whom was Lydia, who
was converted and baptized, and invited the apostle and
Paul.
PAU f 67 ] PAU
Paul. liis company to lodge at her house. Another day, as
—-y1^ they went to the same place of devotion, they happened
to meet a maid servant possessed with a spirit of divina¬
tion, who followed St Paul and his company, crying
out, that these men were the servants of the most high
God, who declared to the world the way of salvation.
This she did for several days together; at last St Paul,
turning himself towards her, said to the spirit, I command
thee in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of the body
of this woman: upon which it immediately left her.
But the masters of this damsel, who made much money
by her, drew Paul and Silas before the magistrates, and
accused them of attempting to introduce a new religion
into the city. For this the magistrates ordered them to
he whipt with rods upon the back and shoulders, and af¬
terwards sent them to prison.
Towards midnight, as Paul and Silas were singing
Jbvmns and praises to God, on a sudden there wras a great
earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were
shaken, and all the doors flew open at the same time,
and the fetters of the prisoners burst asunder. The
gaoler being awakened at this noise, and seeing all the
doors open, he drew his sword with an intention to kill
himself, imagining that all the prisoners had made their
escape. But Paul cried out to him, that he should do
himself no mischief, for they were all safe. Then the
gaoler entering and finding all the prisoners there, he
brought out Paul and Silas from this place, asking them
what he must do to be saved ? Paul and Silas instruct¬
ing him and all his family, gave them baptism. After
this the gaoler set before them something to eat j and
when the morning was come, the magistrates sent him
word that he might release his prisoners, and let them
go about their business. But Paul returned this answer
to the magistrates ; Ye have publicly whipped us with
rods, being Roman citizens 5 ye have thrown us into
prison 5 and now ye would privately dismiss us: But it
shall not be so, for you yourselves shall come to fetch us
®ut. The magistrates hearing that they were Roman
citizens,came to excuse themselves j and having brought
them out of prison, they desired them to depart out of
their city. Paul and Silas went first to the house of Ly¬
dia, where having visited and comforted the bi’ethren,
they departed from Philippi.
Then passing through Amphipolis and Apollonia, they
came to Thessalonica the capital city of Macedonia,
where the Jews had a synagogue (Acts xvii. 1, &c>).
Paul entered therein, according to his custom, and there
preached the gospel to them for three Sabbath-days suc¬
cessively. Some Jews and several proselytes believed in
Jesus Christ, and united themselves to Paul and Silas :
but the greatest part of the Jews being led away by a
false zeal, raised a tumult in the city, and went to the
house of Jason where St Paul lodged. But not finding
him there, they took Jason and led him before the magi¬
strates, where they accused him of harbouring in his
house people that were disobedient to the ordinances of
the emperor, and who affirmed that there was another
king besides him, one Jesus whom they preached up.
But Jason having given security to answer for the peo¬
ple who were accused, he was dismissed to his own house j
and the night following the brethren conducted Paul
and Silas out of the city, who went to Berea, where
they began to preach in the synagogue. The Jews of
Berea heard them gladly, and many of them were con¬
verted 5 as also several of the Gentiles, and many wo- Paul,
men of distinction that were not Jewesses. —-y—i
The Jews of Thessalonica being informed that Paul
and Silas were at Berea, came thither and animated the
mob against them ; so that St Paul was forced to with¬
draw, leaving Silas and Timothy at Berea to finish the
work he had so happily begun. Those who conducted
St Paul embarked along with him, and brought him as
far as Athens (Theod. in 1 Thessal.), where he arrived
in the J2d year of Jesus Christ. As soon as he was got
thither, he sent back those that had brought him, with
orders to tell Silas and Timothy, that he desired them
to follow him to Athens as soon as possible. In the
mean time, he went into a synagogue of the Jews, and
preached to them as often as he had opportunity ; and
disputing with the philosophers who were frequent in
that place, they at last brought him before the Areopa¬
gus, accusing him of introducing a new religion. St
Paul being come before the judges, pleaded in his own
defence, that among other marks of superstition which
he had found in that city, he had observed an altar In¬
scribed, “ To the unknown God.” It was therefore
this God whom they confessed that they knew not, that
he came to make known to them. Afterwards he
spoke to them of God the creator of heaven and earth,
of the superintendence of a providence, of the last
judgment, and of the resurrection of the dead. But
after they had heard of the resurrection, some made scorn
of him, and others desired to hear him another time.
However some of them embraced the Christian faith,
of which number was Dionysius a senator of the Areo¬
pagus, and a woman called Damaris, and several others
with them.
St Timothy came from Berea to Athens according
to the request of St Paul, and informed him of the
persecution with which the Christians of Thessalonica
were then afflicted. This obliged the apostle to send
him into Macedonia, that he might comfort them and
keep them stedfast (1 Thessal. iii. 1, 2, &c.). After this
St Paul left Athens and went to Corinth, where he
lodged with one Aquila a Jew, and by a tx-ade a tent-
maker (Acts xviii. I, 2, &c.) With this Aquila the
apostle worked, as being of the same trade himself.
But, however, he did not neglect the preaching of the
gospel, which he performed every day in the syna¬
gogue ; showing both to the Jews and Gentiles that
Jesus was the Messiah. There he made several con¬
verts : and he tells us himself (1 Cor. i. 14-*—17. and
xvi. 15.) that he baptized Stephanus and his whole
house, with Crispus and Gaius. About the same time
Silas and Timothy came to Corinth, and acquainted
him with the good state of the faithful at Thessalonica j
and soon after this, he wrote his first epistle to the Thes-
salonians, which is the first of ail the epistles that be
wrote ; and not long after he wrote his second epistle to
that church.
St Paul, now finding himself encouraged by the pre¬
sence of Silas and Timothy, went on with the work of
his ministry with new ardour^ declaring and proving
that Jesus Christ was the true Messiah. But the Jews
opposing him with blasphemous and opprobrious words,
he shook his clothes at them, and said, “ Your blood he
upon your own head ; from henceforth I shall go to the
Gentiles.” He then quitted the house of Aquila, and
■went to lodge with one Titus Justus, who was original-
I 2 ly
P A U [ 68 ] P A U
ly a Gentile, but one that feared God. In the mean
time the Lord appeared to St Paul in a vision, told
him, that in Corinth he had much people ; and this
■was the reason why the apostle continued there eight
months. # ,
But Gallic the proconsul of Achaia being at Co¬
rinth, the Jews of that city rose up against Paul and
carried him before Gallio, accusing him of attempting
to introduce a new religion among them : however,
Gallio sent them away, telling them he would not
meddle with disputes that were foreign to his office.
Paul continued some time longer at Corinth *, but at last
he set out for Jerusalem, where he had a mind to be
present at the feast of Pentecost. Before he went on
shipboard, he cut off his hair at Cenchrea, because he
had completed his vow of Nazariteship, in which he
had engaged himself. He arrived at Ephesus with
Aquila and Priscilla, from whence he went to Caesarea
of Palestine, and thence to Jerusalem. Here having
performed his devotions, he came to Antioch, where he
stayed some time j and then passing 4rom thence, he
made a progress through all the churches of Galatia
and Phrygia successively j and having gone over the
higher provinces of Asia, he returned to Ephesus, where
he abode three years j that is, from the year of Christ
54 to the year 57 (Acts xix. 1, 2, &c.).
St Paul having arrived at Ephesus, he found there
some disciples that had been initiated by Apollos, who
had only baptized them with the baptism of John. St
Paul instructed them, baptized them with the baptism
of Jesus Christ, and laid his hands on them whereupon
they received the Holy Ghost, the gifts of languages
and of prophecy. The Apostle afterwards went into the
synagogue, and preached to the Jews for three months,
endeavouring to convince them that Jesus Christ was
the Messiah : but as he found them very obstinate, he
separated himself from them, and taught daily in the
school of one J yrannus. He performed there several
miracles, insomuch that the linen that had but touched
his body, being afterwards applied to the sick, they
were presently cured of their diseases, or delivered from
the devils that possessed them. He also suffered much
there, as well from the Jews as from the Gentiles j and
he himself informs us (1 Cor. xv. 31, 32*)> ^at after
the manner of men he fought with beasts at Ephesus $
that is to say, that he was exposed to wild beasts in the
amphitheatre, so that it was expected he should have
been devoured by them } but God miraculously deliver¬
ed him: though some are of opinion, that the fight
here mentioned by St Paul was nothing else but the
scuffle he had with Demetrius the silver-smith and his
companions, who were disappointed in their attempt of
putting the apostle to death. It was during his abode
at Ephesus that the apostle wrote his epistle to the Ga¬
latians.
After this St Paul proposed, at the instigation of the
Holy Ghost, to pass through Macedonia and Achaia,
and afterwards to go to Jerusalem, saying, that after he
had been there, he must also see Borne j and having sent
Timothy and Erastus before to Macedonia, he tarried
some time in Asia. During this time, he received in¬
telligence that domestic troubles had risen in the church
of Corinth, and that abuses had begun to creep in 5
which made him resolve to write his first epistle to that
church.
Soon after this, taking leave of the disciples, be de- Pan?,
parted for Macedonia (Acts xx. I, 2, &c.). He em- ‘ -1 \T“
barked at Troas, took Timothy with him, and together
passed into Macedonia (2 Cor. ii. 12. and vii. 5—
Titus came thither to him, and acquainted him with the
good effects that his lett»r had produced among the Co¬
rinthians j and told him, that the collections that had
been made by the church of Corinth for the faithful in
Palestine were now ready; which engaged Paul to
write a second letter to the Corinthians, bt Paul, ha¬
ving passed through Macedonia, came into Greece or
Achaia, and there continued three months. He visited
the faithful of Corinth ; and having received their alms,
as he was upon the point of returning into Macedonia,
he wrote his epistle to the Bomans.
At last he left Greece and came into Macedonia, in
the year of Christ 58, intending to be at Jerusalem at
the feast of Pentecost. He staid some time at Philippi,
and there celebrated the feast of the passover. I rom
hence he embarked and came to T-roas, where he con¬
tinued a week. On the first day of the week the dis¬
ciples being assembled to break bread, as St Paul was
to depart the day following, he made a discourse to them
which held till midnight. During this time a young
man called Eutvchus, happening to sit* in a window and
fall asleep, fell down three stories high, and was killed
by the fall. St Paul came down to him, and embraced
him, and restored him to life again. rlhen he went up
again, bro&e bread and ate it, and continued his dis¬
course till daybreak, ,at which time he departed. Those
of his company took ship at Troas; but as for him¬
self he went on foot as far as Assos, otherwise called
Apottonia, and then embanked along with them at
Mitylene. From hence he came to Miletus, whither
the elders of the church of Ephesus came to see
him; for he had not time to go to them, because he
was desirous of being at Jerusalem at the feast of Pen¬
tecost.
When these elders had arrived at Miletus, St Paul
discoursed with them, and told them that he was going
to Jerusalem without certainly knowing what should
happen to him ; however he did not doubt but that he
had much to suffer there, since in all cities the Holy
Ghost had given him to undersand, that chains and af¬
flictions waited for him at Jerusalem. Nevertheless, he
declared to them, that all this did not terrify him, pro¬
vided he could but fulfil his ministry. After having
exhorted them to patience, and having prayed along
with them, he went on board, going straight to Coos,
then to Bhodes, and thence to Patara (Acts xxi. 1, 2,
&c.), where finding a ship that was bound for Phteni-
cia, they went on board and arrived safe at Tyre. Here
they made a stop for seven days, and then going on, they
arrived at Ptolemais, and thence to Caesarea, where they
found Philip the evangelist, who was one of the seven
deacons. While St Paul was there, the prophet Aga-
bus arrived there also from Judea ; and have taken St
Paul’s girdle, he bound his own hands and feet with it,
saying, “ Thus shall the Jews of Jerusalem bind the man
that owns this girdle, and shall deliver him up to the
Gentiles.” But St Paul’s constancy was not shaken by
all these predictions, and he told them that he was
ready, not only to suffer bonds, but death itself, for the
name of Christ.
When he was come to Jerusalem, the brethren re¬
ceived
1
F A U [ ^9 1 P A U
celved him with joy j and the day following he went
J to see St James the Less, bishop of Jerusalem, at whose
house all the elders assembled. Paul gave them an ac¬
count of what God had done among the Gentiles by
his ministry. Then St James informed him, that the
converted Jews were strangely prejudiced against him,
because they were informed he taught the Jews that
lived among the Gentiles and out of Palestine, that
they ought to renounce the law of Moses, and no
longer circumcise their children. Therefore, continued
St James, we must assemble them here together, where
you may speak to them yourself, and undeceive them.
Moreover do this, that your actions may verify your
words: join yourself to four men that are here, and
who have taken upon them a vow of Nazariteship ; and
that you may share in the merit of their action, contri¬
bute to the charge of their purification, and purify your¬
self also, that you may offer with them the offerings
and sacrifices ordained for the purification of a Nazarite.
See Nazarite.
St Paul exactly followed this advice of St Janies, and
on the next day went into the temple, where he declared
to the priests, that in seven days these four Nazarites
would complete their vow of Nazariteship ; and that he
would contribute his share of the charges. But to¬
wards the end of these seven days, the Jews of Asia hav¬
ing seen him in the temple, moved all the people against
him, laid hold of him, and cried out, “ Help, ye Israe¬
lites, that is he that teaches every where against the
law, and against the temple, and has brought Gentiles
into the temple, and profaned this holy place.” At the
same time they laid hold on him, shut the gates of the
temple, and would have killed him, had not Lysias the
tribune of the Roman garrison there run to las rescue,
taken him out of their hands, and brought him into the
citadel. St Paul being upon the steps, desired the tri¬
bune to suffer him to speak to the people, who followed
him thither in a great multitude. The tribune permit¬
ted him, and St Paul, making a sign with his hand,
made a speech in Hebrew (Act xxii), and related to
them the manner of his conversion, and his mission from
God to go and preach to the Gentiles. At his mention¬
ing the Gentiles, the Jews began to cry out, “ Away
with this wicked fellow out of the world, for he is not
worthy to live.”
Immediately the tribune made him come into the
castle, and ordered that he should be examined by whip¬
ping him, in order to make him confess the matter why
the Jews were so incensed against him. Being now
bound, he said to the tribune, “ Is it lawful for you to
whip a Roman citizen before you hear him ?” The
tribune hearing this, caused him to be unbound, and
calling together the priests and the senate of the Jews,
he brought Paul before them, that he might know the
occasion of this tumult of the people. Then Paul be¬
gan to speak to them to this purpose, (^Acts xxiii.) :
Brethren, I have lived in all good conscience before
God until this day.” At which words, Ananias, son
of Nebedeus, who was the chief-priest, ordered the by¬
standers to give him a blow in the face. At which St
Paul said to him, “ God shall smite thee, thou whited
wall ; for sittest thou to judge me after the law, and
commandest me to be smitten contrary to the law' ?”
Those that were present said to him, “ Revilest thou
God’s high priest?” St Paul excused himself by saying,
that he did not know he was the high priest, “ For it
is written, thou shalt not speak evil of the ruler of thy
people.” Then perceiving that part of the assembly
were Sadducees, and part Pharisees, he cried out,
“ Brethren, I am a Pharisee, the son of a Pharisee ; of
the hope and resurrection of the dead I am called in
question.”
Then the assembly being divided in interests and opi¬
nions, and the clamour increasing more and more, the
tribune ordered the soldiers to fetch him away out of
the assembly, and bring him into the castle. The fol¬
lowing night the Lord appeared to Paul, and said
to him, “ Take courage, for as you have borne testi¬
mony of me at Jerusalem, so must you also at Rome.”
The day following more than 40 Jews engaged them¬
selves by an oath, not to eat or drink till they had
killed Paul. They came, therefore, and made known
their design to the priests and chiefs of the people,
saying to them, “ To-morrow cause Paul to appear
before you, as if you would inquire more accurately
into this aflair, and before he can come to you, we will
lie in wait for him and kill him.” But St Paul, being-
informed of this conspiracy by his sister’s son, ac¬
quainted the tribune with it; who gave orders that
the night following he should be sent to Caesarea, to
Felix the governor, who had his ordinary residence
there. Felix having received letters from Lysias, and
being informed that St Paul was of Cilicia, he told
him he would hear him when his accusers should ar¬
rive.
Five days after, Ananias the high-priest and some
of the senators came to Caesarea, bringing with them
Tertullus the orator, to plead against Paul. Tertul-
lus accused him of being a seditious person, a disturber
of the public peace j one who had put himself at the
head of a sect of Nazarenes, and who made no scruple
even to profane the temple, tjd. xxiv.). But St Paul
easily refuted these calumnies, and defied his accusers
to prove any of the articles they had exhibited against
him : he ended his discourse by saying, “ That for the
doctrine of the resurrection from the dead, his adver¬
saries would have him condemned.” Felix put off the
further hearing of this cause till another time ; and,
some days afterwards, came himself with his wife Dru-
silla to hear Paul; and being in hopes that the apo¬
stle would purchase his freedom with a sum of money,
he used him well, often sent for him, and had frequent
conversations with him.
Two years having thus passed away, Felix made way
for his successor Portius Festus $ but being willing to
oblige the Jews, he left Paul in prison. Festus being
come to Jerusalem, the chief priests desired to send for
Paul, with a design to fall upon him by the way. But
Festus told them, they might come to Caesarea, where
he would do them justice. Hither the Jews came, and
accused Paul of several crimes, of which they were able
to prove nothing (id. xxv.). Festus then proposed to
the apostle to go to Jerusalem, and be tried there j but
he answered, “ That he was now at the emperor’s tri¬
bunal, where he ought to be tried ; and that he appeal¬
ed to Caesarwhereupon Festus, having conferred with
his council, told him, that therefore to Caesar he should
go.
Some days after, King Agrippa and his wife Bere¬
nice coming to Caesarea, desired to hear Paul; who
pleaded,
P A U
[ 70 3
P A U
pleaded his cause with such ability, that Agrippa ex¬
claimed, “Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.”
See Agrifpa. . , , , -n , •
As soon, therefore, as it was resolved to send Caul in¬
to Italy, he was put on board a ship at Adramyttium, a
city of Mysia 5 and having passed over the seas of Cili¬
cia, and Pamphylia, they arrived at Myra, in Lycia,
■where, having found a ship that was bound for Italy,
they went on board, (id. xxvii.). But the season being
far advanced (for it was at least the latter end of Sep¬
tember), and the wind proving contrary, they with
much difficulty arrived at the Fair Haven, a port m the
isle of Crete. St Paul advised them to winter there :
however, others were of opinion they had better go to
Phenice, another harbour of the same island 5 but as they
were going thither, the wind drove them upon a little
island calTed Clauda, where the mariners, fearing to
strike upon some bank of sand, they lowered their mast,
and surrendered themselves to the mercy of the wa\es.
Three days after this, they threw overboard the tack¬
ling of the ship. Neither sun nor stars had appeared
now' for 14 days. In this extreme danger, an angel ap¬
peared to St Paul, and assured him that God had given
him the lives of all that were in the ship with him 5
which were in all 276 souls. St Paul told them of his
vision, exorted them to take courage, and promised
them that they should all come alive into an island j and
that the vessel only should be lost. On the 14th night
the seamen cast out the lead, and thought by their
sounding that they approached near to some land. They
were attempting to save themselves by going into the
boat; but St Paul told the centurion and the soldiers,
that except the sailors continued in the ship, their lives
could not be saved. Then the soldiers cut the ropes of
the boat, and let her drive. About daybreak, St Paul
persuaded them to take some nourishment, assuring them
that not a hair of their heads should perish. Alter his
example, they took some food, and when they had eaten,
they lightened their vessel, by throwing the corn into the
sea. Day being come, they perceived a shore, where
they resolved, if possible, to bring the ship to. But
the vessel having struck against a neck of land that run
out into the sea, so that the head remained fixed, and
the stern was exposed to the mercy of the waves j the
soldiers, fearing lest any of the prisoners should make
their escape by swimming, were for putting them all
to the sword. But the centurion would not suflei
them, being willing to save Paul j and he commanded
those that could swim to throw themselves first out of
the vessel} and the rest got planks, so that all of them
came safe to shore. Then they found that the island
was called Alehtn or Malta ,* the inhabitants of which
received them with great humanity, (Acts xxvii. I, 2,
3> &c.).
They being all very wet and cold, a great fire was
lighted to dry them •, and Paul having gathered up a
handful of sticks, and put them upon the fire, a viper
leaped out of the fire, and took hold of his hand. Then
the barbarous people said one to another, “ W ithout
doubt this man is a murderer *, and though he has been
saved from the shipwreck, yet divine vengeance still
pursues him and will not sufter him to live. But
Paul, shaking the viper into the fire, received no in¬
jury from it. The people, seeing this, changed their
opinion, of him, and took him for a god 5 which opi¬
nion of theirs was more confirmed, by his curing the .
father of Publius, the chief man of the island, of a lever
and bloody-flux. After this miracle, they all brought
out their sick to him, and they were healed. See Me-
LITA.
At the end of three months they embarked again j
and arrived, first at Syracuse, then at Rhegium, and
lastly at Puteoli. Here St Paul found some Christians,
who detained him for seven days j then he set out for
Rome. The brethren of this city having been inform¬
ed of St Paul’s arrival, came to meet him as far as
Appii forum, and the Three Taverns. And when he
was come to Rome, he was allowed to dwell where lie
pleased, having a soldier to guard him, who was joined
to him with a chain. Three days afterwards, St Paul
desired the chief of the Jews there to come to him. He
related to them in what manner he had been seized in
the temple of Jerusalem, and the necessity he was
under of appealing to Csesar. The Jew's told him, that
as yet they had received no information about his af¬
fair *, and, as for Christianity, they knew nothing of
it, but only that it was spoken against everywhere j
however, that they should be very willing to have some
account of that doctrine from him. A day was ap¬
pointed for this purpose; when St Paul preached to
them concerning the kingdom of God, endea^ou^lng
to convince them from Moses and the prophets, that
Jesus was the Messiah. Some of them believed what
he had said to them, while others disbelieved; so
that they returned from him divided among them¬
selves.
Paul dwelt for two wrhole years at Rome, from the
vear of Christ 61 to the year 63, in a lodging that he
hired; where he received all that came to him, preach¬
ing the kingdom of God, and the religion of Jesus
Christ, without any interruption.
Hitherto we have had the Acts of the Apostles for
our guide, in compiling the history of St Paul; what ive
shall add hereafter, will be mostly taken from his own
Epistles. His captivity did not a little contribute to
the advancement of religion ; for he converted several
persons even of the emperor’s court, (Philip, i. 12—18.
and iv. 22.). The Christians of Philippi, in Macedo¬
nia, hearing that St Paul was a prisoner at Rome,
sent Epaphroditus their bishop to him, to bring him
money, and otherwise to assist him in their name,
(Phil. ii. 25.) Epaphroditus fell sick at Rome ; and
when he wyent back to Macedonia, the apostle sent by
him his Epistle to the Philippians.
It is not known by what means St Paul was deliver¬
ed from his prison, and discharged from the accusation
of the Jews. There is great probability that they durst
not appear against him before the emperor, as not hav¬
ing sufficient proof of what they laid to his charge.
However that may be, it is certain that he was set at
liberty, after having been two years a prisoner at Rome.
He wrote also, during this imprisonment, his Epistles to
Philemon and the Colossians.
He was still in the city of Rome, or at least in Italy,
when he wrote his Epistle to the Hebrews. St Paul,
having got out of prison, went over Italy ; and, accord¬
ing to"some of the fathers, passed into Spain ; then into
Judea ; went to Ephesus, and there left Timothy (Heb.
xiii. 24. and I Tim. i. 3.) ; preached m Crete, and
there fixed Titus, to take care to cultivate the church
he
Paul.
P A U [7
Paul. he had planted in that place. Probably he might also
■•-v visit the Philippians, according to the promise he had
made them, (Phil. i. 23. 26. and ii. 24.) 5 and it is be¬
lieved, that it was from Macedonia that he wrote the
First Epistle to Timothy.—Some time after, he wrote
to Titus, whom he had left in Crete ; he desires him to
come to Nicopolis, from whence, probably, he sent this
letter. The year following, that is, the 65th year of
the Christian era, the apostle went into Asia, and came
to Troas, (2 Tim. iv. 13.). Thence he went to visit
Timothy at Ephesus, and from that to Miletus, (2 Tim.
iv. 20.) Lastly, he went to Rome *, and St Chrysostom
says, that it was repotted, that having converted a cup¬
bearer and a concubine of Nero, this so provoked the
emperor, that he caused St Paul to be apprehended, and
clapped into prison. It was in this last place of confine¬
ment that he wrote his Second Epistle to Timothy,
which Chrysostom looks upon as the apostle’s last tes¬
tament. See Timothy and Titus.
This great apostle at last consummated his martyr¬
dom, the 29th of June, in the 66th year of Jesus
Christ, by having his head cut off, at a place called
the Salvian Waters. He was buried on the way of
Ostium, and a magnificent church was built over his
tomb, which is in being to this day. Culmet's Diet*
&c.
Paul, iSV, Cave or Grotto of, in the island of Mal¬
ta, where St Paul and his company took shelter from
the rains, when the viper fastened on his arm. Upon
this spot there is a church built by the famed Alof de
\ ignacourt, grand-master of the order, in the year
1606, a very handsome, though but a small, structure.
On the altar-piece is a curious painting, representing
the apostle’s shaking off the viper, surrounded with
men, women, and children, in attitudes of admiration
and surprise, and in the old Maltese garb; and the
whole very well executed. On the top of the painting
is the following inscription:
Vipera ignis acta calore frustra Pauli
Manum invadit 5 is insulae benedicens
Anguibus et herbis adimit omne virus.
M.DC.V.
Paul, first bishop of Narbonne, or Sergius Paulus
the proconsul, converted and made bishop by St Paul,
was descended from one of the best families of Rome.
It is said the apostle called himself Paul, from his
name. The Spaniards will have him to be their apostle,
which is not improbable 5 and it is said he died a mar¬
tyr at Narbonne.
Paul V. by birth a Roman, was first clerk of the
chamber, and afterwards nuncio to Clement VIII. in
Spain, who honoured him with a cardinal’s hat. He
was advanced to the papal chair the 16th of May 1605,
after Leo XL The ancient quarrel between the secu¬
lar and ecclesiastical jurisdictions, which in former times
had occasioned so much bloodshed, revived in the reign
of this pontiff. The senate of Venice had condemned
by two decrees, 1. The new foundations of monasteries
made without their concurrence. 2. The alienation of
the estates both ecclesiastical and secular. The first de¬
cree passed in 1603, and the second in 1605. About
tlie same time a canon and abbot, accused of rapine and
murder, were arrested by order of the senate, and de¬
livered over to the secular court 5 a circumstance which
1 ] P A U
could not fail to give offence to the court of Rome.
Clement V III. thought it proper to dissemble or take'
no notice of the aftair ; but Paul V. who had managed
the Genoese upon a similar occasion, flattered himself
with the hopes that the Venetians would be equally
pliant.. However, he was disappointed j for the senate
maintained that they held their power to make laws of
God only ; and therefore they refused to revoke their
deciees and^ deliver up the ecclesiastical prisoners into
the hands of the nuncio, as the pope demanded. Paul,
provoked at this behaviour, excommunicated the doge
and senate ; and threatened to put the whole state under
an intei diet, if satisfaction was not given him within the
space of 14 hours. I he senate did no more than protest
against this menace,, and forbid the publication of it
throughout their dominions. A number of pamphlets,
from both sides, soon announced the animosity of the
two parties. I he Capuchins, the Theatins, and Jesuits,
were the only religious orders who observed the inter¬
dict. The senate shipped them all off for Rome, and
the Jesuits were banished for ever. Meantime his holi¬
ness was preparing to make the refractory republic sub¬
mit to his spiritual tyranny by force of arms. He levied
troops against the Venetians 5 but he soon found his de¬
sign baulked, as the cause of the Venetians appeared
to be the common cause of all princes. He had re¬
course, therefore, to Henry IV. to settle the differences :
and this prince had all the honour of bringing about a
reconciliation between the contending parties. His am¬
bassadors at Rome and Venice began the negotiation,
and Cardinal de Joyeuse finished it in 3607. It was
agreed upon, that this cardinal should declare at his
entry into the senate, that the censures of the church
were to be taken off, or that he would remove them j
and that the doge should at the same time surrender to
him the deeds of revocation and protest. It was also
stipulated, that all the religious who were banished, ex¬
cept the Jesuits, should be restored to their former pri¬
vileges. In fine, the Venetians promised to send an am¬
bassador extraordinary to Rome, in order to thank the
pope for the favour he had done them j but they would
not allow the legate to speak of his holiness granting
them absolution. Paul was wise enough to overlook
the whole matter, but endeavoured to put an end to
another dispute, which had been long agitated in the
congregations de auxiliis. He caused it to be intimated
in form to the disputants and counsellors, that, as the
congregations were now dissolved, it was his express or¬
der that the contending parties should no longer conti¬
nue to censure one another. Some authors have affirm¬
ed that Paul V. had drawn out a bull against the doc¬
trine of Molina, which only wanted to be promulgedj
but for this fact there appears to be no other evidence
than the draught of this bull, which we meet with in
the end of the history of the above-mentioned congrega¬
tions. Paul was strongly solicited, but in vain, to make
the immaculate conception of the holy virgin an article
of faith. He contented himself with fairly forbidding the
contrary doctrine to be publicly taught, that he might
not offend the Dominicans, who, at that time, maintain¬
ed that she was conceived, like other human creatures,
in original sin. His holiness afterwards applied himself
to the embellishing of Rome, and was at great pains to
collect the works of the most eminent painters and en¬
gravers. Rome is indebted to him for its most beautiful
fountains.
Paid.
P A U [72
fountains, especially that where the water spouts out
from an antique vase taken from the thermae 01 hot-
baths of Vespasian, and that which they call aqua Pao¬
lo, an ancient work of Augustus, restored by Paul V.
He brought water into it by an aqueduct 35 miles in
length, after the example ot Sixtus "V. He completed
the frontispiece of St Peter, and the magnificent palace
of Mount Cavallo. He applied himself in a particular
manner to the recovering and repairing ancient monu¬
ments, which he made to advance, as much as the na¬
ture of them would admit, the honour of Christianity j
as appears from an elegant inscription placed upon a
column of porphyry, taken from the temple of Peace,
and bearing a beautiful statue of the Virgin, at the side
of the church of St Mary the elder:
“ Impura falsi templa
Quondam numinis
Jubente moesta perferebam Csesare :
Nunc Iseta veri
Perferens matrem Dei
Te, Paule, nullis obticebo sseculis.”
His pontificate was honoured with several illustrious em¬
bassies. The kings of Japan, Congo, and other Indian
princes, sent ambassadors to him. He took care to sup¬
ply them rvith missionaries, and to found bishopricks in
these countries newly brought over to the faith. He
showed the same attention to the Maronites and other
eastern Christians. He sent legates to different ortho¬
dox princes, both to testify his esteem for them, and to
confirm them in their zeal for religion. He died the
28th of January 1621, aged 69} after having confirmed
the French Oratory, the Ursulines, the Order of Chan¬
ty, and some other institutions. Bold in his claims, but
of narrow views, he distinguished himself more by his
piety and knowledge than by his politics. It has been
remarked, that he never passed a single day of his pope¬
dom without celebrating mass. He enjoined all the re¬
ligious in the prosecution of their studies to have regu¬
lar professors for Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and Arabic •,
if there were any among themselves properly qualified ;
or if that was not the case, to take the assistance of
laymen for that purpose, until there were some of their
own order who had learning enough to instruct their
brethren. It was very difficult to carry this decree in¬
to execution *, and indeed it was always very imper¬
fectly observed. .
Pauj., Father, whose name, before he entered into
the monastic life, was Peter Sarpi, was born at Venice,
August 14. 1552. His father followed merchandise,
but with so little success, that at his death he left his
family very ill provided for} but under the care of a
mother whose piety was likely to bring the blessing, of
providence upon them, and whose wise conduct supplied
the want of fortune by advantages of greater value.
Happily for young Sarpi she had a brother, master of a
celebrated school, under whose direction he was placed
by her. Here he lost no time, but cultivated his abili¬
ties, naturally of the first rate, with unwearied applica¬
tion. He was born for study, having a natural aversion
to pleasure and gaiety, and a memory so tenacious that
he could repeat 30 verses upon once hearing them. Pro¬
portionable to his capacity was his progress in literature :
at 13, having made himself master ot school learning,
Returned his studies to philosophy and the mathematics,
] P A U
and entered upon logic under Capella of Cremona, who, I
though a celebrated master of that science, confessed L—
himself in a very little time unable to give his pupil
any farther instructions.
As Capella was of the order of the Servites, his scho¬
lar was induced by his acquaintance with him to engage
in the same profession, though his uncle and his mother
represented to him the hardships and austerities of that
kind of life, and advised him with great zeal against it.
But he was steady in his resolutions, and in 1366
took the habit of the order, being then only in his
14th year, a time of life in most persons very improper
for such engagements, but in him attended with such
maturity of thought, and such a settled temper, that he
never seemed to regret the choice he then made, and
which he confirmed by a solemn public profession in
1572.
At a general chapter of the Servites held at Man¬
tua, Paul (for so we shall norv call him) being then on¬
ly 20 years old, distinguished himselt so much in a pu¬
blic disputation by his genius and learning, that William
duke of Mantua, a great patron of letters,, solicited the
consent of his superiors to retain him at his court, and
not only made him public professor of divinity in the ca¬
thedral, and reader of casuistical divinity and canon law
in that city, but honoured him with many proofs of his
esteem. But Father Paul finding a court life not agree¬
able to his temper, quitted it two years afterwards, and
retired to his beloved privacies, being then not only ac¬
quainted with the Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and Chaldee
languages, but with philosophy, the mathematics, canon
and civil law, all parts of natural philosophy, and che¬
mistry itself’, for his application rvas unintermitted, his
head clear, his apprehension quick, and his memory re¬
tentive.
Being made a priest at 22, he was distinguished by
the illustrious Cardinal Borromeo with his confidence,
and employed by him on many occasions, not without
the envy of persons of less merit, who were so far ex¬
asperated as to lay a charge against him before the In¬
quisition, for denying that the Trinity could be proved
from the first chapter of Genesis *, but the accusation
was too ridiculous to be taken notice of. After this he
passed successively through the dignities of his order, of
which he was chosen provincial for the province of Ve¬
nice at 26 years of age ; and discharged his post with
such honour, that in 1579 he was appointed, with two
others, to draw up new regulations and statutes lor his
order. This he executed with great success •, and when
his office of provincial was expired, he retired for three
years to the study of natural and experimental philoso¬
phy and anatomy, in which he is said to have made some
useful discoveries. In the intervals of his employment
he applied himself to his studies with so extensive a ca¬
pacity, as left no branch of knowledge untouched. By
him Acquapendente, the great anatomist, confesses that
he was informed how vision is performed ; and there are
proofs that he was not a stranger to the circulation of
the blood. He frequently conversed upon astronomy
with mathematicians, upon anatomy with surgeons, upon
medicine with physicians, and with chemists upon the
analysis of metals, not as a superficial inquirer, but as a
complete master. He was then chosen procurator gene¬
ral of his order ; and during his residence at Home was
greatly esteemed by Fope Sixtus V. and contracted an
a intimate
Paul.
P A U [ 7
intimate friendship with Cardinal Bellarmine and other
-J eminent persons.
But the hours of repose, which he employed so well,
Were interrupted by a new information m the Inquisi-
tion ; where a former acquaintance produced a letter
written by him in cyphers, in which he said, “ that he
detested the court ot Home, and that no preferment was
obtained there but by dishonest means.n This accusa¬
tion, however dangerous, w'as passed over on account of
his great reputation; but made such impressions on that
eourt, that he was afterwards denied a bishopric by Cle¬
ment VIII. After these difficulties were surmounted,
Paul again retired to his solitude j where he appears,
by some writings drawn up by him at that time, to have
turned his attention more to improvement in piety than
learning. Such was the care with which he read the
scriptures, that, it being his custom to draw a line
under any passage which he intended more nicely to
consider, there was not a single word in his New
Testament but was underlined. The same marks of
attention appeared in his Old Testament, Psalter, and
Breviary.
But the most active scene of his life began about the
year 16155 when Pope Paul V. exasperated by some
decrees of the senate of Venice that interfered with the
pretended rights of the church, laid the whole state un-
dei an intei diet. I he senate, filled with indignation at
this treatment, forbade the bishops to receive or publish
the pope s bull 5 and, convening the rectors of the
chinches, commanded them to celebrate divine service
in the accustomed manner, with which most of them
readily complied : but the Jesuits and some others refu¬
sing, were by a solemn edict expelled the state. Both
parties having proceeded to extremities, employed their
ablest writers to defend their measures. On the pope’s
side, among others, Cardinal Bellarmine entered the lists,
and, with his confederate authors, defended the papal
claims with great scurrility of expression, and very so¬
phistical reasonings 5 which were confuted by the Vene¬
tian apologists in much more decent language, and with
much greater solidity of argument. On this occasion
f. Paul was most eminently distinguished by his Defence
of the Rights of the supreme Magistrate, his Treatise of
.Lxcommumcation, translated from Gerson, with an A-
pology, and other writings 5 for which he was cited be¬
fore the Inquisition at Rome 5 but it may be easily ima-
•gined that he did not obey the summons.
The Venetian writers, whatever might be the abilities
or then- adversaries, were at least superior to them in
ffie justice of their cause. The propositions maintained
on the side of Rome were these: That the pope is in¬
vested with all the authority of heaven and earth : that
all princes are his vassals, and that he may annul their
laws at pleasure: that kings may appeal to him, as he
is temporal monarch of the whole earth : that be can
discharge subjects from their oaths of allegiance, and
make it their duty to take up arms against their sove¬
reign: that he may depose kings without any fault com¬
mitted by them, if the good of the church requires it:
that the clergy are exempt from all tribute to kings, and
are not accountable to them even in cases of high-treason:
that the pope cannot err: that his decisions are to bere-
ceived and obeyed on pain of sin, though all the world
should judge them to be false: that the pope is God upon
earth: that his sentence and that of God are the same :
Vol. XVI. Part I. -j.
^ ] P A U
and that to call his power in question is to call in question
the power of God: maxims equally shocking, weak, per¬
nicious, and absurd; of which it did not require the abi¬
lities and learning ot F.Paul to demonstrate the falsehood
and destructive tendency. It may be easily imagined
that such principles were quickly overthrown, and that
no court but that of Rome thought it for its interest to
favour them. The pope, therefore, finding his authors
confuted and his cause abandoned, was willing to con¬
clude the affair by treaty ; which, by the mediation of
Henry IV. of France, was accommodated upon terms
very much to the honour of the Venetians. But the
defenders of the Venetian rights, though comprehend-
ed m the treaty, were excluded by the Romans from the
benefit of it: some, upon different pretences, were im¬
prisoned; some sent to the galleys ; and all debarred
from preferment. But their malice was chiefly aimed
against F. Paul, who soon felt the effects of it; for as
he was going one night to his convent, about six months
after the accommodation, he was attacked by five ruffi¬
ans armed with stilettoes, who gave him no less than 1 c
stabs, three of which wounded him in such a manner
that he was left for dead. The murderers fled for re¬
fuge to the nunico, and were afterwards received into
the pope’s dominions ; but were pursued by divine
justice, and all, except one man who died in prison,
perished by a violent death.
This, and other attempts upon his life, obliged him
to confine himself to his convent, where he engaged in
writing the History of the Council of Trent; a work
unequalled for the judicious disposition of the matter,
and artful texture of the narration; commended by Dr
urnet as the completest model of historical writing ;
and celebrated by Mr Worton as equivalent to any pro¬
duction of antiquity; in which the reader finds “ liber¬
ty without licentiousness, piety without hypocrisy, free¬
dom of speech without neglect of decency, severity with¬
out rigour, and extensive learning without ostentation.”
In this, and other works of less consequence, he
spent the remaining part of his life to the beginning
of the year 1622, when he was seized with a cold and
lever, which lie neglected till it became incurable. He
languished more than twelve months, which he spent
almost wholly in a preparation for his passage into eter¬
nity ; and among his prayers and aspirations was often
heard to repeat, “ Lord! now let thy servant depart in
peace. On Sunday the eighth of January of the next
year, he rose, weak as he was, to mass, and went to take
ms repast with the rest 5 but on Monday was seized with
a weakness that threatened immediate death ; and on
Thursday prepared for his change, by receiving the via¬
ticum, with such marks of devotion as equally melt¬
ed and edified the beholders. Through the whole
course of his illness to the last hour of his life he was
consulted by the senate in public affairs, and returned
answers in his greatest weakness with such presence of
mind as could only arise from the consciousness of in¬
nocence.
On Saturday, the day ®f his death, he had the pas¬
sion ot our blessed Saviour read to him out of St John’s
gospel, as on every other day of that week, and spoke
of the mercy of his Redeemer, and his confidence in his
merits. As his end evidently approached, the brethren
of his convent came to pronounce the last prayers, with
which he could only join in bis thoughts, being able t«
K pronounce
Paul.
P A U
L 74 ]
P A U
pronounce no more than these words, l^slo perpeftta,
“ Mayest thou last for ever ^ which was understood to
he a praver for the prosperity ot his country. Thus
died F. Paul, in the 71st year of his age 5 hated by the
Romans as their most formidable enemy, and honoured
by all the learned for his abilities, and by the good for
his integrity. His detestation of the corruption of the
Roman church appears in all his writings, but particu¬
larly in this memorable passage of one of his letters :
“ There is nothing more essential than to ruin the repu¬
tation of the Jesuits. By the ruin of the Jesuits, Rome
will he ruined } and if Rome he ruined, religion will
reform of itself.” He appears, by many passages in
his life, to have had a high esteem for the church
of EnRand •, and his friend F. Fulgentio, who had
adopted all his notions, made no scruple of admini¬
stering to Dr Duncombe, an English gentleman who
fell sick at Venice, the communion in both kinds, ac-
cordino- to the Common Prayer which he had with him
in Rah an. F. Paul was buried with great pomp at the
public charge, and a magnificent monument was erected
to his memory. „ ,
Paul, in sea language is a short bar ot wood or
iron, fixed close to the capstern or windlass of a ship, to
prevent those engines from rolling back or giving way
when they are employed to heave in the cable, or
otherwise charged with any great efloit.
PAULIANISTS, Paulianistte, a sect of heretics,
so called from their founder Paulus Samosatenus, a na¬
tive of Samosala, elected bishop of Antioch in 262.
His doctrine seems to have amounted to this: that the
Son and the Holy Ghost exist in God in the same man¬
ner as the faculties of reason and activity do in man •,
that Christ was born a mere man •, but that the reason
or wisdom of the Father descended into him, and by
him wrought miracles upon earth, and instructed the
nations j and, finally, that on account of this union ot
the Divine Word with the man Jesus, Christ might,
though improperly, be called God. It is also said, that
he did not baptize in the name of the Father and the
Son, &c. for which reason the council ot IS ice order¬
ed those baptized by him to be re-baptized. _
Being condemned by Dionysius Alexandnnus in a
council, he abjured his errors to avoid deposition-, hut
soon afti • he resumed them, and was actually deposed
by another council in 269 —He may be considered as
the father of the modern Socinians and his errors are
severely condemned by the council of Nice, whose
creed differs a little from that now used, under the same
name, in the church of England. The creed agreed
upon by the Nicene fathers, with a view to the errors ot
Paulus Samosatenus, concludes thus : tov? ^ teyovrxs «»
z-m cvx *iv **1 ysvv»<W, &c. Tovlevf xvxkux-
yi&i « xoiQoXtxn KXI XTrorltXtxYi iKxMcrtx “ But those
who say there was a time when he was not, and that he
was not before he was born, the catholic and apostolic
church anathematizes.” To those who have any vene¬
ration for the council of Nice this must appear a very
severe, and perhaps not unjust, censure of some other
modern sects as well as of the Socinians.
PAULICIANS, a branch of the ancient Mamchees,
so called from their founder, one Paulus, an Armenian,
in the seventh century who, with his brother John,
Vth of Samosata, formed this sect : though others are
of opinion, that they were thus called from another
Paul, an Armenian by birth, who lived under the reign Paulician*.
of Justinian II. In the seventh century a zealot called v '
Constantine revived this drooping sect, which had suf¬
fered much from the violence of its adversaries, and was
ready to expire under the severity of the imperial edicts,
and that zeal with which they were carried into execu¬
tion. The Paulicians, however, by their number, and
the countenance of the emperor Nicephoros, became
formidable to all the East. . , e
But the cruel rage of persecution, which had tor
some years been suspended, broke forth with redouble
violence under the reigns of Michael Curopalates am
Leo the Armenian, who inflicted capital punishment
on such of the Paulicians as refused to return into the
bosom of the church. The empress Theodora, tutoress
of the emperor Michael, in 845, would oblige them
either to be converted or to quit the empire : upon which
several of them were put to death, and more retired
among the Saracens but they were neither all exter¬
minated nor banished. . . . c
Upon this they entered into a league wiUi the Sara¬
cens 5 and choosing for their chief an officer of the
greatest resolution and valour, whose name was Uarbeus,
they declared against the Greeks a war which was car¬
ried on for fifty years with the greatest vehemence and
fury. During these commotions, some Paulicians, to¬
wards the conclusion of this century, spread abroad their
doctrines among the Bulgarians } many of them, either
Lorn a principle of zeal for the propagation of their
opinions, or from a natural desire of flying from the per¬
secution which they suffered under the Grecian yoke,
retired, about the close of the eleventh century, from
Bulgaria and Thrace, and formed settlements in other
countries. Their first migration was into Italy *, whence,
in process of time, they sent colonies into a most all the
other provinces of Europe, and formed gradually a con¬
siderable number of religious assemblies, who adhered to
their doctrine, and who were afterwards persecuted wi ll
the utmost vehemence by the Roman pontiffs. In Italy
they were called Puterm/,from a certain place called fte-
taria, being a part of the city of Milan, where they held
their assemblies v and Gcthar i or Gazan, froniGazaria,
or the Lesser Tartary. In France they were called
Albigenses, though their faith differed widely Irom that
of the Albigenses, whom Protestant writers generally
vindicate. (See Albigenses). Ihe first religious
assembly the Paulicians had formed in Europe is said to
have been discovered at Orleans in 1017, under the
reign of Robert, when many of them were condemned
to be burnt alive. The ancient Paulicians, according to
Pliotius, expressed the utmost abhorrence ol Manes and
his doctrine. The Greek writers comprise their errors
under the six following particulars : 1. 1 hey denied that
this inferior and visible world is the production of the
Supreme Being; and they distinguish the Creator of the
world and of human bodies from the most high God
who dwells in the heavens: and hence some have been
led to conceive that they were a branch of the Gnostics
rather than of the Manichaeans. 2- They treated con¬
temptuously the Virgin Mary ; or, according to the usu¬
al manner of speaking among the Greeks, they refused
to adore and worship her. 3- refused to celebrate
the institution of the Lord’s Supper. 4. They loaded
the cross of Christ with contempt and reproach ; by
which we. are only to understand, that they refused to
P A U [ 75 ] P A U
Paulicians follow the absurd and superstitious practice of the Greeks,
(j who paid to the pretended wood of the cross a certain
Paolo. sort 0f religious homage. 5. They rejected, after the
' ' example of the greatest part of the Gnostics, the hooks
of the Old Testament; and looked upon the writers of
that sacred history as inspired by the Creator of this
world, and not by the supreme God. 6. They exclud¬
ed presbyters and elders from all part in the administra¬
tion of the church.
PAULINA, a Roman lady, wife of Saturnius go¬
vernor of Syria, in the reign of the emperor Tiberius.
Her conjugal peace was disturbed, and violence was of¬
fered to her virtue, by a young man named Mundus,
who tell in love with her, and had caused her to come
to the temple of Isis by means of the priests of that
goddess, who declared that Anubis wished to communi¬
cate to her something of moment. Saturnius complain¬
ed to the emperor of the violence which had been offer¬
ed to his wife j and the temple of Isis was overturned,
and Mundus banished, &c.—-There was besides a Pau¬
lina, wife of the philosopher Seneca. She attempted to
kill herself when Nero had ordered her husband to die.
The emperor, however, prevented her j and she lived
some few years after in the greatest melancholy.
PAUL1NIA, a genus of plants belonging to the oc-
tandria class, and in the natural method ranking under
the 23d order, Trihilatce. See Botany Index.
PAULINUS, a bishop who flourished in the early
part of the 7th century. He was the apostle of York¬
shire, having been the tirst archbishop of York. This
dignity seems to have been conferred on him about the
year 626. He built a church at Almonbury, and dedi¬
cated it to St Alban, where he preached to and convert¬
ed the Brigantes. Camden mentions a cross at Dews-
borough, which had been erected to him, with this in¬
scription, Paulinus hie prcedicavit et celehravit. York
was so small about this time, that there was not so much
as a small church m it in which Ring Edwin could be
baptized. Constantins is said to have made it a bishop¬
ric. Pope Honorius made it a metropolitan see. We
are told that Paulinus baptized in the river Swale, in
one day, 10,000 men, besides women and children, on
the first conversion of the Saxons to Christianity, besides
many at Halystone. At Walstone, in Northumber¬
land, he baptized Segbert king of the East Saxons.
Bede says, I aulinus coming with the king and queen
to the royal manor called Ad Gebdrin (now Yeverin),
staid there 36 days with them, employed in the duties
of catechizing and baptizing. In all this time he did
nothing from morning to night but instruct the people,
who flocked to him from all the villages and places, in
the doctrine of Christ and salvation 5 and, after they
were instructed, baptizing them in the neighbouring ri-
vei Glen. According to the same Bede, “ he preach¬
ed the word in the province of Lindissi; and first con¬
verted the governor of the city of Lindocollina, whose
name was Blecca, with all his family. In this city he
built a stone church of exquisite Workmanship, whose
roof being ruined by long neglect or the violence of the
enemy, only the walls are now standing.” He is also
said to have founded a collegiate church of prebends
near Southwell, in Nottinghamshire, dedicated to the
virgin Mary. This church he is said to have built
when he baptized the Coritani in the Trent.
PAULO, Marco, a celebrated traveller, was son to
Nicholas Paulo, a Venetian, who went with his brother
Matthew, about the year 1255, to Constantinople, in
the reign of Bauuoin 11. Nicholas, at his departure^
left his wife big with child ; and she brought to thd
world the famous Marco Paulo, the subject of this me¬
moir. I he two Venetians, having taken leave of the
emperor, crossed the Black sea, and travelled into Ar¬
menia ; whence they passed over land to the court of
Barka, one of the greatest lords of Tartary, who loaded
them with honours. This prince having been defeated
by one of his neighbours, Nicholas and Matthew made
the best of their way through the deserts, and arrived at
the city^vhere Kublai, grand khan of the Tartars, resi¬
ded. Kublai was entertained with the account which
they gave him of the European manners and customs 5
and appointed them ambassadors to the pope, in order to
demand of his holiness a hundred missionaries. They
came accordingly to Italy, obtained from the Roman
pontiff tvyo Dominicans, the one an Italian, the other
an Asiatic, and carried along with them young Marco,
for whom Kublai expressed a singular affection. This
young man, having learned the different dialects of
J artary, was employed in embassies which gave him
the opportunity of traversing Tartary, China, and othef
eastern countries. At length, after a residence of seven¬
teen years at the court of the grand khan, the three Ve¬
netians returned to their own country, in the year 1 295.
with immense fortunes. A short time after his return,
Marco serving his country at sea against the Genoese,
his galley, in a great naval engagement, was sunk, and
himself taken prisoner, and carried to Genoa. He re¬
mained there many years in confinement; and, as well
to amuse his melancholy as to gratify those who desired
it from him, he sent tor his notes from Venice, and com¬
posed the history of his own and bis father’s voyages in
Italian, under this title, Dcdle maraviglie del mondo da
lui vidutc, &.c. j the first edition of which appeared at
Venice, in 8vo, 1496. His work was translated into
different languages, and inserted in various collections.
1 he editions most esteemed are the Latin one published
by Andrew Muller at Cologne, in 410, 1671 $ and that
111 French, to be found in the collection of vovages pu¬
blished by Bergeron, at the Hague, 1733,111 2 vols 410.
In the writings of Marco Paulo, there are some things
true and others highly incredible. It is indeed difficult
to believe, that as soon as the grand khan was informed
of the arrival of two Venetian merchants, who were
come to sell theriaca (or treacle) at his court, he sent
before them an escort of 40,000 men, and afterwards
dispatched these \ enetian ambassadors to the Pope, to
beseech his holiness to send him a hundred missionaries.
It is equally difficult to believe that the Pope, who
doubtless had an ardent zeal for the propagation of the
faith, instead of a hundred, should have sent him only
two missionaries. I here are therefore some errors and
exaggerations in Marco Paulo’s narrative but many
other things which were afterwards verified, and which
have been of service to succeeding travellers, prove that
in several respects his relation is valuable. He not only
gave better accounts of China than had been before re¬
ceived 5 but likewise furnished a description of Japan,
of many of the islands of the East Indies, of Madagas¬
car, and the coasts of Africa; so that from his work it
might be easily collected, that a direct passage by sea to
the Indies was not only possible, but practicable. It
K 2 may
P A U
[ 76 ]
PEA
Paulo may be worth while, to add, that, in the opinion of the
|j authors of the Universal History, what he wrote from
Pausanias own knowledge is both curious and true, so that
' 1 v where he has erred his father and uncle must have de¬
ceived him.
PAULUS aEmilius. See JEMinus Paulm.
PAVO, the Peacock •, a genus of birds belonging
to the order of gallinae. See Ornithology Index.
PAVO, in Astronomy, a constellation in the south¬
ern hemisphere, unknown to the ancients, and not visi"
ble in our latitude. It consists of 14 stars, of which
the names and situations are as follows:
Peace.
The eye of the peacock
In the breast
In the right wing
In the middle
In the root of the tail, first
second
third
fourth
fifth
sixth
%
Longitude
10.
In the right foot
In the left loot
seventh
last
V?
3
3
2
3
5
o
29
27
24
1
9
o
41
41
42
53
42
55
11
49
39
22
7
22
43
Latitude
South.
3
51
38
28
24
11
22
3
34
x7
54
44
11
36 11
46 56
45 52
44
44
41
39
37
38
38
40
41
48
5°
29
6
37
3
10
54
3
9
28
6
49
18
21
34
8
*3
9
23
46
M
36
28
2
3
7
See Astronomy.
PAVOlt, a Roman deity, whose worship was intro¬
duced by Tullus Hostilius, who, in a panic, vowed a
shrine to him, and one to Pallor, Fairness; and there¬
fore they are found on the coins of that family. .
PAUSANIA, in Grecian antiquity, a festival in
which were solemn games, wherein nobody contended
but free-born Spartans j in honour of Pausanias the
Spartan general, under whom the Greeks overcame the
Persians in the lamous battle of 1 latsea.
PAUSANIAS, a Spartan king and general, who
signalized himself at the battle of PI at sea against the
Persians. The Greeks, very sensible of his services re¬
warded his merit with a tenth of the spoils taken from
the Persians. He was afterwards appointed to command
the Spartan armies, and he extended his conquests m
Asia1, but the haughtiness of his behaviour created him
many enemies} and the Athenians soon obtained a su¬
periority in the affairs of Greece.—Pausanias, dissatis¬
fied with his countrymen, oflered to betray Greece to
in the second century, under the reign of Antoninus the Pausanias
Philosopher, was the disciple of Herodes Atticus. He
lived for a long time in Greece ; and afterwards went (
to Rome, where he died at a great age. He wrote an
excellent description of Greece, in ten books 5 in which
we find not only the situation of places, but the antiqui¬
ties of Greece, and every thing most curious and wor¬
thy of knowledge. Abbe Gedoin has givdn a French
translation of it in 2 vols 410.
PAUSE, a stop or cessation in speaking, singing,
playing, or the like. One use of pointing in grammar
is to make proper pauses, in certain places.—1 here is
a pause in the middle of each verse. See Poetry and
Reading. . .
PAW, in the manege. A horse is said to paw tlie
ground, when, his leg being either tired or painful, he
does not rest it upon the ground, and tears to hurt him¬
self as he walks. _
PAWN, a pledge or gage for surety or payment ot
money lent. It is said to be derived a pugno, quia res
qua' pignori dantur, pugno vel manu traauntur. I ie
party that pawns goods has a general property in them ,
they cannot be forfeited by the party that hath them in
pawn for any offence of his, nor be taken in execution
for his debt •, neither may they otherwise be put in exe¬
cution till the debt for which they are pawned is satishedj
If the pawn is laid up, and the pawnee robbed, he is
not answerable j though if the pawnee use the thing, as
a jewel, watch, &c. that will not be the worse for wear¬
ing, which he may do, it is at his peril 5 and it he is
robbed, he is answerable to the owner, as the using oc¬
casioned the loss, <Ac. . .
If the pawn is of such a nature that the keeping is a.
charge to the pawnee, as a cow or a horse, &c. he may
milk the one and ride the other, and this shall go in re¬
compense for his keeping.
Things which will grow the worse by using, as appa¬
rel, &c. he may not use. . , . P
PAYS de Calais, a department m the north o.
France, lying along the straits of Calais. Its territori¬
al extent is 1,331,719 arpents, or 1,650,000 acres, or
2:80 square miles. The population m 1800 was
(66,061, and in 1817 it was 580,457- The contri¬
butions in 1802 were 4,558,5*9 francs- 11Iie
of this department is cold and moist, and the soil is not
very fertile. It produces corn, tobacco, hemp, tiax,
and wool. There are coal mines and quarries of vari¬
ous kinds. The manufactures, which are chiefly of
woollens, are but inconsiderable. Arras is the chief
town. The department contains 6 sub-prelectures, 43
cantons, and 953 communes.
PEA, in Botany. See Pisum.
PE ICE, Temple of, a celebrated temple at Rome,
which was consumed by fire A. D. 191 ; produced, as
some writers suppose, by a slight earthquake tor no
thunder was heard at the time. Dio Cassius, however,
the Persians, if he received in marriage as the reward uia1’^ the adjoining houses. Be that
of his perfidy the daughter of their king. is in ngues ®UPP ^ temple, with all the surrounding build-
being discovered to the Epl.on of Sparta, he fled for as it temple ma,nificent structure
safety to a temple of Minerva •, and as the sanctity of
the place screened him from the violence of his pur¬
suers, the sacred building was surrounded with heaps ot
stones, the first of which was carried there by the in¬
dignant mother of the unhappy man. He was starved
to death in the temple, and died about 474 years before
the Christian era. ... ,
Pausanias, a learned Greek historian and orator,
iiigs, was reduced to ashes. That magnificent structure
had been raised by Vespasian after the destruction of
Jerusalem, and enriched with the spoils and ornaments
of the temple of the Jews. The ancients speak of it as
one of the most stately buildings m Rome. 1 here men
of learning used to hold their assemblies and lodge
their writings, as many others deposited their jewels,
and whatever else they esteemed of great vaiue.^L wa.
P E A
Peace likewise made use of as a kind of magazine for the
H spices that were brought by the Roman merchants
Peak out of Egypt and Arabia; so that many rich per-
' » sons were reduced to beggary, all their valuable effects
and treasures being consumed in one night, with the
temple.
PEACH. See Amygdalus, Botany and Gar¬
dening Index.
PEACOCK. See Favo, Ornithology Index.
PEAK of Derbyshire, a chain of very high
mountains in the county of Derby in England, famous
for the mines they contain, and for their remarkable
caverns. The most remarkable of these are Pool’s-
hole and Elden-hole. The former is a cave at the foot
of a high hill called Coitmoss, so narrow at the en¬
trance that passengers are obliged to creep on all-fours ;
but it soon opens to a considerable height, extending
to above a quarter of a mile, with a roof somewhat re¬
sembling that of an ancient cathedral. By the petrify¬
ing water continually dropping in many parts of the
cave are formed a variety of curious figures and repre¬
sentations of the works both of nature and art. There
is a column here as clear as alabaster, which is called
The Queen oj Scots'' Pillar, because Queen Mary is said
to have proceeded thus far when she visited the cavern.
It seems the curiosity of that princess had led her
thus far into this dark abode; and indeed there are
few travellers who care to venture farther ; but others,
determined to see the end of all, have gone beyond it.
After sliding down the rock a little way, is found the
dreary cavity turned upwards: following its course,
and climbing from crag to crag, the traveller arrives at
a great height, till the rock, closing over his head
on all sides, puts an end to any further subterraneous
journey. Just at turning to descend, the attention is
caught by chasm, in which is seen a candle glim¬
mering at a vast depth underneath. The guides say,
that the light is at a place near Mary Queen of Scots’
pillar, and no less than 80 yards below. It appears
frightfully deep indeed to look down; but perhaps
does not measure any thing like what it is said to do.
If a pistol is fired by the Queen of Scots’ pillar, it will
make a report as loud as a cannon. Near the extremi¬
ty there is a hollow in the roof, called the Needle's
Eye; in which if a candle is placed, it will represent a
star in the firmament to those who are below. At a
little distance from this cave is a small clear stream
consisting of hot and cold water, so near each other,
that the finger and thumb of the same hand may he
put the one into the hot water and the other into the
cold.
Elden-hole is a dreadful chasm in the side of a moun¬
tain ; which, before the latter part of the last century,
was thought to be altogether unfathomable. In the
time of Queen Elizabeth, a poor man was let down
into it for 200 yards ; but he was drawn up in a fren¬
zy, and soon after died. In 1682, it was examined by
Captain Collins, and in 1699 by Captain Stormy, who
published their accounts in the Philosophical Transac¬
tions. The latter descended by ropes fixed at the top
of an old lead-ore pit, four fathoms almost perpendicu¬
lar, and from thence three fathoms more obliquely, be¬
tween two great rocks. At the bottom of this he
found an entrance into a very spacious cavern, from
whence he descended along with a miner for 25 fa-
P E A
thorns perpendicular. At last they came to a great Peak
river or water, which he found to be 20 fathoms H
broad and eight fathoms deep. The miner who ac- , Pearce'
companied him, insisted that this water ebbed and v""”"
flowed with the sea; but the Captain disproved this
assertion, by remaining in the place from three hours
flood to two hours ebb, during which time there was
no alteration in the height of the water. As they
walked by the side of this water, they observed a hol¬
low in the rock some feet above them. The miner went
into this place, which was the mouth of another cavern;
and walked for about 70 paces in it, till he just lost
sight of the Captain. He then called to him, that he
had found a rich mine ; but immediately after came
running out and crying, that he had seen an evil spi¬
rit; neither could any persuasions induce him to re¬
turn. The floor of these caverns is a kind of white
stone enamelled with lead ore, and the roofs are en¬
crusted with shining spar. On his return from this
subterraneous journey, Captain Sturmy was seized with
a violent headach, which, after continuing four days,
terminated in a fever, of which he died in a short
time.
Peak of Tenerife. See TeneRIFFE.
FEAN, in Heraldry, is when the field of a coat of
arms is sable, and the powderings or.
FEAR. See Pyrus, Botany and Gardening
Index.
Peak Glass. See Vitrea Lacryma.
PEARCE, Dr, lord bishop of Rochester, was the
son of a distiller in High Holborn. He married Miss
Adams, the daughter of a distiller in the same neigh¬
bourhood, with a considerable fortune, who lived with
him 52 years in the highest degree of connubial hap¬
piness. He had his education in Westminster school,
where he was distinguished by his merit, and elected
one of the king’s scholars. In i*]iO, when he was 20
years old, he was elected to Trinity College, Cam¬
bridge. During the first years of his residence at the
university, he sometimes amused himself with lighter
composition, some of which are inserted in the Guar¬
dian and Spectator. In 1716, he published his edi¬
tion of Cicero de Oratore, and, at the desire of a friend,
luckily dedicated it to Lord Chief Justice Parker (af¬
terwards Earl of Macclesfield), to whom he was a
stranger. This incident laid the foundation of his fu¬
ture fortune; for Lord Parker soon recommended him
to Dr Bentley, master of Trinity, to be made one of
the fellows; and the doctor consented to it on this
condition, that his lordship would promise to unmake
him again as soon as it lay in his power to give him
a living. In 1717, Mr Pearce was ordained at the
age of 27 ; having taken time enough, as he thought,
to attain a sufficient knowledge of the sacred office.
In 1718, Lord Parker was appointed chancellor, and
invited Mr Pearce to live with him in his house as
chaplain. In 1719, he was instituted into the rectory
of Stappleford Abbots, in Essex; and in 1720) into
that of St Bartholomew, behind the Royal Exchange,
worth 4C0I. per annum. In I723> ^ie chancel¬
lor presented him to St Martin’s in the lields. His
Majesty, who was then at Hanover, was applied to in
favour of St Claget, who was then along with him ;
and the doctor actually kissed hands upon the occa¬
sion ; but the chancellor, upon the king’s return, dis¬
puted'
t 77 1
PEA l ?8 ] PEA
Pearce, puted tlie point, and was permitted to present Mr
—^' Pearce.—Mr Pearce soon attracted the notice and
esteem of persons in the highest stations and ot the
greatest abilities. Besides Bord Parker, he could rec¬
kon amongst his patrons or friends, Lord Maccles¬
field, Mr Pulteney (afterwards Earl ot Bath), Arch¬
bishop Potter, Lord Hardwicke, Sir Isaac Newton,
and other illustrious personages.— In 1724, the de¬
gree of doctor of divinity was conferred on him by
Archbishop Wake. The same year he dedicated to his
patron the earl of Macclesfield, his edition of Lon¬
ginus on the Sublime, with a new Latin version and
notes.
When the church of St Martin’s was rebuilt, Dr
Pearce preached a sermon at the consecration, which
he afterwards printed, and accompanied with an essay
on the origin and progress of temples, traced from the
rude stones which were first used for altars to the noble
structure of Solomon, which he considers as the first
temple completely covered. His observations on that
building which is called the 'Temple of Dagon removes
part of the difficulty which presents itself in the narra¬
tion of the manner in which Samson destroyed it.
The deanery of Winchester becoming vacant, Dr
Pearce was appointed dean in 1739? and in the year
1744 he was elected prolocutor of the lower house of
convocation for the province of Canterbury. His friends
now began to think of him for the episcopal dignity }
but Mr Dean’s language rather declined it. However,
after several difficulties had been started and removed,
he consented to accept the bishopric of Bangor, and
promised Lord Hardwicke to do it with a good grace,
He accordingly made proper acknowledgements ot the
royal goodness, and was consecrated 1 eh. 12. 174^’
Upon the declining state of health of Dr YYilcocks,
bishop of Rochester, the bishop of Bangor was several
times applied to by Archbishop Herring to accept of
Rochester, and the deanery of Westminster, in exchange
for Bangor ; hut the bishop then first signified his de¬
sire to obtain leave to resign and retire to a private
life. His lordship, however, upon being pressed, suf¬
fered himself to be prevailed upon.—“ My Lord (said
he to the duke of Newcastle), your grace offers these
dignities to me in so generous and friendly a manner,
that I promise you to accept them.” Upon the death
of Bishop Wilcocks he was accordingly promoted to
the see of Rochester and deanery of Westminster in
1756. Bishop Sherlock died in 1761, and Lord Bath
offered his interest for getting the bishop of Rochester
appointed to succeed him in the diocese of London ;
but the bishop told his lordship, that he had deter¬
mined never to be bishop of London or archbishop of
'Canterbury.
In the year 1763, his lordship being 73 years old,
and finding himself less fit for the business of his sta¬
tions as bishop and dean, informed his friend Lord
Bath of his intention to resign both, and live in a re¬
tired manner upon his private fortune. Lord Bath un¬
dertook to acquaint his majesty ; who named a day and
hour, w'hen the bishop was admitted alone into the clo¬
set. He told the king, that he wished to have some in¬
terval between the fatigues of business and eternity ; and
desired his majesty to consult proper persons about the
propriety and legality of his resignation. In about two
months the king informed him, that " Lord Mansfield
5
saw no objection 5 and that J^ord rsortmngron,
been doubtful, on further consideration thought that the l—■
request might be complied with. Unfortunately for the
bishop, Lord Bath applied for Bishop Newton to suc¬
ceed. This alarmed the ministry, who thought that
no dignities should be obtained but through their hands.
They therefore opposed the resignation •, and his majesty
was informed that the bishops disliked the design. His
majesty sent to him again \ and at a third audience ^old
him, that he must think no more of resigning. The
bishop replied, “ Sire, I am all duty and submission }
and then retired.
In 1768 he obtained leave to resign the deanery •, in
1773, he lost his lady ", and after some months ot linger¬
ing decay, he died at Little Ealing, June 29. 1774*
This eminent prelate distinguished himself in every
part of his life by the virtues proper to his station. His
literary abilities, and application to sacred and philolo¬
gical learning, appear by his works ■, the principal of
which are, A letter to the clergy of the church of Eng¬
land, on occasion of the bishop of Rochester’s commit*
ment to the Tower, 2d edit. 1722. Miracles of Jesus^
vindicated, 1727 and 1728. A review of the text of
Milton, 1733. Two letters against Dr Middleton, oc¬
casioned by the doctor’s letter to Waterland, on the
publication of his treatise, intitled, Scripture V indicated,
3d edit. 1752. And since his death, a commentary with
notes on the four Evangelists and the acts ot the Apo¬
stles, together with a new translation of St Paul’s first
Epistle to the Corinthians, with a paraphrase and notes,
have been published, with a life prefixed, from origi¬
nal MSS. in 2 vols 4tc.
The following character of this excellent bishop was
published in the Gentleman’s Magazine for 1775, and
was written, as we are told, by a contemporary and
friend. “ The world has not lost for many years a more
respectable member of society than the late Dr Pearce j
nor the clergy a more pious and learned prelate. In his
younger days, before he became a graduate, he publish¬
ed that excellent edition of Longinus, still admired and
quoted by the best critics. What is said of Longinus
himself by our excellent English poet, is as applicable
to the editor : ‘ He is himself the great sublime he
draws ",’ for very few of his order ever arrived at that
perfection in eloquence, for which he was so justly cele¬
brated. His diction was simple, nervous, and flowing •,
his sentiments were just and sublime •, more sublime than
the heathen critic, in proportion to the superior sublimity
of the Christian revelation. Yet he was never puffed up
with the general applauses of the world, but of an hum¬
ble deportment, resembling the meek Jesus as far as the
weakness of human nature can resemble a character with¬
out sin. His countenance was always placid, and dis¬
played the benevolence of his heart, if his extensive cha¬
rity had not proved it to a demonstration. His thirst of
knowledge prompted him to a very studious life, and
that rendered both his complexion and constitution deli¬
cate *, yet it held out by the blessing of Providence be¬
yond the 85th year of his age*, which is the more ex¬
traordinary, considering the midnight lamp had cast a
paleness over his complexion j yet with all his learning
and knowledge, his humility and modesty restrained him
from many publications, which the world may hope for
from his executors j one particularly in divinity, which
has been the object of his contemplation for many years
past.
Pearl.
PEA [ '
iJearce past. With a view to complete that work, ami to re-
|| tire from the bustle of the word, he struggled so hard
IV i-l to resign bishopi ic &c. After possessing the esteem
and veneration of all who knewr him for a loner series
of years, either as rector of a very large parish, or as a
dignitary of the church, he has left the world in tears j
and gone to receive the infinite reward of his piety and
virtue.”
PEARCH. See Perca, Ichthyology Index.
Pearch-GIuc, the name of a kind of glue, of re¬
markable strength and purity, made from the skins of
pearches.
PEARL, in Natt/ral History, a hard, white, shining
body, usually roundish, found in a testaceous fish, a spe¬
cies of Mya; which see, CoNCHOLOGY Index.
Pearls, though esteemed of the number of gems,
and high valued in all ages, proceed only from a di¬
stemper in the animal that produces them, analogous to
the bezoars and other stony concretions in several ani¬
mals of other kinds. For an account of the mode of
formation of the pearl, see CoNCHOLOGY, p 476 ; for
the history of the pearl fishery in the bay of Condatchy
in Ceylon, see Ceylon, p. 363 ; see also Cordiner’s
History of that island, 410.
Mr Bruce mentions a muscle found in the salt springs
of the Nubian desert j in many of which he found those
excrescences which might be called pearls, but all of
them ill formed, foul, and of a bad colour, though of
the same consistence, and lodged in the same part of the
body as those in the sea. “ The muscle, too (says our
anther), is in every respect similar, I think larger. The
outer skin or covering of it is of a vivid green. Upon
removing this, which is the epidermis, what next appears
is a beautiful pink without gloss, and seemingly of a cal¬
careous nature. Below this, the mother-of-pearl, which
is undermost, is a white without lustre, partaking much
of the blue and very little of the red 5 and this is all the
difference I observed between it and the pearl-bearing
muscle of the Red sea.
“ In Scotland, especially to the northward, in all ri¬
vers running from lakes, there are found muscles that
have pearls of more than ordinary merit, though seldom
of large size. They were formerly tolerably cheap, but
lately the wearing of real pearls coming into fashion,
those of Scotland have increased in price greatly beyond
their value, and superior often to the price of oriental
ones when bought in the east. The reason of this is a
demand from London, where they are actually employed
in work, and sold as oriental. But the excellency of all
glass or paste manufactory, it is likely, will keep the
price of this article, and the demand for it, within
hounds, when every lady has it in her power to wear in
her ears, for the price of sixpence, a pearl as beautiful in
colour, more elegant in form, lighter and easier to carry,
and as much bigger as she pleases, than the famous ones
of Cleopatra and Servilia. In Scotland, as well as in
the east, the smooth and perfect shell rarely produces a
pearl j the crooked and distorted shell seldom wants one.
The mothei’-of-pearl manufactory is brought to the
greatest perfection at Jerusalem. The most beautiful
shell of this kind is that of the peninim already men¬
tioned ; hut it is too brittle to be employed in any large
pieces of workmanship 5 whence that kind named dora
is most usually employed j and great quantities of this
are daily brought from the Red sea to Jerusalem. Of
:9 1 PEA
these, all the fine works, the crucifixes, the wafer-boxes,
and the beads, are made, which are sent to the Spanish
dominions in the New YVorld, and produce a return in¬
comparably greater than the staple of the greatest ma¬
nufactory in the Old.
Very little is known of the natural history of the pearl
fish. Mr Bruce says, that, as far as he has observed, they
are all stuck upright in the mud by an extremity ; the
muscle by one end, the pinna by the small sharp point,
and the third by the hinge or square part which projects
from the round. “ In shallow and clear streams (says-
Mr Bruce), 1 have seen small furrows or tracks upon the
sandy bottom, by which you could trace the muscle
from its last station; and these not straight, but deviat¬
ing into traverses and triangles, like the course of a ship
in a contrary wind laid down upon a map, probably ii>
pursuit of food. The general belief is, that the muscle,
is constantly stationary in a state of repose, and cannot
transfer itself from place to place. This is a vulgar pre¬
judice, and one of those facts that are mistaken for want
of sufficient pains or opportunity to make more critical
observations. Others, findingthe first opinion a false one,
and that they are endowed with power of changing place
like other animals, have, upon the same foundation, gone
into the contrary extreme, so far as to attribute swiftness
to them, a property surely inconsistent with their being
fixed to rocks. Pliny and Solinus say that the muscles
have leaders, and go in flocks ; and that their leader is
endowed with great cunning to protect himself and his
flock from the fishers; and that, when he is taken, the
others fall an easy prey. This, however, we may justly
look upon to he a fable; some of the most accurate ob¬
servers having discovered the motion of the muscle,
which indeed is wonderful, and that they lie in beds,
which is not at all so, have added the rest, to make their
history complete.” Our author informs us, that the
muscles found in the salt springs of Nubia likewise tra¬
vel far from home, and are sometimes surprised, by the
ceasing of the rains, at a greater distance from their
beds than they have strength and moisture to carrvthem.
He assures us, that none of the pearl-fish are eatable ;
and that they are the only fish he saw in the Red sea
that cannot be eaten.
Artificial Pearls. Attempts have been made to
take out stains from peaxls, and to render the foul
opaque-coloured ones equal in lustre to the orientaL
Numerous processes are given for this purpose in books
of secrets and travels ; but they are very far from
answering what is-expected from them. Pearls may be
cleaned indeed from any external foulnesses by washing
and rubbing them with a little Venice soap and warm
water, or with ground rice and Salt, with starch and
powder blue, plaster of paris, coral, white vitriol and
tartar, cuttle-bone, pumice-stone, and other similar sub¬
stances ; but a stain that reaches deep into the sub¬
stance of pearls is impossible to be taken out. Nor can
a number of small pearls be united into a mass similar
to an entire natural one, as some pretend.
There are, however, methods of making artificial
pearls, in such manner as to he with difficulty distin¬
guished from the best oriental. The ingredient used for
this purpose was long kept a secret; but it is now dis¬
covered to be a fine silver-like substance found upon the
under side of the scales of the blay or bleak fish. The
scales, taken off in the usual manner, are washed and
rubbert,
PEA
[ Bo ]
PEA
t, , rubbed with fresh parcels of fair water, and the several
liquors suffered to settle: the water being then pomed
off the pearly matter remains at the bottom, of the co -
sis’tence of oil, called by the French d ^enL jL
little of this is dropped into a hollow bead of bluish glass
and shaken about so as to line the internal surface, after
^hlcli the cavity is filled up with wax, to give solidity
and weight. Pearls made in this manner are distin¬
guishable from the natural only by their having fewer
h]eMolZr-of.PEARL, the shell, not of P^1 °^ter’
but of the mytilus margaritifrrus. See Mytilus, Co.
CHp^lJXafixed alkaline salt, prepared chiefly in
Germany, Russia, and Poland, by melting the sa t out
of the a^lies of burnt wood •, and having reduced them
aouin to dryness, evaporating the moisture, and calc -
ino them for a considerable time m a furnace model ate y
ho8t The goodness of pearl-ashes must be distinguished
by a uniform and white appearance, they are neveith -
iJss subject to a common adulteration, not easy to he di¬
stinguished by the mere appearance: 'vlnch is done 7
the addition of common salt. In order ^find out this
fraud take a small quantity of the suspected salt, and
after it has been softened by lying m the air, put it over
the fire in a shovel: if it contains any common salt, a
crackling and slight explosion will take place as the salt
Sr°Pearbashes are much used in the manufacture of glass
and require no preparation, except where very great
transnarencv is required, as in the case of looking-glass,
and the best kind of window-glass. For tins purpose
dissolve them in four times their-weight of boiling wa¬
ter: when they are dissolved, let the solution be put into
a clean tub, and suffered to remain there 24 hours or
more. Let the clear part of the fluid be then decanted
Sf from the sediment, and put back into the iron pot in
which the solution was made} m this let the water be
evaporated till the salts be left perfectly dry.. Keep
those that are not designed for immediate use m stone
iars well secured from moisture and air.
J Mr Kirwan,. who instituted a set of experiments on
the alkaline substances used in bleaching, &c. (see Irish
Transact, for 1789), tells ns, that in 100 parts of
the Dantzick pearl-ash, the vegetable alkali amounted
to somewhat above 63. His. pearb-ash he Flares by
calcining a ley of vegetable ashes dried into a salt to
whiteness. In this operation, he-says “ particular care
should be taken that it should not melt, as the extrac¬
tive matter would not be thoroughly consumed, and the
alkali would form such a union with the earthy parts as
could not easily be dissolved/’ He has added thi
caution, as Dr Lewis and MrDossie have inadvertently
directed the contrary.” We apprehend, however, that
here is a little inaccuracy •, and that it was not foi peai -
ash but for the unrefined pot-ash, that these gentlemen
, directed fusion. The fact is, that the Atnencan pot¬
ashes, examined by them, had unquestionably suffered
fusion ; which was effected in the same iron pot in wine 1
the evaporation was finished, by rather increasing the fire
at the end of the process : by this management, one of
the most troublesome operations in the whole manufac-
ture, the separation of the hard salt from the vessels witli
hammers and chissels, was avoidedand though the ex¬
tractive matter was .not consumed, it was burnt to an in-
2
dissoluble coal-, so that the salt, though Mac* itself, pro¬
duced a pale or colourless solution, and was unconmonly
strong. Mr Kirwan has also given tables of the quan¬
tities^ ashes and salt obtained from different vege¬
tables j and he concludes from them, 1. /I hat in ge¬
neral weeds yield much more ashes, and the.r ashes much
more salt, than woodsand that consequently, as to
salts of the vegetable alkali kind, neither America,
Trieste, nor the northern countries, possess any advan¬
tage over us. 2. That of all weeds fumitory produces
most salt, and next to it wormwood; but. f wefatt^d
only to the quantity of salt in a given weight of ashes,
the ashes of wormwood contain most. >7/0 mmfi ri-
num also produces more ashes and salt than fern. See
PEARSON, John, a very learned English bishop in
the 17th century, was born at Snoring in 1613. After
his education a? Eton and Cambridge, he entered into
holy orders in 1639, and was the same 7^ «dlated to
the prebend of Netherhaven in the church of Sarum. In
1640 he was appointed chaplain to the lord-keeper I inch,
and by him presented to the living ol lomngton m Sul-
folk. yin 1650 he was made minister of St Clement s,
East-Cheap, in London. In 1657, he and Mr Gunning
had a dispute with two Roman Catholics upon the su -
iect of schism; a very unfair account of which was print¬
ed at Paris in 1658. Some time after, he published at
London An Exposition of the Creed, in folio, dedicated
to his parishioners of St Clement’s East-Cheap, to whom
the substance of that excellent work had been preached
several years before, and by whom he had been desired
to make it public. The same year he likewise P«b^ed
The Golden Remains of the ever memorable Mr John
Hales of Eton; to which he prefixed a preface contain¬
ing, of that great man, with whom he had been ac¬
quainted for many years, a character drawn with grea
elegance and force. Soon after the Restoration he vias
presented by Juxon, then bishop of London, to the iec-
fory of St Christopher’s in that city J created doctor of
divinity at Cambridge, in pursuance of the king s letters
mandatory; installed prebendary of Ely, archdeacon of
Surry ; and made master of Jesus college in Cambridge,
all before the end of the year 1668. Marclv 25th 166
he was appointed Margaret professor of divinity in that
university ; and, the first day of the ensuing year, was
nominated one of the commissioners for the ^cw of
the liturgy in the conference at the Savoy. April 14th
1662, he7was admitted master of Trinity college m
Cambridge; and, in August, resigned h.s rectory of St
Christopher’s and prebend of Sarum.—In 1667 he was
admitted a Fellow of the Royal Society. ^ ^72 he
published at Cambridge, m 4to, Vimhcicz Tpistolarum
S.Ignatii, in answer to M. Daille; to winch is subiomed,
Isaaci Vossii epistola duce adversus Damdem Blondel-
lum. Upon the death of the celebrated TV ilkins, 1 eai-
son was appointed his successor in the see of Chester, to
which he was consecrated February 9th 1672-3. In
1682, his Annales Cyprianici, sive tredeam annorum,
quibus S. Cyprian, interChristwiwsversatu^
chronologica, was published at Oxford, with Ucll s edi¬
tion of that Father’s works. Pearson was disabled from
afi public service by ill health a considerable time before
his death, which happened at Chester, July i686-
PEASANT, a hind, one whose busmess is m rural
labour. jt
Pearl
II
Peasant.
Peasant.
pea.. [ 8t
It is amongst this order of men that a philosopher
' would look for innocent and ingenious manners. The
situation of the peasantry is such as secludes them from
the devastations ol luxury and licentiousness ; for when
the contagion has once reached the recesses of rural
i-etirement, and corrupted the minds of habitual inno¬
cence, that nation has reached the summit of vice, and
is hastening to that decay which has always been the
1 PEA
they render this bread more palatable, by stuffing it with Peasant,
onions and groats, carrots or green corn, and seasoning -
it with sweet oil. The rye-bread is sometimes white,
and their other articles of food are eggs, salt-fish, bacon,
and mushrooms ; their favourite dish is a kind of hodge
podge, made of salt or sometimes fresh meat, groats,
rye-flour, highly seasoned with onions and garlick,
which latter ingredients are much used by the Russians.
lYfc 11G 1^ r»r\^\ rv-» o «... 1 *  .1 • ,1
effect of v,-cions indnlgence. The peasant^ of tins c„„„. Be^ZsSZr
tr, st,II m a grea measure retam that simplicity of man- regions, as to form a very essential par t ofTeir orovT
'rhif’ °"g,jt .'0 W tbc Ch“- si»"- I -'«»■» entered l codZutselim. KZt
ractenstic of this order of society ; and, in many parts, abundance of them ; and in passing through the markets
ficfluT"? “ 18 S"u aS’ "'ere “ ■ ll8, adv.antage* suf- I was often astonished at tlicprodiginus nuantityexposed
fr lk:°!Lnr.r.^^rn:y.,Athfm,‘nds”f'h".so
Cork’s Tra
fels into
Poland,
Russia,
Sweden,
and Den¬
mark.
who have toiled through life, amidst the bustle of the
world, in quest of that happiuess which it could not
-confer.
O fortunatos minium, ma si bona norint.
Agricolas.  Virgil.
In other countries the peasants do not enjoy the
same liberty as they do in our own, and are conse¬
quently not so happy. In all feudal governments they
are abject slaves, entirely at the disposal of some petty
despot. This was the case in Poland, where the na¬
tive peasants were subject to the most horrid slavery,
■though those descended of the Germans, who settled in
Poland during the reign of Boleslaus the Chaste and
Cassimir the Great, enjoyed very distinguished privile¬
ges. Amongst the native slaves, too, those of the crown
were in a better condition than those of individuals. See
Poland.
The peasants of Russia (Mr Coxe tells us) are a
hardy race of men, and of great bodily strength. Their
cottages are constructed with tolerable propriety, after
the manner of those in Lithuania j but they are very
poorly furnished. The peasants are greedy of money,
and as the same author informs us, somewhat inclined to’
thieving. They afford horses to travellers, and act the
part of coachmen and postilions. “ In their common in¬
tercourse they are remarkably polite to each other:
t ley take off their cap at meeting j boW ceremoniously
and frequently, and usually exchange a salute. They
accompany their ordinary discourse with much action,
and innumerable gestures; and are exceedingly servile
in their.expressions of deference to their superiors : in
accosting a person of consequence, they prostrate them-
se ves, and even touch the ground with their heads.
We were often struck at receiving this kind of eastern
homage, not only from beggars, but frequently from
children, and occasionally from some of the peasants
themselves.
“ Tlie peasants are well clothed, comfortably lodged,
and seem to enjoy plenty of wholesome food. Their
jye-bread, whose blackness at first disgusts the eye, and
whose sourness the taste, of a delicate traveller, agrees
very well with the appetite : as I became reconciled to
it from use, I found it at all times no unpleasant morsel,
and, when seasoned with hunger, it was quite delicious:
their variety
number ; they were of many colours, amongst which I
particularly noticed white, black, brown, yellow, green
and pink. The common drink of the peasants is quas$,
a fermented liquor, somewhat like sweet wort, made by
pouring warm water on rye or barley meal; and deem¬
ed an excellent antiscorbutic. They are extremely fond
of whisky, a spirituous liquor distilled from malt, which
the poorest can occasionally command, and which their
inclination often leads them to use to great excess.
These people are extremely backward in the me¬
chanic arts, though, where they have much intercourse
with other nations, this does not appear, and there¬
fore does not proceed from natural inability 5 indeed
we have already given an instance of one peasant of
Russia, who seems to possess very superior talents. See
Neva.
The dress of these people is well calculated for the
climate in which they live : they are particularly care
ful of their extremities. On their legs they wear one
or two pair of thick worsted stockings ; and they en¬
velope their legs with wrappers of coarse flannel, or
cloth, several feet in length, and over these they fre¬
quently draw a pair of boots, so large as to receive
their bulky contents with ease. The lower sort ot
people are grossly ignorant; of which we shall give o
very surprising instance in the words of Mr Coxe.—
“ In many families, the father marries his son while a
boy of seven, eight, or nine years old, to a girl of a
more advanced age, in order, as it is said, to procure
an ahle-botlied woman for the domestic service : he
cohabits with this person, now become his daughter-
in-law, and frequently has several children by her.
In my progress through Russia, I observed in some
cottages, as it were, two mistresses of a family ; one the
peasant’s real wife, who was old enough to he his mo¬
ther ; and the other, who ivas nominally the son’s
wife, but in reality the father’s concubine. These in¬
cestuous marriages, sanctified by inveterate custom, and
permitted by the parish-priests, were formerly more
common than they are at present; but as the nation
becomes more refined, .and the priests somewhat more
enlightened ; and as they have lately been discounte¬
nanced by government, they are daily falling into dis¬
use ; and, it is tp be hoped, will be1 no longer tolera¬
ted (a).”
The
riesfromIl|eratrn?^0/thiS f™*’ "S ^ underobservation, and which I authenticated by repeated inqui-
Siberia althourrh ^ ^ ^ ,er co,,fir™e(1 by the following passage in the Antidote to the Journey into
Voi^’ X'Vl Part iaU 10r ^1V€S an°t lei reason f°r those early marriages. ‘ The peasants and common people
f L noi
F E A
l S2 ]
P E A
The peasants of Russia, like those of Poland, are
divided into those of the crown and those ot indivi¬
duals ; the first of which are in the best condition ; but
all of them undergo great hardships, being subject to
the despotic will of some cruel overseer. 1
obtain freedom, i. By manumission on the death ot
their master, or otherwise : 2. By purchase *, and, las ly,
By serving in the army or navy. The empress has
redressed some of the grievances of tins class ol her
subjects. The hardiness of the peasants arises in a great
measure from their mode of education and way of ite,
and from the violent changes and great extremes ol heat
and cold to which they are exposed.
“ The peasants of Finland diller widely from the
Russians in their look and dress : they have lor the mos
part fair complexions, and many of them red hair: they
shave their beards, wear,their hair parted at the top, and
hanging to a considerable length over their shoulders (B).
We could not avoid remarking, that they were m gene¬
ral more civilized than the Russians; and that even in t ie
smallest villages we were able to procure much better
accommodations than we usually meet wiui in the larges
towns which we had hitherto visited in this empire.
The peasants of Sweden (Mr Coxe informs us) are
more honest than those in Russia ; in better condition,
and possessing more of the convemencies of hie, hot
with respect to food and furniture. “ I hey. are well
clad in strong doth of their own weaving. ihen
cottages, though built with wood, and only ot one
storyf are comfortable and commodious. Ihe room
in whicti the family sleep is provided with ranSes
beds in tiers (if I may so express myself), one above
the other : upon the wooden testers of the beds
which the women lie, are placed others for the recep¬
tion of the men, to which they ascend by means ot
ladders. To a person who has just quitted Germany,
and been accustomed to tolerable inns, the Swedish cot¬
tages may perhaps appear miserable hovels; to me, wm>
bad beeix long used to places of tar inferior accommo-
!i:;L!n, they seemed almost palaces. The trave ler .
able to procure many conveniences, and particularly
separate room from that inhabited by the family, which
could seldom be obtained in the Polish and Russian yi.r
lages. During my course through those two countries,
a bed was a phenomenon which seldom occurred, ex¬
cepting in the large towns, and even then not always
completely equipped j but the poorest hots of bwedeo
were never deficient in this article ot comfort, an evi¬
dent proof that the Swedish peasants are more civilize
than those of Poland and Bussia.-After having witness¬
ed the slavery of the peasants in those two countries, it
ots a pleasing satisfactioo to find myself aga.o among
freemen, in a kingdom where there is a more equal di¬
vision of property ; where there is no vassalage ; wucie
the lowest order enjoy a security ot their persons am
property; and where the advantages resulting irom this
right are visible to the commonest observer.” _
°The peasants of Holland and Switzerland are all in
a very tolerable condition ; not subject to the undispu¬
ted controul of a hireling master, they are ireemen,
and enjoy in their several stations the blessings ot tree-
dom. In Bohemia, Hungary, and a great part ot Ger¬
many, they are legally slaves, and sutler all the niiseries
attending such a condition. In Spain, Savoy, and Italy,
they are little better. In France, their situation was
such as to warrant the first Revolution ; but by carrying,
matters too far, they are now infinitely worse than they
were at any former period.
PEAT, a well known inflammable substance, used
in many parts of the world as fuel. There are two
* i A yellowish-brown or black peat, found in moor¬
ish-grounds in Scotland, Holland, and Germany.—
When fresh, it is of a viscid consistence, but hardens
by exposure to the air. It consists, according to Kir-
wan, of clay mixed with calcareous earth and pyrites y
sometimes also it contains common salt. '> hi e solt,.
it is formed into oblong pieces for fuel, after the py-
ritaceous and stony matters are separated. i>v disti-
lation it yields water, acid, oil, and volatile a kah; the.
ashes containing a small proportion of faxed alkali ; and
being either white or red according to the proportion ct
pyrites contained,in the substance.
The oil which is obtained from peat has a very pun¬
gent taste ; and an empyreumatic smell, less fetid than
that of animal substances, more so than that ot mineral
bitumens: it congeals in the cold into a pitchy mass;
which liquefies in a small heat: it readily catches fire
from a candle, but burns less vehemently than other
oils, and immediately goes out upon removing the exter,
nal flame; it dissolves almost totally in rectified spirit
of wine into a dark brownish red liquor.
2 The second species is found near Newbury in Berk¬
shire. In the Philosophical Transactions for the year
1757, we have an account of this species ; the substance
of which is as follows: r . . .
Peat is a composition of the branches, twigs, leaves,
and roots of trees, with grass, straw, plants, and weeds,
which having lain long in water, is formed into a mass
so soft as to be cut through with a sharp spade. Ihe
colour is a blackish brown, and it is used in many places
for firing. There is a stratunyof this peat on each side
the Kennet. near Newbury in Berks, which is from
about a quarter to half a mile wide, and many miles
long. The depth below the surface of the ground is
from one foot to eight. Great numbers of entire trees
are
   j " 0 on.P hut even at eight or nine, and that for the sake of having a
not only marry their sons at 14 and yea™ f 8 ’ ^ 8ameSrule> they try to keep their daughters single
workwoman the more in the Pel'son 0 ie N a workwoman*. These premature marriages are of little use
3eM7i;n ol U, ,'0-eS in Buss, ^ still retain
'“(BTVrZlns have generally .lark complexions am) hair: they also wear their beards, and ent their hair
abort.
PEC [ f
Pcrtf are found lying irregularly in the true peat. They are
1| chieily oaks, alders, willows, and firs, and appear to
Fcck- have been torn up by the roots j many horses heads,
"'v and bones of several kinds of deer, the horns of the an¬
telope, the heads and tusks of boars, and the heads of
heavers, are also found in it. Not many years ago an
urn of a light brown colour, large enough to hold about
a gallon, was found in the peat-pit in Speen moor, near
Newbury, at about 10 feet from the river, and four
feet below the level ol the neighbouring ground. Just
over the spot where the urn was found, an artificial hill
was raised about eight feet high ; and as this hill con¬
sisted both of peat and earth, it is evident that the peat
was older than the urn. From the side of the river se¬
veral semicircular ridges are drawn round the hill, with
trenches between them. The urn was broken to shivers
by the peat-diggers who found it, so that it could not
be critically examined } nor can it be known whether
any thing was contained in it.
For the mode of converting moss or peat into a va¬
luable manure, see Agriculture Index.
PEAUCIfTl, in Anatomy, a name given by W in-
slow, in his Treatise on the Head, and by some of the
French writers, to the muscle called by Albinus latiasi-
mus colli; and by others detrahensquadratus, and qua-
drainsgence. Santorini has called the part of this which
arises'from the cheek musculvs risorius novus; and some
call the whole platysma myoides. •
PEBBLES, a trivial name frequently given to dif¬
ferent varieties of the agate. See Agate, Minera¬
logy Index.
PECARY, in Zoology. See Mammalia Index.
PECCANT, in Medicine, an epithet given to the
humours of the body, when they oft'end either in quan¬
tity or quality, i. e. when they are either morbid, or in
too great abundance. Most diseases arise from peccant
humours, which are either to be corrected by alteratives
and specifics, or else to be evacuated.
PECHEM, iii the Materia Medico, a name given by
the modern Greek writers to the root called bchem by
Avicenna and Serapion. Many have been at a loss to
know what this root pechem was 5 hut the virtues a-
scribed to it are the same with those of the behem of
the Arabians 5.its description is the same, and the divi¬
sion of it into white and red is also the same as that of
the behem. Nay, the word pechem is only formed of
behem by changing the b into a p, which is very com¬
mon, and the aspirate into -g, or ch, which is as com¬
mon. Myrepsus, who treats of this root, says the same
thing that the Arabian Avicenna says of behem, name¬
ly, that it was the fragments of a woody root, much
corrugated and wrinkled on the surface, which was
owing to its being so moist whilst fresh, that it always
shrunk greatly in the drying.
PECHYAGRA, a name given by some authors to
the gout affecting the elbow.
PECIIYS, a name used by some anatomical writers
lor the elbow.
PECHT TYRBE, an epithet used by some medical
writers for the scurvy.
PECK, a measure ef capacity, four of which make a
bushel.
Peck, Francis, a learned antiquarian, was horn at
Stamford in Lincolnshire, May 4. 1692, and educated
at Cambridge, where he took the degi’ees of B. and M.
>3 ] PEC
A. He was the author of many works, of which the
first is^a poem, entitled, “ Sighs on the Death of Queen
Anne ; printed probably about the time of her death
in 1714. i wo years afterwards he printed “ TO'Y'+OZ
At ION ; or an Exercise on the Creation, and an Hymn
to the Creator of the World; written in the express
words of the sacred Text, as an Attempt to show the
beauty and Sublimity of the Holy Scriptures, 1716,
8vo.” In 1721, being then curate of King’s Clifton in
Northamptonshire, he issued proposals for printing the
History and Antiquities of his native town, which was
published in 1727, in folio, under the title of 11 Academia
tertia Anglicana; or the Antiquarian Annals of Stam¬
ford in Lincoln, Rutland, and Northamptonshires •
containing the History of the University, Monasteries’
Gilds, Churches, Chapels, Hospitals, and Schools there’
&c.” inscribed to John duke of Rutland. This work
was hastened by “ An Essay on the ancient and present
State of Stamford, .1 726, 4to,” written by Francis Har¬
grave, who, in his preface, mentions (lie difference
which had arisen between him and Mr Peek, on ac¬
count ol the former’s publication unfairly forestalling
that intended by the latter. Mr Peck is also therein
very roughly treated, on account of a small work he had
formerly printed, entitled, “ The Historv of the IStam-
lord Bull-running.” Mr Peek had before this time ob¬
tained the rectory of Godeby near Melton in Leicester-
snire, the only preferment, he ever enjoyed. In 1729,
he printed on a single sheet, “ Queries concerning the
Natural History and Antiquities of Leicestershire and
Rutland,” which were afterwards reprinted in 1740;
but although the progress he had made in the work was
very considerable, yet it never made its appearance. In
1732 he published the first volume of Desiderata-
Curiosa; or, a Collection of divers scarce and curious
Pieces relating chiefly to Matters of English History >
consisting of choice tracts, memoirs, letters, wills, epi¬
taphs, &c. transcribed, many of them, from the origi¬
nals themselves, and the rest from divers ancient MS.
copies, or the MS. collations of sundry famous anti¬
quaries and other eminent persons, both of the last and
present age : the whole, as nearly as possible, digested
into order of time, and illustrated with ample "notes,
contents, additional discourses, and a complete index.”
rIhis volume was dedicated to Lord William Manners,
and was followed, in 1735, by a second volume, dedi-
cated to Dr Reynolds bishop of Lincoln. In 1735 Mr
Peck printed in a 410 pamphlet, “ A complete catalogue
of all the discourses written both for and against popery
in the time of King James II. containing in the whole
an account of 457 hooks and pamphlets, a great number
°f them not mentioned in the three former catalogues ■
with references after each title, for the more speedy
finding a further account of the said discourses and their
authors in .sundry writers, and an alphabetical list of
the writers on each side.” In 1739 he was the editor
of “ Nineteen Letters of the truly reverend and learned
Henry Hammond, D. D. (author of the Annotations on
the New Testament, &c.) written to Mr Peter Stain-
nough and Dr Nathaniel Angelo, many of them on
curious subjects, &c.” These were printed from the
originals, communicated by Mr Robert Marsden arch¬
deacon of Nottingham, and Mr John Worthington.
The next year, 1740, produced two volumes in%to,
one of-them entitled, Memoirs of the Life and Ae-
I-* 2 tions
?eck
PEC • [ 84
tiotis of Oliver Cromwell, as delivered in three pane¬
gyrics of him written in Latin •, the first, as said^ by
PEC
Pecquet. X)on Juan Roderigoez de Saa INIeneses, Conde de Pen-
1 gniao, the Portugal ambassador j the second, as affirmed
by a certain Jesuit, the lord ambassador’s chaplain ; yet
both, it is thought, composed by Mr John Milton (La¬
tin secretary to Cromwell), as was the third 5 with an
English version of each. rlhe whole illustrated writh a
large historical preface ; many similar passages from the
Paradise Lost, and other works oi Mr John Milton, and
notes from the best historians. To all which is added,
a collection of divers curious historical pieces relating to
Cromwell, and a great number of other remarkable per¬
sons (after the manner of Desiderata Curiosa, v. i. and
ii.)” The other, “ New Memoirs of the Life and
poetical Works of Mr John Milton j with, first, an ex¬
amination of Milton’s style •, and secondly, explanatory
and critical notes on divers passages in Milton and
Shakespeare, by the editor. Thirdly, Baptistes j a sa¬
cred dramatic poem in defence of liberty, as written in
Latin by Mr George Buchanan, translated into Eng¬
lish by Mr John Milton, and first published in 1641,
by order of the house of commons. Fourthly, the
Parallel, or Archbishop Laud and Cardinal Moisey
compared, a Vision by Milton. Fifthly, the Legend
of Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, knt. chiel butler ct
England, wdio died of poison, anno ijyo,^an histo¬
rical poem by his nephew Sir Thomas Ihrockmor-
ton, knt. Sixth, Herod the Great, by the editor.
Seventh, the Resurrection, a poem in imitation of Mil-
ton, by a friend. And eighth, a Discourse on the Har¬
mony'of the Spheres, by Milton; with prefaces and
notes.” These were the last publications which he
gave the world. When these appeared, he had in con¬
templation no less than nine different works; but
whether he had not met with encouragement for those
which he had already produced, or whether he was
rendered incifpable of executing them by reason of his
declining health, is uncertain; but none of them ever
were made public. He concluded a laborious, and,
it may be affirmed, an useful life, wholly devoted to
antiquarian pursuits, Aug. 13. 1743* at tlie aSeof 61
years.
PECORA, in Zoology, the fifth order of the class
mammalia, in the Linnean system. See Zoology.
PECQUET, John, was a physician in Dieppe,
and died at Paris in 1674. He was physician in or¬
dinary to the celebrated Fonquet, whom he entertain¬
ed at his spare hours with some of the most amusing
experiments in natural philosophy. He acquired im¬
mortal honour to himself by the discovery of a lacteal
vein, which conveys the chyle to the heart; and which
from his name is called le Reservoir de 1 ecquet. Fhis
discovery was a fresh proof of the truth of the cir¬
culation of the blood : though it met with opposition
jV.im many of the learned, particularly from the famous
Riolau, who wrote a treatise against the author of it,
with this title : Adversus Pecquetum et Pecquetianos.
The only works which we have of 1 ecquet, are, 1. Ex-
perimenta nova Anatoniiea, published at Pans, 1654“
2, A Dissertation, De J horacis Lacteis, published at
Amsterdam, 1661. He was a man of a lively and active
genius ; but his sprightliness sometimes led him to adopt
dangerous opinions. He recommended, as a remedy for
*11 diseases, the use of brandy. This remedy^ however,
proved fatal to himself, and contributed to shorten his
days, which he might have employed to the advantage
of the public. .
PECTEN, the Scallop ; a species of shell-fish.
See Ostiiea, Conchology Index.
PECTORAL, a sacerdotal habit or vestment, worn
by the Jewish high-priest. The Jews called it Hhoschen,
the Greeks the Latins rationale and pec tor ale,
and in our version of the Bible it is called breastplate.
It consisted of embroidered stull, about a span square,
and was worn upon the breast, set with twelve precious
stones, ranged in four rows, and containing the names of
the twelve tribes. It was fastened to the shoulder by
two chains and hooks of gold. God himself prescribed
the form of it. See Breastplate.
Pectoral, a breastplate of thin brass, about 12 fin¬
gers square, worn by the poorer soldiers in the Roman
army, who were rated under 1000 drachmae. See Lo-
RIC A.
Pectoral, an epithet for medicines good in diseases
of the breast and lungs.
PECTORAL!S. " See Anatomy, Table of the
Muscles.
PECULATE, in Civil Law, the crime of embez¬
zling the public money, by a person intrusted with the
receipt, management, or custody thereof. This term
is also used by civilians for a theft, whether the thing
be public, fiscal, sacred, or religious. j-
PECULIAR, in the Canon Law, signifies a parti¬
cular parish or church that has jurisdic#n within itself
for granting probates of wills and administrations, es-i
empt from the ordinary or bishop’s courts. The king’s
chapel is a royal peculiar, exempt from all spiritual ju¬
risdiction, and reserved to the visitation and immediate
government oi the king himself. Ihere is likcwrise the
archbishop’s peculiar ; for it is an ancient privilege of
the see of Canterbury, that wherever any manors or
advowsons belong to it, they forthwith become exempt
from the ordinary, and are reputed peculiars: there
are 57 such peculiars in the see of Canterbury.
Besides these, there are some peculiars belonging to
deans, chapters, and prebendaries, which are only ex¬
empted from the jurisdiction of the archdeacon : these
are derived from the bishop, who may visit them, and
to whom there lies an appeal.
Court of Peculiars, is a branch of, and annexed to,
the court of arches. It has a jurisdiction over all those
parishes dispersed through the province of Canterbury
in the midst of other dioceses, which are exempt from
the ordinary’s jurisdiction, and subject to the metropo¬
litan only. All ecclesiastical causes, arising within
these peculiar or exempt jurisdictions, are originally
cognizable by this court: from which an appeal lay
formerly to the pope, but now by the stat. 25 Henry
VIII. c. 19. to the king in chancery.
PECULIUM, the stock or estate which a person,
in the power of another, whether male or female, either
as his or her slave, may acquire by his industry. Roman
slaves frequently amassed considerable sums in his way.
The word properly signifies the advanced price which
a slave could get for his master’s cattle, &c. above the
price fixed upon them by his master, which was the
slave’s own property.
In the Romish church, peculinm denotes the goods
which each reliffiqus reserves ami possesses to himself.
Fccquel
Peeulium.
FED [
Peduls PEDALS, the largest pipes of an organ, so called
(1 because played and stopped with the foot. The pedals
Peiarian are made square, and of wood j they are usually 13 in
1 * number. They are of modern invention, and serve to
qarry the sounds of an octave deeper than the rest. See
Organ.
PEDAGOGUE, or Pedagogue, a tutor or ma¬
ster, to whom is committed the discipline and direction
of a scholar, to be instructed in grammar and other
arts. The word is formed from the Greek
ayayo;, peurorum ductor, “ leader of boys.”
M. 1' leury observes, that the Greeks gave the name
ptedagogus to slaves appointed to attend their children,
lead them, and teach them to walk, &c. The Romans
gave the same denomination to the slaves who were in¬
trusted with the care and instruction of their children.
PEDANT, a schoolmaster or pedagogue, who pro¬
fesses to instruct and govern youth, teach them the hu¬
manities, and the arts. See Pedagogue.
Pedant is also used for a rough, unpolished man of
letters, who makes an impertinent use of the sciences,
and abounds in unseasonable criticisms and observa¬
tions.
Dacier defines a pedant, a person who has more read¬
ing than good sense. See Pedantry.
P-edants are people ever armed with quibbles and
syllogisms, breathe nothing but disputation and chicane¬
ry, and pursue a proposition to the last limits of logic.
Malebrapche describes a pedant as a man full of false
erudition, vvbo makes a parade of bis knowledge, and is
ever quoting some Greek or Latin author, or hunting
back to a remote etymology.
St Evremont says, that to paint the folly of a pedant*
we must represent him as turning all conversation to some
one science or subject be is best acquainted withal.
There are pedants of all conditions, and all robes.
Wicquefort says, an ambassador, always attentive to
formalities and decorums, is nothing else but a political
pedant
PEDANTRY, or Pedantism, the quality or man¬
ner of a pedant. See Pedant.
rIo swell up little and low things, to make a vain
show of science, to heap up Greek and Latin, without
judgment, to tear those to pieces who differ from us
about a passage in Suetonius or other ancient authors,
or in the etymology of a wmrd, to stir up all the w'orld
against a man for not admiring Cicero enough, to be in¬
terested for the reputation of an ancient as if he were
our next of kin, is what we properly call pedantry.
PEDARIAN, in Roman antiquity, those senators
who signified their votes by their feet, not with their
tongues \ that is, such as walked over to the side of
those whose opinion they approved of, in divisions of
the senate.
Dr Middleton thus accounts for the origin of the
word. Tie says, that though the magistrates of Rome
had a right to a place and vote in the senate both du¬
ring their office and after it, and before tlvey were put
upon the roll by the censors, yet they had not pro¬
bably a right to speak or debate there on any question,
at least in the earlier ages of the republic. For this
seems to have been the original distinction between them
and the ancient senators, as it is plainly iiitimated in the
formule of the consular edict, sent abroad to summon
the senate, which was addressed to all senators, and to,
5 ] P E D
all those who had a right to vote in the senate. From Pedarlan
this distinction, those who had only a right to vote |j
were called in ridicule pedarian ; because they signified Tedilu-
their votes by their feet, not their tongues, and upon , v‘um’
every division of the senate, went over to the side of y
those whose opinion they approved. It was in allusion
to this old custom, which seems to have been wholly
dropt 111 the latter ages of the republic, that the mute
part of the sfenate continued still to be called by the
name o(pedarians, as Cicero informs us, who in o-ivintr
an account to Atticus of a certain debate and decree of
tne senate upon it, says that it was made with the eager
and general concurrence of the pedarians, though against
the authority of all the consulars.
PE DATURA, a term used in Roman antiquity, for
a space or proportion of a certain number of feet set
out. I his word often occurs in writers on military af¬
fairs : as in Hyginus de Castrametatione, we meet with
memmerimus itaque ad compytatione cohortis cquitatee
mi Maria: pedaturam ad milk trc.centos sexagi/ita dari
debere; which is thus explained: The pedatura, or
space allowed for a cohors eqyitqta or provincial cohort,
consisting of both horse and foot, could not be the same
as the pedatura of an uniform body of infantry, of the
same number, but must exceed it by 360 feet i for thef
proportion of the room of one horseman to one foot sol¬
dier, be assigns as two and a half to one.
PEDERASTS, the same witfi Sodomites.
PEDESTAL, in Architecture, the lowest part of an
order of columns, being that part which sustains the co¬
lumn, and serves it as a foot to stand. See Column.
PEDIiEAN, in Grecian antiquity. The city of
Athens was anciently divided into three* different parts*
one on the descent of a hill * another on the sea-shore *
and a third in a plain between the other two. The in¬
habitants of the middle region were called IJihuat, Pe-
diceatis, formed from “ plain,” or “ flat 5” or as
Aristotle will have it, Pcdiaci: those of the hill, Dia-
crians * and those of the shore Paralians.
Ihese quarters usually composed so many different
factions. Pisistratus made use of the Pediceans against
the Diacrians. In the time of Solon, when a form of
government was to be chosen, the Diacrians chose it
democratic; the Pediseans demanded an aristocracy;
and the Paralians a mixed government.
PEDICLE, among botanists, that part of a stalk
which immediately sustains the leaf of a flower or a
fruit, and is commonly called a footstalk.
PEDICULUS, the Louse, a genus of insects be¬
longing to the order of apteral See Entomology
Index.
PE DILUVIUM, ov Bathing of the Feet. The
uses of warm bathing in general, and of the pediluvium
in particular, are so little understood, that they are of¬
ten preposterously used, and sometimes as injudicious¬
ly abstained from.
In the Edinburgh Medical Essays, we find an inge¬
nious author’s opinion of the warm pediluvium, not¬
withstanding that of Borelli, Boerhaave, and Hoflinan,
to the contrary, to be, That the legs becoming warmer -
than before, the blood in them is warmed; this blood
rarefying, distends the vessels ; and in circulating im¬
parts a great degree of iVarmth to the rest qf the mass ;
and as there is a portion of it constantly passing through *
tie legs, and acquiring new heat there, which heat is in
the
T5 E D { 8t
{\ iilu- ^',e coarse of circulation communicated to the rest of the
vium blood, the whole mass rarefying, occupies a larger space,
II and of consequence circulates with greater force, ihe
Pedlar. Y0jume 0f tlie blood being thus increased, every vessel
'r~~^ is distended, and every part of the body feels the efi'ects
of it; the distant parts a little later than those first heat¬
ed. The benefit obtained by a warm pediluvium is ge¬
nerally attributed to its making a derivation into the
parts immersed, and a revulsion from those allected, be¬
cause they are relieved ; but the cure is performed by
the direct contrary method ol operating, viz. by a great¬
er" force of circulation through the parts allected, remo¬
ving what was stagnant or moving too sluggishly there.
Warm bathing is of no service where there is an irre-
soluble obstruction, though, by its taking off from a
spasm in general, it may seem to give a moment’s ease;
rior does it draw from the distant parts, but often hurts
by pushing against matter that will not yield with a
stronger impetus of circulation than the stretched and
diseased vessel can bear : so that where there is any
suspicion of scirrhus, warm bathing of any sort should
never be used. On the other hand, where obstructions
are not of long standing, and the impacted matter is
not obstinate, warm baths may be of great use to resolve
them quickly. In recent colds, with slight humoral
peripneumonies, they are frequently an immediate cure.
This they effect bv increasing the force of the circula¬
tion, opening the skin, and driving freely through the
' lungs that lentor which stagnated or moved slowly in
them. As thus conducing to the resolution of obstruc¬
tions, they may he considered as short and safe fevers",
and in using them we imitate nature, which by a fever
often carries off an obstructing cause ol a chronical ail¬
ment. Borelli, Boerhaave, and Hoffman, are all of
opinion, that the Warm pediluvium acts by driving a
larger quantity of blood into the parts immersed. But
arguments must give way to facts : the experiments re¬
lated in the Medical Essays seem to prove to a demon¬
stration, that the warm pediluvium acts by rarefying the
blood.
A warm pediluvium, when rightly tempered, may be
used as a safe cordial, by which circulation can be roused,
or a gentle fever raised; with this advantage over the
cordials and sudorifics, that the effect of them may be
taken off at pleasure.
Pediluvia are sometimes used in the smallpox; hut
Dr Stevenson thinks their frequent tumultuous opera¬
tions render that suspected, and at best of very doubt¬
ful effect; and he therefore prefers Mons. Martin of
Eausanne’s method ol bathing the skin, not only of the
legs, hut of the whole body, with a soft cloth dipped in
warm water, every four hours, till the eruption ; by
which means the pustules may become universally high¬
er, and consequently more safe.
PEDIMENT. See Architecture.
PEDLAR, a travelling foot-trader. See HawKERS.
In Britain (and formerly in France) the pedlars are
despised ; hut it is otherwise in certain countries. In
Spanish America, the business is so profitable, that it
is thought by no means dishonourable ; and there are
many gentlemen m Old Spain, who, when theii cir¬
cumstances are- declining, send their sons to the Indies
to retrieve their fortunes in this way. Almost all the
commodities of Europe are distributed through the
southern continent of America by means of these ped-
4
] FED
lars. They come from Panama to Paita by sea ; and Pedlar
in the road from the port last mentioned, they make !1
Pcura their first voyage to Lima. Some take the road cc ro' ,
through Caxamalca: others through Iruxillo, along
shore from Lima. They take their passage hack to
Panama by sea, and perhaps take with them a little car¬
go of brandy. At Panama they again stock themselves
with European goods, returning by sea to Paita, where
they are put on shore ; there they hire mules and load
them, the Indians going with them in order to lead them
back. Their travelling expences are next to nothing ;
for the Indians are brought under such subjection, that
they find lodging for them, and provender for their
mule's, frequently thinking it an honour done them for
their guests to accept of this for nothing, unless the
stranger now and then, out of generosity or compassion,
makes a small recompense.
In Poland, where there are few or no manufactures,
almost all the merchandise is carried on by pedlars, who
are said to be generally Scotsmen, and who, in the reign
of King Charles II. are said to have amounted to no
fewer than 53,000.
PEDOMETER, or Podometer, formed from iras,
pesy “ foot,” and p?g«», “ measure,” way-wiser; a me¬
chanical instrument, in form of a watch, consisting of
various wheels with teeth, catching in one another, all
disposed in the same plane-; which by means of a chain
or string fastened to a man’s foot, or to the wheel ot a
chariot, advance a notch each step, or each revolution
of the wheel ; so that the number being marked on the
edge of each wheel, one may number the paces, or mea¬
sure exactly the distance from one place to another.
There are some of them which mark the time on a dial-
plate, and are in every respect much like a watch, and
are accordingly worn in the pocket like a watch. See
Perambulator.
PEDRO, Don, of Portugal, duke of Coimbra, was
the fourth child and second surviving son ot King John
of Portugal, and was born March the 4th I 394,>
father gave him an excellent education, which, joined
to strong natural abilities and much application, render¬
ed him one of the most accomplished princes ot his time.
He was not only very learned himself, hut a great lover
of learning, and a great patron ot learned men. It was
chiefly with a view to improve his knowledge that he
spent four years in travelling through diflerent countries
in Europe, Asia, and Africa,'with a train suitable to
his quality; of which travels there is a relation still ex¬
tant, but so loaded with fabulous circumstances, that it
wounds tire reputation it was designed to raise. At his
return he espoused Isabella, daughter to the count of
Urge!, and grand-daughter to Don Pedro, the fourth
king of Portugal, which was esteemed a very great ad¬
vancement of his fortune. He was elected into the most
noble order of the Garter, April 22. 1417, in the fifth
year of the reign of his cousin Henry V. a grandson of
John of Gaunt, by the father’s side, as our duke of
Coimbra was by the mother. In 1440 he was declared
regent during the minority of his cousin Don Alonso V.
son of King Edward, who died by the plague. He
found some difficulty at first in the discharge of Ins of¬
fice, both from the queen-mother and others. But, up¬
on the whole, his administration was so mild and so just,
that the magistrates and people of Lisbon concurred in
demanding his leave to erect a statue to him. I lie ic-
gent
PEE [ 87 J. PEE
Pedro gent tlsatiked them, said he should be unwilling to see a
I) work of their’s demolished j and that he was sufficiently
Peebles- rewarded by this public testimony of their affections.
81, The queen dowager wished to raise disturbances in Por¬
tugal by aiming to recover the regency to herself j but
the steadiness of the regent’s administration, the attach¬
ment of the best part of the nobility to him, and his en¬
joying, in so absolute a degree, the confidence of the
people, not only secured the interior tranquillity of the
state, but raised the credit likewise of the crown of Por¬
tugal to a very great height in the sentiments of its
neighbours: for, in the course of his regency, he had
made it his continual study to pursue the public good mT
to ease the people in general, and the inhabitants of
Lisbon in particular, of several impositions; to maintain
the laws in their full vigour ; to give the king an ex¬
cellent education ; and if that had been at all practica¬
ble, to difluse a perfect unanimity through the court, by
assuaging the malice and envy of his enemies. The
king when he came of age, and the cartes or parliament,
expressed their entire satisfactionwith the regent’s ad¬
ministration ; and all parties entirely approved of the
king’s marriage with Donna Isabella, the regent’s daugh¬
ter, which was celebrated in 1446. The enmity of his
enemies, however was not imthe least abated by the re¬
gent’s being out of office. They still persecuted him
with their unjust calumnies, and unfortunately made the
king hearken to their falsehoods. The unfortunate
duke, when ordered to appear before the king, was ad¬
vised to take with him an escort of horse and foot. In
his passage he was proclaimed a rebel, and quickly after
he was surrounded by the king’s troops. Soon after be
was attacked, and in the heat of action he was killed:
nor was the envy of bis enemies even then satiated ; his
body was forbid burial ; and was at length taken away
privately by the peasants. His virtue, however hated
in courts, was adored by the uncorrupt part of his coun¬
trymen. At length, though, by an inspection of his
papers, the king saw, when it was too late, the injus¬
tice that had been done the. man who had behaved so
well in so high and difficult an office; and whose papers
only discovered signs of further benefit to the king and
his dominions. In consequence of these discoveries, the
duke’s adherents were declared loyal subjects, all pro¬
secutions were ordered to cease, and the king desired the
body of Coimbra to be transported with great pomp
from the castle of Abrantes to the monastery of llatal-
ha ; where it was interred in the tomb which he had
caused to be erected for himself. The royal name of
Don Pedro occurs often in the history of Portugal, and
many who bore the name were singularly distinguished
either for great abilities, or external splendour. See
Portugal.
PEDUNCLE, in Botany. See Pedicle.
PEEBLES, a royal borough and county town of
Peebles-shire or Tvveedale, is situated on the banks of
the Tweed, 22 miles south from Edinburgh. Peebles
was a royal residence in the time of James I. of Scotr
land ; and here it is supposed, he composed the poem of
“ Peebles at the Play.” Peebles has considerable woolr
len manufactures, and excellent beer. The population
in 1801 was 2088, and in 1811, 2485.
PEEBLES-SHHIE, or Tweedale, a county of
Scotland, extending 36 miles in length and about 10 in
breadth. It is bounded on the east by Ettrick Forest,
on the south by Annandale, on the west by Clydesdale, Fctv ,
and on the north by Mid-Lothian. Tvveedale is a hilly shire.
country, well watered with the Tweed, the Yarrow,\ 
and a great number of smaller streams that fertilize the
valleys, which produce good harvests of oats and barley,
with some proportion of wheat. All the rivers of any
consequence abound with trout and salmon. The lake
called JP-est-lFiter Ltoch swarms with a prodigious num¬
ber of eels. In the month of August, when the west
wind blows, they tumble into the river Yarrow in such
shoals, that the people who wade in to catch them run
the risk of being overturned. About the middle of this
county is the hill or mountain of Braidalb, from the top
of which the sea may be seen on each side of the island.
Tvveedale abounds with limestone and freestone. Thfe
lulls are generally as green as the downs in Sussex, and
feed innumerable flocks of sheep, that yield great quan¬
tities of excellent wool. The earls of March were her
reditary shenfls ol Iweedale, which bestows the title of
marquis on a branch of the ancient house of Hay^ earls
of Errol, and hereditary high constables of Scotland.
'The family of Tweedale is, by the female side, descend¬
ed from the famous Simon deiraser, proprietor of great
part of this county, and who had a great share in obtain¬
ing the triple victory at Boslin. The chief town in
Tweedale, is Peebles, a royal borough, and seat of a
presbytery, pleasantly situated on the banksof the Tweed,
over which there is at this place a stately stone bridge
of five arches. In the neighbourhood of Peebles, near
the village of Romano, on the river Lyne, we see the
vestiges of two Roman castella, or stationary forts ; and
a great many terraces on the neighbouring hills, which
perhaps have served as itinerary encampments. In the
shire of Tvveedale there are many ancient and honour-
aofe families. Douglas of Cavers* who was hereditary
sheriff of the county,'it is said still preserves the stand¬
ard and the iron mace of the gallant Lord Douglas,
who fell in the battle of Otterburn, just as his troops
had defeated and taken Henry Percy* surnamed Hot¬
spur. In the churchyard of Drumelzier, belonging to
an ancient branch of the Hay family, the famous Mer¬
lin is supposed to lie buried. There was an old tradi¬
tional prophecy, that the two kingdoms should be united
when the waters of the Tweed and the Pansel should
meet at his grave. Accordingly^ the country people ob¬
serve that this meeting happened in consequence of an
inundation at the accession of James VI. to the crown
of England. The valued rent of the county is 51,9371.
13s.'1 od. Scots, aijd the real, rent is estimated at
29,820!. sterling.
The population of this county, in .1801, amount¬
ed to 8717, and in 1811 to 9935. The follow¬
ing is the population at two diflerent periods by pa¬
rishes.
Parishes.
I Broughton
Drumelzier
Eddlestown
Glenholm
5 Inverlcithen
Kilbucho
Kirkurd
Linton
Population
in 1755-
367
3°5
679
392
559
279
310
831
Population in
1790—179S,
264
270
710 .
300
560
362 •
288
9?8
Lyne
P E
Peebles¬
shire
II
Peers.
Parishes.
* Statist.
Hist. vol.
xx.
Lyne
10 Manner
Newlands
Peebles
Skirling
Stobo
15 Traquair
16 Tweedsmuir
8908
Decrease, 801 *
See PeebleshiRE, Supplement*
PEEK, in the sea-language, is a word used in vari¬
ous senses. Thus the anchor is said to he a-peek, when
the ship being about to weigh comes over her anchor
in such a manner that the cable hangs perpendicularly
between the hause and the anchor.
To heave a-peek, is to bring the peek so as that the
anchor may hang a-peek. A ship is said to ride a-peek,
when lying with her main and foreyards hoisted up,
one end of her yards is brought down to the shrouds,
and the other raised up on end j which is chiefly done
when she lies in rivets, lest other ships falling foul of
the yards should break them. Riding a-broad peek,
denotes much the same, excepting that the yards are
only raised to half the height.
Peek is also used for a room in the hold, extending
from the bitts forward to the stern : in this room men
of war keep their powder, and merchantmen their
victuals.
PEEL, a town in the isle of Man, formerly called
Holm-town, has a fort in a small island, and a garrison
well supplied with cannon. In it are the ancient ca¬
thedral, the lord’s house, with some lodgings of the bi¬
shops, and other remains of antiquity.
PEER, in general, signifies an equal, or one of the
same rank and station: hence in the acts of some couh-
cils, we find these words, with the Consent of our peers,
bishops, abbots, &.c. Afterwards the same term was
applied to the vassals or tenants of the same lord, who
were called peers, because they tvere all equal in condi¬
tion, and obliged to serve and attend him in his courts j
and peers in jiefs, because they all held fiefs of the same
lord.
The term peers is now applied to those who are im-
pannelled in an inquest upon a person for convicting or
acquitting him of any offence laid to his Charge : and
the reason why the jury is so called, is because, by the
common law and the custom of this kingdom, every
person is to be tried by his peers or equals j a lord by
the lords, and a commoner by commoners. See the ar¬
ticle Jury.
Peer of the Realm, a noble lord who has a seat and
vote in the house of lords, which is also called the
House of Peers*
These lords are called peers, because though there is
a distinction of degrees in our nobility, yet in public
actions they are equal, as in their votes in parliament,
and in trying any nobleman or other person impeached
by the commons, &c. See Parliament.
88 ] P E E
House of Peers, or House of Lords, forms one of
the three estates of parliament. See Lords and Par¬
liament.
In a judicative capacity, the house of peers is the su¬
preme court of the kingdom, having at present no origi¬
nal jurisdiction over causes, but only upon appeals and
writs of error j to rectify any injustice or mistake ol the
law committed by the courts below. rIo this authority
they succeeded of course upon the dissolution of the Aida
Regia. For as the barons of parliament were constituent
members of that court, and the rest of its jurisdiction
was dealt out to other tribunals, over which the great
officers who accompanied those barons were respective¬
ly delegated to preside, it followed, that the right of
receiving appeals, and superintending all other jurisdic¬
tions, still remained in that noble assembly, from which
every other great court was derived. They are there¬
fore in all cases the last resort, from whose judgment no
farther appeal is permitted 5 but every subordinate tri¬
bunal must conform to their determinations : I he law
reposing an entire confidence in the honour and con¬
science of the noble persons who compose this important
assembly, that they will make themselves masters oi
those questions upon which they undertake to decide j
since upon their decision all property must finally de¬
pend. See Lords, Nobility, &c.
Peers, in the former government of F ranee, were
twelve great lords of that kingdom $ of which six were
Peer?,
Peeress.
dukes and six counts *, and ol these, six were ecclesias¬
tics and six laymen: thus the archbishop of Rheims, and
the bishop of Loan and Langres, were dukes and peers j
and the bishops of Chalons on the Mam, Noyons, and
Beauvais, were counts and peers. The dukes of Bur¬
gundy, Normandy, and Aquitain, were lay peers and
dukes; and the counts of Flanders, Champagne, and
Toulouse, lay peers and counts. Fhese peers assisted at
the coronation of kings, either in person or by their re¬
presentatives, where each performed the functions at¬
tached to his respective dignity: but as the six lay peer¬
ages were all united to the crown, except that of the
Count of Flanders, six lords of the first quality were cho¬
sen to represent them: but the ecclesiastical peers gene¬
rally assisted in person. The title of peer was lately
bestowed on every lord whose estate was erected into a
peerage ; the number of which, as it depended entirely
on the king, was uncertain.
PEERESS, a woman who is noble by descent, crea¬
tion, or marriage. For, as we have noblemen of several
ranks, so wre may have noblewomen thus King Hen¬
ry VIIL made Anne Bullen marchioness of Pembroke j
King James I. created the lady Compton, wife to Sir
Thomas Compton, countess of Buckingham, in the life¬
time of her husband, without any addition of honour to
him j and also the same king made the lady Finch, vis¬
countess of Maidstone, and afterwards countess of Win*
chelsea, to her and the heirs of her body •, and King
George I. made the lady Schulenberg, duchess of Ken¬
dal.
If a peeress, by descent or creation, marry a person
under the degree of nobility, she Still continues noble :
but if she obtain that dignity only by marriage, she
loses it, on her afterwards marrying a commoner ; yet
by the courtesy of England, she generally retains the
title of her nobility.
A
PEG [
A countess or baroness may not be arrested for debt
or trespass ; for though in respect of their sex, they can¬
not sit in parliament, they are nevertheless peers of the
realm, and shall be tried by their peers, &c.
PEWIT, a species of gull. See Lab-ws, Ornitho¬
logy Index.
PEGASUS, among the poets, a horse imagined to
have wings j being that on which Bellerophon was
fabled to be mounted when he engaged the Chimera.
See Chimera.
The opening of the fountain Hippocrene on Mount
Hellicon is ascribed to a blow of Pegasus’s hoof. It was
feigned to have flown away to heaven, where it became
a constellation. Hence
Pegasus, in Astronomy, the name of a constellation
of the northern hemisphere, in form, of a flying horse.
See Astronomy.
PEGMAftES, a name by which certain gladiators
were distinguished, who fought upon moveable scaffolds
called pegmata, which were sometimes unexpectedly rai¬
sed, and by this means surprised the people with gladia¬
tors in hot contention. They were sometimes so sud¬
denly lifted up as to throw the combatants into the air j
and sometimes they were let down into dark and deep
holes, and then set on fire, thus becoming the funeral-
piles of those miserable wretches j and roasting them
alive to divert the populace.
PEGU, a very considerable kingdom of Asia, be¬
yond the Ganges. The country properly so called is
but about 350 miles in length from north to south, and
as much in breadth from east to west. It is situated on
the eastern side of the bay of Bengal, nearly opposite to
Arixa, and to the north-east of the coast of Coromandel.
It is bounded on the north by the kingdoms of Arrakan
and Ava j on the east by the Upper and Lower Siam,
on the south by part of Siam and the sea; and on the
west by the sea and pax! of Arrakan.
The kingdom of Pegu is said to have been founded
about 1100 years ago. Its first king w'as a seaman j
concerning wdiom and bis successors we know nothing
dll the discovery of the East Indies by the Portuguese
in the beginning of the 16th century. In 1518 the
throne of Pegu was possessed by one Bressagukan, with
whom Antony Correa the Portuguese ambassador so¬
lemnly concluded a peace in 1519. This monarch was
possessed of a very large and rich empire, nine kingdoms
being in subjection to him, whose revenues amounted to
three millions of gold. e hear no farther accounts of
his transactions after the conclusion of the treaty with
tlie Portuguese. In 1539 lie was murdered on the fol¬
lowing occasion •, Among other princes who were his
tributaries was Para Mandara, king of the Birmans or
Barmans. These people inhabited the high lands called
Pangavirau, to the northward of the kingdom of Pegu.
Their prince, by one of the terms of his vassalage, was
obliged to furnish the king of Pegu with 30,000 Bir¬
mans to labour in his mines and other public works. As
the king used frequently to go and see how his works
went forward, and in these journeys took along with
him none but his women, the Birmans observing these
visits frequently repeated, formed a design of robbing
the queen and all the concubines of their jewels 5 and
pursuant to this design, the next time the king visited
the works, they murdered him, and having stripped the
ladies, fled to their own country.
Vol. XVI. Part I. f
89 ]
PEG
By this enormity all Pegu was thrown into confu-
sion : but, instead of revenging the death of their king,
the people divided everywhere into factions*, so that
Dacha Itupi, the lawful heir to the crown, found him-
se f unable to maintain his authority. Of these commo¬
tions, the king of the Birmans taking the advantage,
not only shook off the yoke, but formed a design of con¬
quering the kingdom of Pegu itself—With this view he
invaded the country with an army of more than a mil¬
lion of foot, and 500O elephants j besides a great fleet
which he sent down the river Ava towards Bagou or
egu, the capital of the empire 5 while he himself
marched tluther by land. Just at this time Ferdinand
de Mirales arrived at Pegu from Goa with a large cral-
Jeon richly laden on account of the king of Portugal,
1 s soon as Dacha Itupi heard of his coming, he sent to
desire his assistance against the enemy. This he obtain¬
ed by great presents and promises : and Mirales, settino-
out in a galliot, joined the king’s ships. Had the num-
exT*ee,n any near 311 equality, the superior skill
of in ales would undoubtedly have gained the victory:
But the fleet of the Birmans covered the whole river,
though as large as the Ganges, while that of Dacha Ku-
pi could scarcely be observed in comparison with them.
Mirales did every thing that man could do, and even
held out alone after the natives had deserted him 5 but
at last, oppressed and overwhelmed with numbers, he
was killed with all his men.
Thus Para Mandara became master of all Pegu j af¬
ter which he attacked the tributary kingdoms. In 1544
he besieged Martavan, the capital of a kingdom of the
same name, then very great and flourishing. The land
forces which he brought against it consisted of 700,000
men, while by sea he attacked it with a fleet of 1700
sad j 100 of which wrere large galleys, and in them 700
Portuguese commanded by John Cayero, who had the
reputation of being a valiant and experienced officer.
I he siege, however, continued seven months, during
which time the Birmans lost 120,000 men ; but at last
the besieged king, finding himself straitened for want of
provisions, and unable to withstand so great a power, of-
feied terms of capitulation. The besiegers would admit
of no terms, upon which the distressed king applied to
the Portuguese in the service of his enemy j°for by their
assistance be doubted not to be able to drive away the
Birmans. Accordingly, he sent one Seixas to Cayero,
intreating him to receive himself, his family, and trea¬
sure, on board the four ships he had under his com¬
mand j offering, on that condition, to give half his
riches to the king of Portugal, to become his vassal, and
pay such tribute as should be agreed upon. Cayero con¬
sulted the principal officers, and in their presence asked
Seixas what he thought the treasure might amount to.
Seixas answered, that out of what lie had seen, for he
had not seen all, two ships might be loaded with gold,
and four or five with silver. This proposal was too ad¬
vantageous to be slighted; but the rest of the officers
envying the great fortune which Cayero would make,
threatened to discover the whole to the king of Barma or
Birma if he did not reject it. The unhappy king of
Martavan had now no other resource but to set fire to
the city, make a sally, and die honourably with the few
men he had with him: but even here he was disappoint¬
ed j for by the desertion of 4000 of his troops the ene¬
my were apprised of his design, and prevented it. Thus
M betrayed,
Peau.
PEG [ 9°
betraved, lie capitulated with the Barma king for his
own life and the lives of his wife and children, with
leave to end his days in retirement. All this was rea¬
dily granted, but the conqueror intended to perform no
part of his promise. The city was plundered and burnt,
by which above 60,000 persons perished, while at least
an equal number were carried into slavery. Six thou¬
sand cannon were found in the place; 100,000 quintals
of pepper, and an equal quantity of other spices. Ihe
day after this destruction, 21 gibbets were erected on a
hill adjoining to the city ; on which the queen, her
children, and ladies, w'ere executed, by hanging them
up alive by the feet: however, the queen expired with
nmniish before she suffered such a cruel indignity. I he
king, with 50 of his chief lords, ivas cast into the sea,
Avith stones about their necks. This monstrous cruelty
so provoked the tyrant’s soldiers, that they mutinied, and
be Avas in no small danger of suffering for it: hoAvever,
he found means to pacify them ; after which he pro¬
ceeded to besiege Prom, the capital of another king¬
dom. Here he increased his army to 900,000 men.
The queen by whom it was governed offered to submit
to be his vassal; but nothing would satisfy the Barma
monarch less than her surrender at discretion, and put¬
ting all her treasure into his hands. 1 his she, who
knew his perfidy, refused to do: on which the city was
fiercelv assaulted, but greatly to the disadvantage of the
Barmas, who lost near 100,000 men. However, the
city Avas at last betrayed to him, Avhen Mandara be¬
haved with his usual cruelty. Two thousand children
were slain, and their bodies cut in pieces and thrown
to the elephants ; the queen was stripped naked, pub¬
licly whipped, and then tortured, till she died ; the
Young king was tied to her dead body, and both toge¬
ther ^cast into a river, as were also 300 other people of
quality. . .. . . .
Wliile the tyrant was employed m fortifying the city,
he was informed, that the prince of Ava had sailed
down the river Queytor with 400 rowing vessels having
30,000 soldiers on board; but that, heanng 0 tie
queen’s disaster, he stopped at Meletay, a strong fortress
about 1 2 leagues north of Prom, Avhere he Availed to e
joined by his father the king of Ava Avith 80,000 men.
On this news the Barma king sent his foster-brother
Chaumigrem along the river side with 200,coo men,
while he himself followed with 100,000 more. _ Ihe
prince, in this emergency, burnt his barks, forming a
vanguard of the mariners, and, putting Ins small army-
in the best position he could, expected the enemy. A
most desperate engagement ensued, in which 800 on y o
the prince’s army were left, and 115,000 out of 200,000
Barmas who opposed him Avere killed. I he 800 Avans
retired into the fort: but Mandara coming up soon af¬
ter, and being enraged at the terrible havock made 111
his1 army, attacked the fortress most violently for seven
days; at the end of which time, the 800, finding them¬
selves unable to hold out any longer, rushed out in a
dark and rainy night, in order to sell their lives at as
dear a rate as possible. rI his last effort Avas so extreme¬
ly violent, that they broke through the enemy’s troops
in several places, and even pressed so hard on the king
himself that he was forced to jump into the river. How¬
ever, they Avere at last all cut off, but not before they
had destroyed 12,000 of their enemies.
Mandara having thus become master of the fort, com-
] PEG
manded it to be immediately repaired; and sailed up |
the river to the port of Avk, about a league from the
capital, where he burnt between 2000 and 3000 vessels,
and lost in the enterprise about 8000 men. 1 he city
itself he did not think proper to invest, as it had been
newly fortified, was defended by a numerous garrison,
and an army of 80,000 men was advancing to its relief.
The king also, apprehensive of Mandara’s power, had
implored the protection of the emperor of Siam ; offering
to become bis tributary on condition that be Avould as¬
sist him with his forces in recovering the city of Prom.
To this the emperor readily assented ; Avhich news gieat-
ly alarmed the Barma monarch, so that he dispatched
ambassadors to the Kalaniinhani or sovereign of a large
territory adjacent, requesting him to divert the emperoi
from bis purpose. On the ambassadors return from tins
court, it appeared that the treaty bad already taken ef¬
fect ; but as the season was not yet arrived for invading
Ava, Chaumigrem, the king’s foster-brother, was sent
with 150,000 men to reduce Sebadi or Savadi the capi¬
tal of a small kingdom about 130 leagues north-east from
Pegn. The general, however, failed in bis attempt;
and afterwards endeavouring to revenge himself on a
town in the neighbourhood, he was surprised by the
enemy and put to flight. _
In the meantime, the empire of Siam fell into great
distractions; the king, together, with the heir to the
crown, were murdered by the queen, avIio had fallen in
love with an officer, whom she married after her hus¬
band’s death. However, both of them were soon after
killed at an entertainment ; and the croivn was given to
a natural brother of the late king, but a coward and a
tyrant. On this Mandara resolved to invade the coun¬
try ; and, his principal courtiers concurring in the
scheme, he collected an army of 800,000 men, with no
fewer than 20,000 elephants. In this army were 1000
Portuguese, commanded by one James Suarez, Avho al¬
ready had a pension of 200,000 ducats a-year from the
king of Pegu, with the title of his brother, and gover-
no/of the kingdom. With this formidable army he set
out in April 1 548. His first achievement was the tak¬
ing of a fortress on the borders of the enemy’s country;
before which, being several times repulsed, and having
lost 3000 of his men, he revenged himself by putting all
the women to the sword. He next besieged the capital
itself; but though the siege was continued for five
months, during Avhich time the most violent attacks
were made upon it, the assailants were constantly repul¬
sed Avith great loss. However, it was still resolved to
continue the siege ; and amount of earth was raised, on
which were placed 40 pieces of cannon, ready to batter
it anew, when, in October, advice Avas received of a re¬
bellion having broke out in Pegu.
The person who headed the rebels on the present oc¬
casion was Shoripam Shay, near akin to the former mo¬
narch slain 12 years before. He was a religious person,
of great understanding, and esteemed a saint. As he
was a famous preacher, he made a sermon, m which be
set forth the tyranny of the Birmans in such a manner,
that be was immediately taken out of the pulpit, and
proclaimed king by the people, Avho, as a token of so¬
vereignty, gave him the title of Shemindoo. Ihe first
act of sovereignty which he exerted was to cut in pieces
l-15,000 Birmans, and seize on the treasure ; and so a-
greeable ivas this change of government to all
Pecil.
Pegu.
PEG [9
people, that in three weeks time all the strong holds of
J Pegu fell into his hands.
On this news the king immediately raised the sies;e in
which he was engaged, and in 17 days got to Marta-
Van. Here he was informed, that Shemindoo had
posted 500,000 men in diflerent places, in order to in¬
tercept his passageat the same time that he had the
mortification to Hnd 50,000 of his best troops deserted.
To prevent a greater desertion, after 14 days stay, he
departed from Martavan, and soon met Shemindoo at
the head of 600,000 men. A desperate engagement
followed j in which Shemindoo was entirely defeated,
with the loss of 300,000 men. Of the Birman troops
Were slain 60,0005 among whom were 280 Portu¬
guese.
The morning after this victory, the tyrant marched
to the city: the inhabitants of which surrendered, on
condition of having their lives and effects spared. The
kingdom being thus again brought under his subjection,
his next step was to punish the principal persons con¬
cerned in the rebellion : their heads he cut off, and con¬
fiscated their estates, which amounted to no less then
ten millions of gold. Others say, that he put all with¬
out distinction to the sword, excepting only 1 2,000, who
took shelter in James Suarez’s house 5 that alone afford¬
ing an asylum from the general slaughter. The plunder
was incredible, Suarez alone getting three millions.
All these cruelties, however, were insufficient to secure
the allegiance of the tyrant’s subjects 5 for in less than
three months news was brought that the city of Marta¬
van had revolted 5 and that the governor had not only
declared for Shemindoo, hut murdered 2000 Birmans.
Mandara then summoned all the lords of the kingdom
to meet him with their force, within 15 days, at a place
called Mouckau, not far from his capital, whither he
himself went with 300 men, to wail their arrival. But
in the meantime he received intelligence that the shemin
or governor of Zatan, a city ol some consequence, had
submitted to Shemindoo, and also lent him a targe sum
of gold. The shemin was immediately sent for in order
to be put to death : but he, suspecting Mandara’s de¬
sign, excused himself by pretending sickness 5 after
which, having consulted with his friends, he drew toge¬
ther about 600 men 5 and having with these privately
advanced to the place where the king was, he killed
him, with the few attendants that were about him at
the time. The guards in the court being alarmed with
the noise, a skirmish ensued with the shemin’s men, in
which about 800 were slain on both sides, most of them
Birmans. The shemin then retreated to a place called
Pontel; whither the people of the country, hearing of
the death of the king, who was universally hated, re¬
sorted to him. When he had assembled about 5000
men, he returned to seek the troops which the late
king had with him ; and finding them dispersed in se¬
veral places, easily killed them all. With the Birmans
were slain 80 out of 300 Portuguese. The remainder
surrendered, witii Suarez their leader; and were
spared, on condition of their remaining in the service
of the shemin.
The shemin, now finding his forces daily increase, as¬
sumed the title of king ; and, to render himself the more
popular, gave out that he would exterminate the Bir¬
mans so effectually, as not to leave one in all the king¬
dom. It happened, however, that one of those who were
i ] PEG
with the late king at the time he was murdered, escaped
the general slaughter 5 and, swimming over the river,
informed Chaumigrem of the king’s death. lie had'
with him 180,000 men, all of them natives of Pegu, ex¬
cepting 30,000 Barmas. He knew very well, that if
the natives had known that the king was dead, he and
all his Barmas would have instantly been put to the
sword. Pretending, therefore, that he had received or¬
ders to put garrisons into several places, Chaumigrem
dispatched all the natives into different parts 5 and thus
got rid of those whom he had so much cause to fear.
As soon as they were marched, he turned back upon the
capital, and seized the king’s treasure, together with all
the arms and ammunition. He then set fire to the ma¬
gazines,^ arsenals, palace, some of whose apartments
were ceiled with gold, and 2000 rowing vessels which
were on the river. Then destroying all the artillery,
he fled with the 30,000 Barmas to his own country,
being pursued in vain by the natives of Pegu.
1 bus the .shemin of Zatan was left in quiet possession
of the kingdom j but, by his repeated acts of tyranny
and cruelty, he so disgusted his subjects, that many fled
to foreign countries, while others went over to Shemin-
doo, who began now to gather strength again. In the
mean time, James Suarez, the Portuguese whom we
have often mentioned, lost his life by attempting to ra¬
vish a young woman of distinction 5 the shemin being
unable to protect him, and obliged to give him up to
the mob, who stoned him to death. The shemin him¬
self did not long survive him 5 for, being grown intole¬
rable by his oppressions, most of his followers abandon¬
ed him, and he was besieged in his capital by Shemin¬
doo with an army of 200,000 men, and soon after slain
in a sally 5 so that Shemindoo now seemed to he fully-
established on the throne. But in the mean time Chau¬
migrem, the foster-brother to the deceased king, hear¬
ing that Pegu was very ill provided with the means of
defence, invaded the kingdom with an army of 300,000
men. Shemindoo met him with three times their num¬
ber 5 but his men, being all natives of Pegu, were in¬
ferior in strength, notwithstanding their numbers, to
the enemy. The consequence was, that Shemindoo was
defeated with prodigious slaughter, and Chaumigrem
caused himself to he proclaimed king of Pegu. Shortly
after, Shemindoo himself was taken; and, after being
treated with the utmost cruelly, was beheaded.
The history of Chaumigrem is very imperfect. How¬
ever, we know that lie was a very great conqueror, and
not at all inferior in cruelty to his predecessors. He
reduced the empire of Siam and Aracan, and died in
1583; being succeeded by his son named Pranjinoko,
then about 50 years of age. When this prince ascend¬
ed the throne, the kingdom of Pegu was in its greatest
height of grandeur ; but by his tyranny and obstinacy
he iost all that his father had gained. He died in 1 591),
and after his death the kingdom of Pegu became sub¬
ject to Aracan. For some time past it has been tribu¬
tary to the more powerful kingdom of Ava ; the sove¬
reigns of which country have hitherto been extremely
cautious of permitting Europeans to obtain any settle¬
ment among them.
The air of Pegu is very healthy, and presently reco¬
vers sick strangers. The soil also is very rich and fertile
in corn, rice, fruit, and roots 5 being enriched by the
inundations of the river Pegu, which are almost incre-
M 2 dible.
P E I
[ 92 1
P E I
Plate
CCCCV1T
Travels in¬
to Dalma¬
tia.
tlible, extending above 30 leagues beyond its channel.
1l produces also good timber of several kinds. The
country abounds with elephants, buffaloes, goats, hogs,
and other animals, particularly game ; and deer is so
plenty in September and October, that one may be
bought for threepence or fourpence : they are very fleshy,
but have no fat. There is store of good poultry j the
cocks are very large, and the hens very beautiful. ^ As
for fish, there are many sorts, and well tasted. In Pegu
are found mines, not only of gold, iron, tin, and lead,
a kind of copper or rather a mixture of copper and
lead, but also of rubies, diamonds, and sapphires. The
rubies are the best in the world 5 but the diamonds are
small 5 and it is said they are sometimes found in the
craws of poultry. Besides, only one family has the pri¬
vilege of selling them } and none dare opyn the ground
to dig for them. The rubies are found in a mountain
in the province of Kablan, or Kapelan, between the city
of Pegu and the port of Sirian.
But for a fuller account of Pegu, and the Birman
empire, see Asia, from p. 74? to p. 760 ; and for a
description of the temple of Shoemadoo, of which we
have given an engraving, taken from Syme’s Embassy
to that kingdom, see also Asia, p. 751,
PEGUNTIUM, in Ancient Geography, (Ptolemy) ;
Piguntiee, (Pliny) j a town or citadel of Dalmatia, on
the Adriatic, opposite to the island Brattia, scarcely live
miles off, and 40 miles to the east of Salonse. Accord¬
ing to Fortis, a mountain, a large hollow, and subma¬
rine springs are seen here. 44 ibis hollow (says he)
seems, to have been excavated by some ancient river.
The springs which bubble up from under the sea are so.
considerable, that they might pass for the rising again of
a river sunk under ground. ^ rullia has the same deri¬
vation as the word Vril, which in Sclavonian signifies a
fountain ; and this etymology, rendering the name of
Vrullia, the Berullia of Porphyrogenitus, analogous to
that of Peguntium, since Unyv and Vril are synonymous,
induces me to believe, that the castle named Peguntium
by ancient geographers was situated in this place, and
not at the mouth of the Gettina. No remarkable vesti¬
ges of antiquity now exist on the spot} yet it is evident,
by the quantity of fragments of vases, tiles, and sepul¬
chral inscriptions now and then dug up, that this tract
of coast was well inhabited in tlie Roman times. The
principal cause why the traces of ancient habitations can¬
not be discovered about rullia, is the steepness ol the
bill above it, and the quantity of stones brought down
from thenee by the waters. The mouth of the hollow
of Vrullia is dreaded by seamen, on account ol the sud¬
den impetuous gusts o( wind that blow7 from thence, and
in a moment raise a kind ot hurricane in the channel be¬
tween the Primorie and the island of Brazza, to the
great danger of barks surprised by it.”
PEINE forte et dure, (Lat./wmofortis et dura),
signifies a special punishment inflicted on those w'ho, be¬
ing arraigned of felony, refuse to put themselves on the
ordinary trial, hut stubbornly stand mute •, it is vulgarly
called pressing to death. See Arraignment.
PEIRCE," James, an eminent dissenting minister,
was born at VVapping, in London, in the yeai io74>
and was educated at Utrecht and Leyden 5 after which
he spent some time at Oxford, in order to enjoy the be¬
nefit of frequenting the Bodleian library. He then lor
3
two years preached the Sunday-evening’s lecture at the
meeting-house in Miles-Lane, London, and then settled
at Cambridge. In 1713 he was removed to a congre¬
gation at Exeter, where he continued till the year 1718:
when the Calvinists among the dissenters proposing a
subscription to articles of faith to be signed by ail the
dissenting ministers in the kindom, several articles weie
proposed to him and Mr John Hallet, another dissenting
minister at Exeter, in order to their subscribing them,
they both refused, imagining this proceeding of their
dissenting brethren to be an unworthy imposition on re¬
ligious liberty and private judgment \ and for this they
were ejected from their congregation. Upon this, a new
meeting was opened for them , at Exeter, of which Mr
Peirce continued minister till his death, in 1726. He
was a man of the strictest virtue, exemplary piety, and
great learning. He wrote, 1. Exercitatio philosophica.
de llomtmieria Anaxagorea. 2. Thirteen pieces on the
Controversy between the Church of England and the
Dissenters. 3. Ten pieces on the Controversy about the
Ejectment at Exeter. 4’ pieces 01i the Doctrine.of
the Trinity. 5- A Paraphrase and Notes on the Epis¬
tles of St Paul to the Colossians, Philippians, and He¬
brew’s. 6. An Essay in favour of giving the Eucharist
to Children. 7. Fourteen Sermons.
PEIRESC, Nicolas Claude Fabri, born in 1580,
was descended from an ancient and noble family, seated
originally at Pisa in Italy. At ten years of age, he was
sent to Avignon, where be spent five years in the Jesuits
college, in the study of what in Scotland and on tne
Continent is called humanity. From Avignon he was,
in 1595, removed to Aix, and entered upon the study,
of philosophy. In the interim, he attended the proper
masters for dancing, riding, and handling arms •, inall
which, though he performed the lessons regularly, it was
with reluctance : for this being done only to please an
uncle, whose heir he was to be, he never practised by
himself, esteeming all the time lost that was not spent
in the pursuits of literature. During this peiiod, his fa¬
ther being presented with a medal of the emperor Arca-
dius, which was found at Belgenser, Peiresc begged the
favour of it', and, charmed with deciphering the cha¬
racters in the exergue, and reading the emperor s name,
be carried the medal with a transport of joy to his uncle j
who for his encouragement gave him tw:o more, .toge¬
ther with some books upon the subject. This is the
epoch of his application to antiquities, for which he be-,
came afterwards so famous. In 1596, be was sent to
finish his course of philosophy under the Jesuits at lour-
r.on, where he turned his attention particularly to cos¬
mography, as being necessary to the understanding 01
history, abating, however, nothing of his application to
antiquity, in which he was assisted by Petrus Kogerus,
one of the professors, and a skilful medalist: nor did lie
omit the study of humanity in general, wherein he was
the master and instructor of a brother who was with him.
But to do all this he was obliged to sit up late at nights ;
and so much labour and attention, as he was natuia y
of a tender constitution, increased the weakness of Ins
stomach formerly contracted, and for which he had used
a kind of digestive powder. Being recalled by his.
uncle in 1 597, he returned to Aix, and entered there
upon the study of the law ; which he prosecuted, how-,
ever so as to find leisure to visit and converse frequent-
v
Peirce,
Peiresc.
SHOEMADOO
thz armt Ts/nplc atTcgm.
PLATE CCCCVIJ.
t
I
>
l
PEI [ 93 ] PEI
Peiresc. ty with Peter A. R. Bagarr, a most skiiful antiquary,
—v—' who was afterwards made master of the jewels to Hen¬
ry IV.
The following year he went again to Avignon, to
carry on his course of law under one Peter David : who
being well skilled likewise in antiquities, was pleased to
see Peiresc join this study to that of the law. Rut Ghi-
bertus of Naples, auditor to Cardinal Aquaviva, fed his
curiosity the most, in showing him some rarities, such as
he had never seen before. Ghibertus also lent him.Gol-
tzius’s Treatise upon Corns, and advised him to go into
Italy, especially to Rome, where lie would meet with
curiosities to satisfy his most ardent wishes.. According¬
ly, his uncle having procured a proper governor, he and
his brother set out upon that tour September 1599J and
passing through Florence, Bononia, and Ferrara, when
he had staid a few days at Venice,, he fixed his residence
at Padua, in order to complete his course of law. But
once a quarter, going to Venice to get cash for bills of
exchange, he took these opportunities of introducing
himself to the most distinguished literati there j and was
particularly caressed by F. Contarin, procurator of St
Mark, who was possessed of a curious cabinet of medals,
and other antiquities,.without knowing the value of
them. This was fully shown to him by Peiresc, who
likewise explained the Greek inscriptions upon his me¬
dals, and the monumental stones. After a year’s stay
at Padua, he set out for Rome, and arrived there Octo¬
ber 1600, in order to be in time for seeing the jubilee ;
to celebrate which, the Porta Sancta would be opened
in the beginning of the next year. He passed six months
in this city, viewing the numberless curiosities there,
and in cultivating the friendship of Galileo, by whom
he was much beloved. This friendship led him to carry
his researches into astronomy and natural philosophy ;
and he was present when Fabricius ab Aquapendente,
out of a parcel of eggs upon which a hen was sitting,
took one every day, to observe the gradual formation of
the chiek from first to last. From this time it was ge¬
nerally acknowledged, that he had taken the helm of
learning into his hand, and began to guide the common¬
wealth of letters.
Having now spent almost three years in Italy, he
began to prepare for his departure: and in the end of
1602, having packed up all the rarities, gems, &c.
which he had procured, and put them into the road to
Marseilles, he left Padua, and crossing the Alps of Ge¬
neva, went to Lyons 5 where receiving money he made
a handsome present to his governor, who took the route
of Paris. Irom Lyons he went to Montpelier, to im¬
prove himself in the law under Julius Parius. From
Montpelier he dispatched more rarieties to his uncle,
who sending for him home, he arrived at Aix in No¬
vember ; but, bringing Parius along with him, he ob¬
tained leave to return to Montpelier in a few days. He
waited upon Parius back again, under whom he conti¬
nued pursuing his law studies till the end of 1603, when
he returned to Aix, at the earnest request of his uncle,
who, having resigned to him his senatorial dignity, had
ever since the beginning of the year laboured to get the
king’s patent. The degree of doctor of law was a ne¬
cessary qualification for that dignity. Peiresc, there¬
fore, having kept the usual exercise, took that degree
jan. 18. 1604, when the aforesaid patent was given in
to the senate, and ordered to be. recorded: yet Peiresc
procured leave not to be presently entered into the list Peircse.
of senators. The bent of his inclination was not so —y——
much to business as to advance arts and sciences, and to
assist all the promoters of learning. For this purpose,
he resolved to lead a single life ; so that when his father
had concluded a match for him with a respectable ladv,
he begged to be excused.
In 1605, he accompanied G. Varius, first president
of the senate at Aix, who was very fond of him, to Pa¬
ns : whence, having visited every thing curious, he
crossed the water, in company with the king’s ambas¬
sador, 1606, to Lngland. Here he was very graci¬
ously received by King James 1.5 and having seen Ox¬
ford,. and visited Camden, Sir Robert Cotton, Sir
Henry Saville, and other learned men, he passed over
to Holland *, and after visiting the several towns and
universities, with the literati in each, he went through
Antwerp to Brussels, and thence back to Paris, to see
the ceremony of the Dauphin’s baptism 3 which being
solemnized August 24. he returned home in September
1606, being expected for the ordering of the family af¬
fairs.
Presentlyafter this, he purchased the barony of Rians 3
and at the solicitation of Ins uncle, having approved
himself before that assembly, he was received a senator
on the 1st of July 1607. January 1608 he lost his
uncle 3 and the following year, falling himself into a
dangerous fever, recovered by eating musk-melons be¬
fore supper, for which he had conceived a longing.
He was ordered by his physician to eat them before
his meals without bread, and to drink a glass of pure
wine upon them. He continued this method all his life
afterwards : and grew so fond of them, that, though he
could abstain from any other meat as he listed, yet to¬
wards them he professed he was unable to master him¬
self. He frequently experienced, that in the musk-me¬
lon season he was never troubled with the gravel. In
1618, having procured a faithful copy of “ the Acts of
the Monastery of Maren in Switzerland,” he published
a second edition of that work. As it was written in de¬
fence of the royal line of France against Theodoric
Piespordius, who had attempted to prove the title of the
Austrian family to the Trench crown by right of suc¬
cession, he was, upon this publication, nominated the
same year, by Louis XIII, abbot of Sancta Maria Aqui-
striensis. He stayed in France till 1623 3 when, upon-
a message from his father, now grown old and sickly, he
left Paris, where he had spent seven years and some,
months. He arrived at Aix in October ; and not long
after presented to the court a patent from the king, per¬
mitting him to continue in the function of his ancient
dignity, and to exercise the office of a secular or lay
person, notwithstanding that, being an abbot, he had
assumed the character of a churchman. To this the
court of parliament not assenting, decreed unanimously,
that, being already admitted into the first rank, he
should abide perpetually therein 3 not returning, as the
custom of the court was, to the inferior auditory, where¬
in trials are usually had of criminal cases. In 1625, he
buried his father, who had been long afflicted with the
gout. In 1627, he prevailed with the archbishop of
Aix to establish a post thence to Lyons, and so to Paris
and all Europe ; by which the correspondence constant¬
ly held with the literati everywhere was much facilitat¬
ed.. In 1629, he began to be much tormented with the
strangury.'
F E K [
strangury arid haemorrhoiileis j ami in 1631, having com¬
pleted the marriage of his nephew Claudius with Mar¬
garet Alresia, a noblewoman of the county of Avignon,
lie bestowed upon him the barony of Riantv, together
with a grant of his senatorial dignity, only reserving the
function to himself for three years. But the parliament
not waiting his surrendry of it, he resented that affront
so heinously, that he procured, in 1635, letters patent
from the king to be restored, and to exercise the office
for five years longer, which happened to he till his
death : for being seized, June 1637, with a fever
that brought on a stoppage of urine, this put an end
to his life on the 241I1 of that month, in his 57th
year.
The character of Peiresc may he summoned up in a
few words. His person was of a middle size, and ot a
thin habit : his forehead large, and his eyes gray } a
little hawk nosed j his cheeks tempered with red ', the
hair of his head yellow, as also his beard, which he
used to wear long j his whole countenance hearing the
marks of uncommon and rare courtesy and affability.
In his diet he affected cleanliness, and in all things
about him •, hut nothing superfluous or costly. His
clothes were suitable to his dignity •, yet he never wore
silk. In like manner, the rest of his house was adorn¬
ed according to his condition, and very well furnished j
but he neglected his own chamber. Instead ot tapestry,
there hung the pictures of his chief friends and ot ta-
nious men, besides innumerable bundles of commenta¬
ries, transcripts, notes, collections from books, epistles,
and such like papers. His bed was exceedingly plain,
and his table continually loaded and covered with pa¬
pers, books, letters, and other things j as also all the
of the floor.
Gdssendi'i
Ijfeof
Peiresc, i
English,
X,ond.
<1657.
9+ ] P E K
court, is given to it, to distinguish it from another Con¬
siderable "city called Nanking, or the southern court, u
The emperbr formerly resided in the latter ; but the
Tartars, a restless and warlike people, obliged this
prince to remove his court to the northern provinces,
that he might more effectually repel the incursions ot
those barbarians, by opposing to them a numerous mi¬
litia which he generally keeps around his person. It
is an exact square, and divided into (wo parts5 namely,
that which contains the emperor’s palace, which is in
the new city, or, as it is called, the lartars city, be¬
cause it is inhabited by Tartars ever since they conquer¬
ed this empire; the other, called the Old City, is inhabi¬
ted by the Chinese. The city is surrounded by a brick
wall rather less than thirty feet high, and extending
round a circumference of 14 English miles. The build¬
ings within, according to Mr Barrow, are so low as to
be" completely hidden by the wall. Ihey are all con¬
structed on the model ot a tent, being supported by
slight wooden pillars, and concealed by a dead brick
wall to the street; their roofs alone appear above this
enclosure, and being arranged in straight lines through¬
out the whole city, gives it very much the appearance
of a vast encampment. With the exception of the four
great streets which lead to the gatesj the rest of the
"city consists of very narrow lanes, and every part of it
is entirely without pavement, and filled with sand or
dust. There are no aqueducts, and the well water is
is generally nauseous. There are no drains ; and all
substances that may be used as manure, being kept in
the house, the whole precincts arc infected with an of¬
fensive odour. The buildings are generally mean, ex¬
cept one or two temples. TLhe population of Pekin has
been estimated at 2,000,006, but Sir George Staunton
thinks it cannot be less than 3,000,000. The first
Pekiii.
seats round about, and the greatest part
These were so many evidences of the turn of his mind; __ .
in respect to which, the writer of his euloge compares coup d’ceil of the great streets is singular and striking,
him to the Roman xMticus ; and Bayle, considering his “The multitude ot moveable workshops, say^Mr Bax-
universal correspondence and general assistance to all the row, “ of tinkers and barbers, cohlers and dacksmit s;
the tents and booths where tea and fruit, nee and other
eatables, were exposed for sale, with the wares and
merchandise arrayed before the doors, had conti'acted
the spacious street to a narrow road in the middle, just
wide enough for two of our little vehicles to pass each
other. The cavalcade of officers and soklieis that pre¬
ceded the embassy; the processions of men in office, at¬
tended by their numerous retinues, bearing umbrellas,
and flags, and painted lanterns, and a variety of strange
insignia of their rank and station ; different trains that
were accompanying with lamentable cries corpses to
their graves, and with squalling music, brides to their
husbands ; the troops of dromedaries laden with coals
from Tartary, the wheelbarrows and handcarts stuffed
with vegetables, occupied nearly the whole of this mid¬
dle space in one continued line, leaving very little
room for the cavalcade of the embassy to pass. All
was in motion. The sides of the street were filled with
an immense concourse of people buying and selling, and
bartering their different commodities. The buzz and
confused noises of this mixed multitude, proceeding
from the loud bawling ofthose who were crying their
wares, the wrangling of others, with every now and
then a strange twanging noise like the jarring of a
cracked Jews harp, the barber’s signal made by his
tweezers, the mirth and laughter that pi tv ailed in
every group, could scarcely he exceeded by the brokers
literati in Europe, dashed it out luckily enough, when
Ire called him “ the attorney general of the literary re¬
public.” The works which he published are, “ Histo-
ria provinciae Galliae Narbonensis ;” “ Nobilium tjus-
dem provinciae familiarum Origines, et separatim Fa-
briciae;” “ Commentarii reruni omnium memoria dig-
narum sua aetate gestaFum; “ Liber de ludicris na¬
turae operibus;” “ Mathematica et astronomica varia ;”
“ Observationes mathematicae;” “ Epistolae ad S. P.
Urbanum VIII. cardinales Barberinos, &c.“ Au-
thores antiqui Grieci et Latin! de ponderibus et men-
suris ;” “ Elogia et epitaphia “ Inscriptiones an-
tiquae et novae ;” “ Genealogia domus Austriae* ;”
“ Catalogus librorum biblioth. reg.;” “ Poemata va-
ria;” “ Nummi Gallic!, Saxonici, Britannic!, &c.;”
“ Linguae orientales, Hebraea, Samaritana, Arahica,
Egyptiaea, et Indices librorum harum linguarum ;”
“ Observationes in varies auctores.” It is remarkable,
that though Peiresc bought more books than any man
of his time, yet his collection left was not large. The
reason was, that as fast as he purchased, he kept con¬
tinually making presents of them to such learned men
as he knew they would be useful to.
PEKIN, the capital city of the empire of China, in
Asia, where the emperor generally resides. It is situ¬
ated in a very fertile plain, 20 leagues distant from the
great wall. This name, which signifies the northern
5
Pekin.
Crosier's
Description
of China
P E K [
in the Bank rotunda, or the Jews and old women m
Rosemary lane. Pedlars with their packs, and jug¬
glers, and conjurers, fortune-tellers, mountebanks,
quack doctors, comedians and musicians, left no space
unoccupied.”
1 eople of distinction, says Grosier, oblige all their
dependents to follow them. A mandarin of the first
rank is always accompanied in lus walks by his whole
tribunal; and, to augment his equipage, each of the in¬
ferior mandarins in lus suit- is generally attended by se-
vei al domestics. I he nobility of the court, and princes
of the blood, never appear in public without being sur¬
rounded by a large body of cavalry; and, as their pre¬
sence is required at the palace every day, their train
alone would be sufficient to create confusion in the city.
It is very singular, that in all this prodigious concourse
no women are ever seen j hence we may judge how
great the population of China must be, since the num¬
ber of females in this country, as well as everywhere
else, is superior to that of the other sex.
As there is a continual influx of the riches and
merchandize of the yvhole empire into this city, the
number of strangers that resort hither is immense.
They are carried in chairs, or ride on horseback j the
latter is more common: but they are always attended
by a guide, acquainted with the streets, and who knows
the houses of the nobility and principal people of the
city, rhey are also provided with a book, containing
an account of the different quarters, squares, remarkable
places, and of the residence of those in publiee offices.
In summer there are to be seen small temporary shops,
where people are served with water cooled by means of
ice ; and one finds everywhere eating-houses, with re-
fieshments of tea and fruits. Rach kind of provision
has a certain day and place appointed for its being ex¬
posed to sale.
“ The governor of Pekin, who is a Mantchew Tar¬
tar, is styled Governor of the Nine Gates. His juris¬
diction extends not only over the soldiers, but also
over the people in every thing that concerns the police.
No police can be more active j and it is surprising to
see, among an infinite number of Tartars and Chinese
mixed together, the greatest tranquillity prevail. It
is lare, in a number of years, to hear of houses being
robbed, or people assassinated. All the principal street^
have guard rooms, and soldiers patrole night and day,
each having a sabre hanging from his girdle, and a
whip in his hand, to correct, without distinction, those
who excite quarrels or cause disorder. The lanes are
guarded in the same manner; and have latticed gates,
which do not prevent those from being seen who walk
m them : they are always kept shut during the night,
and seldom opened even to those who are known 5 if
they are, the person to whom this indulgence is granted,
must carry a lanthorn, and give a sufficient reason for
his going out. In the evening, as soon as the soldiers
nre wanted to their quarters by beat of drum, two
centinels go and come from one guard room to ano-
tsher, making a continual noise with a kind of castanet,
to show that they are not asleep. They permit no
one to walk abroad in the night-time. They even
examine those whom the emperor despatches on busi
ness
*ion.
and if their reply gives the least cause of suspi-
they have a right to convey them to the guard-
95 ] P E K
room. The soldiers in each of the guard-rooms are
obliged to answer every time the centinels on duty
call out. J
“ It ,s by these wise regulations, observed with the
greatest strictness, that peace, silence, and safety reign
throughout the whole city. The governor is also
obliged to go the round ; and the officers stationed on
the walls, and in the towers over the gates (in which
are kept large kettle-drums that are beat every time
the guard is relieved), are continually dispatching sub¬
alterns to examine the quarters belonging to the gates
where they are posted. The least neglect is punished
next morning, and the officer who was on guard is
cashiered, ihe support of this police costs the em-
Pei 01 a great deal j for part of the soldiers we have,
mentioned are maintained for this purpose only. They
are all infantry, and their pay is generally very high.
The walls of the emperor’s palace, including that
and the gardens, are about two miles in length. “ Al¬
though (says Grosier) the Chinese architecture has no
resemblance to that of Europe, the imperial palace of
Tekin does not fail to strike beholders by its extent,
grandeur, and the regular disposition of its apartments]
and by the singular structure of its pavilion-roofs, orna¬
mented at each corner with a carved plat-band, the
lower extremity of which is turned upwards. These
roofs are covered with varnished tiles of so beautiful a
jellow colour, that at a distance, they make as splendid
an appearance as if they were gilded. Below the upper
roof there is another of equal brilliancy, which hangs
sloping from the wall, supported by a great number of
beams, daubed over with green varnish, and interspersed
with gilt figures. The second roof, with the projection
of the first, forms a kind of crown to the whole edifice.
The palace is a small distance from the south gate of
the Tartar city. The entrance to it is through a spa¬
cious court, to which there is a descent by a marble
staircase, ornamented with two large copper lions, and
a balustrade of white marble. This balustrade runs in
the form of a horse-shoe, along the banks of the rivulet,
that winds across the palace with a serpentine course, the
bridges over which are of marble. At the bottom of
this first court arises a facade with three doors : that in
the middle is for the emperor only ; the mandarins and
nobles pass through those on each side. These doors
conduct to a second court, which is the largest of the
palace: it is about 300 feet in length, and 50 in
breadth. An immense gallery runs round it, in which
aae magazines, containing rich effects, which belong
to the emperor as his private property ; for the public
treasure is entrusted to a sovereign tribunal called Hou-
poji. The first of these magazines is filled with plate
and vessels of different metals; the second contains the
finest kinds of furs; the third, dresses lined with sable,
ermine, minever, and foxes skins, which the emperor
sometimes gives in presents to his officers ; the fourth
is the depository of jewels, pieces of curious marble,
and pearls fished up in Tartarythe fifth, consisting
of two stories, is full of wardrobes and trunks, which
contain the silk stuffs used by the emperor and his fa¬
mily ; the rest are filled with bows, arrows, and other
pieces of armour taken from the enemy or presented by
different princes.
“ The royal hall, called Tai koti. n, or the Hall of
tha-
Pckiiv
Pekin
P E K
the Grand Union, is in this second court,
upon a terrace about 18 feet in height mcrusted with
white marble, and ornamented with balustrades of ex¬
cellent workmanship. Before this hall all the manda¬
rins range themselves, when they go, on certain days,
to renew their homage, and perform those ceremonies
that are appointed by the laws of the empire. Tins
hall is almost square, and about 130 feet in leng 1.
The ceiling is carved, varnished green, and loaded with
gilt dragons. The pillars which support the root within
are six feet in circumference towards the base, and are
coated with a kind of mastich varnished red; the floor
is partly covered with coarse carpets, after the luikis
manner ; but the walls have no kind of ornament, nei¬
ther tapestry, lustres, nor paintings.
“ The throne, which is 111 the middle of the hall,
consists of a pretty high alcove, exceedingly neat. It
has no inscription but the character ching which the
authors of this relation have interpreted by the word
holy ; but it has not always this signification; tor it
answers better sometimes to the Latin word
or the English words excellent, perfect, most wise. U pon
the platform opposite to this ball stand large vesse s 0
bronze, in which incense is burnt when any ceremony
is performing. There are also chandeliers shaped like
birds and painted different colours, as well as the wax-
candles that are lighted up m them. This platior
is extended towards the north, and has on it two lesser
halls ; one of them is a rotunda that glitters with varnish,
and is lighted by a number of windows. It is here tha
the emperor changes his dress before or after any cere-
mony The other is a saloon, the door of which opens
to the north : through this door the emperor must pass,
when he goes from his apartment to receive on his
throne the homage of the nobility ; he is then carried
in a chair, by officers dressed in long red robes bordered
with silk, and caps, ornamented with plumes of feathers.
It would be difficult to give an exact description ot the
interior apartments which properly form the palace ot
the emperor, and are set apart for the use of his tamily.
Few are permitted to enter them but women and eu¬
nuchs.” „ ,.
The temples and th- towers of this city are so nume¬
rous, that it is difficult to count them. Provisions ot
all kinds are very plentiful, they being, as well as the
merchandises, brought from other parts by means ot
canals cut from the rivers, and always crowded with ves¬
sels of different sizes, as well as from the adjacent coun¬
try. An earthquake which happened here in 1731
buried above 100,000 persons in the ruins of the houses
which were thrown down. E. Long. 116. 41. JN- .La .
qq* ca. See China, Supplement*
YVe have already, under the article ObservatoIiY,
mentioned the famous observatory in this city, of which
we shall give this further account from the Universal
History. “ The Chinese had thought nothing in
rS'ZT the universe could equal in magnificence this famous
vi!i place ; and one of the most celebrated mathematicians
of the royal academy of Paris hath made no scruple to
represent it as one of the greatest prodigies of art and
ingenuity, of beauty and magnificence ; and yet, when
Pekin
[ 96 ] PEL
It is built this celebrated structure came to be viewed by more
proper and unbiassed judges, it appears to ha\e been u .
of little worth as to its ancient machines, and less as , e a^uls'
to its situation ; and that all that is now valuable in it
is owing to the improvements made by lather \erbiest
a Flemish Jesuit, who caused a new set of instruments
to be made, with extraordinary care, neatness, and pre¬
cision.
“ This fabric stands in a court of a moderate extent,
and is built in the form of a square tower, contiguous
to the city wall on the inside, and raised but ten or
twelve feet above its bulwark. Jbe ascent up to the
top is by a very narrow staircase ; and on the platform
above were placed all the old instruments, which, though
but few, took up the whole room, till I ather ’V erbiest
introduced his new apparatus, which he disposed in a
more convenient order. These are large, well cast,
and embellished ; and were the neatness of the divisions
answerable to the work, and the telescopes fastened to
them according to the new method, they would be
equal to those of Europe ; but the Chinese artificers
were, it seems, either too negligent, or incapable of
following his directions. As to the old instruments,
they were, bv order of the emperor Kang-hi, set aside
as useless, and laid in the hall near the tower, where
they may be seen through a cross-barred window, all
covered with rust, and buried in oblivion.
“ In this famed observatory there are five mathema¬
ticians employed night and day, each in a proper apart¬
ment on the top of the tower, to observe all that passes
over their heads : Their observations are carefully en¬
tered in their journals, and an account of them is brought
every morning to the surveyor of the mathematics, apd
registered in his office.” These mathematicians, how¬
ever, are very ignorant. Mr Barrow^ tells us that they
compiled the national calendar from the Connaissance
de terns of Paris, and that journal not having arrived
in consequence of the war, they were in great perplexity,
till one of the gentlemen belonging to the embassy fur¬
nished them with a set of nautical almanacs up to
1800. * , ,
PELAGIANS, a Christian sect who appeared
about the fifth or end of the fourth century. They
maintained the following doctrines : x. That Adam was
by nature mortal, and, whether he had sinned or not,
would certainly have died. 2. That the consequences
of Adam’s sin were confined to his own person. 3. I *ia^
new-born infants are in the same situation with Adam
before the fail. 4. That the law qualified men for the
kingdom of heaven, and was founded upon equal
promises with the gospel. 5. That the general resur¬
rection of the dead does not follow in virtue of our
Saviour’s resurrection. 6. That the grace of God is
given according to our merits. 7. That this grace is
not granted for the performance of every moral act;
the liberty of the will, and information in points ot
duty, being sufficient, &c. The founder of this sect was
PELAGIUS, a native of Great Britain ; but whe¬
ther of England, Scotland, or Wales, is as uncertain as
it is immaterial (a). He was born towards the close
of the fourth century, and educated m the monastery
(a) Dr Henry think» he was born in North Wales ; that hi. real name was Morgan, of which Pelagias
PEL [
Pelagius. Banchor, in Wales, of which he became a monk,
■ y 1 and afterwards abbot. In the early part of his life he
went over to France, and thence to Rome, where he
Lad the insolence to promulgate certain opinions some¬
what difi'erent from those of the infallible church. His
morals being irreproachable, he gained many disciples •,
and the dreadful heresy made so rapid a progress, that
foi the salvation of souls, it became necessary for the
pope to exert his power. Pelagias, to avoid the dan¬
ger, in the year 409 passed over to Sicily, attended
by his friend and pupil Celestius. In 411 they landed
in Africa, continued some time at Hippo, and were
present at the famous conference between the Catholics
ard Honatists which was held at Carthage in 412.
From thence they travelled into Egypt 5 and from E-
gypt, in 415, to Palestine, where they were graciously
received by John bishop of Jerusalem. In the same year
Pelagius was cited to appear before a council of seven¬
teen bishops, held at Hiospolis. They were satisfied with
his creed, and absolved him of heresy. The African
bishops, however, being displeased with their proceed-
ings, appealed to the Roman pontiff: he first approved,
and afterwards condemned, the opinions of Pelagius)
who, with his pupil Celestius, was publicly excommu¬
nicated ; and all the bishops who refused to subscribe
the condemnation of the Pelagian heresy were immedi-
97 ] PEL
ately deprived. What became of him after this period PeW
f ent‘rel{ unknown; but it seems very probable that Pelagosa!
be retired to Banchor, and died abbot of that monas-' v—^
tery. lie vyrote, 1. Expositionum inepiat. Paulinas, lib.
xiv. 2. EptstolaadDemetriadem de virginitate. 2. Ex-
planationis symboli ad Damasum. 4. Epistolce ad vi-
duam duos. 5. De libero arbitrio. These and many
other fragments are scattered among the works of St
e!?.m.e- . are a^so collected by Garnerius, and
published m Append, op. Mercatoris, p. 373. Cave.
V^TAGOSA, an island in the Adriatic, which, to¬
gether with several rocks that appear above water near
it, are the remains of an ancient volcano. “ I will not Travels
assure you (says Fortis) that it was thrown up out of the ^ Ual.
sea like several other islands in the Archipelago, though
there is some ground to suspect this to have been the
case j because we find no precise mention of it in the most
ancient geographers. It should seem that it ought not to
be confused with the Diomedes, from which it is 20
miles distant; yet it is not impossible that they have
reckoned it among them. The lava which forms the
substance of this island, is perfectly like the ordinary
Java of Vesuvius, as far as I could discover in passing
near it. If a naturalist should land there, and visit on
purpose the highest parts of the island, perhaps we might
then know whether it has been thrown up by a subma¬
rine
is a translation 5 and that he was born on the 13th of November A D 2 rs tbp J mi-
gon£ St Wustin The same learned Ins,oria^gives ns ,he following
Banchor^near "ZS H ^ f T^f
'oved by St Jerome and St Augnstin, who kept up a friendly correspondence iritlAim W llMers bffore itev'disc^
and St Augustin, who wrote against him with great acrimony. He is acknowledged eveuTy hC advensarie”^
bibter^ren R T” f gr d great,learnin8’ and a» acute disputant, though they load him with the most
bitter reproaches or his abuse of these talents. His personal blemishes are painted in very s?ron“™olours Ld he
is represented by these good fathers, in the heat of their zeal, as a very ugly fellow, ‘ broad-shouldered thick neck
ed fat-headed, lame of a leg, and blind of an eye.’ Even the mosLo^hern plrts of di “
uced some men of learning m this period. _ Celestius, the disciple and friend of Pelagius, was a Scotsman who
ate a plot igio.is noise in the world by his writings and disputations about the beginning of the fifth centurv
Sat thte In rr0PTfd tbe PeCU,iar master Pelagius with so much leanfing, zeal, and suceeS*
tha those who embraced these opinions were frequently called Celestins. Before he became acquainted wi h these
doctrines he wrote several books, which were universally admired for their orthodoxyriearn^Td vtruous JeT
dency. After he had spent his youth in his own country in a studious privacy, he-traveiriVL ff!Xr Tm
provement to Rome, where he became acquainted with Rufinus and Pelagius, ami was by them infected with thrir
leresies. rom at time he became the most indefatigable and undaunted champion of these heresies and thereby
brought upon himself the indignation of the orthodox fathers of these days, who gave him manTverV bad tm^
in their writings. St Jerome, whose commentaries on the Ephesians he had presumed to criticise calls him ‘ an
ignorant, stupid fool haying his belly swelled and distended with Scots pottage ; a great corpu St barkDd0?
a to be k„'trh r8 '‘r ,to.1,i,,e ,iiis t“iii > “ "A pii (Pe,:?^
. ed to be knocked on the head, that they might be put to eternal silence.’ Such were the flowers of rhetoric
tlottb s wLgMri,fflerS T°Ve-d aKfT‘ tlle •nem:es the 0rtl,0<i0-'£ failh ! But candour obliges us to observe
that tins was pet baits more the vice of the age in which they lived than of the men. Both Pelajius and CeleS
eie very great travellers ; having visited many different countries of Asia and Africa as well as Europe with
a v.ew to elude the persecutions of their ettemief, and to propagate their opinions It is" „ hi'onsW rTe e
,tr e “/ 'elr rPB7"' earn,”g “d a.bll‘t,es. "tat their opinions gained great ground in all the provinces both of
Is ZZ ZmWeS'u,:n|!T’‘n 81"def°V"' "’I1'"88 °f ^ fathefa, and the decreeTof m y c 11
Weirl'wl^o plated S't TXT (83’S Ph0ti“8) “* ^ “ H-t vigour in the
Vol. XVI. Part I. f
N
PEL
[ 98 ]
PEL
Pcla-osa rlne volcano, as the island near Santevini was in our
if a'^e j or if we ought to believe it the top 01 some an-
Pelatiab. cfellt volcanic mountain, of which the roots and sides
}iave been covered by the waters, which divided Africa
from Spain, forming the straits of Gibraltar •, an inva¬
sion that no one can doubt of who has examined the
bottoms and shores of our sea. The Lissan fishermen
say, that Pelagosa is subject to frequent and violent
earthquakes •, and the aspect of the island proves at
first sight, that it has suffered many revolutions j for it
is rugged, ruinous, and subverted.”
PELAIAH, a Levite (Nehem. viii. 7. x. 10.).
He was one of the principal Levites that returned from
captivity, and was one of those who signed the cove¬
nant that Nehemiah renewed with the Lord.
PELALIAH, son of Amazi and father of Jeroham,
of the family of Pashur son of Malchiah, of all whom
mention has been made : he was of the race of the
priests (Nehem. xi. I2.)»
PELASGI. See Pelasgiotxs.
PELASGIA (Pliny) ; the ancient name of Lesbos ;
so called from the Pelasgi, its first inhabitants (Diodo¬
rus Siculus). Also the ancient name of Peloponnesus,
from Pelasgius, a native of the country (Nicolaus Da-
mascenus, Ephorus). N , .1
PELASGTCUM (Pausanias, Pliny); the north wall
of Athens; so called from the builders, the Pelasgi.
There was an execration pronounced on any that should
build houses under this wall, because the Pelasgi, while
dwelling there, entered into a conspiracy against the
Athenians (Thucydides).
PELASGIOTIS, a third part of Thessaly (Stra¬
bo ; so called from a very ancient people, the Pelasgi,
called PelasgioUe (Ptolemy) ; who formerly, together
with the iEolians, occupied Thessaly, and thence that
part was called Pelasgicvm Argos; besides many other
parts of Greece. Their name Pelasgi, or Pelargi, de-
notino- storks, was given them from their wandering
rovinj life (Strabo). The poets extend the appellation
to Greeks in general. Pelasgus, the epithet. Some of
the inhabitants of Crete were called Pelasgi (Homer);
who thus also calls the neighbouring people to the C1I1-
eians in Troas. The Pelasgi were originally of Arcadia,
(Hesiod) ; butiEsehylus makes Argos, near Mycense,
their country. The Pelnsgiotis was situated between
Pieria and Macedonia to the north and west,Thessaliotis
to the south, and Magnesia to the east, (Stiabo, 1 liny).
PELATiE, were free-born citizens, among the
Athenians, who by poverty were, reduced to the neces¬
sity of serving for wages. During their servitude they
had no vote in the management of public affairs, as
having no estate to qualify them ; but this restriction
was removed whenever they had released themselves
from their servile situation, which they were allowed
to do when able to support themselves. While they
continued servants, they had also a right to change
their masters. We find them sometimes distinguished
by the name of Theta;. _ T •
" PELATIAH, son of Hananiah, and father of Ishi,
cf the tribe of Simeon. He subdued the Amalekites
upon the mountain of Seir (1 Chron. iv. 42.). The
time of this action is unknown.
PELATIAH, son of Benaiah, a prince of the people,
who lived in the time of Zedekiah king of Judah, and
opposed the wholesome advice given by Jeremiah, to
submit to King Nebuchadnezzar. Ezekiel (xh 1, 2, 3, Pelatkii
4.) being a captive in Mesopotamia, had a. vision, in il
winch he saw five and twenty men at the door of the (
temple of Jerusalem, among whom were Jaazaniah
the son of Azur, and Pelatiah the son of Benaian,
who were the most remarkable. Then the Lord said
to him, “ Son of man, these are the men that have
thoughts of iniquity, and who are forming pernicious
designs against this city, saying, Have not the houses
been built a long time ? Jerusalem is the pot, and we
— the flesh. Thus saith the Lord : You have made
Cl l Vs VLlVs      .
great havock in this city, and have filled its streets
with dead bodies. These men are the flesh, and tiie
city is the pot. But as for you, I will make you
come forth from the middle of this city, and I will
make you perish by the hands of your enemies.” As
he was prophesying in this manner, Pelatiah the son
of Benaiah died.
PELE, (Stephanus). There were two towns of this
name in Thessaly; the one subject to Eurypylus, the
other to Achilles ; both extinct. Peleus the gentihti-
ous name («/.).
PELEG, son of Eber, was born in the year of the
world 1757. The scripture says his father gave him
the name of Peleg, signifying division, because in his
time the earth began to be divided (Gen. xi. 16.
2jj.) j whether it was that Noah had begun to distn-
bute the earth among his descendants, some years be¬
fore the building of Babel; or that Peleg came into tire
world the same year that Babel was begun, and at the
division of languages ; or that Eber by a spirit of pro¬
phecy gave his son the name of Peleg some years before
the tower of Babel was begun, is not absolutely certain.
That which here perplexes the interpreters is, first, that
Peleg came into the world not above 100 years after the
deluge. But it should seem, that the number of men
was not then sufficient for such an undertaking as that
of Babel. Secondly, Joktan the brother of Peleg
had already thirteen sons at the time of this dispersion,
which happened after the confusion of Babel (Gen. x.
26, 27, 28, &c.). Pelcg being born in the thirty-fourth
year of Eber (Gen. xi. 16.), it is impossible his bro¬
ther Joktan should have such a number of children at
the birth of Peleg. It seems therefore that he was
not born at the time of the dispersion. To this may
be answered, that Moses has there enumerated the
names of the thirteen sons of Joktan (in Gen. x. 26.)
by way of anticipation, though they were not born
till a good while after the confusion at Babel ; but as
they possessed a very large country, it was convenient
to take notice of them, and to name them among the
other descendants of Noah, who divided the provinces
of the east among themselves. However this may have
been, at the age of thirty years Peleg begat Reu ; and
he died at the age of 239.
PELETHITES. The Pelethites and Cheretbites
were famous under the reign of King David. They
were the most valiant men in the army of that prince,
and had the guard of his person. See Ezekiel xxv. 16..
Zephaniah ii. 5. 1 Sam. xxx. 14. 2 Samuel xv. 18.
xx. 7. Patrick's Comm. Pool's Amiot. and DeUwiy s
Hist, of the Life of David.
PELETHRONII, a name or epithet given to the
Lapithse, either because they inhabited the town of
Pelethronium at the foot of Mount Relion in Thes-
saly,
PEL
8aly, ox' because one of their number bore the name of
Pelethronius. It is to them, we are told, that man¬
kind are indebted for the invention of the bit with
which they tamed their horses with so much dexte¬
rity.
PELETHRONIUM (Nicander and Scholiast) j a
town ot Thessaly, situated in a flowery part of Mount
Pelion ; and hence the appellation l/irona, signifying
“ flowers.” Lucan says the Centaurs xvere natives of
that place*, to whom Virgil assigns Mount Othrys.
Most authors, however, ascribe the breaking of horses
to the Centaurs. Some make the Lapithee and Cen¬
taurs the same j others a diffei'ent people 5 allowed how-
ever to be both of Thessaly. Their story is greatly in¬
volved in fable. See Lapithus.
PELEUS, in Fabulous History, a king of Thessaly,
son of iEacus and Endeis, the daughter of Chiron. lie
married Thetis one of the Nereids, and was the only
mortal man w'ho ever married an immortal. He was
concerned in the murder of his brother Phocus, and
■was therefore obliged to leave his father’s dominions.
He fled to the court of Eurytus the son of Actor, who
reigned at Phthia, or according to the opinion of Ovid,
the truth oi which is questioned, to Ceyx king of
Trachinia. He was purified of his murder by Eurytus,
with the usual ceremonies, and the king gave him his
daughter Antigone in marriage. After this, as Peleus
•and Eurytus went to the chase of the Calydonian boar,
the father-in-law was accidentally killed by an arrow
which his son-in-law had aimed at the beast. This un¬
fortunate action obliged him to banish himself from
the court of Phthia, and he went to lolchos, where he
was also purified of the murder of Eurytus by Acastus
the king of the country. His residence at lolchos was
short . Astydamia the wife of Acastus fell in love with
him ; but W'hen she found him insensible to her pas¬
sionate declarations, she accused him of attempts upon
her virtue. The king her husband partly believed the
accusations of his wife} but not willing to violate the
laws of hospitality, by putting him instantly to death,
he ordered his officers to conduct him to Mount Pe¬
lion, on pretence of hunting, and there to tie him
to a tree and to leave him a prey to the wild beasts
of the place. I he orders of Acastus were faithful¬
ly obeyed : but Jupiter knowing the innocence of
his grandson Peleus, ordered Vulcan to set him at
liberty. As soon as he had been delivered from dan¬
ger, 1 eleus assembled his friends in order to punish the
nl tieatment which he had received from Acastus.
He took lolchos by force, drove the king from his
possessions, and put to death the wicked Astydamia.
On the death of Antigone, Peleus made love to The¬
tis, of whose superior charms Jupiter himself had been
enamoured. His pretensions were rejected } for as he
was but a mortal, the goddess fled from him with the
utmost abhorrence, and the more effectually to evade
his inquiries, she generally assumed the shape of a bird,
or a tree, or of a tygress. Peleus’s passion was fanned
by refusal : he offered a sacrifice to the gods } and Pro¬
teus informed him, that to obtain Thetis he must sur¬
prise her while she was asleep in her grotto, near the
shores of Thessaly. This advice was immediately at¬
tended to} and Thetis, unable to escape from the grasp
of Peleus, at last consented to marry him. Their nup¬
tials were celebrated with the greatest solemnity, all the
[ 99 f
PEL
gods attending and making them each the most valu¬
able presents. Hie goddess ot Discord was the only
one ot the deities who was absent } and she punished
this seeming neglect by throwing an apple in the midst
of the assembly of the gods, with the inscription of
JJetur pulchriori. The celebrated Achilles was the
fruit of this marriage, whose education was early en¬
trusted to the Centaur Chiron, and afterwards to Phoe¬
nix, the son of Amyntor. Achilles, it is well known,
went to the Trojan war, at the head of his fiither’s
troops} and Peleus gloried in having a son who was su¬
perior to all the Creeks in valour and intrepidity. His
death, however, was the source of great grief to Peleus}
out Ihetis, to comfort her husband, promised him im¬
mortality, and ordered him to retire into the grottoes of
the island ot Leuce, where he should see and converse
with the manes of his son. Peleus had a daughter called
Polydora, by Antigone.
ELEW islands, a clustre of small islands situated
between the latitudes of 50 and 70 north, and the longi¬
tudes 134 and 136° east. Various conjectures have
been formed respecting the time of their first discovery
by Euiopeans. Mr Neate, the editor of the only voyage
in which we have any account of their climate, soil, and
pioduce, together with the manners of their inhabitants,
thinks they were first noticed by the Spaniards from
the 1 Inlippmes, and by them named Palos from the
number of trees growing in them resembling the masts
of ships. This conjecture has been vehemently opposed
by a critic, who affirms that the whole of Mr Keate’s
introduction is erroneous, and thatthe islands in question
w’ere first discovered by a French Jesuit named Pere
Papin. The Jesuit, he imagines, was directed to them
by one of the inhabitants, who had found his-way to the
Moluccas, where he was baptized. They are said to
have been again noticed by P. Centova in 1724, who,
saw at Agdane, the capital of the Merian islands, some
of the inhabitants} and from their account gives a de¬
scription not very favourable of these harmless islanders.
Centova’s description is to be found in the 1 5th volume*
and the relation of the discovery by P. Papin in the nth
volume, of Lettres Edifiantes et Curieuses, published at
Paris 1781.
The latest and most authentic account of them, how¬
ever is given from the Journals of Captain Wilson of
the Antelope, a packet belonging to the East India
company, which was wrecked upon one of them in Au¬
gust 17^3; l'1”3 ship was fitted out in England by the
court of directors in the summer 1782, as was then ge¬
nerally understood, for a secret expedition. Whatever
may have been her destination, as she was proceeding
from Macao in squally weather, the man, who, on the
night of the 10th ot August, had the look-out, suddenly
called out Breakers! But the sound of the word had
scarce reached the ears of the officer on deck, before
the ship struck and stuck fast ; and in less than an hour
bulged and filled with water. Having secured the gun-
pow del, small arms, bread, and such other provisions as
were liable to be spoiled with water, Captain Wison, af¬
ter many difficulties, effected a landing. The crew of
the Antelope consisted of 33 Europeans besides the cap¬
tain, and 16 Chinese : and the only possible means by
which they could be delivered from an island, which at
first appeared to them uninhabited, was by building a
ship capable of transporting them to the nearest Euro-
2 2,ean
Pelew
Islands.
PEL [ ioo
pean settlement in that quarter of the globe. Whilst
they were meditating upon this undertaking, the natives
1 appeared on the second day after their arrival} and their
intercourse with them was facilitated by means which
appear as singular as they were providential. Captain
Wilson had a servant recommended to him at Macao,
who spoke both the Malay and English languages per¬
fectly well y and they had not been long at Pelew be¬
fore they had the good fortune to meet with a Malay,
who had been thrown by a tempest upon this very spot
about a year before, and had made himself acquainted
with the language of the country ; so that by this ex¬
traordinary event each party had an interpreter who
could readily explain their wants and desires, and by
that means prevent a number of misconceptions which
might have arisen from making use of signs and gestures
only.
The natives are all of a deep copper colour, goimj
perfectly naked. They are of a middling stature, very
straight, muscular, and well formed j but their legs,
from a little above their ancles to the middle of their
thighs, are tatooed so very thick, as to appear dyed of
a far deeper colour than the rest of their skin. I heir
hair is of a fine black, long, and rolled up behind, in a
simple manner, close to the back of their heads, which
appeared both neat and becoming ; but few of them
bad beards, it being the general custom to pluck them
out by the roots.
They began by stroking the bodies and arms of the
English, or rather their waistcoats and coat sleeves, as
if they doubted whether the garment and the man were
not of the same substance j. and as the Malay explained
the circumstances to them, our people were greatly sur¬
prised at the ,quickness with which they seemed to com¬
prehend every information he gave them. The next
thing they noticed was our people’s white hands, and
the blue veins of their wrists ; the former of which they
seemed to consider as artificial, and the other as the
English manner of tatooing. After being satisfied in
this particular, they expressed a further wish to see
their bodies-, and, among other things, were greatly-
surprised at finding hair on their breasts, it being consi¬
dered by them as a great mark of indelicacy, as it is
their custom to eradicate it from every part of the body
in both sexes.
Thev afterwards walked about, testifying great curio¬
sity at every thing they saw, but at the same time ex¬
pressing a fear that they might be thought too intruding.
As our people were conducting them to the tents, one
of the natives picked up a bullet, which had been casu¬
ally dropped on the ground, and immediately expressed
his surprise, that a substance so small to the eye should
be so very ponderous to the touch 5 and on their enter¬
ing the tent, a large Newfoundland dog, and a spaniel,
which had been tied up there to prevent their being
lost, set up a most violent barking, and the natives a
noise but little less loud, which at first it was not easy
to account for. They ran in and out of the tent, and
seemed to wish that they might be made to bark again.
This the Malay soon explained to be the effect of their
joy and surprise, as these were the first large animals
they had ever seen, there being no quadrupeds of any
species on these islands, except a very few grey rats in
the woods.
After some time it was agreed on by Captain Wilson
] PEL
and bis people, that some of the crew should be sent to
the king of the place, in order to solicit his friendship,
and intreat his permission to build a vessel that might "
carry them back to their own country. This business
was allotted to the captain’s brother ; and during his
absence, Raa Kook, the king’s brother, and several of
the natives, remained with our people. This amiable
chief seemed to place an entire confidence in those he
was among j he endeavoured to accommodate himself to
their manners \ would sit at table as they did, instead
of squatting on his hams 5 and inquired particularly into
the principles and causes of every thing he observed
about him, lending his personal assistance in all that was
going forward, and even desiring the cook to let him
aid him in blowing the fire.
In order to conciliate their affections, Captain Wilson
had presented Arra Kooker, another of the king s bro¬
thers, with a pair of trowsers j but having conceived a
greater passion for a white shirt, one was immediately
given to him j which he had no sooner put on, than he
began to dance and jump about with so much joy, that
every body was diverted by his singular gestures, and
the contrast which the linen formed with his skin. This
prince rvas about 40, a short stature, but so plump
and fat that he was nearly as broad as he was long. He
possessed an abundant share of good humour, and a won¬
derful turn for mimickry ; and had besides a counte¬
nance so lively and expressive, that though our people
at this time were strangers to almost all he said, yet his
face and gestures made them accurately comprehend
whatever he was describing.
After three or four days, Abba Thulle the king arri¬
ved with a great retinue. He was received with every
mark of respect by the ship’s company, who were exer¬
cised before him, and fired three volleys in different
positions. The surprise of the natives, their hooting, hal¬
looing, jumping, and chattering, produced a noise al¬
most equal to the discharge of the muskets ; and when
one of the men shot a bird, which was done to display
the effect of their arms, the surprise it occasioned was
wonderful. Some of the natives ran for it, and carried
it to the king, who examined it with great attention, but
was unable to comprehend how it could be wounded,
not In.ving seen any thing pass out of the gun.
RaaKook expressed great impatience to show the king
whatever tiadTimpressed his own mind j and taking his
brother by the hand, led him to a grindstone which was
fixed behind one of the tents, fie immediately put it
in motion as he had frequently done before ; at the ra¬
pidity of which the king was greatly astonished, parti¬
cularly when he was informed that it would sharpen
iron. Captain Wilson ordered a hatchet to be brought
and ground, that they might more readily perceive its
operation, when Raa Kook eagerly seized the handle,
and began turning it, appearing highly delighted to let
his brother see how well he understood it. The whole
appeared like something supernatural ; but the circum¬
stance which most bewildered their ideas was, how the
sparks of fire could come, and how a stone so well wet¬
ted could become so soon dry.
The king then visited the difierent tents, and inquired
about every thing he saw : all was novelty, and of course
interested his attention. When he got to the tent where
the Chinese men were, who had been brought with them
from Macao, Raa Kook, whose retentive mind never
lost
Pelew
Islands.
Pelew
Islands.
PEL [ i
lost a single trace of any thing he hatl been informed of,
acquainted the king that these were a people quite dif-
ferent from the English, and that he had learnt there
were many other nations besides these inters2iersed
through the world, some of which fought with guns and
others with hoarding-pikes, an instrument which he held
very cheap in comparison with the former.
When the king heard his brother discoursing about
a variety of nations, who all spoke differently, and had
before him the example of the Chinese, whose language
was not the same with the English, he appeared instant¬
ly thoughtful and serious, as if struck by conceptions
which had never before crossed his mind. He remained
a while pensive and bewildered j and this circumstance
impressed on every one at the time an idea that there
was every reason to imagine that there had never been
a communication between those people and any other
nation : and indeed it is evident, that if Pere Papin did
really visit them in 1710, they had before 1783 lost
the. remembrance et every trace of European manners.
This indeed is not surprising, as they had no other re¬
cord than knots similar to the quipes of Peru at the
landing of the Spaniards.
f?aa Kook would now show his brother the kitchen,
which was in the hollow of a rock, a little above the
cove. It was at the time when the cook was preparing
dinner j and though the implements were exceedingly
scanty, an iron pot, a tea kettle, a tin sauce-pan, with
a poker, a pair of tongs, and a frying-pan, were here of
sufficient consequence to excite admiration j nor were the
bellows now forgotten by Raa Kook, who taking them
up, as he explained their use to the king, seemed ambi¬
tious to let his brother see what an adept he was at
blowing. The little bald cook, who was always close
shaven, and never wore any thing on his head, was like¬
wise pointed out to the king as an object of merriment
and curiosity.
Some time after this the king requested fiveof Captain
Wilson s men to attend him in a war he was going to
make against the inhabitants of a neighbouring island
called Oroolong, who, as he said, had done him an inju¬
ry. But before this request was made known, he had
long struggled with a delicacy of sentiment which no
one would have expected to fin’d in regions so disjoined
from the rest of mankind. This was no other than
that it might prove a temporary inconvenience to the
unfortunate strangers who had sought his protection, and
might be considered by them as an ungenerous proceed-
ing. It was, however, no sooner made known, than
Captain Wilson instantly complied; and every face,
which had before been clouded with doubt and appre¬
hension, became immediately brightened and gay.
In this enterprise little more was done than braving
their enemies, stripping some cocoa-nut trees of their
fruit, and carryingoff a number of yams and other pro¬
visions ; but in another, which was undertaken against
the island of Artingall, they were more successful, and
showed signs of the same sanguinary disposition which
some demon has infused into the whole human race.
Nine prisoners of war who had been taken iv>on this
occasion were cruelly put to death ; and notwithstand¬
ing the English strongly remonstrated against this pro¬
ceeding, all the arguments they could use were of no
In justification of their conduct, they alleged
the necessity of doing it for their own security, declaring
01 ] PEL
that they had formerly only detained them as menial ser¬
vants, but that they always found means to get back to
their own country, and return with such a force as fre¬
quently made great depredations.
Having given this general account of the character
and conduct of these hitherto unknown people, we now
proceed to lay before our readers what we have learned
o theil' government, customs, manners, and arts, top-e¬
ther with a description of the face of their country In
this the editor of Captain Wilson’s voyage must be our
guide ; and if our narrative do not'satisfy the man of
science, it is to be observed, that the Antelope was not
a ship sent out purposely to explore undiscovered regions
nor were there people on board properly qualified to esti¬
mate the manners of a new race of men ; they had
amongst them no philosophers, botanists, or draughts
men experienced in such scientific pursuits as might
enab e them to examine with judgment every object
winch presented itself. Distress threw them upon these
islands; and while they were there, all their thoughts
were occupied on the means of liberating themselves
from a situation of all others the most afflicting to the
mind, that of being cut off for ever from the society of
the rest of the world. J
It, however, clearly appears, from their uniform testi¬
mony, that at Pelew the king was considered as the first
person in the government.
“ He was looked up to as the father of his people ;
and though divested of all external decorations of royal-
ty, had every mark of distinction paid to his person.
His rupacks or chiefs approached him with the greatest
respect; and ffis common subjects whenever they passed
near him, or had occasion to address him, put their
hands behind them, and crouched towards the ground.
Upon all occurrences of moment, he convened the ru¬
packs and officers of state ; their councils were always
held in the open air, where the king first stated the bu¬
siness upon which he had assembled them, and submitted
it to their consideration. Each rupack delivered his
opinion, but without rising from bis seat; and when the
matter before them was settled, the king standing up
put an end to the council. 1
“ When any message was brought him, whether in
council or elsewhere, if it came by one of the common
people, it was delivered at some distance in a low voice
to one of the inferior rupacks, who, bending in a
bumble manner at the king’s side, delivered it in the
same manner with his face turned aside. His com¬
mands appeared to be absolute, though he acted in no
important business without the advice of his chiefs •
and every day in the afternoon, whether he was at Pe¬
lew or with the English, he went to sit in public for the
purpose of hearing any requests, or of adjusting any
difference or dispute which might have arisen amono- his
subjects.”
But these, according to our editor, seldom happened ;
for as their real wants were but few, and they saw no¬
thing to create artificial ones ; every one was chiefly oc¬
cupied with his own humble pursuits ; and as far as the
ship’s crew, who remained among them about three
months, could decide, they appeared to conduct them¬
selves towards each other with the greatest civility and
benevolence ; never wrangling or entering into quarrel¬
some contentions, as is customary among those who call
themselves a polished and enlightened people. Even
when
vCWr ,
Pclew
Islands.
PEL [
when children showed a disposition ol this kind, they
strongly marked their displeasure, by stifling with re¬
buke their little animosities.
The character of the king is thus drawn by the edi¬
tor : “ The excellent man who reigned over these sons
of nature, showed himself in every part of his conduct
firm, noble, generous, and benevolent-, there was a
dio-n’ity in all his deportment, a gentleness in all his
manners, and a warmth and sensibility about his heart,
that won the love of all who approached him. Nature
had bestowed on him a contemplative mind, which he
had improved by those reflections that good sense dic¬
tated and observation confirmed. The happiness of bis
people seemed to be always in his thoughts. In order
more effectually to stimulate them to useful labour, he
had himself learnt all the few arts they possessed, and
was looked on in some of them to be the best workman
in his dominions. Placed as he was by Providence in
its obscurer scenes, he lived beloved by his chiefs, and
revered by his people ; over whom, whilst he preserved
a dignity which distinguished his superior station, he
reigned more as the father than the sovereign. I he
eyes of his subjects beheld their naked prince with as
much awe and respect as those are viewed with who
oevern polished nations, and are decorated with all the
dazzling parade and ornaments of royalty nor was the
purple robe or the splendid diadem necessary to point
out a character which the masterly hand of nature had
rendered so perfect. -p
Next in power to the king was his brother llaa
Kook, who was official general of all his forces. It
was his duty to summon the rupacks to attend the king
for whatever purpose they were wanted. He was also
his presumptive heir -, the succession of Pelew not going
to the king’s children till it had passed through his bro¬
thers ; so "that after the demise of Abba Thnlle, the so¬
vereignty would have descended to Raa Kook on bis
demise to Arra Kookerand on the death of this last
it would have reverted to Qui Bill, the king s ek est
son, when Lee Boo, his second son, of whom we have
much to say, would have become the hereditary general.
The office of first minister is described as follows :
“ The king was always attended by a particular chief
or rupack, who did not appear to possess any hereditary
office, but only a delegated authority. He was a ways
near the king’s person, and the chief who was always
first consulted ; but whether his office was religious or
civil, or both, our people could not learn with any cer¬
tainty. He was not considered as a warrior, or ever
bore arms, and had only one wife, whereas the other
rupacks had two. The English were never invited to
his house, or introduced into it, although they were
conducted to those of almost every other chief.”
Of the rupacks it is observed, “ That they could
only be regarded as chiefs or nobles } they were not
all of the same degree, as was plain by a difference in
tie bone (a) they wore: they generally attended the
king, and were always ready at his command to accom¬
pany him on any expedition with a number of canoes
properly manned, and armed with darts and spears, who
102 ] P -b H
were to remain with him till they had his permission to
return home with their dependents. In this part ot (
their government we may trace an outline of the feudal
system j but from the few- opportunities our people had
of investigating points of internal government, it ap¬
peared that the titles of rupacks were personal badges
of rank and distinction -, nor did they apprehend they
were hereditary honours, unless in the reigning family,
who must of necessity be of this class.”
As to property, it was understood, “ lhat the people
possessed only such as arose from their own work and la¬
bour, but no absolute one in the soil, of which the king
appeared to be general proprietor. A man’s house, fur¬
niture, or canoe, was considered as his private propel ty,
as was also the land allotted him, as long as be occupied
and cultivated it; but whenever be removed with his
family to another place, the ground be held reverted to
the king, who gave it to whom he pleased, or to those
who solicited to cultivate it.”
All that part of the island which they had an opportu¬
nity of seeing is said to have been well cultivated. It was
covered with trees of various kinds and sizes, many of
which must have been very large, as they made canoes
of their trunks, some of which were capable ot carrying
twenty-eight or thirty men. Among the timber trees
was noticed the ebony, and a tree which when pierceu or
wounded, yielded a thick white liquor of the consistence
of cream. “ They had also a species of the manchineel
tree, in cutting down of which our people frequently
got blistered and swelled the inhabitants pointed out
the cause, saying it was owing to their being sprinkled
by the sap. ‘ This they reckoned among the unlucky
trees, and advised our people against the use of it.”
But the most singular tree noticed at Pelew, was
one in its size and manner of branching not unlike our
cherry tree, but in its leaves resembling the myrtle.
Its peculiarity was, that it had no bark, but only an
outward coat of about the thickness of a card, which
was darker than the inside, though equally close in tex¬
ture. Its colour was nearly that of mahogany, and the
wood was so extremely hard, that few of the tools which
the English had could work it. They also found cab¬
bage-trees, the wild bread-fruit, and another treeswhose
fruit something resembled an almond. But yams and
cocoa-nuts, being their principal articles of sustenance,
claimed their chief attention. .
The island Coorooraa, of which Pelew is the capital,
likewise produced plantains, bananas, Seville oranges,
and lemons, but neither of them in any considerable
quantity. None of the islands which the English visited
had any kind of grain. As to birds, they bad plenty
of common cocks and hens, which, though not domesti¬
cated, kept running about near their houses and plan¬
tations-, and what appears extremely singular is, that the
natives had never made any use of them, till our people
told them they were excellent eating. Pigeons they
accounted a great dainty -, but none but those of ascer¬
tain dio-nity were permitted to eat of them. I lie P»g-
glish left them two geese, which were the only remains
of their live stock.
r rom
(A) Tim was a mark of rank worn opon Ike wrist, with which Captain Wilson was invested by the king ; bnt
avhat animal it came from our people could not learn.
PEL [ 103 ] \ PEL
Pelew From the description of the country it appears to be
Islands very mountainous 5 but some of the valleys are repre-
sented as extensive and beautiful, affording many delight¬
ful prospects. The soil being very rich produces great
abundance of grass, which, as there are no cattle to eat
it, grows very high, and was scorched and burnt up by
the sun. Our people saw no river at Pelew ; their sup¬
plies.of fresh water being obtained from small streams
and ponds, of which there are a great many.
..From this account of the scanty produce of these
islands, it is evident that no luxury reigned among their
inhabitants, whose principal article of food appears to be
fish } they had no salt, nor did they make use of sauce or
any seasoning in any thing they ate. Their drink was
also as simple as their diet: it principally consisted of
the milk of the cocoa nut; but upon particular occasions
they used a kind of sweet drink and sherbet, which lat¬
ter had the addition of some juice of orange.
The islands appeared to be populous, though to what
extent could not be ascertained. Their houses were
raised about three feet from the ground, upon stones
which appeared as if hewn from the quarry. The inte¬
rior part of them was without any division, the whole
forming one great room, which rose in a ridge like our
barns, the outside being thatched thick and close with
bamboos or palm leaves. All their implements, uten¬
sils, weapons of war, and canoes, are much of the same
kind with those which were found in the South sea
islands.
In their marriages they allow a plurality of wives,
thought not in general more than two. When a woman
is pregnant, the utmost attention is paid to her ; but
upon other occasions no more respect is shown to one
sex than the other. 41 One of our people endeavouring
to make himself agreeable to a lady belonging to one of
the rupacks, by what we should call a marked assiduity,
Arra Kooker, with the greatest civility, gave him to
understand that it was not right to do so.”
They have places particularly appropriated to sepul¬
ture j their graves being made nearly the same as they
are in our country churchyards. The corpse is attend¬
ed only by women, who at the place of interment make
a great lamentation. The men, however, assemble round
the body before it is carried to the grave, on which oc¬
casion they preserve a solemn silence 5 44 their minds,
irom principles of fortitude or philosophy, being armed
to meet the events ot mortality with manly submission,
divested of the external testimony of human weakness.”
On the article of religion our editor observes, 44 That
among all the race of men whom navigation has brought
to our knowledge, few appear to be without a sense of
something like religion, however it may he mixed with
idolatry or superstition. And yet our people, during
their continuance with the natives of Pelew, never saw
any particular ceremonies, or observed any thing that
had the appearance of public worship. But though
there was not found on any of the islands they visited
any place appropriated to religious rites, it would per¬
haps be going too far to declare that the people of Pe¬
lew had absolutely no idea of religion. Independent of
external testimony, there may be such a thing as the re¬
ligion of the heart, by which the mind may in awful si¬
lence be turned to contemplate the God of Nature ;
and though unblessed by those lights which have point¬
ed to the Christian world an unerring path to happiness
and peace, yet they might, by the light of reason only, Pelew
have discovered the efficacy of virtue, and the temporal Islands,
advantages arising from moral rectitude. 1 — y——
44 Superstition is a word of great latitude, and vaguely
defined : though it hath in enlightened ages been called
the offspring of ignorance, yet in no time hath it existed
without having some connection with religion. Now
the people of Pelew had beyond all doubt some portion
ot it, as appeared by the wish expressed by the king
when he saw the ship building, that the English would
take out ot it some particular wood, which he perceived
they had made use of, and which he observed was deem¬
ed an ill omen, or unpropitious.
44 They had also an idea of an evil spirit, that often
counteracted human allairs. A very particular instance
of this was seen when Mr Barker, a most valuable mem¬
ber in the English society, fell backwards from the side
of the vessel, whilst he was on the stocks : Ilaa Kook,
who happened to be present, observed that it was owing
to the unlucky wood our people had suffered to remain
in the vessel, that the evil spirit had occasioned this mis¬
chief to Mr Barker.”
Ihey likewise appeared to entertain a strong idea of
divination, as was evident from the ceremonies they
practised before they undertook any enterprise of mo¬
ment. A few occurrences, which are mentioned in the
course of the narrative, would also lead us to believe
that they could not be altogether unacquainted with the
nature ot religious worship; for when they were present
at the public prayers of the English, they expressed no
surprise at what was doing, but seemed desirous to join
in them, ami constantly preserved the most profound si¬
lence. I he general even retused to receive a message
from the king which arrived during divine service. And
upon another occasion, when Captain Wilson told Lee
Boo, that good men would live again above, he replied,
with great earnestness, 44 All same Pelew ; bad mem
stay in earth ; good men go into sky ; become very
beautiful 5” holding his hand up, and giving a flutter¬
ing motion to his fingers. Some later voyagers, how¬
ever, have affirmed, that these people, notwithstanding
their superstition, have no notion whatever of a Deity $-
a circumstance to which it is extremely difficult to give
full credit.
T he most wonderful circumstances in the history of
this people, except that last mentioned, are the acute¬
ness of their understanding, their hospitality, and the
implicit confidence which they placed in utter strangers.
That their manners were pleasing, and their society not
disagreeable, is evident from the conduct of Madan
Blanchard, one of the seamen, who, when the vessel
was built and ready to take her departure with his cap¬
tain and his companions, was left behind at his own par¬
ticular request. That they had the fullest confidence
in Captain Wilson and his crew, is put beyond a doubt
by the behaviour of the king and Baa Kook when their
guests were to leave them. llaa Kook solicited his
brother’s permission to accompany the English, but from
prudential motives was refused. The sovereign, how¬
ever, resolved to entrust his second son Lee Boo to Cap¬
tain Wilson’s care, that he might improve his mind, and
learn such things as at his return would benefit his
country.
The instructions which he gave the young man, anff
the fortitude which he showed, inmn this occasion,
would
¥ E L
[ i°4 ]
PEL
Pelcw would liave clone lionour to the most enlightened mm .
Islands. Upon delivering him to Captain Wilson, he u^d tliese
   ' expressions: “ I would wish yon to inform -Lee lioo
of all things which he ought to know, and make him
an Englishman. The subject of parting with my son
I have frequently revolved •, I am well aware that the
distant countries he must go through, dillering much
from his own, may expose him to dangers, as we as
diseases, that are unknown to us here, in consequence
of which he may die •, I have prepared my thoughts to
this : I know that death is to all men inevitable 5 and
whether my son meets this event at Eelew or elsewhere
is immaterial. I am satisfied, from what I have ob¬
served of the humanity of your character, that it he is
sick you will be kind to him; and should that happen,
which your utmost care cannot prevent, let it not hin¬
der you, or your brother, or your son, or any ot your
countryman, returning here 5 I shall receive you, or
.y 1 • l 1 •  ,1 •w.-wwism frv e
any of your people, in friendship, and rejoice to see you
again.*’ How noble ! This is the language of a king,
a father, and a philosopher, who would have been de¬
lighted to see his son with European accomplishments.
But, alas ! the subsequent history of this amiable youth
must force a tear from the eye of every reader whose
heart is not callous to the genuine feelings ot nature
and humanity. As soon as they arrived at Macao, the
house into which he first entered, and the difierent ar¬
ticles of furniture, fixed him in silent admiration ; but
what struck his imagination most was the upright walls
and flat ceilings of the rooms, being utterly unable to
comprehend how they could be so formed. When he
was introduced to the ladies of the family, his deport¬
ment was so easy and polite, that it could be exceeded
by nothing but his abundant good nature •, and at his
departure, his behaviour left on the mind of every
one present the impression, that, however great the sur¬
prise might be which the scenes of a new world had
awakened in him, it could hardly be exceeded by that
which his own amiable manners and native polish would
excite in others. „
They were now conducted to the house 01 an rmg-
lish gentleman, who introduced them into a large hall,
which was lighted up, with a table in the middle, co¬
vered for supper, and a sideboard handsomely decorated.
Here a new scene burst at once upon Lee Boo s mind 3
he was all eve, all admiration. The vessels ol glass par¬
ticularly rivetted his attention ; but when he surveyed
himself in a large pier glass at the upper end el the ha 1,
he was in raptures with the deception. It was in truth,
to him, a scene of magic, a fairy tale
Soon after the people of the vessel came on shore,
some of them went to purchase things they were in want
of ; in doing which they did not forget Lee Boo, who
was a favourite with them all. Among the trinkets
they brought him was a string of large glass beads, the
first sight of which, almost threw him into an ecstacy :
he hugged them with a transport which could not have
been exceeded by the interested possessor ot a string ot
oriental pearls. His imagination suggested to him that
he held in his hand all the wealth the world could
afford him. He ran with eagerness to Captain VV1 son
to show him his riches, and begged he would get him
a Chinese vessel to carry them to the king his lather,
that he might see what the English had done tor him ;
adding, that if the people faithfully executed their
charge, he would at their return present them with one
or two beads as a reward for their services.
Having no quadrupeds at Pelew, the sheep, goats,
and other cattle, which he met with at Macao, were
viewed with wonder-, but soon after, seeing a man pass
the house on horseback, he was so much astonished,
that he wanted every one to go and look at the strange
sight. After the matter, however, ivas explained to
him, he was easily persuaded to get upon horseback
himself j and when he was informed what a noble, do-
cile, and useful animal it was, he besought the captain
to send one to his uncle liaa Kook, as be was sure it
would be ot great service to him. . .
Omitting a number of other particulars ot this kino,
which exefted his curiosity and showed the excellent
disposition of his heart, we shall follow him to Eng¬
land, the country from which he W'as never to letuin.
Here he had not been long before he was sent to an aca¬
demy to be instructed in reading and writing, which he
was extremly eager to attain, and most assiduous 111
learning. His temper was mild and compassionate in
the highest degree but it was at all times governed by
discretion and judgment. If he saw the young asking
relief, he would rebuke them with what little English
he had, telling them it was a shame to beg when they
were able to work ; but the entreaties ot old age he
could never withstand, saying,^ “ Must give poor old
man, old man no able to work.”
He always addressed Mr TVilson by the name ot
Captain, but never would call Mrs Wilson by any other
name than mother, looking on that as a mark ot the
greatest respect; and such was the gratitude ot his heait
tor the kindness they showed him, that 11 any of the fa¬
mily were ill, he always appeared unhappy, would creep
softly up to the chamber, and sit silent by the bedside
for a long time together without moving, peeping gent¬
ly from time to time between the curtains, to see it they
slept or lay still. .,
He was now proceeding with hasty strides m gaining
the English language, writing, and accounts, when he
was overtaken by that fatal disease, the smallpox, which
the greatest pains had been taken to guard him against j
and notwithstanding the utmost care and attention ot
his physician, he fell a victim to this scourge ot the hu¬
man race.
Upon this trying occasion, his spirit -was above com¬
plaining, his thoughts being all engrossed by the kind¬
ness of his benefactors and friends. Pie told his at¬
tendant, that his father and mother would grieve very
much, for they knew he was sick. Hus he repeated
several times, “ and begged him to go to Pelew and
tell Abba Thulle that Lee Boo take much drink to
make smallpox go away, but he die j that the captain
and mother very kind} all English very good men 5
much sorry he could not speak to the king the nunibei
ef fine things the English had got.” Then he reckoned
up the presents which had been given him, desning that
they might be properly distributed among the duels,
and requesting that particular care might be taken ol
two glass pedestals, which he begged might be present-
Ct We have given this short history of Lee Boo, because
it exhibits in a strong light the manners of the natives
of the Pelew islands, to which we know nothing similar
in oi man fr°m tbe Sa,“Se SUtecW;iS.ion.
Pelew
Islands
Peicw
Islands.
PEL [ i
civilization. The}' appear to have had no communica¬
tion with any other people, and were yet neither
treacherous, cruel, nor cowardly. They are a striking
instance of the weakness of all the philosophic theories
by which mankind are usually traced from their origin
through the several stages of savagism, barbarism, and
civilization, down to the period of refinement, ending
in t fl’eminacy.
Since the publication of Captain Wilson^ voyage
we have some further accounts of these islands,' all
confirming what we were first told of the gentleness of
the people. Two armed ships were, by order of the
court of directors, fitted out at Bombay, for the pur¬
pose of surveying the islands of Pelew, and furnishing
the natives with domestic animals, and such other things
as might add to the Comforts of life. Among the pre¬
sents to the king were swords and other European im¬
plements of war, of which it is at least possible that he
and his people might have been equally happy had they
remained for ever in total ignorance. The foundation
of a fort wras likewise laid on one of the islands, and pos¬
session of it taken in the name of the English ; we trust
with no remote view of enslaving the people, or of driv¬
ing them from their native country. It has been like¬
wise announced in a late publication, that Captain
M‘CTuer, who commanded the armed ships, was so de¬
lighted with the manners of the king and his subjects,
that he was resolved to pass the remainder of his days on
those islands at the early age of 34. The following is the
sequel of the adventure here alluded to. The two vessels
called the I anther and Endeavour, under the command
of Captain M‘Cluer, were fitted out for a voyage to the
Pelew islands, to acquaint Abba Thulle the king with
the death of his favourite son Lee Boo, who went to
England with Captain Wilson in the Antelope in 1783,
where he died. On the 24th of August 179O Captain
M‘Cluer sailed from Bombay, having on board Messrs
White and Wedgeborough, who had been shipwrecked
with Captain Wilson, and were much esteemed by the
king of those islands, at which he arrived in January
1791. Abba Thulle, the king, received them with de¬
monstrations of joy as Englishmen, ot whom he had pre¬
viously found reason to entertain a very favourable opi¬
nion. The presents which the company sent to Abba
Thulle were landed with all convenient speed. These
consisted of a considerable quantity of live stock, such
as cows, bulls, ewes, rams, goats, pigs, and poultry, to¬
gether with arms, ammunition, and packages of hard¬
ware, comprising a number of articles which could not
fail to be of singular advantage to the natives. The
grateful king was astonished at the meaning of all this,
and being informed that it was a small acknowledge¬
ment for his generous treatment of the crew of the An¬
telope, when wrecked on his coast, he expressed his re¬
gret that it was not in his power to have done more.
With the nature and situation of these islands, as well
as the amiable and engaging manners of the natives,
Captain M‘Cluer was so well pleased, that he considered
them as a paradise, where he could spend with pleasure
the remainder of nis days. Soon after these transactions
the Panther sailed in the month of February from the
Pelew islands for China, the Endeavour remaining be¬
hind till her return, which happened on the loth of
June the same year. Having visited these islands a
third timp <fter a survey of the coast of New Guinea,
Vol. XVI. Part I.
°5 ] PEL
he signified to the officers of the Panther his intention of
resigning the command of the expedition, and remain¬
ing on the islands. To render his new situation as com¬
fortable as possible, be requested from Mr Wedge-'
borough about 20 muskets with bayonets, 12 pistols
12 pole-axes, 2 wall-pieces, fusee and pistol ammuni¬
tion, an anvil, bellows, frame-saw, standing vice, &c
After a consultation with the other officers, it was
agreed on to send him these articles, on condition that
they should be accounted for by his attorneys, if the
East India Company should not be satisfied with the
measure. I his resolution was carried into effect in the
month of February 1793.
Scarcely, however, had he been 15 months in his new
settlement till he became impatient to abandon it, and
he soon after set sail for Macao. He returned to the
Pelew islands in the year 1795, for the purpose of re¬
moving his family ; and sailing from thence to Bom¬
bay, he touched at Bencoolen, where he met with a
frigate bound for Bombay, into which he put a part of
his family with six Pelew women, sailing himself with
the other natives towards Bengal, from which last place
he set sail some time after j but neither he nor any of
nis crew have been since heard of.
PELIAS, in fabulous history, twin-brother ofNeleus
was son of Neptune by Tyro, daughter of Salmoneus!
His birth Was concealed by his mother, who wished her
father to be ignorant of her incontinence. He was ex¬
posed in the woods, but his life was preserved by
shepherds; and he received the name of Pe/ias, from
a spot of the colour of kad in his face. Some time af¬
ter Tyro married Cretheus, son of iEolus, king of lol-
chos, and became mother of three children, of whom
2E,son was the eldest. Pelias visited his mother, and
was received in her family; and after the death of
Lretbeus, he unjustly seized the kingdom, which be¬
longed not to him, hut to the children of Tyro by the
deceased king. To strengthen himself in his usurpation,
1 cl 1 as consulted the oracle 5 and when he was told to
beware of one of the descendants of iEolus, who should
come to his court with the one foot shod and the other
bare, he privately removed the son of iEson, after he
had openly declared that he was dead. These precau¬
tions proved vain. Jason, the son of ^Eson, who had
been educated by Chiron, returned to lolchos, when
come to years of maturity ; and having lost one of his
shoes in crossing the river Anaurus or the Evenus, Pe¬
lias immediately perceived that this was the person
whom he had so much dreaded. His unpopularity
prevented him from acting with violence to a stranger,
whose uncommon dress and commanding aspect had
raised admiration in the people. But his astonishment
was greatly excited, when he saw Jason arrive at hk
palace, with his friends and relations, and boldly
demand the kingdom which be had usurped. Pelias,
conscious that his complaints were well founded, en¬
deavoured to divert his attention, and told him that he
would voluntarily resign the crown to him, if he went
to Colchis to avenge the death of Phryxus, the son of
Athamas, whom ^Eeres had cruelly murdered. He
further declared, that the expedition would be attend¬
ed with the greatest glory, and that nothing but the
infirmities of old age had prevented himself from
vindicating the honour of his country, and the injuries
of his family, by punishing the assassin. This so warm-
O ]y
Pelew
Isl.-ir.d,
Pelias.
PEL [ 106 ] P E L r • 1 l
as with equal warmth accepted by seems close to the town, but is separated from it hy tie Pella,
the young hero, and his intended expedition was made
known ail over G reece. While Jason was absent in
the Argonantic expedition, Pelias murdered TEson and
all his"family ; hut, according to the more received
opinion of Ovid, Mson was still living when the Ar¬
gonauts returned, and he was restond to the flower of
youth hy the magic of Medea. This change in the
vigour and the constitution of iEson astonished all the
inhabitants of lolchosy and the daughters of Pelias, who
have received the patronymic of Peliades, expressed
their desire to see their father’s infirmities vanish hy
the same powerful magic. Medea, who wished to a-
venge the injuries which her husband Jason had re-
Ceived from Pelias, raised the desires of the Peliades,
by cutting an old ram to pieces, and boiling the flesh
in a cauldron, and then turning it into a fine young
lamb. After they had seen this successful experiment,
the Peliades cut their father’s body to pieces, alter they
had drawn all the blood from his veins, on the assu¬
rance that Medea would replenish them by her won¬
derful power. The limbs were immediately put into
a cauldron of boiling water 5 hut Medea suffered the
flesh to be totally consumed, and refused to give the
promised assistance, and the bones ot Pelias did not
even receive a burial. The Peliades were four in num¬
ber Alceste, Pisidice, Pelopea, and Hippothoe, to
whom Hyginus adds Medusa. Iheir mothers name
was Anaxihia, the daughter of Bias or Philomache, the
daughter of Amphion. After this parricide, the I e-
liades fled to the court of Admetus, where Acastus, the
son-in-law of Pelias, pursued them, and took their pro¬
tector prisoner. The Peliades died, and were buried
in Arcadia. „ ,
pelican, a genus of birds belonging to the order
of anseres. See Ornithology Index.
Pelican, in Chemistry, h a glass alembic consisting
of one piece, with a tubulated capital, from which two
opposite and crooked beaks pass out, and enter again at
the bottom of the cucurbit. This vessel was contrived
by the. older chemists for a continued distillation, but
has gone into disuse.
PELICANUS, a genus of birds belonging to the
order of anseres. See Ornithology Index.
FELTON (Diodorus Siculus, &c.), Pelios, mans
understood, (Mela, A irgil, itTorace, Seneca), a moun¬
tain of Thessaly near Ossa, and hanging over the Sinus
Pelasgicus, or Pegasicusy its top covered with pines,
the sfdes with oaks, (Ovid). Said also to abound in
wild ash (Vah Flaccus). From this mountain was cut
the spear of Achilles, called pelias, which none but him¬
self could wield, (Homer). Dicearchus, Aristotle’s
scholar, found this mountain 1250 paces higher than
any other of Thessaly, (Pliny). Pelws, Gicei^ .j Pe-
Uacus, (Catullus), the epithet,
PELLA, in Ancient Geography, a town situated on
the confines of Emathia, a district of Macedonia, (Pto¬
lemy) j and therefore Herodotus allots it to Bottiiea, a
maritime district on the Sinus Thermaicus. It was the
ro\al residence, situated on an eminence, verging to the
South-west, encompassed with impassable marshes summer
and winter: in which, next the town, a citadel like an
island rises, placed on a hank or dam, a prodigious work,
both supporting the wall and securing it from any hurt
'by means of the circumfluent water. At a distance, it
Ludias, running by the walls, ana joi .
bridge, (Livy) : distant from the sea 1 20 stadia, the
Ludias being so far navigable, (Strabo). Mela calls
the town Pelle, though most Greek authors write Pella.
The birth-place of Philip, who enlarged it ; and after¬
wards of Alexander, (Strabo, Mela). Continued to be
the royal residence down to Peises, (Livy). Called
Pella Colon in, (Pliny) ; Colonia Julia Augusta, (Com).
It afterwards came to decline, with but few and mean in¬
habitants, (Lucian). It is new called T* the
Little Palace, (Holstenius). PclUeus, both the gentiliti-
ous name anti the epithet, (Lucian, Juvenal, Martial.)
—Another Pella, (Polybius, Pliny) ; a town of the
Uecapolis, on the other side the Jordan j abounding m
water, like its cognominal town in Macedonia j built
hy the Macedonians, (Strabo)j by Seltucus, (Eusebius) j
anciently called Putts, (Stephanas) j Apumea, (Stiabo)j
situated 35 miles to the north-east ot Gerasa, (Ptolemy )•
Thither the Christians, just before the siege ot Jerusa¬
lem by Titus, were divinely admonished to fly, (Euse¬
bius). It was t! e utmost boundary of the Peraea, or
Transjordan country, to the north, (Josephus).
PELLETIER, Bertrand, a celebrated chemical
philosopher, was born at Bayonne in 1761, and veiy
soon discovered a strong predilection ior the sciences,
to cherish which he had every thing in his father’s
house that could be reasonably desired, and here be ac¬
quired the elements of that art for which he was after¬
wards so famous. His subsequent progress he made
under Darcet, who admitted him among the pupJs at¬
tached to the chemical laboratory ol 1 ranee. Five
years intense application under such a master, gave him
a stock of knowledge very uncommon at his years. As
a convincing proof of this, he published, when only 21,
a number of valuable observations on aisenic acid, pro¬
ving, contrary to the opinion of Macquer, that sulphu¬
ric acid distilled from the arseniate of potash, disen¬
gages the acid ot arsenic.
Encouraged hy the success which attended his fiist
labours of a chemical nature, he communicated his re¬
marks on the crystallization of sulphur, cinnabar, and
the deliquescent salts-, the examination of zeolites, par¬
ticularly the false zeolite ot Ireyburg, which he disco¬
vered to be merely an ore of zinc. He also made ob¬
servations on the oxygenated muriatic acid, in leteience
to the absorption of oxygen; on the formation of others,
chiefly the muriatic and the acetous j and a number ot
memoirs on the operation of phosphorus made in the
large way j its conversion into phosphoric acid, and its
combination with sulphur and most metallic substances.
It was by his operations on phosphoius that he burnt
himself so severely as nearly to endanger his life. Im¬
mediately on his recovery he began the analysis of dif¬
ferent varieties of plumbago from France, England,
Germany, Spain, and America, and gave both novelty
and interest to his work, even after the labours of
Scheele on the same subject had made their appearance.
The analysis of carbonate of barytes led him to make
experiments on animals, from which he discovered that
this earth is a real poison, in whatever way administer¬
ed. Strontites was also analysed by this celebrated
chemist, which was found to contain a new earth.
Pelletier discovered a process for preparing verditer
in the large way, equal, it is said, in beauty to that
0 which,
Pelletier
PEL [i
tvh icli is manufactured in England. He was also
among the first who shewed the possibility of x-efining
bell metal, and separating the tin. His first expei-i-
nients wrere performed at Paris, after which he went to
the foundery at liomilly, to prove their accuracy in the
large way. He was soon after this admitted a member
of the Academy of Sciences at Paris, and afterwards
accompanied Borda and Genei-al Daboville to La Fere,
to assist in experiments on a new species of gunpowder.
Being obliged to pass great part of the day in the open
air during a cold and moist season, in order to render his
experiments more decisive, his heal I h, which was natu¬
rally delicate, was very much impaired. He partly re¬
covered it, hut again fell a victim to his thirst after
knowledge, for he was at one time nearly destroyed by
inspiring the oxygenated muriatic acid gas, which occa¬
sioned a convulsive asthma, which at times appeared to
abate, but was found to be incurable. The assistance
of art was insufficient to save him, and he died at Paris
on the 2ist of July 1797, of a pulmonary consumption,
in the flower of his age, being only 36.
PELLETS, in Heraldry, those roundles that are
black ; called also ogresses and gunslones, and by the
French torteaux de sable.
PELLICLE, among physicians, denotes a thin film
or fx-agment of a membrane. Among chemists it signi¬
fies a thin surface of crystals uniformly spread over a
saline liquor evaporated to a certain degree.
PELLISQN, or Pellison Fontanier, Paul,
one of the finest geniuses of the 17th centux-y, was the
son of James Pellison counsellor at Casti-es. He was
born at Beziers in 1624, and educated in the Protestant
religion. He studied with success the Latin, Greek,
French, Spanish, and Italian tongues, and applied him¬
self to the reading the best authors in these languages $
after which he studied the law at Castres with reputa¬
tion. In 1652 he purchased the post of secretary to the
king, and five years after became first deputy to M.
Fouquet. He suffered by the disgrace of that minister ;
and in |66i was confined in the Bastile, fx’om whence
he was not discharged till four years after. During his
confinement he applied himself to the study of contim-
versyj and in 1670 abjured the Protestant religion.
Louis XIV. bestowed upon him an annual pension of
2000 crowns $ and he likewise enjoyed several posts. In
1676 he had the abbey of Giment, and some years after
the priory of St Orens at Audi. He died in 1693.
His principal works are, X. The History of the French
Academy. 2. .Reflections on religious Disputes, &c. in
4 vols. 1 2n»o. 3. The History of Louis XIV. 4. Hi¬
storical Letters and Miscellanies, in 3 vols. X2mo.
PELOPIA, a festival observed by the Eleaps in
honour of Pelops. A ram was sacrificed on the occa¬
sion, which both priests and people were prohibited
from partaking of, on pain of excommunication from
Jupiter’s temple : the neck only was allotted to the of¬
ficer who provided wood for the sacrifice. This officer
was called St/Asyy; and white poplar was the only wood
made use of at this solemnity.
PELOPONNESUS, (Dionysius), a large peninsula
to the south ot the rest of Greece ; called, as it were
Pelopis nesus, or insula, though properly not an island,
but a peninsula ; yet wanting but little to be one, viz.
the isthmus of Corinth, ending in a point like the leaf
,af the platane or plane tree. Anciently called Apia
07 ]
PEL
Pelusmni.
and Pelasgia; a peninsula second to no other country Pclopon
for nobleness ; situated between two seas, the Egean
and Ionian, and resembling a platane-leaf, on account
ot its angular recesses or bays, (Pliny, Strabo, Mela).
Stiabo adds from Homer, that one of its ancient names
was Argos, with the epithet Achaicum, to distinguish
it from Thessaly, called Pelasgicum. Divided into six
parts ; namely, Argolis, Laconica, Messenia, Elis,
Achaia, and Arcadia, (Mela). Now called the Morea.
PELOPS, in fabulous history, the son of Tantalus
kmg of Phrygia, went into Elis, where he married
Hippodamia the daughter of Oenomaus king of that
country 5 and became so powerful, that all the terri¬
tory which lies beyond the isthmus, and composes a
considerable part ot Greece, was called Peloponnesus,
that is, the island oj Pelops, from his name and the
word Niros.
PELTA, a small, light, manageable buckler, used
by the ancients. It was worn by the Amazons. The
pelta is said by some to have resembled an ivy leaf in
form j by others it is compared to the leaf of an Indian
fig-tree j and by Serbius to the moon in her first quar¬
ter.
PELTARIA, a genus of plants belonging to the
tetradynamia class, and in the natural methoff rank¬
ed under the 39th order, Siliquosce. See Botany
Index.
PELUSIUM, ill Ancient Geography, a strong city
of Egypt, without the Delta, distant 20. stadia from
the sea 5 situated amidst marshes ; and hence its name
and its strength. Called the key or inlet of Egypt ( Dio¬
dorus, Hirtius) j which being taken, the rest of Egypt
lay quite open and exposed to an enemy. Called Sin
(Ezekiel). Pelusiacus the epithet (Virgil, Diodorus>.
From its ruins arose Damietta. E. Long. 320. N. Lat.
J1”
Mr Savary gives us the following account of this
place: “ The period of its foundation, as well as xkvt Letters <m
of the other ancient cities of Egypt, is lost in the ob-£^^*
scurity of time. It flourished long before Herodotus.
As it commanded the entrance of the country on the
side of Asia, the Pharaohs rendered it a considerable
fortress : one of them yaised a rampart of 30 leagues in
length from the walls of this town to Heliopolis. But
we find from the history of nations that the long wall of
China, those which the weakness of the Greek emperors
led them to build round Constantinople, and many
others, built at an immense expence, were but feeble
barriers against a warlike people : these examples have
taught us, that a state, to be in security against a foreign
yoke, must form warriors within itself, and that men mi^st
be opposed to men. This rampart which covered Pelu-
sium, did not stop Cambyses, who attacked it with a
formidable army. The feeble character of the son of
Amnsis, unable to prevent the desertion of 200,000
Egyptians, who went to found a colony beyond the ca¬
taracts, had not force sufficient to oppose that torrent
which broke in upon his country. Cambvses, after a
bloody battle, wherein he cut his enemies to pieces, en¬
tered Pelusium in triumph. That memorable day, which
saw the desertion of one part of the Egyptian militia
and the ruin of the other, is the true epoch of the sub¬
jugation of that rich country. Since that period, it has
passed under the yoke of the Persians, the Macedonians,
the Romans, the Greeks, the Arabs, and the Turks. A
^ 2 , 'continued
P E M
[
P E M
Pelusium
Pembroke.
continued slavery of more than 2000 years seems to se¬
cure them an eternal bondage.
“ Herodotus, who visited Pelusium some years after
the conquest of Cambyses, relates an anecdote which
I cannot omit: ‘ I surveyed (says he) the plain where
the two armies had fought. It was covered with hu¬
man bones collected in heaps. Those ot the Persians
were on one side, those of the Egyptians on the other,
the inhabitants of the country having taken care to se¬
parate them after the battle. They made me take no¬
tice of a fact which would have appeared very astonish¬
ing to me without their explanation of it. The skulls of
the Persians, which were slight and fragile, broke on
being lightly struck with a stone} those of the Egyp¬
tians, thicker and more compact, resisted the blows of
flint. This difference of solidity they attributed to the
custom the Persians have of covering their heads tiom
their infancy with the tiara, and to the Egyptian cus¬
tom of leaving the heads of their children bare and
shaved, exposed to the heat of the sun. This explana¬
tion appeared satisfactory to me.’ Mr Savary assures
Us that the same customs still subsist in Egypt, or which
he frequently had ocular demonstration.
“ Pelusium (continues he), after passing under the
dominion of Persia, was taken by Alexander. 1 he biave
Antony, general of cavalry under Gabinius, took it
from his successors, and Rome restored it to I tolemy
Auletes. Pompey, whose credit had established this
young prince on the throne of Egypt, after the fatal
battle of Pharsalia took refuge at Pelusium. He land¬
ed at the entrance of the harbour ; and, on quitting Ins
wife Cornelia and his son, he repeated the two lollow-
ing verses of Sophocles, ‘ The free man who seeks an
asylum at the court of a king will meet with slavery
and chains.’ He there found death. Scarcely had he
landed on the shore, when Theodore the rhetorician,
of the isle of Chio, Septimius the courtier, and Achillas
the eunuch, who commanded his troops, wishing foi a
victim to present to his conqueror, stabbed him with
their swords. At the sight of the assassins Pompey
covered his face with his mantle, and died like a Roman.
They cut off his head, and embalmed it, to offer it to
Caesar, and left his body naked on the shore. It was
thus that this great man, whose warlike talents had pro¬
cured the liberty of the seas for the Romans, and added
whole kingdoms to their extended empire, was basely
slain in setting foot on the territory of a king who owed
to him his crown. Philip his freedman, collecting to¬
gether, under favour of the night, the wreck of a boat,
and stripping off his own cloak to cover the sad remains
of his master, burnt them according to the custom. An
eld soldier, who had served under Pompey]s colours,
came to mingle his tears with those of Philip, and to
assist him in performing the last offices to the manes ol
his general.—Pelusium was often taken and pillaged
during the wars of the Romans, the Greeks, and the
Arabs. But in spite of so many disasters, she preserved
to the time of the Crusades her riches and her com¬
merce. The Christian princes having taken it by storm,
sacked it. It never again rose from its ruins ; and the
inhabitants went to Damietta.” See Damietta.
PELVIS, in Anatomy. See Anatomy Index.
PEMBROKE,Mary,Countessof. See Herbert.
Pembroke, in Pembrokeshire, in England, is the
principal town in the county. It is situated upon a
108 ]
creek of Milford-Haven, and in the most pleasant part
of Wales, being about 256 miles distant from London. shire
It is the county-town, and has two handsome In idges >. v , .1
over two small rivers which run into a creek, forming
the west side of a promontory. It is well inhabited,
has several good houses, and but one church. There is
also a customhouse in it. There are several merchants
in it, who, favoured by its situation, employ near 200
sail on their own account} so that, next to Caei mai then,
it is the largest and richest town in South Wales. It
has one long straight street, upon a narrow part of a
rock; and the two rivers seem to be two arms of Mil¬
ford-Haven, which ebbs and flow's close up to the town.
It was in former times fortified with walls, and a mag¬
nificent castle seated on a rock at the west end of the
town. In this rock, under the chapel, is a natuial ca¬
vern called JFogan, remarked for having a very fine
echo : this is supposed to have been a store-room for the
garrison, as there is a staircase leading into it from the
castle. This structure being burnt a few years after it
was erected, it was rebuilt. It is remarkable for being
the birth-place ol Henry VII. and for the biave de¬
fence made by the garrison for Gharles 1. Ihe inha¬
bitants in 1811 amounted to 2415-
PEMBROKESHIRE, a county of Wales, bounded
on all sides by the Irish sea, except on the east, where it
joins to Caermarthenshire, and on the north-east to Car¬
diganshire. It lies the nearest to Ireland of any county
in Wales ; and extends in length from north to south
35 miles, and from east to west 29, and is about 140 in
in circumference. It is divided into seven hundreds j
contains about 420,000 acres, one city, eight market-
towns, two forests, 145 parishes. In 1811 it contained
1 2,874 houses, and 60,615 inhabitants, of whom 15,557
lived in towns, and 45,058 in the country. It lies in
the province of Canterbury, and diocese of St David’s.
It sends three members to parliament, viz. one for the
shire, one for Haverfordwest, and one for the town of
Pembroke.
The air of Pembrokeshire, considering its situation,
is good 5 but it is in general better the farther from the
sea. As there are but few mountains, the soil is gene¬
rally fruitful, especially on the sea-coasts 5 its moun¬
tains also maintain great numbeis of sheep and goats.
Its other commodities are corn, cattle, pit-coal, marl,
fish, and fowl. Among these last are falcons, called,
here peregrines. Amongst the birds common here aie
migratory sea-birds, that breed in the isle of Ramsey,
and the adjoining rocks called The Bishop and his
Clerks. About the beginning of April such flocks of
sea-birds, of several kinds, resort to these rocks, as
appear incredible to those who have not seen them.
The inhabitants of this county make a very pleasant
durable fire of culm, which is the dust ot coal made up
into balls with a third part of mud. The county is
well watered by the rivers Clethy, Dougledy, Cledhew,
and Teive 5 which last parts it from Cardiganshire.
There is a division of the county styled Bhos m the
Welsh, by which is meant a large green plain. This
Kir <lpspf>ndants of the Flemings,
is inhabited by the descendants of the Flemings, placed
there by Henry I. to curb the Welch, who were never
able to expel them, though they often attempted it.
On the coasts of this county, as well as on those of
Glamorganshire and the Severn sea, is found a kind of
alga or laver, which is gathered in spring j and of which
6 the
Pembroke
shire,
Pen.
PEN [ i
- the inhabitants make a sort of food, called in Welch
Ihavan, and in English black butter. Having washed it
clean, they lay it to sweat between two flat stones, then
shred it small, and knead it well, like dough for bread,
and then make it up into great balls or rolls, which is
by some eaten raw', and by others fryed with oatmeal
and butter. It is accounted excellent against many
distempers. See Pembrokeshire, Supplement.
PEN, a town of Somersetshire, in England, on the
north-east side of Wincaunton, where Kenwald a West
Saxon king so totally defeated the Britons, that they
vrere never after able to make head against the Saxons ;
and where, many ages after this, Edmund Ironside
gained a memorable victory over the Danes, who had
before, i. e. in 1001, defeated the Saxons in that same
place.
Pen, a little instrument, usually formed of a quill,
serving to write withal.
Pens are also sometimes made of silver, brass, or
Plate
CCCCVII.
«g. I.
iron.
Dutch Pxxrs, are made of quills that have passed
through hot ashes, to take off the grosser fat and moi¬
sture, and render them more transparent.
Fountain Pen, is a pen of silver, brass, &c. contri¬
ved to contain a considerable quantity of ink, and let
it flow out by gentle degrees, so as to supply the writer
a long time without being under the necessity of taking
fresh ink.
The fountain pen is composed of several pieces. The
middle piece, fig. i. carries the pen, which is screwed
into the inside of a little pipe, which again is soldered
to another pipe of the same bigness as the lid, fig. 2.; in
which lid is soldered a male screw, for screwing on the
cover, as also for stopping a little hole at the place and
hindering the ink from passing through it. At the
other end of the piece, fig. I. is a little pipe, on the
outside of which the top-cover, fig. 3. may be screwed.
In the cover there goes a port-crayon, which is to be
screwed into the last-mentioned pipe, in order to stop
the end of the pipe, into which the ink is to be poured
by a funnel. To use the pen, the cover fig. 2. must
be taken off, and the pen a little shaken, to make the
ink run more freely.
There are, it is well known, some instruments used
by practical mathematicians, which are called pens,
and which are distinguished according to the use to
which they are principally applied ; as for example, the
drawing pen, &c. an instrument too common to require
a particular description in this place, But it may be
proper to take some notice of the geometric pen, as it
is not so well known, nor the principles on which it de¬
pends so obvious.
The geometric Pen is an instrument in which, by a
circular motion, a right line, a circle, an ellipse, and
other mathematical figures, may be described. It was
first invented and explained by John Baptist Suardi, in
a work intit led Nmvo Instromentiper la Descrizzione
di diverse Curve Antichi e Moderne, &c. Several wri¬
ters had observed the curves arising from the compound
motion of two circles, one moving round the other 5 but
Suardi first realized the principle, and first reduced it
to practice. It has been lately introduced with success
into the steam-engine by Watt and Bolton. The num¬
ber of curves this instrument can describe is truly ama¬
zing j the author enumerates not less than 1273, which
09 J PEN
(he says) can be described by it in the simple form. pen
We shall give a short description of it from Adam’s Penance.
Geometrical and Graphical Essays. u.i-v— u
Fig. 1. represents the geometric pen; A, B, C, the plate
stand by which it is supported ; the legs A, B, C, are CCCEVIL
contrived to fold one within the other for the conveni- % 1-
ence of packing. A strong axis D is fitted to the top
of the frame j to the lower part of this axis any of the
wheels (as i) may be adapted ; when screwed to it they
are immoveable. EG is an arm contrived to turn round
upon the main axis D j two sliding boxes are fitted to
this arm to these boxes any of the wheels belonging
to the geometric pen may be fixed, and then slid so that
the wheels may take into each other and the immove¬
able wheel z ; it is evident, that by making the arm EG
revolve round the axis D, these wheels will be made to
revolve also, and that the number of their revolutions
will depend on the proportion between the teeth. Fg
is an arm carrying the pencil 5 this arm slides backwards
and forwards in the box c d, in order that the distance
of the pencil from the centre of the wheel h may be
easily varied 5 the box c d is fitted to the axis of the
wheel h, and turns round with it, carrying the arm f g
along with it: it is evident, therefore, that the revolu¬
tions will be fewer or greater in proportion to the dif¬
ference between the numbers of the teeth in the wheels
h and 1; this bar and socket are easily removed for
changing the wheels. When two wheels only are used,
the bar f g moves in the same direction with the bar
EG •, but if another wheel is introduced between them,
they move in contrary directions.
“ The number of teeth in the wheels, and conse¬
quently the relative velocity of the epicycle or arm
f g, may be varied in infinitum. The numbers we
have used are 8, 16, 24, 32, 40, 48, 56, 64, 72, 80,
88, 96.
“ The construction and application of this instru¬
ment is so evident from the figure, that nothing more
need be pointed out than the combinations by which va¬
rious figures may be produced. We shall take two as
examples:
“ The radius of EG (fig. 2.) must be to that off ^ Fig. 2.
as 10 to 5 nearly •, their velocities, or the number of
teeth in the wheels, to be equal $ the motion to be in
the same direction.
“ If the length of fig be varied, the looped figure
delineated at fig. 3. will be produced. A circle may be Fig. 3.
described by equal wheels, and any radius but the bars
must move in contrary directions.
“ To describe by this circular motion a straight line
and an ellipsis. For a straight line, equal radii, the
velocity as 1 to 2, the motion in a contrary direction $
the same data will give a variety of ellipses, only the
radii must be unequal 5 the ellipses may be described
in any direction.” See fig. 4. pjg ^
Pen, or Penstock. See Penstock.
Sea-PEN. See Pennatula, Helminthology In¬
dex.
PENANCE, a punishment, either voluntary or im¬
posed by authority, for the faults a person has commit¬
ted. Pennance is one of the seven sacraments of the
liomish church. Besides fasting, alms, abstinence, and
the like, which are the general conditions of penance,
there are others of a more particular kind ; as the re¬
peating a certain number of ave-marys, pater-nosters,
and s
PEN [n
Tenance a|1<l cieiloi, wearing a hair-shirt, and giving one’s self a
ll certain number of stripes. In I taly and Spain it is usual
Pencil, to see Christians almost naked, loaded with chains and
a cr0SS) antl lashing themselves at every step.'
PENATES, in Roman antiquity, a kind of tutelar
deities, either of countries or particular houses j in which
last sense they differed in nothing from the lares. See
Lares.
The penates were properly the tutelar gods of the
Trojans, and were only adopted by the Romans, who
gave them the title of penates.
PENCIL, an instrument used by painters for laying
on their colours. Pencils are of various kinds, and
made of various materials j the largest sorts are made of
hoars bristles, the thick ends of which are bound to a
stick, bigger, or less according to the uses they are de¬
signed for ; these, when large, are called brushes. The
finer sorts of pencils are made of camels, badgers, and
squirrels hair, and of the down of swans \ these are tied
at the upper end with a piece of strong thread, and en¬
closed in the barrel of a quill.
All good pencils, on being drawn between the Lips,
come to a fine point.
Pencil, is also an instrument used in drawing, writ¬
ing, &c. made of long pieces of black lead or red
chalk, placed in a groove cut in a slip of cedar •, on
which other pieces of cedar being glued, the whole is
planed round, and one of the ends being cut to a point,
it is tit for use.
Black lead in fine powder, stirred into melted sul¬
phur, unites with it so uniformly, and in such quantity,
in virtue perhaps of its abounding with sulphur, that
though the compound remains fluid enough to be pour¬
ed into moulds, it looks nearly like the coarser sorts of
black lead itself. Probably the way which Prince Ru¬
pert is said to have had, mentioned in the third volume
of Dr Birch’s History of the Royal Society, of making
black lead run like a metal in a mould, so as to serve for
black lead again, consisted in mixing with it sulphur or
sulphureous bodies.
On this principle the German black lead pencils are
said to be made j and many of those which are hawked
about by certain persons among us are prepared in the
same manner: their melting or softening, when held to
a candle, or applied to a red-hot iron, and yielding a
bluish flame, with a strong smell like that of burning
brimstone, betrays their composition *, for black lead it¬
self yields no smell or fume, and suflers no apparent al¬
teration in that heat. Pencils made with speh additions
are of a very bad kind; they are hard, brittle, and do
not cast or make a mark freely either on paper or wood,
rather cutting or scratching them than leaving a colour¬
ed stroke. ...
The true English pencils (which Vogel in his mine¬
ral system, and some other foreign writers, imagine to
be prepared also by melting the black lead with some
additional substances, and casting it into a mould) are
formed of black lead alone sawed into slips, which are
fitted into a groove made in a piece of wood, and an¬
other slip of wood glued over them : the softest wood, as
cedar, is made choice of, that the pencil may be the ea¬
sier cut *, and a part at one end, too short to be conve¬
niently used after the rest has been worn and cut away,
is left unfilled with the black lead, that there may be
do waste qf so valuable a commodity. These pencils
5
0 ] PEN
are greatly preferable to the others, though seldom so Pencil
perfect as could be wished, being accompanied with
some degree of the same inconveniences, and being ve- 01
ry unequal in their quality, on account ol different sorts
of the mineral being fraudulently joined together in one
pencil, the fore part being commonly pretty good, and
the rest of an inferior kind. Some, to avoid these im¬
perfections, take the finer pieces of black lead itself,
which they saw into slips, and fix for use in port cray¬
ons : this is doubtless the surest way of obtaining black
lead crayons, whose goodness can be depended on.
PENDANT, an ornament hanging at the ear, fre¬
quently composed ol diamonds, pearls, and other jew¬
els.
Pendants, in Heraldry, parts hanging down from
the label to the number of three, four, five, or six at
most, resembling the drops in the Doric frieze. ben
they are more than three, they must be specified in bla¬
zoning.
Pendants of a Ship, are those streamers, or long
colours, which are split and divided into two parts, end¬
ing in points, and hung at the head of masts, or at the
yard-arm ends.
PENDENE-Vow, in Cornwall, in England, on the
north coast, by Morvath. There is here an unfathom¬
able cave under the earth, into which the sea flows at
high water. The cliffs between this and St Ives shine
as if they had store of copper, of which indeed there is
abundance within land.
PENDENNIS, in Cornwall, at the mouth of Fal¬
mouth haven, is a peninsula of a mile and a hall ia
compass. On this Henry VIII. erected a castle, oppo¬
site to that of St Maw’s, which he likewise built. It
was fortified by Queen Elizabeth, and served then for
the governor’s house. It is one of the largest castles in
Britain, and is built on a high rock. It is stronger by
land than St Maw’s, being regularly fortified, and ha¬
ving good outworks.
PENDULOUS, a term applied to any thing that
bends or hangs downwards.
PENDULUM, a vibrating body suspended from a
fixed point. For the history of this invention, see the
article Clock.
The theory of the pendulum depends on that of the
inclined plane, Hence, in order to understand the na¬
ture of the pendulum, it will be necessary to premise
some of the properties of this plane j referring, however,
to Inclined Plane, and to the article Mechanics, for
the demonstration. ,
I. Let AC (fig. 1.) be an inclined plane, AB its Plate
perpendicular height, and D any heavy body: thenCCCCVU.
the force which impels the body D to descend along lfc'
the inclined plane AC, is to the absolute force of gra¬
vity as the height of the plane AB is toils length AC j
and the motion of the body will be uniformly accelerat-
ed. . . . ,
II. The velocity acquired in any given time by a
body descending on an inclined plane AC, is to the
velocity acquired in the same time by a body tailing
freely and perpendicularly, as the height ot the plane
AB to its length AC. The final velocities will be
the same; the spaces described will he in the same
ratio; and the times of description are as the spaces
described.
HI. If a body descend along several contiguous
planes,
PEN [ .
PenJulum. planes, AB, BC, CD, (fig-. 2.) the final velocity, name-
ly, that at the point D, will be equal to the final velo¬
city in descending through the perpendicular AE, the
perpendicular heights being equal. Hence, if these
planes be supposed indefinitely short and numerous, they
may be conceived to form a curve, and therefore the
final velocity acquired by a body in descending through
any curve AF, will be equal to the final velocity ac¬
quired in descending through the planes AB, BC, CD,
or to that in descending through AE, the perpendicular
heights being equal.
IV. If from the upper or lower extremity of the
vertical diameter of a circle a cord be drawn, the time
of descent along this cord will be equal to the time of
descent through the vertical diameter} and therefore
the times ot descent through all cords in the same circle,
drawn from the extremity of the vertical diameter, will
he equal.
V. The times of descent of two bodies through two
planes equally elevated will be in the subduplicate
ratio of the lengths of the planes. If, instead of one
plane, each be composed of several contiguous planes
similarly placed, the times of descent along these planes
will be in the same ratio. Hence, also, the times of
describing similar arches of circles similarly placed will
be in the subduplieate ratio of the lengths of the arches.
V I. The same things hold good with regard to bodies
projected upward, whether they ascend upon inclined
planes or along the arches of circles.
The point or axis of suspension of a pendulum is that
point about which it performs its vibrations, or from
which it is suspended.
The centre of oscillation is a point in which, if all
the matter in a pendulum were collected, any force
applied at this centre would generate the same angular
velocity in a given time as the same force when applied
at the centre of gravity.
The length of a pendulum is equal to the distance
between the axis of suspension and centre of oscilla¬
tion.
3- c ^et 3-) represent a pendulum suspended
trom the point P ; if the lower part N of the pendu¬
lum be raised to A, and let fall, it will by its own gra¬
vity descend through the circular arch AN, and will
have acquired the same velocity at the point N that a
body would acquire in falling perpendicularly from C
to F, and will endeavour to go off with that velocity
in the tangent ND ; but being prevented by the rod
or cord, will move through the arch NB to B, where,
losing all its velocity, it will by its gravity descend
through the arch BN, and, having acquired the same
velocity as before, will ascend to A. In this manner
it will continue its motion forward and backward along
the arch ANB, which is called an oscillatory or vibra
tony motion 5 and each swing is called a vibration.
Prop. I. If a pendulum vibrates in very small circu¬
lar arches, the times of vibration may be considered as
equal, whatever be the proportion of the arches.
• PN (fig. 4 ) be a pendulum ; the time of de¬
scribing the arch AB will be equal to the time of de¬
scribing CD ; these arches being supposed very small.
Join AN, CN ; then since the times of descent along
all cords in the same circles, drawn from one extremity
ant16 vert*ca® J^nreter, ate equal } therefore the cords
AN,CN, and consequent ly theif doubles, will be descrifc-
] PEN
ed in the same time j but the arches AN, CN being
supposed very small, will therefore be nearly equal to Cl”,
their cords : hence the times of vibrations in these arches
will be nearly equal.
Prop. II. Pendulums which are of the same length
vibrate in the same time, whatever be the proportion
their weights.
Jhis follows from the property of gravity, which is
always proportional to the quantity of matter, or to
its inertia. W hen the vibrations of pendulums are com¬
pared, it is always understood that the pendulums de¬
scribe either similar finite arcs, or arcs of evanescent
magnitude, unless the contrary is mentioned.
Prop. III. If a pendulum vibrates in the small are
of a circle, the time oi one vibration is to the time of
a body’s falling perpendicularly through half the length
of the pendulum, as the circumference of a circle is to
its diameter.
th the Pendutum which describes Fig. c.
)e arch ANC m the time of one vibration : let PN
be perpend,cular to the horizon, and draw the cords
FErAN/ ke t ,evarc ^finitely small, and draw
j eJS Perpendicular to PN, or parallel to AC •
describe the semicircle BGN, and draw er, g* perpen-
ocular to EG: now let time of descending through
the diameter 2PN, or through the cord AN : Then
the velocities gained by falling through 2PN, and by
the pendulum’s descending through the arch AE, will
be as ^2PN and ^/BF; and the space described in the
time t, after the fall through 2PN, is 4PN. But the
times are as the spaces divided by the velocities.
^PN - -V2PN : / Ee
x/BF
But in the similar
Therefore
: or 2
x/zPN
describing E cs f  
2x/2Pn x be'
triangles PEE, E e r, and KGF, G g\9,
As PE=PN : EF:: Ee
time of
EF
<?r=~_xEe;
And KGzzKD : EG :: Gg
„ fp pip
But er=zGs; therefore XE e=j~ x Gg.
‘PN
P FG ~
Gs=kBXG‘
Hence E e~
PNxFG
'HD
r.xG^.
KDxEE
And by substituting this value of E e in the former
equation, we have the time of describing
^xPNxFGxG#
E e—
But by the nature of the
2KD xEF x s/BE X 2PN
circle FG= v/BF x FN, and EF=x/pN-f-PF+FN.
Hence, by substitution, we obtain the time of describing
J X PN x x/BF X FN xGg
Ee=
2KD^PN + PI XFNXx/BF X 2PN'
^ * s/FN x Gg _ —_J X s/ 2FN x Gg
2KDX x/FN + PFX^ 4Kl)xs/EN + tE~
? X x/ 2PN Ti •
„ K T 7=5j^r—“fPr X Gg. But NF, m its meat* •.
2BN x x/2FN — NF
quantity for all the arches Gg-, is nearly eqital to NK;
for if the semicircle described on the diameter BN,
which corresponds to the whole arch AN, be divided;
into.)
Pendulum.
s Fig. 6.
PEN [ii
intoan iiulefinitenumber of equal arches,Gg, &c. the sum
of all the lines NF, will be equal to as many timesNK, as
there are arches in the semicircle equal to G g; there-
f Xx/^l^N
fore the time of describing E
XGg. Whence the time of describing the arch AED
— f X X BGN j and the time of de-
2BNx>72PN—.
scribing the whole arch ADC, or the time of one vi
* X v/2 PN ■
bration, xs =
X 2BGN. But
2BNxv/2PN—NK
when the arch ANC is very small, NK vanishes, and
then the time of vibration in a very small arc is
fXyAFN X 2BGN=4^ Novv If ^
^"sBNXx/ 2PN i3iNi . .
be the time of descent through 2PN j then since the
spaces described are as the squares of the times, ^ t will
be the time of descent through ^PN = therefore the
diameter BN is to the circumference 2bGN, as the
time of falling through half the length of 4.be pendulum
is to the time of one vibration.
Prop. IV. The length of a pendulum vibrating se¬
conds is to twice the space through which a body falls
in one second, as the square of the diameter of a circle
is to the square of its circumference. <
Let d= diameter of a circle = 1, c= circumference
= 2.14159, &c. t to the time of one vibration, and^ the
length of the corresponding pendulum j then by the
last proposition c : d :: 1" : time of falling through
half the length of the pendulum. Let s =: space de¬
scribed by a body falling perpendicularly in the first
second: then since the spaces described are in the sub¬
duplicate ratio of the times of description, therefore
1" : — :: Vs : V^p. Hence c2 : d2:: 2s : p.
' c
It has been found by experiment, that in latitude
ci4° a body falls about‘16.11 feet in the first second :
hence the length of a pendulum vibrating seconds in
that latitudeis=J5=S^= 3 feet 3-*74 lnches-
3.14159!*
ProB. V. The times of the vibrations of two pen¬
dulums in similar arcs of circles are in a subduphqate
ratio of the lengths of the pendulums. .
Let PN PO (fig. 6.) be two pendulums vibrating in
the similar arcs AB. CD j the time of a vibration
of the pendulum PN is to the time of a. vibration
of the pendulum PO in a subduplicate ratio of 1JN
to PO. . j • 1
Since the arcs AN, CO are similar and similarly
placed, the time of descent through AN will be to
the time of descent through CO in the subduplicate
ratio of AN to CO : but the times of descent through
the arcs AN and CO are equal to half the times of
vibration of the pendulums PN, PO respectively.
Hence the time of vibration of the pendulum PN in
the arc AB is to the time of vibration of the pen¬
dulum PO in the similar arc CD in the subduplicate
ratio of AN to CO : and since the radii PN, PO are
proportional to the similar arcs AN, CO, therefore
the time of vibration of the pendulum PN will be to
2 ] PEN
the time of vibration of the pendulum PO in a subdu- pendulum,
plicate ratio of PN to PO. v
If the length of a pendulum vibrating seconds be
39.1'74 inches, then the length of a pendulum vibra¬
ting half seconds will be 9-793 inches. I or 1"
V~v; and 1 : i :: 39-174 : Hence
29,174
*=^-^=9.793.
4 ...
Prop. AT. The lengths of pendulums vibrating in
the same time, in different places, will be as the forces
of gravity. , . .
For the velocity generated in any given time is di¬
rectly as the force of gravity, and inversely as the quan¬
tity of matter. Now the matter being supposed the
same in both pendulums, the velocity is as the force of
gravity ; and the space passed through in a given time
will be as the velocity 5 that is, as the gravity.
Cor. Since the lengths of pendulums vibrating in the
same time in small arcs are as the gravitating foices, and
as gravity increases with the latitude on account of the
spheroidal figure of the earth and its rotation about its
axis; hence the length of a pendulum vibrating in a
given time will be variable with the latituce, and the
same pendulum will vibrate slower the nearer it is car¬
ried to the equator.
Prop. VII. The time of vibrations of pendulums
of the same length, acted upon by different forces of
gravity, are reciprocally as the square roots of the
forces#
For when the matter is given, the velocity is as the
force and time j and the space described by any given
force is as the force and square of the time. Hence the
lengths of pendulums are as the forces and the squares
of the times of falling through them. But these times
are in a given ratio to the times of vibration j whence
the lengths of pendulums are as the forces and the
squares of the times of vibration. Therefore, when the
lengths are given, the forces will be reciprocally as the
square of the times, and the times of vibration recipro¬
cally as the square roots of the forces.
Cor. Let ^ = length of pendulum, g = force of
gravity, and £=:time of vibration. Then since p =
gx J2. Hence g—p X -t > and tzz
That is, the forces in different places are directly as
the lengths of the pendulums, and inversely as the square
roots of the times of vibration *, and the times of vibra¬
tion are directly as the square roots of the lengths of the
pendulums, and inversely as the square roots of the gra¬
vitating forces. , .
Prop. VIII. A pendulum which vibrates m the
arch of a cycloid describes the greatest and least vibra¬
tions in the same time.
This property is demonstrated only on a supposition
that the whole mass of the pendulum is concentrated in
a point: but this cannot take place in any really vibra¬
ting body, and when the pendulum is of finite magni¬
tude, there is no point given in position which deter¬
mines the length of the pendulum j on the contrary the
centre of oscillation will not occupy the same place m
the given body, when describing different parts of the
tract it moves through, but will continually be moved in
respect of the pendulum itself during its vibration. It
may, however, be observed, that Huyghens, aware that
Pendulum
f e 7>y
Mfeter,
H- MI-
P E N [I
a pendulum ball suspended at the end of a thread vibra¬
ting between cycloids, would not describe a cycloid
with its centre of oscillation, gave a very beautiful and
simple method of suspension, which secured its vibrations
in that curve. Harrison, whose authority is next, insists
on the advantage of wide vibrations, and in his own
clocks, he always used cycloidal checks. This circum¬
stance has prevented any general determination of the
time of vibration in a cycloidal arc, except in the ima¬
ginary case referred to.
There are many other obstacles which concur in ren¬
dering the application of this curve to the vibration of
pendulums designed for the measures of time the source
of errors far greater than those which by its peculiar
property it is intended to obviate ; and it is now wholly
disused in practice.
Although the times of vibration of a pendulum in
different arches be nearly equal, yet from what has been
said, it will appear, that if the ratio of the least of these
arches to the greatest be considerable, the vibrations will
be formed in different times j and the difference, though
small, will become sensible in the course of one or more
days. In clocks used for astronomical purposes, it will
therefore be necessary to observe the arc of vibration $
which if different from that described by the pendulum
when the clock keeps time, there a correction must be
applied to the time shown by the clock. This correc¬
tion, expressed in seconds of time, will be equal to the
half of three times the difference of the square of the
given arc, and that of the arc described by the pen¬
dulum vvhen the clock keeps time, these arcs being ex¬
pressed in degrees ; and so much will the clock gain
nr lose according as the first of these arches is-less or
greater than the second.
I bus, if a clock keep time when the pendulum vi¬
brates in the arch of 30, it will lose io4 seconds daily
in an arch of 4 degrees.
For 41—3 2 X |=7 X 4= 1 Oi seconds.
Ihe length of a pendulum rod increases with heat;
anu the quantity of expansion answering to any given
degree of heat is experimentally found by means of a
pyiometer 1 ; but the degree of heat at any given time
is shown by a thermometer: hence that instrument
should be placed within the clock case at a height near-
|y equal to that of the middle of the pendulum j and
its height, for this purpose, should be examined at least
once a day. Now by a table constructed to exhibit tbe
daily quantity of acceleration or retardation of the clock
answering to every probable height of the thermometer,
the corresponding correction may be obtained. It is
also necessary to observe, that the mean height of the
thermometer during Uie interval ought to he used. Jn
Six’s thermometer this height may be easily obtained ;
mt in thermometers of the common construction it will
he more difficult to find this mean.
It had been found, by repeated experiments, that a
brass rod equal in length to a second pendulum will
expand or contract T^o part of an inch by a change
0 temperature of one degree in Fahrenheit’s thermo-
nieter; and since the times of vibration are in a subdu¬
plicate ratio of the lengths of the pendulum, hence an
expansion or contraction of j-^o Part of an inch will
answer nearly to one second daily ; therefore a change of
one degree in the thermometer will occasion a difference
in the rate of the clock equal to one second daily.
Vol. XYI. Part I. f
PEN
13 ]
Whence, if the clock be so adjusted as to keen time p a 1
when the thermometer is at 550, it will lose 10 seconds
daily when the thermometer is at 630, and gain as much
when it is at 450.
Hence the daily variation of the rate of the clock
from summer to winter will be very considerable. It
true indeed that most pendulums have a nut or re¬
gulator at the lower end, by which the bob maV be rai¬
sed or lowered a determinate quantity; and therefore
while the height of the thermometer is the same, the
rate of the clock will be uniform. But since the state
of the weather is ever variable, and as it is impossible to
be raising or lowering the boh of the pendulum at every
change of the thermometer, therefore the correction
formerly mentioned is to be applied. This correction
however, is in some measure liable to a small degree of
uncertainty ; and in order to avoid it altogether, several
contrivances have been proposed by constructing a pen¬
dulum of different materials, and so disposing them that
their effects may be m opposite directions, and thereby
counterbalance each other; and by this means the pen¬
dulum will continue of the same length.
Mcrcuna/ Pendulum. The first of these inven-Mercurial
tions is that by the celebrated Mr George Graham. In Pendulum.
tins, the rod of the pendulum is a hollow tube, into
wnch a sufficient quantity of mercury is introduced.
Mr Graham first used a glass tube, and the clock to
which it was applied was placed in the most exposed
part of the house. It was kept constantly goin?, with¬
out having the hands or pendulum altered, from the oth PMlos.
or June 1*7^29. tn tin* t /ift.     i . * Trans.
r T ^ IIUI11 uie QUlA'itiO;
ol June 1722 to the 14th of October 1725, and its rate Trani
was determined by transits of fixed stars. Another il25-
1 , , . ' /     n-vtu oicirs. Another v?02,
clock made with extraordinary care, having a pendu-" 39
lum about 60 pounds weight, and not vibrating above
one degree and a half from the perpendicular, was placed
beside the former, in order the more readily to compare
them with each other, and that they might both be
equally exposed. The result of all the observations was
this, that the irregularity of the clock with the quick-
^1 \ei pendulum exceeded not, when greatest, a sixth
part of that of the other clock with the common pen¬
dulum, but for the greatest part of the year not above
an eighth or ninth part; and even this quantity would
nave been lessened, had the column of mercury been a
little shorter: for it differed a little the contrary way
from the other clock, going faster with heat and slower
with cold. 10 confirm this experiment more, about the
beginning of July 1723 Mr Graham took off the heavy
pendulum from the other clock, and made another with
mercury, but with this difference, that instead of a ylass
tube he used a brass one, and varnished the inside to
secure it from being injured by the mercury. This
pendulum he used afterwards, and found it about the
same degree of exactness as the other.
The Gridiron Pendulum is an ingenious contri-
vance for the same purpose. Instead of one rod, this Pendulum.
pendulum is composed of any convenient number of
rods, as five, seven, or nine ; being so connected, that
ie eflect of one set of them counteracts that of the
other set; and therefore, being properly adjusted to
each other, the centres of suspension and oscillation
will always he equidistant. Fig. 7. represents a gridiron „
pendulum composed of nine rods, steel and brass al- ' 7'
ternately. The two outer rods AB, CD, which are
of steel, are fastened to the cross pieces AC, BD by
-P means
PEN [114] PEN
The next two rods, EF, GH, are of formed for that purpose) J to the other rod is firmly Pendulum
Ihe next two , » , fixe(l by its eentre the lens G, of 24 pounds weight, 1    
although it should in strictness be a little below it.
This pendulum is suspended by a short steel spring on
the gibbet at C j all which is entirely independent of
the clock. To the hack of the clock plate I are him-
f'endu um oF pins# ~~ , . .
V-— brass, and are fastened to the lower bar BD, and to the
second upper bar EG. The two following rods are of
steel, and are fastened to the cross bars EG and Uv.
The two rods adjacent to the central rod being of
brass, are fastened to the cross pieces v an > ^"screwed two cheekTnearly cycloidal atK, exactly in
Ll M 'itZU - .,ntK of .hJ verge L. The ^
and passes freely through a perforation m each of the
cross bars IK, BD. From this disposition of the rods,
it is evident that, by the expansion of the extreme
rods, the cross piece BD, and the two rods attached
to it, will descend : but since these rods are expanded
by the same heat, the cross piece EG will consequent¬
ly be raised, and therefore also the two next rods •, but
because these rods are also expanded, the cross bar IK
will descend*, and by the expansion of the two next
rods, the piece LM will be raised a quantity sufficient
to counteract the expansion of the central ro . icnce
it is obvious, that the effect of the steel rods is to in¬
crease the length of the pendulum in hot weather, and
to diminish it in cold weather, and that the brass it) s
have a contrary effect upon the pendulum. Ihe effect
of the brass rods must, however, be equivalent not only
to that of the steel rods, but also to the part above the
frame and spring, which connects it with the cock, and
to that part between the lower part of the frame and
the centre of the ball.
M. Thiout. Another excellent contrivance for the same purpose
is described in a French author on clock-making. It
was used in the north of England by an ingenious ar¬
tist about 40 years ago. This invention is as follows .
4 bar of the same metal with the rod of the pendu¬
lum and of the same dimensions, is placed against the
back part of the clock case; from the top of ^ a part ’pen(iulum, but at the same time
projects, to which the upper part of the 8 e"r",.aease the tiure of vibration. In
connected by two fine pliable chains 01 si cn S’ ,u|um t|le t;me 0f vibration depends on the
wE Ce) et” Sa,“ nZte the length of ^
The bar rests upon an immoveable base at the lower
part of the case; and is inserted into a groove, by
which means it is always retained in the same position.
From this construction, it is evident that the extension
or contraction of this bar, and of the rod of the pen¬
dulum, will be equal, and in contrary directions. lor
suppose the rod of the pendulum to be expanded any
,nven Quantity by heat; then, as the lower end ot the
tr rests upon affixed point, the bar will be expanded legs are opened,
upwards, and raise the upper end of the pendulum just
as much as its length was increased; and hence its length
below the plates will be the same as before.
Of this pendulum, somewhat improved by Mr Gros-
thwaite watch and clock-maker, Dublin, we have the
following description in the Transactions of the KoyaL
Irish Academy, 1788.-“ A and B (fig. 8.) are two
rods of steel forged out of the same bar, at the same
time, of the same temper, and in every respect similar.
On the top of B is formed a gibbet C ; this rod is
firmly supported by a steel bracket D, fixed on a large
uiece^ of marble E, firmly set into the wall F, and hav¬
ing liberty to move freely upwards between cross sta¬
ples of brass, I, 2, 3, 4* whlch tou?h °,nly 10 a P01"1
in front and rear (the staples having been carefully
ing power is applied by a cylindrical steel stud, in the
usual way of regulators, at M. Now, it is very evi¬
dent, that any expansion or contraction that takes
place in either of these exactly similar rods, is instantly
counteracted by the other ; whereas in &W compensation
pendulums composed of different materials, however
iust calculation may seem to be, that can never be t le
case, as not only different metals, but also different bars
of the same metal, that are not manufactured at the
same time, and exactly in the same manner, are lounil
by a good pyrometer to differ materially in then degiees
of expansion and contraction, a very small change ailect-
ing one and not the other.” . . c
The expansion or contraction of straight grained fir Itr Pendu.
wood lengthwise, by change of temperature is so small, ^*
that it is found to make very good pendulum rods.
The wood called sapadillo is said to be still better.
There is good reason to believe, that the previous ba¬
king, varnishing, gilding, or soaking of these woods in
any melted matter, only tends to impair the property
that renders them valuable. They should he simply
rubbed on the outside with wax and a cloth. In pen¬
dulums of this construction the error is greatly dimi¬
nished, but not taken away. . , ,
Angular Pexdulvm, is formed of two pieces or legsffffi^
like a sector, and is suspended by the angular point.
This pendulum was invented with a view to diminish the
f i t  K.,*. timPi
are
Fig. S.
construction may be made to oscillate in any given
time. At the lower extremity of each leg of the pen¬
dulum is a ball or bob as usual. It may be easily
shown, that in this kind of a pendulum, the squares
of the times of vibration are as the secants ot halt the
angle contained by the legs : hence if a pendulum ot
this construction vibrates half seconds when its legs
close, it will vibrate whole seconds when the
are opened, so as to contain an angle equal to
I tlu 2-5-k
b The*Conical or Circular Pendulum, is so cMeAconical or
from the figure described by the string or b“'1 0'^e
pendulum. This pendulum was invented by JUi Du}-*
gens, and is also claimed by Dr Hooke.
" In order to understand the principles of this pendu¬
lum, it will he necessary to premise the following lem¬
ma, viz. the times of all the circular revolutions of a
heavy globular body, revolving within an inverted hol¬
low paraboloid, will be equal, whatever be the radii ot
the circle described by that body.
In order, therefore, to construct the pendulum so
that its ball may always describe its revolutions in a pa¬
raboloid surface, it will be necessary that the rod ot
the pendulum be flexible, and that it be suspended in
plate rrrnv//
Fcndultni
i'i,?- 9-
PEN [ i
such a manner as to form the evolute of the given pa-
1 rabola* Hence, let KH (fig. 9.) lie an axis perpendi¬
cular to the horizon, having a pinion at K moved by
the last wheel in the train of the clock j and a harden¬
ed steel point at H moving in an agate pivot, to render
the motion as free as possible. Now, let it be required
that the pendulum shall perform each revolution in a
second, then the paraboloid surface it moves in must
be such whose latua rectum, is double the length of the
common half second pendulum. Let O be the focus
of the parabola MEC, and MC the latus rectum ; and
make ~ the length of a common
half second pendulum. At the point A of the verge,
let a thin plate AB be fixed at one end, and at the
other end B let it be fastened to a bar or arm BD per¬
pendicular to DH, and to which it is fixed at the point
D. The figure of the plate AB is that of the evolute
of the given parabola MEC.
The equation of this evolute, being also that of the
Peniel.
27
semicubical parabola, is—^,f2=y3.—Let—then
¥ x*zzy3, and in the focus P—2y. In this case 2x'2-=z
y^^P*: hence a;* =: •£!?*, and a?r=P\/\-=z~^p\/the
distance of the focus from the vertex A.—By assuming
the value of x, the ordinates of the curve may be found ;
and hence it may be easily drawn.
The string of the pendulum must be of such a length
that when one end is fixed at B, it may lie over the
plate AB, and then hang perpendicular from it, so that
the centre of the bob may be at E when at rest. Now,
the verge KH being put into motion, the ball of the
pendulum will begin to gyrate, and thereby conceive a
centrifugal force which will carry it out from the axis
to some point F, where it will circulate seconds or half
seconds, according as the line AE is 9.8 inches, or 2^
inches, and AB answerable to it.
One advantage possessed by a clock having a pendu¬
lum of this construction is, that the second hand moves
in a regular and uniform manner, without being subject
to those jerks or starts as in common clocks ; and the
pendulum is entirely silent.
Theory has pointed out several other pendulums,
known by the names of Elliptical, Horizontal, Rotulary,
Sec. pendulums. These, however, have not as yet at¬
tained that degree of perfection as to supplant the com¬
mon pendulum.
Observing that both the gridiron and mercurial pen¬
dulums are subject to many inconveniences and errors,
Mr Kater has attempted to construct one possessing such
properties in respect of cheapness and accuracy as he
thinks might justly give it the preference to any other.
As wood possesses a less degree of expansibility by
means of heat than any other substance j on this oc-
count, if it could be x’endered quite impervious to
moisture, it would be the best of all substances for the
rod of a pendulum •, and as it also appears that zinc,
above all other metals, possesses the greatest degree of
expansibility by means of heat, he considered it the best
substance which could be employed for a compensation.
His next object was to institute a set of delicate experi¬
ments, in order to ascertain the precise degree of the
expansibility of wood by the application of heat, and he
discovered by the use of a pyrometer, that a rod of very
27,_i
15 } PEN
dry, well seasoned white wood, four feet long, three- Pendulum
fourths of an inch broad, and one-fourth of an inch
thick, when exposed in an oven to the temperature of,
235°, had contracted. Being again put into the oven,
where it was permitted to remain for a long time till it
became a little discoloured, with a view to, dissipate the
whole of the moisture, it was placed in the pyrometer,
and allowed to remain till it reached the temperature of
the room, or 490, when it was found to have contract¬
ed 0.0205 °f an incfi with 186° of Fahrenheit, from
which we obtain by proportion 0.0049 of an inch for
the expansion of one foot with 1800 difference of tem¬
perature. Thus,
0.020 cx 180 0.0198
—186 =—^-=0-0049.
But for a general description of this pendulum, and
a full account of the manner in which it is constructed,
we must refer our readers to the inventor’s own paper,
Nichol. Jour. vol. xx. p. 214.
Besides the use of the pendulum in measuring time,
it has also been suggested as a proper standard for mea¬
sures of length. See Measure.
PENEA, a genus of plants belonging to the tetran-
dria class, and in the natural method ranking with those
of which the order is doubtful. See Botany Index.
PENELOPE, in fabulous histoi'y, the daughter of
Icarus, married Ulysses, by whom she had Teleinachus.
During the absence of Ulysses, who was gone to the siege
of Trov, and who staid 20 years from his dominions, se¬
veral princes charmed with Penelope’s beauty, told her
that Ulysses was dead, offered to marry her, and pressed
her to declare in their favour. She promised compli¬
ance on condition they would give her time to finish a
piece of tapestry she was weaving \ but at the same time
she undid in the night what she had done in the day,
and by this artifice eluded their importunity till Ulys¬
ses’s return.
Penelope, a genus of birds of the order oigallirue.
See Ornithology Index.
PENESTICA, (Antonine), a town of the Helvc-
tii, situated between the Lacus Lausonius and Salodu-
rum ; called Pctenisca by Peutinger. Thought now to
be Biel (Cluverius) ; the capital of a small territory in
Swisserland.
PENEUS, (Strabo) ; a river running through the
middle of Thessaly, from west to east, into the Sinus
Thermaicus, between Olympus and Ossa, near Tempe
of Thessaly, rising in Mount Pindus, (Ovid, Val. Flac-
cus).
PENETRALE, a sacred room or chapel in private
houses, which was set apart for the worship of the house¬
hold gods among the ancient Romans. In temples also
there were penetralia, or apartments of distinguished
sanctity, where the images of the gods were kept, and
certain solemn ceremonies performed.
PENGUIN, or Pinguin. See Penguin, Orni¬
thology Index.
PENICILLUS, among surgeons, is used for a tent
to be put into wounds or ulcers.
PENIEL, or Penuel, a city beyond Jordan, near
the ford or brook Jabbok. This was the occasion of
its name. Jacob, upon his return from Mesopotamia,
(Gen. xxxii. 24, &c.) made a stop at the brook Jabbok:
and very early the next morning, after he had sent all
P 2 the
PEN
[ n6 ]
PEN
the people before, he remained alone, and behold an
angel came, and Avrestled with him till the day began
to appear. Then the angel said to Jacob, Let me go,
for the morning begins to appear. Jacob answered, I
shall not let you go from me till you have given me your
blessing. The angel blessed him then in the same place,
which Jacob thence called Peniel, saying, I have seen
God face to face, yet continue alive. _ . .
In.following ages the Israelites built a city in this
place? which was given to the tribe of Gad. Gideon,
returning from the pursuit of the Midiamtes overthrew
the tower of Peniel, (Judges viii. 17.), and put all the
inhabitants of the city to death, for having refused sus-
tenance to him and his people, and having answered him
in a very insulting manner. Jeroboam the son ot JNebat
rebuilt the city of Peniel, (1 Kings xu. 25.). Josephus
says, that this prince there built himself a palace.
PENINNAH, the second wife of Elkanah, the la¬
ther of Samuel. Peninnah had several children, (1 Sam.
i. 2, 3, &c.), but Hannah, who afterwards was mother
of Samuel, was for a great while barren: Peninnah, in¬
stead of giving the glory to God, the author of fruitful¬
ness, was elevated with pride, and insulted her rival
Hannah. But the Lord having visited Hannan, I enin-
nah was thereupon humbled : and some interpreters
think, that God took away her children from her, or
at least that she had no more after this time, according
to the words of the song of Hannah, (1 Sam. 11. 5.),
“ The barren hath born seven, and she that hath many
children is waxed feeble.”
PENINSULA, in Geography, a portion or extent
of land joining to the continent by a narrow neck or
isthmus, the rest being encompassed with water.
PENIS, in Anatomy. See Anatomy Index.
PENITENCE, is sometimes used for a state of re¬
pentance, and sometimes for the act of repenting. See
Bepentance. It is also used for a discipline, or punish¬
ment atending repentance j more usually called penance.
It also gives title to several religious orders, consisting
either of converted debauchees, and reformed prosti¬
tutes, or of persons who devote themselves to the office
of reclaiming them. Of this latter kind is the
Order of Penitence of St Magdalen, established
about the year 1272 by one Bernard, a citizen of Mar¬
seilles, who devoted himself to the work of converting
the courtezans of that city. Bernard was seconded by
several others > who, forming a kind of society, were at
length erected into a religious order by Pope Nicholas
HI. under the rule of St Augustine. F. Gesnay says,
that they also made a religious order of the penitents,
or women they converted,, giving them the same rules
and observances which they themselves kept.
Congregation of Penitence of St Magdalen at Pa¬
ris, owed its rise to the preaching of F. Tisseran a Fran¬
ciscan, who converted a vast number of courtezans about
the year 1492. Louis duke of Orleans gave them his
house for a monastery, or rather, as appears by their
constitutions, Charles VIII. gave them the hotel called
Pochaigne, whence they were removed to St George’s
chapel, in 11;72. By virtue of a brief of Pope Alexan¬
der, Simon bishop of Paris, in 1497, drew up for them
a body of statutes, and gave them the rule of St Augus¬
tine. It was necessary, before a woman could be ad¬
mitted, that she had first committed the sin of the flesh.
None wgts admitted >vho 'were above 35 yeaiS a'Se*
Till the beginning of the last century, none but pern- Penitence
tents were admitted; but since its reformation by Mary 11
Alvequin, in 1616, none have been admitted but maids, rennen.
who, however, still retain the ancient name penitents,
PENITENTS, an appellation given to certain fra¬
ternities of penitents distinguished by the diflerent shape
and colour of their habits. These are secular societies,
who have their rules, statutes, and churches, and make
public processions under their particular crosses or ban¬
ners. Of these there are more than a hundred, the most
considerable of which are as follow : the white penitents,
of which there are several different sorts at Borne, the
most ancient of which was constituted in 1264 ; the
brethren of this fraternity every year give portions to
a certain number of young girls, in order to their being
married: their habit is a kind of white sackcloth, and
on the shoulder is-a circle, in the middle of which is a
red and white cross. Black penitents, the most consi¬
derable of which are the brethren of mercy, instituted
in 1488 by some Florentines, in order to assist criminals
during their imprisonment, and at the time of their
death : on the day of execution they walk in procession
before them, singing the seven penitential psalms and
the litanies ; and after they are dead, they take them
down from the gibbet and bury them ; their habit is
black sackcloth. There are others whose business it is
to bury such persons as are found dead in the streets.
these wear a death’s head on one side of their habit.
There are also blue, gray, red, green, and violet peni¬
tents 5 all of whom are remarkable for little else besides
the different colours of their habits.
Mabillon tells us, that at Turin there are a set ot pe¬
nitents kept in pay to walk through the streets in pro¬
cession, and cut their shoulders with whips, &c.
Penitents, or Converts oj'tJie name of Jesus, a c01*"
gregation of religious at Seville in Spain, consisting of
women who had led a licentious life, founded in 1550.
This monastery is divided into three quarters: one for
professed religious*, another for novices j a third for those
who are under correction. When these last give signs
of a real repentance, they are removed into the quarter
of the novices, where, if they do not behave themselves
well, they are remanded to their correction. They ob¬
serve the rule of St Augustine.
Penitents of Orvieto, are an order of nuns, institut¬
ed by Antony Simoncelli, a gentleman of Orvieto in
Italy. The monastery he built was at first designed tor
the reception of poor girls, abandoned by their parents,
and in danger of losing their virtue. In 1662 it was
erected into a monastery, for the reception ot such as,
having abandoned themselves to impurity, were willing
to take up, and consecrate themselves to God by so¬
lemn vows. Their rule is that of the Carmelites.
These religious have this in peculiar, that they un¬
dergo no noviciate. All required is, that they con¬
tinue a few months in the monastery in a secular habit j
after which they are admitted to the vows.
PENITENTIAL, an ecclesiastical book, retained
among the Romanists j in which is prescribed what re¬
lates to the imposition of penance and the reconcilia¬
tion of penitents. See Penance.
There are various penitentials, as the Roman peni¬
tential, that of the venerable Bede, that ot Pope Gre-
" ''pENIlTiNTIARY, in the ancient Christian church,.
PEN [ i
Peniten- a name given to certain presbyters or priests, appointed
tiary in every church to receive the private confessions of the
p un Pe0P^e> order to facilitate public discipline, by ac-
' . quainting them what sins were to be expiated by public
penance, and to appoint private penance for such private
crimes as were not proper to be publicly censured.
Penitentiary, at the court of Rome, is an office in
which are examined and delivered out the secret bulls,
graces, or dispensations relating to cases of conscience,
confessions, &c.
Penitentiary, is also an officer, in some cathedrals,
vested with power from the bishop to absolve, in cases
referred to him. The pope has at present his grand
penitentiary, who is a cardinal and the chief of the
other penitentiary priests established in the church of
Rome, who consult him in all difficult cases. He pre¬
sides in the penitentiary, dispatches dispensations, abso¬
lutions, &c. and has under him a regent and proctor.
Penitentiary, a prison or place of confinement for
criminals, in which the prisoners are made to labour,
and a system of discipline is employed for effecting their
reformation. The building is so constructed that the
overseer from a central station can observe the conduct
of every individual. There is an establishment of this
kind at Milbank, near London, but the building is not yet
finished. It is intended for the reception of such crimi¬
nals as have hitherto been transported to New South
Wales, for a less period than during life.
PENMAN-Mawr, a mountain in Caernarvonshire,
1400 feet high. It hangs perpendicularly over the sea,
at so vast a height, that few spectators are able to look
down the dreadful steep. On the side which is next the
sea, there is a road cut out of the side of the rock, about
six or seven feet wide, which winds up a steep ascent.
PENN, William, an eminent writer among the
Quakers, and the planter and legislator of Pensylvania,
was the son of Sir William Penn, and was born at Lon¬
don in 1644. In 1660, he was entered a gentleman
of Christ-Church, in Oxford j but having before receiv¬
ed an impression from the preaching of one Thomas
Loe a Quaker, withdrew with some other students from
the national worship, and held private meetings, where
they preached and prayed amongst themselves. This
giving great offence to the heads of the college, Mr
Penn, though but 16 years of age, was fined for non¬
conformity and continuing his religious exercises, was
at length expelled the college. Upon his return home,
he was on the same account, treated with great severity
by his father, who at last turned him out of doors ; but
his resentment afterwards abating, he sent him to France
in company with some persons of quality j where he con¬
tinued a considerable time, and returned not only well
skilled in the French language, but a polite and ac¬
complished gentleman. About the year 1666, his fa¬
ther committed to his care a considerable estate in Ire¬
land. Being found in one of the Quakers meetings in
Cork, he, with many others, -was thrown into prison j
but on his writing to the earl of Orrery, was soon dis¬
charged. However, his father being informed he still
adhered to his opinions, sent for him to England, and
finding him inflexible to all his arguments, turned him
out of doors a second time. About the year 1668, he
became a public preacher among the Quakers j and that
year was committed close prisoner to the Tower, where
Me wrote several treatises. Being discharged after seven
17 ] PEN
months imprisonment, he went to Ireland, where he also
preached amongst the Quakers. Returning to England,,
he was in 1670 committed to Newgate, for preaching
in Gracechurch-street meeting-house, London j but be¬
ing tried at the sessions-house of the Old Bailey, he was
acquitted. In September the same year, his father died j
and being perfectly reconciled to him, left him both his
paternal blessing and a good estate. But his persecu¬
tions were not yet at an end; for in 1671 he was com¬
mitted to Newgate for preaching at a meeting in Wheel¬
er-street, London j and during his imprisonment, which:
continued six months, he also wrote several treatises.
After his discharge, he went into Holland and Ger¬
many j and in the beginning of the year 1672, married
and settled with his family at Rickmansworth in Hert¬
fordshire. The same year he published several pieces j
and particularly one against Reeve and Muggleton. In
i6?7» he again travelled into Holland and Germany in
order to propagate his opinions j and had frequent con¬
versations with the princess Elizabeth, daughter to the
queen of Bohemia, and sister to the princess Sophia, mo¬
ther to King George I. In 1681, King Charles II. in
consideration of the services of Mr Penn’s father, and
several debts due to him from the crown at the time of
his decease, granted Mr Penn and his heirs the province
lying on the west side of the river Delaware in North
America, which from thence obtained the name of Pen¬
sylvania, Upon this Mr Penn published a brief account
of that province, with the king’s patent •, and proposing
an easy purchase of lands, and good terms of settlement
for such as were inclined to remove thither, many went
over. These having made and improved their planta¬
tions to good advantage, the governor, in order to se¬
cure the planters from the native Indians, appointed
commissioners to purchase the land he had received
from the king of the native Indians, and concluded a
peace Avith them. The city of Philadelphia Avas plan¬
ned and built; and he himself dreAV up the fundamental
constitutions of Pensylvania in 24 articles. In 1681,
he Avas elected a member of the Royal Society j and the
next year he embarked for Pensylvania, where he conti¬
nued about tAvo years, and returned to England in Au¬
gust 1684. Upon the accession of King James to the
throne, he was taken into a great degree of favour with
his majesty, which exposed him to the imputation of
being a Papist; but from which he fully vindicated
himself. HoAvever, upon the Revolution, he Avas ex¬
amined before the council in 1688, and obliged to give
security for his appearance on the first day of next term,
Avhich Avas afterwards continued. He was several times
discharged and examined j and at length warrants being
issued out against him, he was obliged to conceal him¬
self for tAvo or three years. Being at last permitted to
appear before the king and council, he represented his
innocence so effectually that he Avas acquitted. In Au¬
gust 1699, he, with his wife and family, embarked for
Pensylvania j whence he returned in 1701, in order to
vindicate his proprietary right, Avhich had been attack¬
ed during his absence. Upon Queen Anne’s accession,
to the croAvn, he Avas in great favour with her, and Avas
often at court. But, in 1707, he was involved in a law¬
suit with the executors of a person who had been for¬
merly his steAvard ; and, though many thought him ag¬
grieved, the court of chancery did not think proper to
relieve him} upon which account he was obliged to live
within;
Penn
PEN [ nB
pcnll, within the rules of the Fleet for several months, till the
Pennant, matter in dispute was accommodated. He died in I1]! .
1   ' 4t one period of his life, Penn lodged in a house in
Norfolk-street in the Strand. In the entrance to it he
had a peeping-hole, through which he could see any
person that came to him. A creditor one day sent m his
name, and having been made to wait more than a rea¬
sonable time, he knocked for the servant, whom lie ask¬
ed, “ Will not thy master see me ?” “ Friend (answer¬
ed5 the servant) he has seen thee, but he does not like
Mr Penn’s friendly and pacific manner of treating
the Indians produced in them an extraordinary love for
him and his people •, so that they have maintained a per¬
fect amity with the English in Pensylvania ever since.
He was the greatest bulwark of the Quakers ; m whose
defence he rvrote numberless pieces. Besides the above
works, he wrote a great number of others; the most
esteemed of which are, i. His Primitive Christianity re¬
vived. 2. His defenceof a paper, intitled Gospel Truths,
against the Exceptions of the Bishop of Coi-k. 3. His
Persuasive to Moderation. 4. His Good Advice to the
Church of England, Roman Catholic, and Protestant
Dissenter. 5. The Sandy Foundation shaken. 6. No
Cross, no Crown. 7. The great case of Liberty of
Conscience debated. 8. The Christian Quaker and his
Testimony stated and vindicated. 9. A Discourse ot the
general Rule of Faith and Practice, and Judge of Con¬
troversy. 10. England’s Present Interest considered.
XI. An Address to Protestants. 12. His Reflections
and Maxims. 13. His Advice to his Children. 14. His
Rise and Progress of the People called Quakers. 15. A
Treatise on Oaths. Most of these have passed several
editions, some of them many. The letters between Wil¬
liam Penn and Dr Tillotson, and William Penn and
William Popple, Esq. together with Penn’s letters to
the princess Elizabeth of the Rhine, and the countess of
Hornes, as also one to his wife on his going to Pensyl¬
vania, are inserted in his works, which were first col¬
lected and published in 2 vols folio } and the paits since
selected and abridged into 1 vol. folio, are very much
and deservedly admired for the good sense they contain.
PENNANT’, Thomas, Esq. a celebrated naturalist,
was born in Flintshire, about the year 1726. His
family had their residence in that country for several
hundred years ; and he informs us himself, that he ac¬
quired the rudiments of his education at Wrexham,
from whence he was sent to Fulham Not long alter
this he went to the university of Oxford, where his pro¬
gress in classical knowledge was very considerable; after
which he turned his attention to the study of jurispru¬
dence ; but it is no where said that he ever followed the
law as a profession.
We are informed that his taste for natural history, lor
Jus knowledge of which he afterwards became so conspi¬
cuous, was first excited by the perusal of Willoughby’s
Ornithology, a copy of which had been sent him in a
present. He began his travels at home, which was cer¬
tainly the most proper step, to acquire a knowledge of
the manners, curiosities, and productions oi his native
country, before he attempted to delineate those of any
other nation. He then visited the continent, where he
acquired additional knowledge respecting his most fa¬
vourite studies, and became acquainted with some of the
most celebrated literary characters which that period
, .. 4
] PEN
produced. When he returned home he married and had Fennant
two children i but he was 37 years of age before he—
gained possession of the family estate, after which he
took up his residence at Downing.
On the death of his wife he set out again for the con¬
tinent, where he became acquainted with Voltaire, But-
fon, Pallas, and other eminent characters. Being an
author as early as the year 1750 (then only 24 years of
age), he had acquired a considerable degree ot reputa¬
tion in that capacity, by the time he became acquainted
with the forementioned philosophers. His reputation as
a naturalist was established by his British Zoology in
four vols. 410. and still farther increased by his episto¬
lary correspondence with so great a man as Linnaeus. He
undertook a tour to Cornwall at an early period of life,
and also felt an irresistible propensity to survey the works
of nature in the northern parts ot the kingdom, ror
this purpose he set out for Scotland in 1771, and pub¬
lished an amusing account of his tour in three vols. 4to,
which was destined to receive such a share of public fa¬
vour as to pass through several editions. His Welch
tour was published in 1778, and his journey from Ches¬
ter to London in 1782, in one volume 4to. About
1784 came out his Arctic Zoology, a work which was
very much esteemed, both in his own, and in many
other countries. He also gave the world a natural his¬
tory of the parishes of Holywell and Downing, within
the latter of which he had" resided for more than 50^
years. Not long before his death appeared his View of
Hindostan, in two vols. 4to, to undertake which it seems
he had solicitations from private friends, as well as the
wishes of persons entirely unknown to him, which were
expressed in the public prints. This was unquestionably
a very bold attempt in a man who was turned of 7p> a
period at which the faculties of the mind.must certainly
be impaired, especially when exerted with vigour for
such a number of years before. Notwithstanding his
great age, however, the work is executed in an able
manner, bearing a strong resemblance to the introduc¬
tion of his Arctic Zoology.
He also published a letter on the earthquake which
was felt at Downing in Flintshire, in the year 1753 ;
another which was inserted in the Philosophical Trans¬
actions in 1756 ; his Synopsis of Quadrupeds in 1771 j
a pamphlet on the militia j a paper on the turkey, and
a miscellaneous volume.
Almost every species of literary honour was conferred
upon him ; for he was complimented with the degree
of LL. D. by the university in which he was educated j
he was also fellow of the Royal Society, and a member
of the Society of Antiquaries 5 a fellow of the Royal
Society of Upsal in Sweden ; a member of the American
Philosophical Society ; an honorary member of the An-
glo-Linnsean Society, &tc. &c.
He was enabled to exhibit the greatest hospitality at
his table, in consequence of the ample fortune which was
left him at his father’s decease, and he gave the profits
arising from the sale of several publications to charitable
endowments. By his generous patronage a number of
engravers met with great encouragement, and he con¬
tributed not a little to the promotion of the fine arts.
About the age of 50 he married for the second time, a
Miss Mostyn, sister of his neighbour, the late Sir Roger
Mostyn of Flintshire. The concluding part ot his h e
was cheerful, and it may be affirmed that he scarcely
felt
PEN [ i:
Piimant felt the advances of old age. He died at his seat at
11 Downing in 1798, and in the 72d year of his age.
Penny. ]-£e inherited from nature a strong and vigorous con-
stitution *, his countenance was open and intelligent j
his disposition active and cheerful; and his vivacity,
both in writing and conversation, made him perpetually
entertaining. His heart was kind and benevolent, and
in the relations of domestic life his conduct was highly
worthy of imitation. The distresses in which his poor
neighbours were at any time involved gave him un¬
feigned uneasiness, and he endeavoured to relieve them
by every means in his power. He was possessed of can¬
dour, and free from common prejudices, a truth fully
evinced in all his publications. The people of Scotland
were proud to confess, that he was the first English
traveller who had fairly represented their country in its
favourable, as well as in its less pleasing appearances.
His style is lively, and fitted to convey the ideas which
he intended to express, but it is not always correct.
Jn zoology his arrangement is judicious, and his descrip¬
tions characteristic. If we discover several traces of
vanity in tho.se works which he published near the close
of life, it ought to be remembered that it is the vanity
of an old man, which is seldom disagreeable j and it is
also the vanity of one who in the meridian of life gave
the world such fruits of his labours as will be justly ad¬
mired in all succeeding ages, while a taste for polite and
valuable literature is cherished among men.
PENNATULA, or Sea-pen, a genus of animals
belonging to the order zoophyta. See Helmintholo¬
gy Index.
PENNI, Giovanni Francisco, born at Florence
in 1488, was the disciple of Raphael, who observing his
genius and integrity, intrusted his domestic concerns
entirely to his management j by which means he got
the appellation of ilfatore, or the “ steward,” which he
retained ever after. The genius of Penni was univer¬
sal $ but his greatest pleasure was in painting landscapes
and buildings; he was an excellent designer, and co¬
loured extremely well in oil, distemper, and fresco.
He painted portraits in an exquisite style j and had
such happy natural talents, that Raphael left him heir
to his fortune in partnership with Julio Romano his fel¬
low disciple. After Raphael’s death, Penni painted
many pictures at Rome, particularly in the palace of
Chigi, so exactly in the style of his master, that they
might not undeservedly have been imputed to him : he
finished, in conjunction with Julio and Pierino del Va-
ga, the celebrated designs of the battles of Constantine,
I and others, which Raphael had left imperfect ; but dif¬
fering with them about a copy of the transfiguration,
which the pope intended for the king of France, they
separated. Penni went to Naples', but the air of that
country disagreeing with his constitution, he died soon
after in 1528. He had a brother called Lucca Penni,
who worked at Genoa and other parts of Italy in con¬
junction with Pierino del Vaga, who married his sister 5
he went thence to England, where he worked for
Henry VIII. and for several merchants ; was employ¬
ed by Francis I. at Fontainbleau ; but at last quitted
the pencil, and devoted himself to engraving.
PENNY, or Peny, in commerce, an ancient En¬
glish coin, which bad formerly considerable currency j
hut is now generally dwindled into an imaginary mo-
9 1 PEN
ney, or money of account. Camden derives the word Penny
from the Latin pecunia, “ money.” |)
The ancient English penny, penig, or pening, was Penrith,
the first silver coin struck in England } nay, and the
only one current among our Saxon ancestors: as is
agreed by Camden, Spelman, Dr Hicks, &c.
The penny was equal in weight to our three-pence j
five of them made one shilling, or scilling Saxon ; 30 a
mark or mancuse, equal to 7^. 6d.
Till the time of King Edw. 1. the penny was struck
with a cross, so deeply indented in it, that it might be
easily broke, and parted, on occasion, into two parts,
thence called half-pennies; or into four, thence called
fourthings or farthings.—But that prince coined it
tvithout indenture, in lieu of which, he first struck round
halfpence and farthings.
He also reduced the weight of the penny to a stand¬
ard ; ordering that it should weigh 32 grains of wheat,
taken out of the middle of the ear.—This penny was
called the penny sterling.—Twenty of these pence were
to weigh an ounce; whence the penny became a
weight as well as a coin. See Sterling and PENNY"
Wteight.
The penny sterling was long disused as a coin j and
Avas scarce known, but as a money of account, contain¬
ing the tAvelfth part of a shilling ; but of late years it
has been introduced into the British current coin.
Penny, in ancient statutes, &.c. is used for all sil¬
ver money. And henoe the ward-penny, aver-penny,,
hundred-penny, tithing-penny, and brothal-penny.
Penny-Weight, a Troy Aveight, containing-twenty-
four grains ; each grain weighing a grain of Avheat ga¬
thered out of the middle of the ear, well dried The
name took its rise hence, that this Avas anciently the
weight of one of our ancient silver pennies. See
Penny.
Twenty of these penny-weights make an ounce
Troy.
PENRITH, an ancient toAvn of the county of Cum¬
berland in England, seated under a hill called Penrith-
Fell, near the rivers Eamont and LoAvtber. It is a
great thoroughfare for travellers ; but has little other
trade, excepting tanning, and a small manufacture of
checks. Formerly it had a castle, but it is noAV in ruins.
In the churchyard is a monument of great antiquity,
consisting of two stone pillars 11 feet 6 inches high, and
5 in circumference in the loAver part, which is rounded j
the upper is square, and tapers to a point •, in the square
part is some fretwork, and the relievo of a cross ; and
on the interior side of one is the faint representation of
some animal. Both these stones are mortised at their
lower part into a round one: they are about 15 feet
asunder, and the space betAveen them is inclosed on each
side with tAVO very large but thin semicircular stones; so
that there is left between pillar and pillar a walk of
tAvo feet in breadth. Tavo of these lesser stones are plain,
the others have certain figures, at present scarcely intel¬
ligible. Not far from these pillars is another called the
giant's thumb, five feet eight inches high, Avith an ex¬
panded head, perforated on both sides; from the middle
the stone rises again into a lesser head, rounded at top;
but no part has a tendency to the figure of a cross, being
in no part mutilated. The pillars are said to have been
set up in memory of Sir Orven CaeSarius, a famous Avar-
Penrith,
Penrose.
PEN [i
rior buried here, ivho killed so many wild bears, which
f much infested this county, that the figures of bears, cut
out on stone, on each side of his grave, were set there in
remembrance of the execution he made among those
beasts j and it is likewise said his body extended from
one pillar to the other. In the market-place theie is a
town-house of wood, beautified with bears climbing up
a ragged staff. There is a memorandum on the north
side of the vestry without, that, in I59^» 226t> persons
died here of the plague. There is a charity school in
this place for 20 boys, and another for 30 girls, main¬
tained by 55I. a-year, by the sacrament money and pa¬
rish-stock. In 1715 the Scotch Highlanders entered
this town, and quartered in it for a night, in their way
to Preston, without doing much harm ; but in the last
rebellion, in 1745, they were, it is said, very rapacious
and cruel. Its handsome spacious church has been lately
rebuilt, and the roof supported by pillars, whose shafts
are of one entire reddish storte, dug out of a neighbour¬
ing quarry. On the east part of the parish, upon the
north bank of the river Eamont, there are two caves or
grottoes, dug out of the solid rock, and sufficient to con¬
tain ICO men. The passage to them is very narrow
dangerous 5 and it is possible that its perilous access may
have given it the name of Isis Parlis j though the
vulgar tell strange stories of one Isis, a giant, who lived
there in former times, and, like Cacus of old, used to
seize men and cattle, and draw them into his den to de¬
vour them. But it is highly probable that these sub¬
terraneous chambers were made for a secure retreat in
time of sudden danger j and the iron gates, which were
taken away not long ago, seem to confirm that supposi¬
tion. The population in 1811 was 4328. W. Long.
4. 43. N. Lat. 54. 35*
PENROSE, Thomas, was the son of the reverend
Mr Penrose, rector of Newbury, Berks, a man of high
character and abilities, descended from an ancient Cor¬
nish family, beloved and respected by all who knew him.
Mr Penrose, jun. being intended for the church, pursued
his studies with success, at Christ-church, Oxon, until
the summer of 1762, Avhen his eager turn to the naval
and military line overpowering his attachment to his
real interest, he left his college, and embarked in the
unfortunate expedition against Nova Colonia, in South
America, under the command of Captain Macnamara.
The issue was fatal. The Clive (the largest vessel) was
burnt j and though the Ambuscade escaped (on board of
which Mr Penrose, acting as lieuteqant of marines, rvas
wounded), yet the hardships which he afterwards sustain¬
ed in a prize sloop, in which he was stationed, utterly
ruined his constitution. Returning to England with
ample testimonials of his gallantry and good behaviour,
he finished, at Hereford College, Oxon, his course of
studies j and having taken orders, accepted the curacy
of Newdmry, the income of which, by the voluntaiy
subscription of the inhabitants, was considerably aug¬
mented. After he had continued in that station about
nine years, it seemed as if the clouds of disappointment,
which had hitherto overshadowed his prospects, and
tinctured his poetical essays with gloom, were clearing
away j for he was then presented by a friend, who knew
his worth and honoured his abilities, to a living worth
near 500I. per annum. It came, however, too late j for
the state of Mr Penrose’s health was now such as left lit¬
tle hope, except in the assistance of the waters of Bris-
3
]
PEN
•20
tol. "Thither he went j and there he died in 1779, aged Penrose
36 years. In 1768 he married Miss Mary Slocock of
Newbury, by whom he had one child, Thomas, Avho was . _^
educated at Winton College.
Mr Penrose was respected for his extensiveerudition,
admiredfor his eloquence, and equally beloved and esteem¬
ed for his social qualities. By the poor, towards whom
he was liberal to his utmost ability, he was venerated to
the highest degree. In oratory and composition his ta¬
lents were great. His pencil was ready as his pen, and
on subjects of humour had uncommon merit. To his po¬
etical abilities the public, by their reception of his
Flights of Fancy, &x. have given a favourable testi¬
mony.
PENRYN, a town of Cornwall, in England, seated
on a hill at the entrance of Falmouth-haven by Penden-
dis castle. The inhabitants in 1811 were 2713, and
the streets are broad and well paved. There are so
many gardens and orchards in it, that it resembles very
much a town in a wood. It is well watered with rivu¬
lets, and has an arm of the sea on each side of it, with
a good custom-house and quay, and other neat buildings.
It drives a considerable trade in pilchards, and in the
Newfoundland fishery. It was anciently governed by
a portreeve j but James I. made it a corporation, con¬
sisting of a mayor, 11 aldermen, 12 common-council-
men, with a recorder, steward, &c. an office of record
every three weeks, with a prison, and power to try felons
in their jurisdiction. And he granted that the major
and two aldermen should be justices of the peace, and
that they should have a guildhall. There was once a
monastery in this place, which was a cell to Kurtonj and
there are still to be seen a tower, and part of the garden
Avails, the ruins of a collegiate church. It has neither
church nor chapel, but belongs to the parish of Gluvias,
a quarter of a mile off. It has sent members to parlia¬
ment ever since the first year of Queen Mary 5 and
James H. granted it a new charter, whereby their elec¬
tion was vested in the magistracy only j but it w as never
made use of, all the inhabitants that pay scot and lot, who
are not much above 100, being the electors. Mr Rymcr
gives a very remarkable account how Penryn was once
saved by a company of strolling players. He says, that
towards the latter end of the 16th century the Spani¬
ards were landing to burn the town just as the players
were setting Samson upon the Philistines ; which per¬
formance vvas accompanied with such drumming and
shouting, that the Spaniards thought some ambush was
laid for them, and scampered back to. their ships.
Queen Elizabeth founded a free-school in this place.
'YY. Long. 4. 58. N. Lat. 50. 23.
PENSACOLA, a town in North America, situated
upon a bay of the same name in the gulf of Mexico.
The bay is about 30 miles long and five broad, except
at the entrance, where it does not much exceed a mile 5
and is defended by the fort of Barancas, situated about
three miles from its mouth. The town, which is situ¬
ated about ten miles from the mouth of the bay, is of
importance chiefly for its harbour, which is the best in
-the gulf of Mexico.
The year 1781, so eventful to Britain in many re¬
spects, was also remarkable for the reduction of Pensa-
colabytlie Spaniards under Don BernardoGalvez. Great
preparations for this expedition had been making at the
Havannah j but a dreadful hurricane obligedit toputback
to
PEN
t
Pensacola, to repair j but a3 soon as the fleet was again judged capa-
 \r—J b!e of putting to sea, an embarkation was made of near
8000 men, with Don Bernardo at their head, together
with five ships of the line, who arrived at Pensacola on
the 9th of March 1791. This force was soon augment¬
ed by ten ships of the line and six frigates •, while Gene¬
ral Campbell, the British governor, could oppose such a
formidable armament with few more than 10;o men,
consisting of some regulars and seamen, with the inhabi¬
tants. The entrance of the harbour, which was the
principal object of defence, was guarded by two small
armed vessels, but they were insufficient to second the
batteries that had been erected for its protection ; and
these, without the assistance of some ships of force, were
incapable of resisting a vigorous attack. Notwithstand¬
ing this prodigious odds, however, the Spaniards met.
with the most determined opposition. lLvery inch of
ground was disputed with the greatest resolution. The
harbour was not forced without the greatest difficulty,
nor could the vessels he taken that defended it; the
companies belonging to them, after setting them on fire,
retired on shore.
The Spaniards, now in possession of the harbour, in¬
vested the place in form, and made their approaches in
a cautious and regular manner ; while, on the other
hand, the besieged were no less active and vigilant in
their own defence. Sallies were made occasionally with
great success, at the same time that an uninterrupted fire
was kept up in such a manner as not only greatly to an¬
noy, but even to strike the besiegers with astonishment.
This incensed the Spanish general the more, as he knew
that the garrison could expect no relief, and therefore
that all their efforts could only prolong the date of their
surrender. The resistance was the more mortifying, as
he was perfectly conscious of the bravery of his troops ;
and he had artillery fit, as his oflieers expressed them¬
selves, “ to be employed against Gibraltar.” With all
these advantages, however, so resolute was the defence
of the garrison, that after the siege had continued for
two months, very little hope could be entertained of its
speedy termination. As they despaired therefore of
making any effectual impression by means of their can¬
non, they erected a battery of mortars, with which they
bombarded a redoubt that commanded the main avenue
to the place ; and in this they were favoured by an un¬
expected accident. On the 8th of May a shell hurst
open the door of the powder magazine under the re¬
doubt, by which it was blown up, with the loss of near
100 men killed and wounded. Fortunately for the gar¬
rison, however, two flank-works still remained entire,
from both which so heavy a fire was kept up, that
though an assault was immediately given, the assailants
were repulsed with great slaughter. This afforded lei¬
sure to the garrison to carry off the wounded men, with
some of the artillery, and to spike up the rest. As the
enemy, however, soon recovered themselves, and prepa¬
red for a general storm, it was thought proper to aban¬
don the flank-works, and retire into the body of the
place. The possession of these outworks, however, gave
the enemy such advantages, that the place was no long¬
er tenable. Their situation, on a rising ground, enabled
them to command the battery opposite to their chief ap¬
proach with small arms, and to single out the men at
their guns. A capitulation therefore became absolutely
necessary, which was obtained on honourable terms.
Vql. XVI. Part I. i
21 ] ¥ E N
I lie town, wit!) tile whole province of West Florida,
was confirmed to the Spaniards by the treaty of 1783,
and continued in their possession till the 24th May
1818, when it was taken after a trifling resistance by
the American general Jackson, on pretence that the
Spaniards, though then at peace with the United States,
had aided the Seminole Indians in their hostilities!
By a treaty published in May 1819, tin's town with
the whole of East and West Florida was ceded to the
United States, hut the treaty has not yet been ratified
by the king of Spain. (June 1819.) W. Long. 87. 12.
N. Lat. 30. 28. S '
PFNSANCE, a town of Cornwall, in England, at
the bottom of Mountsbay, about ten miles from the
Land’s End. It was burnt in 1595 by the Spaniards,
who, with four galleys, surprised this part of the coast,
and set fire to several villages and farms : but it was soon
alter rebuilt, made one of the coinage towns, and has
now a considerable trade. It lies in the parish of Ma¬
dera, noted for its restorative spring, very effectual in
the cure of lameness as weil as the cholic, &c. It is
well built, and has many ships belonging to it. The
population in 1801 exceeded 3000 souls. The shore
abounds with lead, tin, and copper ore ; the veins appear
on tne utmost extent of land at low-water mark.
PENSILES horti, Hanging Gardens, in antiqui¬
ty. See Babylon, N° j.
PENSiL\ AN1A, one of the United States of
North America, had its name from the famous Quaker
William Penn, son of Sir W illiam, commander of the
English fleet in Oliver Cromwell’s time, and in the be¬
ginning of Charles II.’s reign, who obtained a grant of
it in the year 1679. It; is hounded on the east by De-
1 aware bay and river ; on the north by the state of
New York j on the south by Maryland and Virginia $
and on the west by Ohio. Its extent from north to
south is about 153 miles 5 its breadth is about 273;
its area is 24,500 square miles.
New York, the Jerseys, and Pensilvania, were disco¬
vered, with the rest of the continent of North America,
in the reign of Henry VII. by Sebastian Cabot, for the
crown of England } but Sir Walter Raleigh was the first
adventurer that attempted to plant colonies on these
shores, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth; and, in ho¬
nour of that princess, gave all the eastern coast of North
America the name of Virginia. Mr Hudson, an Eng¬
lishman, sailing to that part of the coast which lies be¬
tween Virginia and New England, in the beginning of
the reign of James I. and being about to make a settle¬
ment at the mouth of Hudson’s river, the Dutch gave
him a sum of money to dispose of his interest in this
country to them. In the year 1608 they began to plant
it; and, by virtue of this purchase, laid claim to all
those countries which arc now denominated New York,
New Jersey, and Pensilvania; but there remaining some
part of this coast which was not planted by the Holland¬
ers, the Swedes sent a fleet of ships thither, and took
possession of it for that crown •, but the Dutch having
a superior force in the neighbourhood, compelled the
Swedes to submit to their dominion, allowing them,
however, to enjoy the plantations they had settled. The
English not admitting that either the Dutch or Swedes
had any right to countries first discovered and planted
by a subject of England, and part of them at that time
possessed bv the subjects of Great Britain, under charter
Q from
Pensa
PEN [ 122 ]
from Queen Elizabeth and King James L *, King the other seasons.
Charles II. during the first Dutch war in 1664, granted
' the countries of New York, the Jerseys, and 1 ens.lva-
nia, of which the Dutch had usurped the possession, to
his brother James duke of York *, and Sir llobert Carr
being sent over with a squadron of men of war and land
forces, and summoning the Dutch governor of the city
of New Amsterdam, now New York, tp surrender, 1
thought fit to obey the summons, and yield that capital
to the English : the rest of the places m the possession
of the Dutch and Swedes followed Ins example 4 and
these countries were confirmed to the English by the
Dutch at the next treaty of peace between tne two na-
tions. The duke of York afterwards parcelled them
out to under proprietors j selling, in particular, to Wil¬
liam Penn the elder, in 1683, the town of Newcastle,
alias Delaware, and a district of 12 miles round the
same ; to whom, his heirs, and assigns, by another deed
of the same date, he made over all that tract of lan
from 12 miles south of Newcastle to thd Whore-hills,
otherwise called Cape Henlopen^ow divided into the two
counties of Kent and Sussex, which, with Newcastle
district, are commonly known by the name of the 1 /tree
Lower Counties upon Delaware River. All the rest 0
the under proprietors, some time after, surrendered
their charters to the crown ; whereby New \ ork and
the Jerseys became royal governments ; but I enn re¬
tained that part of the country which had been sold to
him by the duke of York, together with what had been
granted to him before in 1680-1, which now constitutes
the province of Pensilvania. As soon as 1 enn had got
his patent, he began to plant the country. Ihose who
went over from England were generally Dissenters and
Quakers, whose religion is established by law here, but
with a toleration of all other Protestant sects. Jhe
Dutch and Swedes, who were settled here before Mr
Penn became proprietor, choosing still to reside m this
country, as they did in New York and the Jerseys, ob¬
tained the same privileges as the rest of Ins majesty s
subiects ^ and their descendants are now in a manner
the same people with the English, speaking their lan¬
guage, and being governed by their laws and customs.
Mr Penn, however, not satisfied with the title granted
him by King Charles II. and his brother, bought the
lands also of the Indians for a valuable consideration,
or what they esteemed such (though 20 miles were pur¬
chased, at first, for less than an acre about Philadelphia
would pay now), paying them in cloth, tools, and uten¬
sils, to their entire satisfaction : for they had not hands
to cultivate the hundredth part of their lands, and if
they could have raised a product, there was nobody to
buy : the purchase, therefore, was all clear gain to them
and, by the coming of the English, their paltry trade
became so profitable, that they soon found their condi¬
tion much altered for the better 5 and are now as well
clothed and fed as the European peasantry in many
1 The air in Pensilvania is sweet and clear. The fall,
or autumn, begins about the 20th of October, and lasts
till the middle of December, when the winter sets
in, which continues till March, and is sometimes ex¬
tremely cold and severe } but the air is then generally
dry and healthy. The river Delaware, though very
broad, is often frozen over. From March to June, that
is, in the spring, the weather is more inconstant than in
PEN
me ouici Io the months of July, August, aud Pensilva.
September, the heats would be almost intolerable', if ^ 11 ia-
they were not mitigated by frequent cool breezes. I he' r—1
wind during the summer is generally south-west *, but in
the winter blows for the most part from the north-west
over the snowy frozen mountains and lakes of Canada,
which occasions the excessive cold during that season.
On the whole, the climate of this state differs not ma¬
terially from that of Connecticut, except that on the'
west side of the mountains the weather is much more
regular. The hot southwardly winds get chilled by
passing over the long chain of Allegany mountains.
The mean annual temperature of Philadelphia, accord¬
ing to Humboldt, is 54*®’ v/‘n*er 33*8> of spring 53,
of summer 75,2» ani^ aidumn
This is upon the whole one of the healthiest states
in the Union. In 1793, and 1797, Philadelphia was
visited by the yellow fever but since the latter period
it has been entirely exempted from this disease. Among
the people called Quakers, who are the oldest settlers,
there are instances of longevity, occasioned by their
livino- in the old cultivated countries,and the temperance
imposed on them by their religion. '1 here are fewei
LI uu   O
lonrr-livcd people among the Germans than among othei
nattons, occasioned by their excess of labour and low
diet. They live chiefly upon vegetables and watery
food, that affords too little nourishment to repair the
waste of their strength by hard labour. _ I he most ge¬
neral diseases are rheumatism and pleurisy. ibe first
is very common in the interior, and often becomes
chronic. The goitre is said to prevail in a slight de¬
gree at Pittsburg.
As to the face of this country, towards the coast, like
the adjacent colonies, it is flat, but rises gradually to the
Apalaehian mountains on the west. Nearly one-thud
of this state may be called mountainous •, particularly
the counties of Bedford, Huntingdon, Cumberland,
part of Franklin, Dauphin, and part of Bucks and
Northampton, through which pass, under various names,
the numerous ridges and spurs, which collectively form
what are called the great range of Allegany mountains.
There is a remarkable difference between the country
on the east and west side of the range of mountains we
have just been describing. Between these mountains
and the lower falls of the rivers which run into the
Atlantic, not only in this, but in all the southern states,
are several ranges of stones, sand, earths, and minerals,
which lie in the utmost confusion. Beds of stone, of
vast extent, particularly of limestone, have their seve¬
ral layers broken in pieces, and the fragments thrown
confusedly in every direction. Between these lower
falls and the ocean is a very extensive collection oi
sand, clay, mud, and shells, partly thrown up by the
waves of the sea, partly brought down by floods from
the upper county, and partly produced by the decav of
vegetable substances. The country west of the Alle¬
gany mountains, in these respects, is totally different.
It is very irregular, broken, and variegated, but there
are no mountains 5 and when viewed from the most
western ridge of the Allegany, it appears to be a vast
extended plain. All the various strata of stone appear
to have lain undisturbed in the situation wherein they
were first formed. The layers of clay, sand, and coay
are nearly horizontal. Scarcely a single instance is to
be found to the contrary. Every appearance, in short,
tends
P E N [ 123 ] PEN
pensilva- tends to confirm the opinion, that the original crust,
nia. in which the stone was formed, has never been broken
"“"■"v up on the west side of the mountains, as it evidently
has been eastward of them.
The chief rivers are three, Delaware, Susquehanna,
and Schuylkil. The Delaware, rising in the state of
New York, takes its course southward; and after di¬
viding this province from that of New Jersey, falls into
the Atlantic ocean between the promontories or capes
May and Henlopen, forming at its mouth a large bay,
called from the river 1} da ware -Buy- This river is na¬
vigable above 200 miles. Ships of the line can ascend
to Philadelphia. Tire Susquehanna rises also in the
-state of New York, and running south through the mid¬
dle of the province, falls into the bay of Chesapeake.
It is not navigable near the sea, owing to rocks. The
Schuylkil has its source within the state, and runs south,
till at length, turning to the eastward, it falls into the
river Delaware 6 miles below the city of Philadelphia.
.It navigable for boats loo miles. The Allegany river
■traverses the north-western parts of the state, and join¬
ing the Monongahela at Pittsburg, forms tire Ohio.
All these rivers admit of boat navigation.
The principal mineral productions are, iron ore,
which is found in great quantities in several counties,
•and of various kinds j copper ore, said to be found, but
is not wrought •, lead ore, yielding 20 per cent, of me¬
tal •, black leadj slate of a good quality 5 freestone and
limestone , marble, black, white, and variegated $
■coal of an excellent quality on the Susquehanna,
Allegany, Monongahela, Leheigh, and Schuylkil rivers.
There are also several mineral springs, some of which
are in high estimation for their-medicinal virtues. The
salt springs of Conemaugh produce a hundred bushels
of salt per day. In Venargo county an oil spring
rises from the bed of the Allegany river, which yields
a gallon in the course of an hour or two.
Pensilvania abounds in excellent wood, oak, chesnut,
heech, elm, black walnut, bass wood, butternut, locust
and magnolia. The latter is not found farther north
■than this state. The sugar maple is abundant, and in
the hilly parts near Lake Erie is found in the propor¬
tion of six or eight trees to an acre. About one million
of pounds of sugar were made from the maple in this
state in 1810.
The wild animals are now rare in this state, having
retired as cultivation advanced. Deer are still com¬
mon in the uncultivated districts j and the brown bear,
wolf, wild cat, and fox, are met with occasionally. The
musk-rat is found in marshy places. The beaver and
otter ai’e nearly extinct: the cougouar is rarely seen.
The wild turkey, with some species of pheasants,
grouse, and pigeons, are found. The rivers and creeks
abound with salmon, trout, shad, carp, eels, rockfish,
&c. The caterpillar sometimes does much injury to
vegetation. The grass or meadow-worm is another de¬
structive insect which occasionally visits the country.
The musquito is sometimes troublesome in low valleys,
but never an elevated parts. Mr Gobbet states, as the
result of his own observations and experiments, that
even low situations may be kept free of this insect, if
care is taken to remove all filth and putrid or decayed
matter. The beetle, known by the name of tumble-
bug, is in many .parts destructive to the Indian com.
The other kinds of grain are liable to be injured by a
species of grashopper, which appears at an interval of
17 or 18 years.
J he population of this state at different periods was
as follows :
1749
J774
J790
■1800
1810
220,000
350,000
434.375
602,549
810,091
Slaves
iuciuded.
3737
1706
795
Free
Blacks.
6587
14,564
22,492
As it is believed that the rate of increase has not di¬
minished, the number will probably be about 1,050,000
at present (1819), which gives about 42 inhabitants to
each square mile. Pensilvania is the third state in
point of population ; Yirginia being the first, and New
\ ork the second. The chief town is Philadelphia,
which is estimated to contain 120,000 inhabitants.
The constitution of this state is said to have been
drawn up by the late Sir William Jones. The legisla¬
tive power is vested in a general assembly, consisting
of a senate and house of representatives. The senators
are elected for four years, the representatives for one,
by the free citizens of 21 years of age, who have re¬
sided two years within the state and paid taxes. A
fourth part of the senate is renewed annually. Sena¬
tors must be 25 years of age, and must have resided
four years in the state; representatives must be 21
years of age, and must have resided three years in the
state. The number of representatives cannot be less
than 60, nor more than 100. The governor is elected
by the citizens for three years, and is commander-in¬
chief of the army and navy, except when called into
the service of the United States. Persons holding pub¬
lic offices are only required to acknowledge the being of
a God, and a future state af rewards and punishments.
The judges are appointed by the governor, and may be
impeached or removed by him, on the address of two-
thirds of both houses. Pensilvania rvas the first state
that carried into execution the ideas of philosophical
writers on the subject of criminal law. Only the two
crimes of murder and arson are punished with death j
inferior crimes with hard labour. The laws are mild,
and the grand object of making the punishment contri¬
bute to the reformation -of the individual, is steadily
kept in view. The prison of Philadelphia is the best
conducted institution of the kind in the world $ and its
system of discipline has served as a_.model to the most
enlightened states jn Europe.
The militia of this state in 1812 consisted of 99,414
men, of whom whom 2005 were artillery and cavalry.
There are no taxes for the general government. Those
for the expences of the state government are very’
small. The most entire religious freedom exists here.
Indeed Pensilvania was the first among the North
American states to set the example of complete liberty
of conscience. In 1802 there were 36 congregations of
Presbyterians, 84 of German Calvinists, 84 of Ger¬
man Lutherans, 54 of Quakers, 26 of Episcopalians,
15 of Baptists, ix of Koman Catholics, 8 of Scotch
Presbyterians, 8 of Moravians ; of free Quakers, Co¬
venanters, Universalists, each 1, and the Jews had two
synagogues. In i-8'I7 the number of Baptist churches
was 60.
There are many charitable and , benevolent institu¬
tions in this state. Those in the capital are very nu-
Q 2 merous,
PEN [124
mevous, and remarkably well conducted. Schools are
also numerous, arid it has been resolved to establish an
1 academy in each county. The university of Pensiiva-
nia is in a flourishing condition, and^ has received va¬
rious grants from the legislature. 'Ihere are six pro¬
fessors in the medical school, four in that of philosophy
and languages, and five in that of natural science.
The number of students in 1811 was 500. The pro¬
fessors have each a salary of 500 dollars. Dickinson
College has professors of logic, metaphysics, mathema¬
tics, Ure learned languages, modern languages, philoso¬
phy and chemistry, with a considerable library. I1 rank-
tin college, established^ in 1783, by some Germans,
has not flourished. Washington college, near 1 itta-
burg, was established in 1802.
The eastern districts of Pen.-ilvania are among the
most improved parts or North America. 1 he business
of farming is carried on with spirit and skill, the soil
bein<>; good, and many ol the farmers wealthy and in-
terprising. Besides the usual kinds ot manure applied
to the ground, gypsum is used for this purpose in great
quantities, and is reckoned extremely beneficial } the
rotation of crops is well understood; artificial grasses
have been introduced $ and excellent crops of hay are
raised from meadow land. Besides the usual species
of corn, buck wheat is much cultivated. Hemp and
flax succeed well. Vines have been found to thrive,
and all the fruits of France are produced here. The
breed of horses and black cattle is among the best in
the United States. The common and Merino sheep
thrive and have multiplied amazingly. The number of
sheep in 1810 was 618,280, of black cattle 612,990,
of horses 225,640. The value of the land increases as
we approach the capital. The average value per acre
was estimated by a committee in 1815, to be for Phila¬
delphia county 120 dollars j for the other counties, from
$2 down to 14-dollars j and for the whole state, was
about 29 dollars. But this last estimate does not in¬
clude the unoccupied lands. The total value of houses
and lands in this state was found, from valuations made
in 1799, to be 102,145,900, and from valuations in
1815, 346)6335889 dollars j having increased about 240
per cent in 15 years.
The manufactures of this state, according to the re¬
turns for 1810, were much greater than those of any
other state in the Union. The most considerable are
those of iron, flax, hemp, wool, cotton, leather, hats,
paper, spirits, maple sugar. Many of the manufac¬
tures are domestic, and ot course upon a small scale,
but there are also extensive establishments in some ot
them. During the late war with Britain, the manu¬
factures increased with extraordinary rapidity, hut the
influx of foreign goods since the peace has caused many
of them to be abandoned, and depressed those that still
exist. Pittsburg, in the western part of this state, is
the most considerable manufacturing town in the United
States. It is situated on a navigable river, in a healthy
situation, and its neighbourhood abounds with wood,
coal, lime, and iron. The manufactures of this town
in 1814 were estimated at 2,000,000 dollars. The
whole amount of manufactures in this state in 1810
was estimated, from the returns of the marshal, at
33,691,111 dollars, exclusive of what were considered
dcubtful articles.
] PEN
Pensilvania, though it has but one considerable port pemib
(Philadelphia) carries on a very extensive commerce. nia
The whole exports in 1817 amounted to 8,735»59^' ^
lars, of which 5,538,003 consisted of domestic produce,
and 3,1971589 of foreign. The domestic articles ot ex¬
port consist chiefly ot wheat and flour, beef and pork,
flaxseed, iron utensils, lumber, soap and candles j the
imports, of British manufactures, wine, gin, rum, sugar,
teas, nankeens, and silk. i here were nine banks in
the state in 1816, whose capitals together amounted to*
xo,534,I30 dollars-, the deposits including those due to
other banks, to 8,449-474 dollars ; and the notes dis¬
counted to 13,329,091 dollars.
There are three handsome bridges over the Schuyl-
kii in this state. One of these consists ol a singly
wooden arch of 343 feet span, and 42 feet in breadth-
The Leheigh chain bridge is 47 5 leet lony, m two whole,
and two half spans. The wire bridge near Philadelphia
is 4CO feet longs The whole weight is only 4720 pounds.
There are many other bridges deserving ot notice,
though generally of wood : one at Columbia, over the
Susquehanna, is above a mile in length 5 another at
Harrisburg!), about three fourths of a mile, d here are
at other places steam ferry boats, for the conveyance of
passengers across the rivers, i here are also a consider-*
able number of steam passage boats which ply on the
Delaware.
It was proposed, so far back as 179°’ extend the
water communication from Philadelphia to Lake Frie,
a distance of 561 miles, by joining the Susquehanna and
the Delaware by a canal to extend from the Swetara to
the Schuylkil. Some progress has been made in this
undertaking, hut the means scarcely exist yet for the
completion of such an extensive scheme.
The long ascendancy of the Quakers in this state has
stamped the manners of the people with a character ot
moderation and order; Factions are less violent here
than in the other states, and personal animosities less
rancorous. The Pensilvanians are less obstinate, sel¬
fish, and determined, than the people ot New England,
and less rash and impetuous than the inhabitants of the
southern states. They are, comparatively speaking,
obliging, well informed, and liberal m their opinions j
but not distinguished for generosity, a high spirit, or
warmth of character. They have abolished slavery,
however, and ha/e always been conspicuously active in
works of humanity, and in promoting useful improve¬
ments. There is perhaps no part of the United States
in which an emigrant from Europe will feel himself
more comfortable than in Pensilvama, so far as depends
on the character of the people.
In the Philosophical Transactions for 1757, there
is an account of a spring in Pensilvania, which rises
from a copper mine, and yields 800 hogsheads in twenty-
four hours. The water is ot a pale green colour, of
an acid, sweet, austere, inky, and nauseous taste.
The saline matter which it holds in solution is probably
sulphate of copper} tor a piece of polished iron im¬
mersed in it is soon covered with a crust ol metallic
copper. It contains also, it is said, copperas or sulphate
of iron.
Among the other curiosities of this province may be
reckoned another spring, about 14 feet deep, and about
too square in the neighbourhood of Reading. A full
mill
PEN [ i
Feivsilva stream flows from it. The waters are clear, amt
nia, full of fishes. F ‘rom appearauces it is probable that this
F>nsion. spring is the opening or outlet of a very considerable ri-
ver, which, a mile and a half or two miles above tins
place, sinks into the earth, and is conveyed to this out¬
let in a subterranean channel. In the northern parts of
Pensilvania there is a creek, called Oil creek, which
empties into the Alleghany river. It issues from a
spring, on the top of which floats an oil similar to that
called Barbadoes tar, and from which one man may ga¬
ther several gallons in a day. The troops sent to guard
the western posts halted at this spring, collected some of
th e oil, and bathed their joints with it. This gave them
great relief from the rheumatic complaints with which
they were afl'ected. The waters, ot which the troops
drank freely, operated as a gentle purge.
i here are three remarkable grottoes or caves in this
state ; one near Carlisle in Cumberland county j one in
the township of Durham, in Bucks county ; and the
other at Swetara in Lancaster county. Of the two for¬
mer there are no particular descriptions. The latter is
oa the east bank of Swetara river, about two miles above
its confluence with the Susquehanna. Its entrance is
spacious, and descends so much as that the surface of the
river is rather higher than the bottom of the cave. The
vault of this cave is of a solid limestone rock, perhaps
20 feet thick. It contains several apartments, some of
them very high and spacious. The water is incessantly
percolating through the roof, and falls in drops to the
bottom ot the cave. These drops petrifv as they fall,
and have gradually formed solid pillars, which appear as
supports to the roof. Thirty years ago there were ten
such pillars, each six inches in diameter, and six feet
high ; all so ranged that the place they enclosed resem¬
bled a sanctuary in a Roman church. No royal throne
ever exhibited more grandeur than this lusus naluree.
The resemblances of several monuments are found in¬
dented in the walls on the sides of the cave, which appear
like the tombs of departed heroes. Suspended from the
roof is the bell (which is nothing more than a stone pro¬
jected in an unusual form), so called from the sound that
jt occasions when struck, which is similar to that of a
bell. Some of the stalactites are of a colour like sugar-
candy, and others resemble loaf sugar j but their beauty
is much defaced by the country people. The water,
which percolates through the roof, so much of it as is
not petrified in its course, runs down the declivity, and
is both pleasant and wholesome to drink. There are se¬
veral holes in the bottom of the cave, descending per¬
pendicularly, perhaps into an abyss below, which ren¬
ders it dangerous to walk without a light. At the end
of the cave is a pretty brook, which, after a short
course, loses itself among the rocks. Beyond this brook
is an outlet from the cave by a very narrow aperture.
Through this the vapours continually pass outwards with
a strong current of air, and ascend, resembling at night
the smoke of a furnace. Part of these vapours and fogs
appear on ascending to be condensed at the head of this
great alembic, and the more volatile parts to be carried
off, through the aperture communicating with the exte¬
rior air before mentioned, by the force of the air in its
passage.
PENSION, a sum of money paid annually for ser¬
vices or considerations already past. The yearly pay-
25 ] P E N
mem. of each member to the houses of the inns of courts Pernio,v
are likewise namedand the yearly assembly of < nsioner.
the society of Gray’s Inn, to consult on the affairs of' 
the house, is also called a pension.
I £.i\SiONAK\, or Pensioner, a person who has
an appointment or yearly sum, payable during life, by
way of acknowledgment, charged on the estate of a
pi nice, company, or particular person.
G/i/nd l ensionahy, an appellation formerly given
to the first minister of the states of Holland. The grand
pensionary was chairman in the assemblies of the states
of that province ; he proposed the matters to be consult-
ei on } collected the votes } formed and pronounced the
resolutions of the states; opened letters; conferred with
foreign ministers, &c. His business was also to inspect
the finances, to maintain the authority of the states, and
to see that the laws were observed ; and he was perpe¬
tual deputy of the states general of the United Provin¬
ces. His commission was, however, only given him for
fice years ; after which it was deliberated whether or
not it should be renewed ; but there was no instance of
its being revoked ; therefore death only put an end to
the functions of this important minister.
Pensionary was also the first minister of the regen¬
cy of each city in Holland. His office was to give his
advice in affairs relating to the government, either of
the state in general, or of the city in particular; and in
assemblies of the states of the province, he was speaker
in behalf of his city. Ihe function, however, of these
pensionaries was not everywhere alike ; in some cities
they only gave their advice, and were never found in
assemblies of the magistrates, except when expressly
called hither; in others they attended constantly; and
in others they made the propositions on the part of the
burgomasters, drew up their conclusions, &c. They
were called pensionaries, because they received an ap¬
pointment or pension.
PENSIONER, in general, denotes a person who re¬
ceives a pension, yearly salary, or allowance. Hence,
The Band oj Gentlemen Pensioners, the noblest
sort of guard to the king’s person, consists of 40 gentle¬
men, who receive a yearly pension of look
I his honourable band was first instituted by King
Henry VJJI. and their office is to attend the king’s
person, with their battle-axes, to and from his chapel
royal, and to receive him in the presence chamber, or
coming out of his privy lodgings ; they are also to at¬
tend at all great solemnities, as coronations, St George’s
feast, public audiences of ambassadors, at the sovereign’s
going to parliament, &c.
They are each obliged to keep three double horses
and a servant, and so are properly a troop of horse.
They wait half at a time quarterly; but on Christmas-
day, Easter-day, Whitsunday, &c. and on extraordinary-
occasions, they are all obliged to give their attendance.
They have likewise the honour to carry up the sove¬
reign’s dinner on the coronation-day and St George’s
feast; at which times the king or queen usually confer
the honour of knighthood on two such gentlemen of the
band as their captain presents.
Thei r arms are gilt battle-axes; and their weapons,
on horseback, in time of war, are cuirassiers arms, with
sword and pistols. Their standard in time of war is,
argent, a cross gules. Their captain is always a noble- .
man,..,
PEN
t
Penta-
grapli.
Pensioner matt, avIio lias under him a lieutenant, a standard-bear-
er^ a clerk of the check, secretary, paymaster, and har-
h^PENsioNER, in the university of Cambridge and in
that of Dublin, has a very peculiar meaning-, for those
students, either under graduates or bachelors ot arts, are
called pensioners) who live wholly at their own expence,
and who receive no emolument whatever horn the col-
lep-e of which they are members. They are divided into
tVvo kinds, the greater and the lessS the former of which
are generally called fellow-commoners, because they eat
with the fellows of their college j the latter are always
enWnA-pensioncrs, and eat with the scholars, who are
those students of the college, either under-graduates or
bachelors who are upon the foundation, who receive
emoluments from the society, and who are capalile M
being elected fellows. See Servitor and Sizar.
PENSTOCK, a sluice or flood-gate, serving to re¬
tain or let go at pleasure the water ot a mill-pond, or
the like. , „ _ ,
PENTACHORD (compounded of jtsvts, jive, ami
string), an ancient musical instrument with five
strings. The invention of the pentachord is reterred
to the Scythians ; the strings were of bullocks leather,
126 j P ^ ^
brought to its present state of perfection by my father,
about the year 1750. It is one, among many other ^
scientific improvements and inventions completed by
him, that others have ingloriously,and many years alter,
assumed to themselves. ,
“ The pantographer is usually made of wood, or brass,
and consists of four flat rules, two of them long, and two
short. The two longest are joined at the end A, by a
double pivot, which is fixed to one of the rules, ami
works in two small holes placed at the end of the other.
Under the joint is an ivory castor, to support this end
of the instrument. The two smaller rules are fixed by
pivots ut E and H, near the middle of the larger
rules, and are also joined together at their other
« Py the construction of this instrument, the four rule;
.always form a parallelogram. There is a sliding box on
the longer arm, and ancthePon the shorter arm. 1 hese
boxes may he fixed at any part ofthe rules by means of
their milled nuts j each of these boxes is furnished with
.a cylindric tube, to carry either the tracing point or
crayon or fulcrum. . .
“ The fulcrum or support K, is a leaden weight inclo¬
sed in a mahogany box, on this the instrument moves
Peiits-
graph.
Plate
CCCCIX.
to the Scythians 5 the strings were oj ouuocks ieau,c ' ’tw0 moveahle rollers, to support
they were struck w.th a jlectnuu made of goars the pantog.^her; their
horn. _ . .. 1   ' J 1 T.on111PPS-k
horn.
PENTACROSTIC, in Poetry, a set of verses so
disposed, as that there are always five acrostics of the
. same name, in five divisions of each verse, bee A-
CROSTIC. ^ . T,
PENTADACTYLON, Five Fingers, in Botany,
a name given by some authors to the ricinus or pahna
Chrisli, from the figure of its leaf.
situation may he varied as occasion requires.
“ The graduations are placed on two of the rules.: on
each of them are two scales, the fiducial edges of the
boxes are to be set to these, according to the work to
be performed by the instrument. ,
“ The crayon, the tracer, and fulcrum, must m all
cases be-in a right line, so thatnvhen they are set, it a
• Qeomet.
and Gra¬
phic Es-
Srtl/S, p.374
the trivial name of a fish common in all the seas of the
East Indies, and called by the Dutch there vltf vinger
PENTAGON, xwGeometry, a figure of five sides
and five angles. See Geometry.
In fortification, pentagon denotes a fort with five
bastions.
PENTAGRAPH, Pantograph, or Pantogra-
-PHER, an instrument designed for drawing figures in
what proportion you, please, without any skill m the
The instrument is otherwise called a 'parallelogram.
The following is the-description of this instrument by
Mr Adams. , T f , ,
44 It is an instrument (says Mr Atlantisj as usetul to
the experienced draftsman, as to those wbo have made
but little progress in the art. It saves a great deal of
time, either in reducing, enlarging, or copying of the
game size, giving the outlines of any drawing, however
crooked or complex, with the utmost exactness nor is
it confined to any particular kind, but may with equal
facility be used for copying figures, plans, sea-charts,
maps, profiles, landscapes, &c.
“ Description and use of the Pantographer —I have
not been able to ascertain who was the inventor of this
useful instrument. The earliest account I find is that
of the Jesuit Scheiner, about the year 1631, in a small
tract entitled Pantographice, sive ars nova dehneandi.
The principles are self-evident to every geometrician ;
the mechanical construction was first improved and
with it, there is an error either in the setting or gra¬
duations. _
“ The long tube which carries the pencil or crayon,
moves easily up or down another tube-, there is a string
affixed to the long or inner tube, passing afterwards
through the holes in the three small knobs to the tra¬
cing point, where it may, if necessary, be fastened. Ry
pulling this string, the pencil is lifted up occasionally,
and thus prevented from making false or improper marks
upon the copy. r
“ To use this instrument when the copy is to be oj the
same size as the original.—Place the instrument upon a
large table, and set the sliding boxes B and D, to the
divisions marked 12. Put the crayon into the box J3,
place the box D upon the fulcrum or kaden toot j the
tracing point at C. Then lay a piece of paper under
the crayon, and the original drawing under the tracer,
and mo've the tracing point over the principal strokes of
the original, and the crayon will form the required
^ To reduce a drawing, &(C. to half the size of ^ the
original.-^et the boxes B and D, to the divisions
marked one-half, place the fulcrum at B, the crayon at
D, and tracer at C. ,
“ To reduce a drawing, &fc. to less than one-' f‘Jflc
original.—»Suppose one-third, one fourth, one-fifth, &c.
Place the fulcrum at B, crayon at D, and tracer at U,
and slide the boxes B and D, to the divisions marked
one-third, one-fourth, one-fifth, &c. on the longer scales.
It may be prefer to observe here, that if the copy be
PEN [ 127 ] PEN
less than one-half the original, or when it is required
greater than the original, the longer scales are to be
used.
“ For greater than mc-half the original drawing.—
Suppose it be required to make a drawing, two-thirds
three-fourths, four-fifths, &c. Set the boxes^B and D,
to corresponding divisions, as two-thirds, three-fourths,
four-fifths, &c. on the shorter scales, place the fulcrum
at D, the crayon at B, and tracer at C.
“ When the original drawing is to he enlarged.—
Suppose one-eighth, one sixth, 8tc. set the boxes B and
D, to one-eighth, one-sixth, &c. on the longer scales,
place the fulcrum at D, the crayon at C, and tracer
at B.
“ Where the copy is required of a size differing from
the fractional parts laid down on the instrument.—For
this purpose there are tw'o scales laid down, containing
100 unequal parts, one scale numbered from 10 to 80,
the other from 50 to 100.
“ If the copy is to he under one-half the original size,
place the boxes B and I), to any two corresponding
divisions under 50, the fulcrum at B, and crayon at
u.
“ If the copy is to he larger than one-half the original,
place the boxes B and D, to corresponding divisions be¬
tween 50 and 100} the fulcrum at B, and crayon
at D.
“ To change the situation of the pant ographer.—Copy
first as much as the pantographer will take in 5. then
make three points on the original, and as many corre¬
sponding points on the copy. Then remove the fulcrum
to another situation, but so, that when the tracing point
is applied to the three points marked on the original,
the crayon may exactly coincide with the other three
points on the copy, and proceed as before; and so on
for every change in the situation of your instrument,
and by this means a pantographer of two feet and a
half in length will copy a drawing of any size whatso¬
ever.”
PENTAMETER, in ancient poetry, a kind of
verse, consisting of five feet, or metres, whence the
name. The two first feet may be cither dactyls or
spondees at pleasure} the third is always a spondee j
and the two last anapestes : such is the following verse
of Ovid.
I. . 2. 3 4 , 5
Carmim | bus in | ves tem \ pus in oni \ ne meis.
A pentameter verse subjoined to an hexameter, con¬
stitutes what is called elegiac. See Elegiac.
PENTANDRIA (from -Kirn, five, and ctvrg, a man
or husband) ; the name of the fifth class in Linnaeus’s
sexual method, consisting of plants which have herma¬
phrodite flowers, with five stamina or male organs. See
Botany Index.
PENTAPETALOUS, an appellation given to
flowers which consist of five petals or leaves.
PENTAPETES, a genus of plants belonging to
the monadelphia class, and in the natural method rank*
ing under the 37th order, Columniferce. See Botany
Index.
PENTAPOLIS. This name is given to the five
cities, Sodom, Gomorrah, Adamah, Zeboim, and Zoar
(Wisdom x. 6.). They were all five condemned to
utter destruction, but Lot inteceded for the preserva-
ti*n of Zoar, otherwise called Bala. Sodom, Gomor¬
rah, Adamah, and Zeboim, were all consumed by fire PenlapolK
from heaven, and in the place where they stood was Penta-
made the lake Asphallites, or the lake of Sodom. teuefa.
Pentafous (Ptolemy), a district of Cyrenaica ; ^ *
situated on the Mediterranean j denominated from its
five cities ; namely, Berenice, Arsinoe, Ptolemais, Cy-
rene, and Apollonia.
Fentapolis of the Philistines, (Josephus) j taking
name from five principal cities, Gaza, Gath, Ascalon,
Azotus, and Ekron.
PENTATEUCH. This word, which is derived
from the Greek nsvIacTev;^?, from ■7cirti,five, and ret^oj,
an instrument or volume, signifies the collection of the
five instruments or books of Moses, which are Genesis,
Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy : each
of which books avc have given an account of under
their sevreral names.
There are some modern critics Avho have disputed
Moses’s right to the Pentateuch. They observe that the
author speaks always in the third person. “ Now the
man Moses Avas very meek above all the men which
were upon the face of the earth. The Lord spake unto
Moses, saying, &c. Moses said to Pharaoh, &c.” Thus
they think he Avould never have spoken of himself; but
Avould at least sometimes have mentioned himself in the
first person. Besides this, say they, the author of the
Pentateuch sometimes abridges his narration like a wri¬
ter who collected from some ancient memoirs. Some¬
times he interrupts the thread of his discourse ; for ex¬
ample, he makes Lamech the bigamist to say (Gen. iv.
23.), “ Hear my voice, ye Avives of Lamech, hearken
unto my speech; for I have slain a man to my Avound-
ing, and a young man to my hurt,” without informing
us before-hand to Avhom this is related. These observa¬
tions, for example (Gen. xii. 6.), “ And the Canaanite
Avas then in the land,” cannot be reconciled to the age
of Moses, since the Canaanites continued to be the ma¬
sters of Palestine all the time of Moses. The passage
out of the book of the Avars of the Lord, quoted in the
book of Numbers (xxi. 14.) seems to have been clap¬
ped in afterwards, as also the first verses of Deuterono¬
my. The account of the death of Moses, Avhiclr is at
the end of the same book, cannot certainly belong to
this legislator ; and the same judgment may be made
of other passages, wherein it is said, that the places men¬
tioned lay beyond Jordan ; that the bed of Og Avas at
Ramah to this day : that the havoth of Jair, or the ci¬
ties of Jair, Avere knoAvn to the author, though probably
they had not that name till after Moses’s time (Numb,
xxxii. 41. Deut. iii. 14.).
It is observed also in the text of the Pentateuch, that
there are some places that are defective ; for example,
in Exodus (xii. 8.), avc see Moses speaking to Pharaoh,
Avhere the author omits the beginning, of his discourse.
The Samaritan inserts in the same place what is wanting .
in the Hebrew. In other places, the same Samaritan
copy adds Avhat is deficient in the HebreAV text; and
what it contains more than the Hebrew seems so Avell
connected Avith the rest of the discourse, that it Avould
be difficult to separate them. Lastly, they believe that
they observe certain strokes in the Pentateuch Avhich
can hardly agree Avith Moses, aa'Iio Avas born and bred
in Egypt; as what he says of the earthly paradise; of
the rivers that Avatered it, and ran through it; of the
cities of Babylon, Erech, Resen, and Calneh ; of the
Pentateuch
• !!
Penthornm.
* Jenkin's
Reasona¬
bleness of
Christia¬
nity.
PEN [i
o-old of Pison, of tl.e bdellium, of the stone of Sohem,
or onyx-stone, -which was to be found in that country.
These particulars, observed with such curiosity, seem to
prove, that the author of the Pentateuch lived beyond
the Euphrates. Add what he says concerning the aik.
of Noah, of its construction, of the place where it rested,
of the wood wherewith it was built, of the bitumen ot
Babylon, &c. But in answer to all these objections,
we may observe in general, from an eminent writer of
our own country, that these books are by the most an¬
cient writers ascribed to Moses y and it is confiimed by
the authority of heathen writers themselves, that they
are of his writing : besides this, we have the unanimous
testimony of the whole Jewish nation, ever since Moses s^
time, from the first writing of them. Divers texts of
the Pentateuch imply that it was written by Moses ; and
the book of Joshua, and other parts of scripture, import
as much ; and though some passages have been thought
to imply the contrary, yet this is but a late opinion, and
has been sufficiently confuted by several learned men.
The Samaritans receive no other scriptures but the Pen¬
tateuch, rejecting all the other books which are still in
the Jewish canon.
PENTATHLON, in antiquity, a general name for
the five exercises performed at the Grecian games, viz.
wrestling, boxing, leaping, running, and playing at the
discus. . „ , T
PENTECOST, a solemn festival of the Jews ; so
called, because it was celebrated on the 50th day after
the 16th of Nisan, which was the second day of the
passover. The Hebrews called it the feast of weeks,^ be¬
cause it was kept seven weeks after the passovei. Ihey
then offered the first fruits of the wheat harvest, which
was then completed : besides which they presented at
.the temple seven lambs of that year, one calf, and two
rams, for a burnt-offering •, two lambs for a peace-of¬
fering ; and a goat for a sin-offering (Levit. xxiii. 15,
16. Exod. xxxiv. 22. and Deut. xvi. 9, 10.). The
feast of Pentecost was instituted among the Israelites,
first to oblige them to repair to the temple of the Lord,
there to acknowledge his absolute dominion over the
whole country, and to offer him the first-fruits of their
harvest *, and, secondly, that they might call to mind,
and give thanks to God, for the law which he had given
them from Mount Sinai, on the 50th day after their
coming out of Egypt.
The modern Jews celebrate the Pentecost for two
days. They deck the synagogue and their own houses
with garlands of flowers. Ihey hear a sermon or ora¬
tion in praise of the law, winch they suppose to have
been delivered on this day. The Jews of Germany
make a very thick cake, consisting of seven layers of
paste, which they call Sinai. The seven layers repre¬
sent the seven heavens, which they think God was obli¬
ged to reasetnd from the top of this mountain. See Leo
of Modena and Buxtorf's synag. Jud.
It was on the feast of Pentecost that the Holy Ghost
miraculously descended on the apostles of our Lord, who
were assembled together after his ascension in a house
at Jerusalem (Acts ii.).
PENTHESILEA, queen of the Amazons, succeed¬
ed Orythia, and gave proofs of her courage at the siege
of Troy, where she was killed by Achilles. Pliny says
that she invented the battle-axe.
PENTHOKUM, in Botany^ a genus of the penta-
5
28 ] PEP
gynia order, belonging to the pentandria class of plants, f
The calyx is quinquefidj there are either five petals
or none j the capsule is five-pointed and quinquelo-
cular.
PENTLAND, or Pictland Frith, is a narrow
strait of six miles between the mainland of Scotland and
the Orkney isles. This strait is the great thoroughfare
of shipping between the eastern and western seas, the
terror of mariners, and has been the grave of thousands.
The navigation of this frith was formerly extremely
dangerous by the island ot Stroma, and two rocas called
the Skerries, lying near the middle ot it •, but it is now
greatly improved, andcomparatively safe, inconsequence
of a lighthouse erected on the Skerries.
PENULA, among the ancient Romans, was a coarse
garment or cloak worn in cold or rainy weatner. It
was shorter than the lacerna, and therefore more proper
for travellers. It was generally brown, and succeeded
the toga after the state became monarchical. Augustus
abolished the custom of wearing the penula over the
toga, considering it as too effeminate for Romans j and
the sediles had orders to suffer none to appear in the
circus or forum with the lacerna or penula. Writers
are not agreed as to the precise difference between these
two articles of dress j but we are told that they were
chiefly worn by the lower orders of people. See La¬
cerna. ,
PENULTIMA, or Penultimate Syllable, in Gram¬
mar, denotes the last syllable but one of a wrord *, and
hence the antepenultimate syllable is the last but two,
or that immediately before the penultima.
PENUMBRA, in Astronomy, a partial shade ob¬
served between the perfect shadow and the full light in
an eclipse. It arises from the magnitude ot the sun’s
body r for were he only a luminous point, the shadow
would be all perfect y but, by reason of the diameter of
the sun, it happens, that a place which is not illumina¬
ted bv the whole body of the sun, does yet receive rays
from a part thereof.
PEON, in the language of Hindostan, means a foot
soldier, armed with sword and target. In common use
it is a footman, so armed, employed to run before a pa- —
lanquin. Piaaah is the proper word; from which peon
is a corruption.
PEOR, a famous mountain beyond Jordan, which
Eusebius places between Heslibon and Livias. ’Ihe
mountains Neboj Pisgah, and Peor, were near one
another, and probably made but the same chain of
mountains. It is very likely that Peor took its name
from some deity of the same name, which was worship¬
ped there; for Peor, Phegor, or Baal-peor, was known
in this country. See Numb. xxv. 3. Deut. iv. 3. Psal.
cv. 28.
Peor, was a city of the tribe of Judah, which is not
read in the Hebrew, nor in the Vulgate, but only in the
Greek of the Septuagint (Josh. xv. 60.). Eusebius says
it was near Bethlehem, and Jerome adds, that in his
time it was called Puora.
PEPIN de Heristal, or Le Gros, mayor of the
palace under Clovis III. Childebert, and Dagobert.
The power of these mayors in France was so great, that
they left the sovereign only the empty title, and in the
end seized on the throne itself.
Pepin le Bref, or le Petit, grandson to Pepin the
Gros, and first king of the second race of French mo¬
narch?,
PERSEPOLIS.
 ——
PEP [ 129 ] PER
Pepin narclis, Was mayor of the palace to Chxlderlc III. a
|| weak prince; he contrived to confine him and his son
Pepper- Thierri in difi’erent monasteries: and then, with the
Water. assistance of Pope Stephen III. he usurped the sovereign
- , power. He died in 768, aged 54.
PEPLIS, a genus of plants belonging to the hexan-
dria class, and in the natural method ranking under
the 17th order, Cahjeanthemce. See Botany Index.
PEPLUS, a long robe worn by the women in an¬
cient times, reaching down to the feet, without sleeves,
and so very fine, that the shape of the body might be
seen through it. The Athenians used much ceremony
in making the peplus, and dressing the statue of Miner¬
va with it. Homer makes frequent mention of the pep¬
lus of that goddess.
PEPPER, Piper, in Natural History, an aromatic
berry of a hot quality, chiefly used in seasoning. We
have three kinds of pepper at present used in the shops,
the black, the white, and the long pepper.
Black pepper is the fruit of the piper, and is brought
from the Dutch settlements in the East Indies. See
Piper, Botany Index.
The common white pepper is factitious, being pre¬
pared from the black in the following manner: they
steep this in sea water, exposed to the heat of the sun
for several days, till the rind or outer bark loosens j they
then take it out, and, when it is half dry, rub it till the
rind falls off 5 then they dry the white fruit, and the re¬
mains of the rind blow away like chaff. A great deal
of the heat of the pepper is taken off by this process, so
that the white kind is more fit for many purposes than
the black. However, there is a sort of native white
pepper produced on a species of the same plant; which
is much better than the factitious, and indeed little in¬
ferior to the black.
The long pepper is a dried fruit, of an inch or an
inch and a half in length, and about the thickness of
a large goose quill: it is of a brownish gray colour, cy¬
lindrical in figure, and said to be produced on a plant
of the same genus.
Pepper is principally used by us in food, to assist di¬
gestion : but the people in the East Indies esteem it
as a stomachic, and drink a strong infusion of it in wa¬
ter by way of giving them an appetite : they have al¬
so a way of making a fiery spirit of fermented fresh
pepper rvith water, which they use for the same pur¬
poses. They have also a way of preserving the com¬
mon and long pepper in vinegar, and eating them af¬
terwards at meals.
Jamaica Pepper, or Pimento. See Laurus, Bo¬
tany Index.
PEPPER-Mint. See Mentha, Botany and Ma¬
teria Medica Index.
PEPPER-Pot. See Capsicum, Botany Index.
PEPPER-Water, a liquor prepared in the following
manner, for microscopical observations : Put common
black pepper, grossly powdered, into an open vessel so
as to cover the bottom of it half an inch thick, and
put to it rain or river water till it covers it an inch $
shake or stir the whole well together at the first mix¬
ing, hut never disturb it afterwards : let the vessel be
exposed to the air uncovered j and in a few days there
will be seen a pellicle or thin skin swimming on the sur¬
face of the liquor, presenting several colours.
This is a congeries of multitudes of small animals;
Vol. XVt Part I. f
and being examined by the microscope, will be seen all
in motion : the animals, at first sight, are so small as not
to be distinguishable, unless to the greatest magnifiers ;
but they grow daily till they arrive at their full size.
Their numbers are also continually increasing, till the
w hole surface of the liquor is full of them, to a consider¬
able depth. M hen disturbed, they will sometimes all
dart down to the bottom ; but they soon after come up
to the surface again. The skin appears soonest in warm
weather, and the animals grow the quickest: but in the
severest cold it will succeed, unless the water freezes.
About the quantity of a pin’s head of this scum,
taken up on the nib of a new pen, or the tip of a hair-
pencil, is to be laid on a plate of clear glass ; and if
applied first to the third magnifier, then to the second,
and finally to the first, will show the different animal¬
cules it contains, of several kinds and shapes as well as
sizes.
PEPPERMINT-tree. See Eucalyptus, Bota¬
ny Index.
Pepper-
Water
PERA, one of the suburbs of Constantinople, where
ambassadors and Christians usually reside. See Con¬
stantinople.
PERAMBULATOR, in surveying, an instrument
for measuring distances, called also odometer,pedometer,
way-wiser, and surveying-wheel.
It connsists of a wheel A A, fig. 1. two feet seven Plate
inches and a half in diameter; consequently half a pole, CCCCIX.
or eight feet three inches, in circumference. On one Ia
end of the axis is a nut, three quarters of an inch in dia¬
meter, and divided into eight teeth ; which, upon mo¬
ving the wheel round, fall into the eight teeth of an¬
other nut c, fixed on one end of an iron-rod Q, and
thus turn the rod once round in the time the wheel
makes one revolution. This rod, lying along a groove
in the side of the carriage of the instrument, under the
dotted line, has at its other end a square hole, into which
is fitted the end h of a small cylinder P. This cylinder
is disposed under the dial-plate of a movement, at the
end of the carriage B, in such a manner as to be move-
able about its axis: its end a is cut into a perpetual
screw', which falling into the 32 teeth of a wheel per¬
pendicular thereto, upon driving the instrument forward,
that wheel makes a revolution each 16th pole. On the
axis of this wheel is a pinion with six teeth, which fall¬
ing into the teeth of another wheel of 60 teeth, carries
it round every 160th pole, or half a mile.
This last wheel, carrying a hand or index round with
it over the divisions of a dial-plate, whose outer limb is
divided into 160 parts, corresponding to the 160 poles,
points out the number of poles passed over. Again, on
the axis of this last wheel is a pinion, containing 20
teeth, which falling into the teeth of a third wheel
which hath 40 teeth, drives it once round in 320 poles,
or a mile. On the axis of this wheel is a pinion of 12
teeth, which, falling into the teeth of a fourth wheel
having 72 teeth, drives it once round in J2 miles.
This fourth wheel, carrying another index over the
inner limb of the dial-plate, divided into 12 for miles,
and each mile subdivided into halves, quarters, and fur¬
longs, serves to register the revolutiohs of the other
hand, and to keep account of the half miles and miles
passed over as far as 12 miles.
The use of this instrument is obvious from its con¬
struction. Its proper office is in the surveying of roads
li and
PER
[ 13° ]
PER
perambuVana large distances, where a great deal of ,
tor. and not much accuracy, is required. It is evident, that
'—-v ' driving it along and observing the hands, has the same
effect as dragging the chain and taking account ot t ic
chains and links. .
Its advantages are its hardiness and expedition , its
contrivance is such, that it may be fitted to the wheel
of a coach, in which state it performs its office, and
measures the road without any trouble at all. .
The following is a description of an instrument in¬
vented by Mr Edgeworth for the same purpose..
“ This odometer,” says Mr Edgeworth, “ is more
simple than any which I have seen, is less liable to ie
out of order, and may be easily attached to the ax e-
tree bed of a post chaise, gig, or any other carriage.
“ One turn and a half of a screw is formed round the
nave of one of the hinder wheels by a slip of iron three
quarters of an inch broad and one-eighth ot an inch
thick ; this is wound round the nave, and fastened to it
by screws passing through five or six cocks, which are
turned up at right angles on the slip of iron. Ihe helix
so formed on the nave of the carriage wheel acts as a
Tig- 2- -worm or screw upon the teeth of the wheel A, tig. 2.
upon the arbor of which another screw of brass B is
formed, which acts upon the brass wheel C. Thi’ w e
C serves also as a dial-plate, and is divided into miles,
halves, quarters, and furlongs; the figures indicating the
miles are nearly three quarters of an inch long, so as to
be quite distinct; they are pointed out by the index
D, which is placed as represented in the plate, in such
a manner as to be easily seen from the carriage. .
“ These two brass wheels are mounted by the irons
EE upon a block of wood E, eight inches long, two
inches thick; and five inches broad. This block may
be screwed upon the axle-tree-bed by two strong square-
headed wood screws. If the carriage permits, this block
should be fixed obliquely on the axle-tree-bed, so that
the dial-plate may be raised up toward the eye o ie
person looking out from the carriage.
“ H is a ratchet wheel attached to the arbor ot the
wheel A, which, by means of the click I, allows the
wheel to be set with a key or handle fitted to the squa¬
red end of the arbor at K. L is a long spring screwed
on the block; it presses on the wheel A, to prevent it
from shaking by the motion of the carriage. A small
triangular spring is put under the middle of the dial-
plate wheel for the same purpose.
“ If the wheel of the carriage is exactly five feet three
inches in circumference, the brass-toothed wheel which
it turns should have twenty teeth, and that which serves
as a dial plate should have eighty; it will then count
five miles. If the carriage wheel is either larger or
smaller, a mile should be carefully measured on a smooth
road, and the number of turns which the carriage wheel
makes in going this mile may easily be counted by ty ing
a piece of fine packthread to one of the spokes, and let¬
ting the wheel, as it moves slowly forward, wind up the
packthread on its nave. When the wheel has proceed¬
ed a half or a quarter of'a mile, unwind the string and
count the number of turns which it has made. .
“ By the addition of another wheel of eighty-one
teeth placed under the dial-plate wheel, and moved by
the screw C, with a proper hand fitted to it, and proper
* Kkh- fibres on the dial- plate, this machine would count tour
81. hundred miles
It has been susposed that the ancient Romans were pcraml)ula.
acquainted with an instrument of this kind. The foun- tor
- \ . • V* _ • ~ rvt 111 ms v.anito-
dadon of tills opinion is on expression of Julios Capito- ^
linus in his life of the emperor Pertmax. Ihe words , ^ 
are, Et alia (vehicula), iter metientia, et haras mon-
strantiay “ Carriages for measuring the length ot the
road, and marking the time of the journey.”
PERCA, the Perch ; a genus ot fishes belonging to
the order of thoracici. See Ichthyology Index.
PERCEPTION, is a word which is so well under¬
stood, that it is difficult for the lexicographer to give
any explanation of it. It has been called the first and
most simple act of the mind by which it is conscious
of its own ideas. This definition, however, is impro¬
per as it confounds perception with consciousness ; a -
though the objects ef the former faculty are things with¬
out us, those of the latter the energies of our own minds.
Perception is that power or faculty by which, through
the medium of the senses, we have the cognizance o
obiects distinct and apart from ourselves, and learn that
we are but a small part in the system of nature. By
what process the senses give us this information, we
have endeavoured to show elsewhere, (see Metaphysics,
Part I. chap, i.) and we should not again introduce
the subject, but to notice a singular opinion of a very
able writer, whose work has been given to the public
since our article alluded to had issued Irom the press.
Dr Sayers has endeavoured to prove that no man can
perceive two objects, or be conscious of two ideas at the
same instant. If this be true, not only our theory ok
time (see Metaphysics, Part II. chap, vn.) is grossly
absurd, but even memory itself seems to be an imaginary
faculty. If a man be not conscious ot his present exist¬
ence, at the very instant when he thinks ot a past event,
or reviews a series of past transactions, it is difficult, to
us indeed impossible, to conceive what idea he can have
of time, or what he can mean when he says that he re¬
members a thing. But let us examine the reasoning by
which the ingenious author endeavours to establish his
°P “ If we reflect (says he t) upon the surprising velocity
with which ideas pass through the mind, and the remark-
able rapidity with which the mind turns itself, or is di- and xite-
rected from one object of contemplation to another, this ran/,
miidit alone give us some suspicion that we may probably
be mistaken in supposing ideas to be synchronously per¬
ceived Other arguments may be adduced to strengthen
this suspicion. It will be granted, I believe, that the
mind, whether immaterial or the result of organization,
has certainly a wholeness or unity belonging to it, and
that it is either not composed of parts, or that no one ot
the parts from which it originates is itself mind : m this
case it is difficult to conceive how two ideas should be
impressed upon the mind at the same instant: for this
would be supposing that part of the mind could receive
one idea, and part another, at the same time; but it the
parts do not perceive singly, this is evidently impossible.
If on the other hand, this self-division of the mind does
not take place, then if two ideas are nevertheless to be.
perceived at the same instant, it would seem that those
ideas must be so blended with each other, that neither ot
them could appear distinct. If we examine the manner
in which a complex idea is perceived, we shall find very
clearly, that the whole of such an idea is never present
to the mind at once. In thinking ot a centaur, for in-
stsincc^
PER [i
stance, can we at the same moment be thinking of the
parts of a man and the parts of a horse ? Can we not al¬
most detect the gliding of the mind from the one to the
other ? In contemplating the complex idea of gold, are
the ideas of its colour, ductility, hardness, and weight,
all present to the mind at the same instant ? I think, if
we accurately attended to it, we shall find a perceptible
time has elapsed before this complex idea has been per¬
fectly formed in our mind : but if all the parts of a com¬
plex idea cannot be recalled at the same instant, is it not
reasonable to infer that these parts are also singly impres¬
sed, and not all originally perceived at the same instant?”
This reasoning is plausible, but perhaps not convin¬
cing. Surely we have all been conscious of bodily pain
or pleasure with our eyes open, and been offended by
disagreeable smells at the very instant that we looked at
objects beautifully coloured. That our ideas pass through
the mind with great velocity, and that the mind can
rapidly turn itself from one subject of contemplation to
another, are truths which cannot be controverted j but
instead of leading us to suppose that two or more objects
cannot be synchronously perceived, or two or more ideas
synchronously apprehended, they appear to furnish a
complete proof of the reverse of all this. For we beg
leave to ask how we come to know that ideas pass with
velocity through the mind, if we be not all the while
conscious of something that is permanent ? If we can
contemplate but one idea at once, it is plainly impossi¬
ble that two or more can be compared together ; and
therefore we cannot possibly say that any particular train
has passed through the mind with a degree of velocity
greater or less than that which we have usually experi¬
enced *, nay, we cannot say that we have ever experi¬
enced a train of ideas at all, or even been conscious of a
single idea, besides the immediate object of present ap¬
prehension. That the mind is an individual, we most
readily grant j but that it should therefore be incapable
of having tivo ideas synchronously excited in it, is a pro¬
position for which the author has brought no evidence.
That it is difficult to conceive how this is done, we ac¬
knowledge j but not that it is more difficult than to con¬
ceive how a single idea is excited in the mind $ for of
the mode in which mind and matter mutually operate
on each other, we can form no conception. We know
that objects make an impression on the organs of sense,
that this impression is by the nerves communicated to
the brain, and that the agitation of the brain excites
sensation in the mind : but in what way it excites sen¬
sation we know not 5 and therefore have no reason to
suppose that two or more different agitations may not
excite two or more synchronous sensations, as well as one
agitation excites one sensation. That the agitation gi¬
ven to the brain operates on the mind, is known by
experience; but experience gives us no information re-
pecting the mode of that operation. If the mind be, as
our author and we suppose, one individual, it cannot, as
mind, be either divisible or extended ; and therefore it
is certain that the operation in question cannot be, in
the proper sense of the word, impression. Hence we
have no right to infer, if two objects he perceived at
once, either that the idea of the one must be impressed
on a part of the mind different from that which receives
•the impression of the other, or that the two impressions
must be so blended with each other, that neither of
‘ibem could appear distinct; for this would be to reason
it ] PER
from one mode of operation to another ; with which,
upon acknowledged principles, it can have nothing in
common.
liy far the greater part of our ideas are relicts of
visible sensations ; and of every thing which we can ac¬
tually see at once, we at once contemplate the idea.
That we could at once perceive a centaur, if such a be¬
ing were presented to us, cannot surely be doubted by
any one who has ever looked at a man on horseback;
and therefore that we can at the same moment contem¬
plate the whole idea of a centaur, is a fact of which con¬
sciousness will not permit us to doubt.—If, indeed, we
choose to analyze this complex idea into its component
parts, it is self-evident that the mind must glide from the
one to the other, because the very analysis consists in
the separation of the parts, of which, if after that pro¬
cess we think of them, we must think in succession :
but that we may have at the same instant, either an ac¬
tual or ideal view of all the parts of the centaur united,
is a proposition so evident as to admit of no other proof
than an appeal to experience. In contemplaiing what
the author calls the complex idea ot gold, it cannot be
denied that the ideas of its colour, ductility, hardness,
and weight, are never all present to the mind at the
same instant: but the reason is obvious. These are not
all ideas, in the proper sense of the word, hut some of
them are ideas, and some notions, acquired by very dif¬
ferent processes and very different faculties. Colour is
an idea of sensation, immediately suggested through the
organ of sight; ductility is a relative notion, acquired
by repeated experiments ; and gold might be made the
object of every sense, without suggesting any such no¬
tion. The writer of this article never saw any experi¬
ment made on the ductility of gold, and has therefore
a very obscure and indistinct notion of that property of
the metal; but he is conscious, that he can perceive, at
the same instant, the yellow colour and ciicular figure
of a guinea, and have a very distinct, though relative
notion, of its hardness.
We conclude, therefore, that the mind is capable of
two or more synchronous perceptions, or synchronous
ideas; that during every train which passes through it,
it is conscious of its own permanent existence ; and that
if it were limited to the apprehension of but one idea at
once, it could have no remembrance of the past, or anti¬
cipation of the future, but would appear to itself, could
it make any comparison, to pass away like a flash of
lightning.
PERCH, in land-measuring, a rod or pole of 164-
feet in length, of which 40 in length and 4 in breadth
make an acre of ground. But, by the cu-toms of se¬
veral counties, there is a difference in this measure. In
Staffordshire it is 24 feet; and in the forest of Sherwood
25 feet, the foot being there 18 inches long; and in
Herefordshire a perch of ditching is 21 feet, the perch
of walling i64- feet, and a pole of denshiered ground is
12 feet, &c.
Perch, a fish. See Perca, Ichthyology Index.
PERCHE, a territory of Orleannois in France, 35
miles long, and 30 broad; bounded on the north by
Normandy ; on the south, by Maine and Dunois; on
the east, by Beauce; and on the west by Maine. It
takes its name from a forest, and is pretty fertile. The
inhabitants carry on a pretty good trade ; and the prin¬
cipal town is BeJlesme.
R 2
PERCOLATION,
Percolation
II
Perfume.
PER
[ i32 ]
PER
PERCOLATION, a chemical operation which is
the same with I iltration. ...
PERCUSSION, in Mechanics, the impression a
body makes in falling or striking upon another *, or the
shock of two bodies in motion. See Dynamics and
Mechanics. . , ,,
PERDICIUM, a genus of plants, belonging to the
syngenesia class •, and in the natural method ranking
under the 49th order, Compositce. See Botany Index.
PERDIX, the partridge. See Tetrao, Ornitho¬
logy Index. c t> 1 i
PEREASLAW, a strong populous tovyn ot Poland,
in the palatinate of Kiovia, situated on the river Inbecz j
in E. Long. 32. 44. N. Lat. 49. 46.
PERENNIALS, or Perennial Flowers, m
Botany, a term applied to those plants whose roots
abide many years, whether they retain their leaves in
winter or not. Those which retain their leaves ar
called evergreens; but such as cast their leaves are
named deciduous or perdij'ols. . . . ,
PERFECT, something to which nothing is want¬
ing, or that has all the requisites of its nature an
Perfect Cadence, in Music. See Cadence.
Perfect Tense, in Grammar. See Preterite.
PERFECTION, the state or quality of a thing
Perfection is divided, according to Chauvmus, into
physical, moral, and metaphysical. ^
Physical or natural perfection, is that whereby a
thing has all its powers and faculties, and those too
in full vigour 5 and all its parts both principal and se¬
condary, and those in their due proportion, constitu¬
tion, &c. in which sense man is said to be pertect
when he has a sound mind in a sound body. I his
perfection is by the schools frequently termed mgyurawi,
because a thing is enabled thereby to perform all its
operations. „ . ,
Moral perfection is an eminent degree ot virtue or
moral goodness, to which men arrive by repeated acts
of piety, beneficence, &c. This is usually subdivide
into absolute or inherent, which is actually in him to
whom we attribute it \ and imputative, which exists in
some other, and not in him it is attributed to.
Metaphysical, transcendental, or essential perfection,
is the possession of all the essential attributes, or ot all
the parts necessary to the integrity of a substance ; or
it is that whereby a thing has or is provided of every
thing belonging to its nature. This is either absolute,
where all imperfection is excluded, such is the peilec¬
tion of God •, or secundum quid, and in its kind.
PERFORANS Manus, -j
Perforans Pedis. I See Anatomy, lable
PERFORATES Manus, r of the Muscles.
Perforatus Pedis. J m f
. PERFUME, denotes either the volatile emuvia from
any body affecting the organ of smelling, or the sub¬
stance emitting those effluvia; in which last sense the
word is most commonly used. The generality of per¬
fumes are made up of musk, ambergris, civet, rose and
cedar woods, orange-flowers, jessamines, jonquils, tube¬
roses, and other odoriferous flowers. I hose drugs com¬
monly called aromatics, such as storax, frankincense
benzoin, cloves, mace, &c. enter the composition of a
s
perfume; some are alo composed of aromatic herbs or Perfume
leaves, as lavender, marjoram, sage, thyme, hyssop, &c. »
The use of perfumes was frequent among the He- v_£^
brews, and among the orientals in general, betore.it waa
known to the Greeks and Romans. In the time ot
Moses perfumes must have been known m Egypt, since
he speaks of the art of the perfumer, and gives the com¬
position of two kinds of perfumes (Exod. xxx. 25.), ot
which one was to be offered to the Lord upon the
golden altar which was in the holy place; and the
other was appointed for the anointing of the high
priest and his sons (ibid. 34, &c-) as also of the taber¬
nacle, and all the vessels that were used in divine sex-
V1 The Hebrews had also perfumes which they made
use of in embalming their dead. The composition is
not known, but it is certain that they generally made
use of myrrh, aloes, and other strong and astringent
drugs, proper to prevent putrefaction (John xix. 49.).
See the article Embalming. Q .
Besides the perfumes for these purposes, the Scripture
mentions other occasions whereon the Hebrew's used
perfumes. The spouse in the Canticles (1. 3.) com.
mends the scent of the perfumes ot her lover 5 and her
lover in return says, that the scent of the perfumes of
his spouse surpasses the most excellent odours (id. iv.
xo—14.). He names particularly the spikenard, the
calamus, the cinnamon, the myrrh, and the aloes, as
making a part of these perfumes. The voluptuous wo¬
man described by Solomon (Prov. vn. 17.) says, that
she had perfumed her bed with myrrh, aloes, and cinna¬
mon. The epicures in the book ot Wisdom (11. 7.)
encourage one another to the luxuriant use of odours
and costly perfumes.
Isaiah (Ivii. 9.) reproaches Judea, whom he describes
as a spouse faithless to God, with being painted and
perfumed to please strangers, “Thou wentest to the
king with ointment, and didst increase thy perfumes.
Ezekiel (xxiii. 41.) seems to accuse the Jews with
having profaned the odours and perfumes, the use ot
which was reserved to sacred things, by applying them
to their own use.
They came afterwards to be very common among
the Greeks and Romans, especially those composed ot
musk, ambergris, and civet. The. nardus and malo-
bathrum were held in much estimation, and were im¬
ported from Syria. The unguentum nardmum was va¬
riously prepared, and contained many ingredients.
Malobathvum was an Indian plant. Perfumes were al¬
so used at sacrifices to regale the gods j at leasts, to
increase the pleasures of sensation; at funerals, to
overpower cadaverous smells, and please the manes ot
the dead; and in the theatres, to prevent the ollen-
sive effluvia, proceeding from a crowd, from being per-
CUSince people are become sensible of the harm they
do to the head, perfumes are generally disused among
us; however, they are still common m Spam and Italy.
PERGAMA, (Virgil), the citadel ot Iroy; which,
because of its extraordinary height, gave na‘ne to all
high buildings (Servius). Others say the walls ot Troy
PERGAMUM, (Pliny) > called also P^gamea,
(Virgil) j Pergamia, (Plutarch; a town of Crete,
PER [13
built by Agamemnon in memory of his victory, (Vel¬
leius). Here was tbe burying-place of Lycurgus (Ari-
stoxenus, quoted by Plutarch). It was situated near
Cydonia (Servius) $ to what point not said: but Scylax
helps him out, who places tbe Dactynnean temple of
Diana, which stood near Cydonia (Strabo), to the north
of the territory of Pergamia.—Another Pergamum
(Pliny, Strabo) j a town of Mysia, situated on the Cai'-
cus, which runs by it. It was the royal residence of
Eumenes, and of the kings of the Attali (Livy).
There an ancient temple of iEsculapius stood 5 an asy¬
lum (Tacitus). The ornament of Pergamuni was the
royal library, vying with that of Alexandria in Egypt;
the kings of Pergamum and Egypt rivalling each other
in this respect (Pliny). Strabo ascribes this rivalry to
Eumenes. Plutarch reckons up 200,000 volumes in
the library at Pergamum. Here the membt'ance perga-
mence, whence the parch?nent, were invented for
the use of books, (Varro, quoted by Pliny). The coun¬
try of Galen, and of Oribasius chief physician to Julian
the Apostate (Eunapius), called by some the ape of
Galen. Here P. Scipio died (Cicero). Attains son of
Eumenes dying without issue, bequeathed his kingdom
to the Roman people, who reduced it to a province,
(Strabo). Pergameus, the epithet (Martial). Here
was one of the nine conventus juridici, or assemblies of
the Asia Romana, called Pergamenus, and the ninth
in order (Pliny) ; which he also ca\\s jurisdictio Per-
gamena.
PERGAMUS, an ancient kingdom of Asia, form¬
ed out of the ruins of the empire of Alexander the
Great. It commenced about the year 283 B. C. The
first sovereign was one Philetaerus an eunuch, by birth
a Paphlagonian, of a mean descent, and in his youth a
menial servant to Antigonus one of Alexander’s cap¬
tains. He afterwards served Lysimachus king of Ma-
cedon and Thrace, who appointed him keeper of his
treasures lodged in Pergamus. While he held this
employment, having fallen under the displeasure of
Arsinoe wife to Lysimachus, she found means to make
a quarrel between him and his master j upon wdiich
Philetaerus seized on the castle of Pergamus, together
with the treaures entrusted to his care, amounting to
90,000 talents. At first he offered his service, toge¬
ther with his treasure, to Seleucus king of Syria :
but both Seleucus and Lysimachus dying soon after,
he kept possession of the town and treasure also till his
death; which happened 20 years after his revolt from
Lysimachus.
Philetaerus left the city of Pergamus to his brother,
or, according to some, to his brother’s son Eumenes I.
and he, laying hold of the opportunity offered by
tbe dissensions among the Seleucidae, possessed himself
of many strong-holds in the province of Asia ; and
having hired a body of Galatians, defeated Antiochus
at he was returning from a victory gained over his bro¬
ther Seleucus Callinicus. By this victory he obtained
possession of the greater part of Asia : however, he
did not long enjoy his acquisitions ; for he died next
year of immoderate drinking, a vice to which he was
greatly addicted.
Eumenes was succeeded by Attains I. nephew of
PhiletEerus, and the first who took upon him the title
of king of Pergamus. He defeated the Gauls, who
were desirous of settling in his territory 5 and, accor-
3 ] PER
ding to Livy, was the first of the Asiatic princes who Perg
refused to pay a contribution to these barbarians.>
When Seleucus Ceraunus was engaged in other wars, he
invaded his territories, and conquered all the provinces
on this side of Mount Taurus \ but was soon driven
out of bis new acquisitions by Seleucus and his grand¬
father Achteus, who entering into an alliance against
him, deprived him of all his newly acquired territo¬
ries, and even besieged him in his capital. Upon this
Attalus invited to his assistance the Gauls who had
settled in Thrace : and with their help not only obli¬
ged the enemy to raise the siege of Pergamus, but
quickly recovered all the provinces he had lost. Af¬
ter this he invaded Ionia and the neighbouring pro¬
vinces, where several cities voluntarily submitted to
him. The Teians, Colophonians, with the inhabitants
of Egea and Lemnos, sent deputies declaring themselves
ready to acknowledge him for their sovereign $ the Car-
senes, on the other side the river Lycus, opened their gates
to him, having first expelled the governor set over them
by Achaeus. From thence he advanced to Apia, and
encamping on the banks of tbe river Megithus, received
homage from the neighbouring nations. But here the
Gauls being frightened by an eclipse of the moon, re¬
fuse to proceed farther 5 which obliged Attalus to re¬
turn to the Hellespont, where he allowed his allies to
settle, giving them a large and fruitful territory, and
promising that he would always assist and protect them
to the utmost of his power.
Attalus having thus settled his affairs with equal
honour and advantage to himself, entered into an al¬
liance with Rome, and afterwards joined them in their
war against Philip king of Macedon. Here he had the
command of the Rhodian fleet; with which he not only
drove the Macedonians quite out of the seas, but having
landed his men, he, in conjunction with the Athenians,
invaded Macedon, and obliged Philip to raise the siege
of Athens, which he had greatly distressed ; for which
services the Athenians not only heaped on him all the
favours they could, but called one of their tribes by his
name j an honour they had never bestowed on any fo¬
reigner before.
Attalus, not contented with all he had yet done
against Philip, attempted to form a general confederacy
of the Greeks against him. But while he was ha¬
ranguing the Boeotians to this purpose, and exhorting
them with great vehemence to enter into an alliance
with the Romans against their common enemy, he fell
down speechless. However he came to himself again,
and desired to be carried by sea from Thebes to Perga¬
mus, where he died soon after his arrival, in the 72d
year of his age and 43d of his reign.
This prince was a man of great generosity, and such
an enthusiast in learning and learned men, that he
caused a grammarian named Daphidas to be thrown in¬
to the sea from the top of a high rock, because he
spoke disrespectfully of Homer.
Attalus was succeeded by his eldest son Eumenes II.
He was exceedingly attached to the Ronaans, insomuch
that he refused the daughter of Antiochus the Great in
marriage, lest he should thus have been led into a dif¬
ference with that people. He also gave notice to the
Roman senate of the transactions of Ariarathes king of
Cappadocia, who was making great preparations both
by sea and land. Nor did Eumenes stop here for
when a
PER
[ 134 ]
PER
Pcrgamus,
when he saw the war about to break out between An-
tiochus and the Romans, he sent his brother Attains
to Rome to give information ot the proceedings ot
Antiochus. The senate heaped honours both on Tu-
menes and his brother-, and in the war which followed,
gave the command ot their fleet to the king of L evga-
-mus in conjunction with C. Livius Salinator. the
victory gained on this occasion was in a great measure
owing to Eumencs, who boarded some of the enemy s
-ships in person, and during the whole action behaved
with uncommon bravery. Some time afterwards Eu-
menes, entering the territories of Antiochus with a
body of 5000 men, ravaged all the country about
Thyatira, and returned with an immense booty. But
in the mean time Antiochus invading Rergamus in his
turn, ravaged the whole country, and even laid siege
to the capital. Attains, the king’s brother, held out
with a handful of men till the Achseans, who were
alliance with Eumenes, sent 1000 foot and too
horse to his assistance. As this small body of auxili¬
aries were all chosen men, and commanded by an ex¬
perienced officer, they behaved with such bravery that
the Syrians were obliged to raise the siege. At the
battle of Magnesia, too, Eumenes behaved with the
greatest bravery : not only sustaining the first attack
of the enemy’s elephants, but driving them back again
on their own troops, which put the ranks in dis¬
order, and gave the Romans an opportunity of giving
them a total defeat by attacking them opportunely
with their horse. In consequence of this defeat, Anti¬
ochus was obliged to conclude a peace with the Romans
on such terms as they pleased to prescribe j one of
which was, that he should pay Eumenes 400 talents,
and a quantity of corn, in recompense for the damage
he had done him.
Eumenes now thought of obtaining some reward
from the Romans equivalent to the services he had
done them. Having gone to Rome, he told the se¬
nate, that he was come to beg of them that the Greek
cities which had belonged to Antiochus before the
commencement of the late war, might now be added
to his dominions but his demand was warmly opposed
by the ambassadors from Rhodes, as well as by depu¬
ties from all the Greek cities in Asia. The senate,
however, after hearing both parties, decided the mat¬
ter in favour of Eumenes, adding to his dominions all
the countries on this side of Mount Taurus which be¬
longed to Antiochus the other provinces lying be¬
tween that mountain and the river Maeander, excepting
Eycia and Caria, were bestowed on the Rhodians. All
the cities, which had paid tribute to Attains, were or¬
dered to pay the same to Eumenes ; but such as had
been tributary to Antiochus were declared free.
Soon after this Eumenes was engaged in a war with
Prusias king of Bithynia, who made war upon him
by the advice of Hannibal the celebrated Carthaginian
general. But Eumenes, being assisted by the Romans,
defeated Prusias in an engagement by sea, and another
by land j which so disheartened him, that he was ready
•to accept of peace on any terms. However, before
the treaty was concluded, Hannibal found means to
draw Philip of Macedon into the confederacy, who
sent Philocles, an old and experienced officer with a
considerable body of troops to join Prusias. Hereupon
jEumenes sent his brother Attains to Rome with a
J
golden crown, worth 15,000 talents, to complain of Pergamus.
Prusias for making war on the allies ol the Roman
peonle without any provocation. I he senate accepted
the present, and promised to adjust every thing to the
satisfaction of their friend Egmenes, whom they look¬
ed upon to be the most steady ally they had m Asia.
But in the mean time Prusias, having ventured another
sea-fight, by a contrivance of Hannibal’s gained a
complete victory. The Carthaginian commander ad¬
vised him to fill a great many earthen vessels with va¬
rious kinds of serpents and other poisonous reptiles,
and in the heat of the fight to throw them into the
enemies ships so as to break the pots and let the ser¬
pents loose. All the soldiers and seamen were com¬
manded to attack the ship in which Eumenes was
and onlv to defend themselves as well as they could
against the rest j and that they might be in no danger
of mistaking the ship, a herald was sent before the en¬
gagement with a letter to the king. As soon as the
two fleets drew near, all the ships ol Prusias, singling^
out that of Eumenes, discharged such a quantity ot
serpents into it, that neither soldiers nor sailors could
do their duty, but were forced to fly to the shore, lest
they should fkll into the enemy’s hands. The other
ships, after a faint resistance, lollovved the king’s ex¬
ample, and were all driven ashore with great slaughter,
the soldiers being no less annoyed by the stings ol the
serpents, than by the weapons of the enemy. Ihe
greatest part of the ships of Eumenes were burnt, several
taken, and the others so much shattered that they be¬
came quite unserviceable, i he same year 1 rusias gain¬
ed two remarkable victories over Eumenes by land,
both of which were entirely owing to stratagems 01
Hannibal. But, while matters were thus going on to
the disadvantage of Eumenes, the Romans interfered,
and by their deputies not only put an end to the di.lei-
ences between the two kings, but prevailed on Prusias
to betray Hannibal upon which he poisoned himself,
as hath been related under the article HANNIBAL.
Eumenes being thus freed from such a dangeious ene¬
my, engaged in a new war with the kings ot Cappado- _
cia and Pontus, in which also he proved victorious. His
friendship for the Romans he carried to such a degree of
enthusiasm, that he went in person to Rome to inform
them of the machinations of Perses king of Macedon.
He had before quarrelled with the Rhodians, who sent
ambassadors to Rome to complain of him. But as the
ambassadors happened to arrive while the king himself
was present in the city, the Rhodian ambassadors could
not obtain any hearing, and Eumenes was dismissed with
new marks of favour. This journey, however, had al¬
most proved fatal to him for, on his return, as he was
going to perform a sacrifice at Delphi, two assassins,
sent by Perses, rolled down two great stones upon him
as he entered the straits of the mountains. M ith one
he was dangerously wounded on the head, and with the
other on the shoulder. He fell with the blows from a
steep place, and thus received many other bruises; so
that he was carried on board his ship when it coulunot
well be known whether he was dead or alive. His
people, however, soon finding that he was still^ alive,
conveyed him to Corinth, and from Corinth to iEgina,
having caused their vessels to be carried over the
isthmus. .
Eumenes remained at iEgma till Ins wounds were
cured,
PER [ i
cured, which was done with such secrecy, that a report
of his death was spread all over Asia, and even believed
at Rome} nay, his brother Attains was so convinced of
the truth of this report, that he not only assumed the
government, but even married Stratonice the wife of
Rumenes. But in a short time Eumenes convinced
them both of his being alive, by returning to his king¬
dom. On the receipt of this news, Attains resigned
the sovereignty in great haste, and went to meet his
brother} carrying a halberd, as one of his guards.
Eumenes received both him and the queen with great
tenderness, nor did he ever say any thing which might
tend to make them uneasy ; only it is said he whispered
in his brother’s ear when he first saw him, “ Be in no
haste to marry my wife again till you are sure that I
am dead.”
The king being now more than ever exasperated a-
gainst Perses, joined the Romans in their war against
him} but during the course of it he suddenly cooled in
his affection towards those allies whom he had hitherto
served with so much zeal, and that to such a degree,
that he admitted ambassadors from Perses, and offered
to stand neuter if he would pay him 1000 talents, and
for 1500, to influence the Romans to grant him a safe
and honourable peace. But these negociations were
broke off without effect, by reason of the distrust which
the two kings had of one another. Eumenes could not
trust Perses unless he paid him the money beforehand }
while, on the other hand, Perses did not care to part
with the money before Eumenes had performed what he
promised } neither could he be induced to pay the sum
in question, though the king of Pergamus offered to
give hostages for the performance of his promise. What
the reason of such a sudden change in the disposition of
Eumenes was, is nowhere told } however, the fact is
certain. The negociations above mentioned were con¬
cealed from the Romans as long as possible ; but they
soon came to be known : after which the republic be¬
gan to entertain no small jealousy of their old friend,
and therefore heaped favours on his brother Attains,
without taking any notice of the king himself. Eu¬
menes had sent him to Rome to congratulate the senate
on the happy issue of the war with Perses, not thinking
that his practices had been discovered. However, the
senate without taking any notice of their disaffection to
Eumenes at first, entertained Attalus with the greatest
magnificence } then several of the senators who visited
him proceeded to acquaint him with their suspicions of
the king, and desired Attalus to treat with them in his
own name, assuring him, that the kingdom of Pergamus
would be granted him, if he demanded it, by the se¬
nate. These speeches had at first some effect} but At¬
talus, being of an honest disposition, and assisted by the
advice of a physician called Stratius, a man of great
probity, resolved not to comply with their desire.
When he was admitted to the senate, therefore, he first
congratulated them on the happy issue of the Macedoni¬
an war, then modestly recounted his own services} and
lastly, acquainted them with the motive of his journey }
intreated them to send ambassadors to the Gauls, who
by their authority might secure his brother from any
danger of their hostilities } and he requested them also,
that the two cities of tEous and Maronea might be be¬
stowed on himself. The senate, imagining that Atta¬
lus designed to choose some other day to sue for his bro-
i5 1 F E K
ther s kingdom, not only granted all his requests, but
sent him richer and more magnificent presents than they
had ever done before. Upon this Attalus immediately
set out on his return to Pergamus} which so provoked
the senators, that they declared the cities free which
they had promised to Attalus, thus rendering ineffectual
their promise which they were ashamed openly to re¬
voke } and as for the Gauls, who were on all occasions
ready to invade the kingdom of Pergamus, they sent
ambassadors to them, with instructions to behave in such
a manner as would rather tend to encourage them in
their design than dissuade them from it.
Eumenes, being alarmed at those proceedings, resol¬
ved to go in person to Rome, in order to justify himself.
But the senate having already condemned him in their
own minds, resolved not to hear his vindication. For
this reason, as soon as they heard of his design, they
made an act that no king should he permitted to enter
the gates of Rome. Eumenes, however, who knew
nothing of this act, set forward on his journey, and
landed at Brundusium } but no sooner did the Roman
senate get intelligence of his arrival there, than they
sent a quaestor acquainting him with the decree of the
senate ; and telling him at the same time, that if he had
any business to transact with the senate, he was appoint¬
ed to hear it, and transmit it to them ; but if not,
that the king must leave Italy without delay. To
this Eumenes replied, that he had no business of any
consequence to transact, and that he did not stand in
need of any of their assistance } and without saying a
word more, went on board his ship, and returned to
Pergamus.
On his return home, the Gauls, being encouraged by
the cold reception which he had met with at Rome, in¬
vaded his territories, but were repulsed with great loss
by the king, who afterwards invaded the dominions of
Prusias, and possessed himself of several cities. This
produced new complaints at Rome } and Eumenes was
accused, not only by the ambassadors of Prusias, but
also by those of the Gauls and many cities in Asia, of
keeping a secret correspondence with Perses king of
Macedon. This last charge was confirmed by some let¬
ters which the Romans themselves had intercepted } so
that Eumenes found it impossible to keep up his credit
any longer at Rome, though he sent his brothers Athe-
naeus and Attalus thither to intercede for him. The
senators, in short, had conceived the most implacable
hatred against him, and seemed absolutely bent on his
destruction, when he died, in the 39th year of his
reign, leaving his kingdom and his wife to his brother
Attalus. He left one son, but he was an infant, and
incapable of governing the kingdom } for which reason
Eumenes chose rather to give the present possession of
the crown to his brother, reserving the succession to his
son, than to endanger the whole by committing the
management of affairs to his son’s tutors.
Attalus, in the beginning.of his reign, found himself
greatly distressed by Prusias king of Bithynia, who not
only overthrew him ifi a pitched battle, but advanced
to the very walls of Pergiunus, ravaging the country as
he marched along} and at last reduced the royal city;
itself. The king, however, saved himself by a timely
flight, and dispatched ambassadors to Rome, complain¬
ing of the bad usage of Prusias. The latter endeavour¬
ed to defend himself, and to throw the blame on Atta¬
lus.
PER
[ 136 ]
PER
I’eraamus.
lus. But, after a proper inquiry was made into the
matter, Prusias was found to be entirely in the wrong ,
in consequence of which, he was at last obliged to coi
elude a peace with his adversary on the following ten .
1 That* he should immediately deliver up to Atta us
20 ships with decks. 2. That he should pay 500 ta¬
lents to Attains within the space of 20 years. 3. Aha
lie should pay 100 talents to some ol the other Asiatic
nations by way of reparation for the damages they had
sustained7from him. And, 4- Both parties should be
content with what they had before the beginning of the
'' ^Some time after this, Prusias having made an unna¬
tural attempt on the life of his son Nicomedes, the lat¬
ter rebelled, and with the assistance of Attains, diove
his father from the throne, and, as w said, even mur¬
dered him in the temple of Jupiter. The Homans took
no notice of these transactions, but showed the same
kindness to Attains as formerly. The last enterprise m
which we find Attains engaged, was against Andnseus
the pretended son of Perses kingol Macedon, where he
assisted the Romans j after which he gave himself up
entirely to ease and luxury, committing state atlairs en¬
tirely to his ministers ; and thus continued to his death,
which happened in the 8 2d year of his age, about 138
^ Attains H. was succeeded by Attains III. the son of
Eumenes ; for the late king, considering that he only
held the crown as a trust for his nephew, passed by his
own children in order to give it to him, though he ap¬
pears to have been by no means of worthy oi it. Ale 1-
able army to maintain his pretensions. The people in Pcrgamut
oeneral, having been accustomed to a monarchy, drea - ,
ed a republican form of government j in consequence ot
which, they assisted Aristonicus, and soon put him in a
condition to reduce the whole kingdom. The news,
however, were soon carried to Fiome ; and lucimus
Crassus, the pontifex maximus, wras sent into the east,
with orders to enforce obedience to the king’s will. Hi¬
storians take no notice of any forces which were sent
along with this commander j whence it is supposed, that
he depended on assistance from the Asiatics, who weie
in alliance with Rome, or from the Egyptians. Rut
when he came thither, he found both the Syrians anu
Egyptians so reduced, that he could not expect any as¬
sistance from them. However, he was soon supplied
with troops in plenty by the kings of Pontus, Bithyina,
Cappadocia, and Paphlagonia j but managed matters so
ill, that he was entirely defeated and taken prisoner.
Those who took him, designed to carry him to Aristo¬
nicus j but he, not able to endure the disgrace, would
have laid violent hands on himself if he had not been
disarmed. However, being allowed to keep a rod for
managing the horse on which he sat, he struck a A hra-
cian soldier who stood near him so violently with it,
that he beat out one of his eyes 5 upon which the other
drew his sword, and run him through on the spot.
His head was brought to Aristonicus, who exposed
it to public view j but the body was honourably bu-
Aristonicus had no great time to enjoy the fruits of
his victory. Indeed he behaved very improperly after
it 5 for, instead of preparing to oppose the next army.
pears 10 nave uceu *  v
said to have been deprived of his senses through the vi - “ ’ ^’ “~r~“ ~ & ^ been assured* the Romans would
lence of his grief for his mother’s death j and indeed t his time in feasting and re-
throughout his whole reign, he bel;av®^."1” , . . f velli S But iie was soon roused out of his lethargy by
madman than any thing else. Many of his subjects of
the highest quality were cut off with their wives and
children, upon the most groundless suspicions j and tor
these executions he made use of mercenaries hired out
from among the most barbarous nations. Thus he pro¬
ceeded till he had cut off all the best men in the king¬
dom ; after which he fell into a deep melancholy, ima-
o-ining that the ghosts of those whom he had murdered
were perpetually haunting him. On this he shut him¬
self up in his palace, put on a mean apparel, let his hair
and beard grow, and sequestered himself from all man¬
kind. At last he withdrew from the palace, and retired
into a garden, which he cultivated with his own hands,
and filled with all sorts of poisonous herbs. These he
used to mix with wholesome pulse, and send packets ot
them to such as he suspected. At last, being weary of
this amusement, and living in solitude, because nobo y
durst approach him, he took it in his head to follow the
trade of a founder, and make a brazen monument. But,
while he laboured at melting and casting the brass, the
heat of the sun and furnace threw him into a fever,
which in seven days put an end to his tyranny, after he
had sat on the throne five years.
On the death of the king, a*will was found, by which
he left the Roman people heirs of all his goods y upon
which they seized on the kingdom, and reduced it to a
province of their empire by the name of s^sia Pi oper*
But Aristonicus, a son of Eumenes by an Ephesian
courtesan, reckoning himself the lawful heir to the
crow'll, could by no means be satisfied with this usurpa¬
tion of the Romans, and therefore assembled a consider-
velling. But he was soon roused out of his lethargy by
Perpenna the new consul, who having assembled ivith
incredible expedition the troops of the allies, came un¬
expectedly upon him, obliged him to venture an en¬
gagement at a disadvantage, and entirely defeated him.
Aristonicus fled to a city called Stratonice, but was so
closely pursued by the conqueror, that the garrison ha¬
ving no method of supplying themselves with provisions,
delivered up their leader, as well as a philosopher named
Blosius, who had been the companion and counsellor of
Aristonicus. The philosopher behaved with great reso¬
lution after being taken, and openly defended his siding
with Aristonicus, because he thought his cause just.
He exhorted the latter to prevent the disgrace and mi¬
sery of captivity by a voluntary death 5 but Aristoni¬
cus, looking upon 'death as a greater misery than any
captivity, suffered himself to be treated as his conquer¬
ors pleased. .
In the mean time, a new' consul named Mamus A-
quilius, being arrived from Rome, sent a most haughty
message to Perpenna, requiring him immediately to de¬
liver up Aristonicus, as a captive belonging to his tri¬
umph when the war should be ended. VVith this de¬
mand Perpenna refused to comply, and his refusal had
almost produced a civil war. However, this was pre¬
vented by the death of Perpenna, which happened soon
after the dispute commenced. The Pergamenians, not¬
withstanding the defeat and captivity of their leader,
still held out with such obstinacy, that Aquihus was
obliged to besiege, and take by force, almost every city
in the kingdom. In doing this, he took a very eilec-
pcrgamus
PER [ i
tual, thougli exceeding cruel method. Most of the ci¬
ties in the kingdom had no other water than what was
brought from a considerable distance in aqueducts.
These Aquilius did not demolish, but poisoned the wa¬
ter, which pr@duced the greatest abhorrence of him
throughout all the east. At last, however, the whole
country being reduced, Aquilius triumphed, the unhap¬
py Aristonicus was led in chains before his chariot, and
probably ended his miserable life in a dungeon. The
country remained subject to the Romans while their
empire lasted, but is now in the hands of the Turks.
The city is half ruined, and is still known by the name
o( Pergamus. It is inhabited by about 3000 Turks,
and a few families of poor Christians. E. Long. 27.
27. N. Lat. 30. 3.
PERGUNNAH, in the language of Hindostan,
means the largest subdivision of a province, whereof the
revenues are brought to one particular head Cutcheiy,
from whence the accounts and cash are ti’ansmitted to
the general Cutchery of the province.
PERIAGOGE, in Rhetoric, is used where many
things are accumulated into one period which might
have been divided into several.
PERIAGUA, a kind of large canoe made use of
in the Leeward islands, South America, and the gulf
of Mexico. It is composed of the trunks of two trees
hollowed and united together j and thus differs from the
canoe, which is formed of one tree.
PERIANDER, tyrant of Corinth and Corcyra,
was reckoned among the seven wise men of Greece $
though he might rather have been reckoned among
the most wicked men, since he changed the govern¬
ment of his country, deprived his countrymen of their
liberty, usurped the sovereignty, and committed the
most shocking crimes. In the beginning of his reign
he behaved with mildness ; but after his having sent
to the tyrant of Syracuse to consult him on the safest
method of government, he abandoned himself to cruel¬
ty. The latter, having heard Periander’s envoys, took
them into a field, and, instead of answering them,
pulled up before them the ears of corn which exceed¬
ed the rest in height. Periander, on being told of
this action, understood what was meant by it. He
first secured himself by a good guard, and then put
the most powerful Corinthians to death. He aban¬
doned himself to the most enormous crimes ; commit¬
ted incest with his mother, kicked to death his wife
Mel issa, daughter of Procles king of Epidaurus, not¬
withstanding her being with child ; and was so enraged
at Lycophron, his second son, for lamenting his mo¬
ther’s death, that he banished him into the island of
Corcyra. Yet he passed for one of the greatest poli¬
ticians of his time $ and Heraclides tells us, that he
forbade voluptuousness ; that he imposed no taxes, con¬
tenting himself with the custom arising from the sale
and the import and export of commodities; that, though
wicked himself, he hated the wicked, and caused all
pimps to be drowned ; lastly, that he established a se¬
nate, and settled the expence of its members. He died
585 B. C.
PERIANTHIUM, (from my, “ round,” and aevtaj,
“ the flower,”) the flower cup properly so called, the
most common species of calyx, placed immediately un¬
der the flower, which is contained in it as in a cup.
See Botany Index.
Vol. XVI. Part I.
37 1 PER
PERICARDIUM, in Anatomy, a membranous bag Pericardi-
filled with water, which contains the heart in man and urn
many other animals. It is formed by a duplicature r .11
of the mediastinum, or membrane which divides the *>ei%raPhe-
thorax into two unequal parts. See Anatomy, N° v
J2I.
PERICARPIUM, (from my, “ round,” and xuyro;,
“ fruit,”) the seed-vessel } that organ of a plant contain¬
ing the seeds, which it discharges when ripe. The seed-
vessel is in fact the developed seed-bud, and may very
properly be compared to the fecundated ovary in ani¬
mals ; for it does not exist till after the fertilizing of
the seeds by the male dust, and the consequent fall of
the flower. All plants, however, are not furnished
with a seed-vessel 5 in such as are deprived of it, the
receptacle or calyx performs its functions try inclosing
the seeds as in a matrix, and accompanying them to
perfect maturity.
PER1CHORUS, in antiquity, a name given by the
Greeks to their profane games or combats, that is, to
such as were not consecrated to any of the gods.
PERICLES, was one of the greatest men that ever
flourished in Greece. He was educated with all ima¬
ginable care j and beside other masters, he had for his
tutors Zeno, Eleates, and Anaxagoras. He learned
from the last of these to fear the gods without supersti¬
tion, and to account for an eclipse from a natural cause.
Many were unjust enough to suspect him of atheism,
because he had perfectly studied the doctrine of that
philosopher. He was a man of undoubted courage ;
and of such extraordinary eloquence, supported and im¬
proved by knowledge, that he gained almost as great
an authority under a republican government as if he
had been a monarch j but yet he could not escape the
satirical strokes of the comic poets. His dissoluteness
with women was one of the vices with which he was
chiefly charged He died the third year of the Pelor
ponnesian war, after long sickness, which had weaken¬
ed his understanding. Aspasia, Pericles’s favourite,
was a learned woman of Miletus : she taught Socrates
rhetoric and politics. As Pericles cared not much for
his wife, he willingly gave her up to another, and mar¬
ried Aspasia, whom he passionately loved.
PERICRANIUM, in Anatomy, a thick solid coat
or membrane covering the outside of the cranium or
skull. See Anatomy, N° 4.
PERIGEE, in Astronomy, that point of the sun
or moon’s orbit wherein they are at the least distance
from the earth $ in which sense it stands opposed to
apogee.
PERI.GORD, a province of France, which makes
part of Guienne, bounded on the north by Angoumois
and a part of Marche, and on the east by Quercy and
Limosin j on the south by Agenois and Bazadois ; and
on the west, by Bourledois, Angumois, and a part of
Saintonge. It is about 83 miles in length, and 60 in
breadth. It abounds in iron mines, and the air is pure
and healthy. Perigueux is the capital town.
PERIGORD-Stone, is supposed to be an ore of manga¬
nese, of a dark gray colour, like basalt.
PERIGRAPHE, a word usually understood to ex¬
press a careless or inaccurate delineation of any thing;
but in Vesalius it is used to express the white lines or
impressions that appear on the musculus rectus of the
abdomen.
f S PERIGUEUX,
Period.
PER C 138
Perigueux PERIGUEUX, an ancient town of France, capital
of the province of Perigord, seated on the rivei Isle,
in E. Long. o. 33 N. Lat. 45- It IS remark-
' able for the ruins of the temple of Venus, and an am-
^ PERLHELIUM, in Astronomy, that part of a pla¬
net or comet’s orbit wherein it is in its least distance
from the sunj in which sense it stands in opposition to
aPPEW*METER, ill Geometry, the bounds or limits
of any figure or body. The perimeters of surfaces or
figures are lines ; those of bodies are surfaces. _ In cir¬
cular figures, instead of perimeter, we say circumfe¬
rence, or periphery. . A , *1 „
PERINiEUM, or Perineum, in Anatomy, the
space between the anus and the parts of generation,
divided into two equal lateral divisions by a very distinct
line, which is longer in males than in females.
PERIOD, in Astronomy, the time taken up by a
star or planet in making a revolution round the sun; or
the duration of its course till it return to the same pai
of its orbit. See Planet.
The different periods and mean distances Ol the seve¬
ral planets are as follows :
mean Dist.
1008352
954072
520279
152369
ICOOOO
7^333
38710
There is a wonderful harmony between the distances
of the planets from the sun, and their periods round
him •, the great law whereof is, that the squares ot
the periodical times of the primary planet, are to each
other as the cubes of their distances from the sun ?
and likewise, the squares of the periodical times of the
secondaries of any planet are to each other as the
cubes of their distances from that primary. This har¬
mony among the planets is one of the greatest confir¬
mations of the Copernican hypothesis. See Astro¬
nomy, p. 100 and 101.
For the periods of the moon, see Moon, Astronomy
Utidcco*
The periods of several comets are now pretty well
ascertained. See ASTRONOMY, X 3°^*
Period, in Chronology, denotes a revolution of a
certain number of years, or a series of years, whereby,
in different nations, and on different occasions, time is
measured ; such are the following.
Calippic Period, a system of seventy-six years. See
Calippic, and Astronomy, N° ii, &c.
Dionysian Period, or Victorian Period, a system of
532 lunse-solar and Julian years-, which being elapsed,
the characters of the moon fall again upon the same
day and feria, and revolve in the same order, accord¬
ing to the opinion of the ancients.
^I'his period is other,wise called the great paschal
cycle, because the Christian church first used it to find
the true time of the pascha or easier. The sum of these
years arises by multiplying together the cycles of the
sun and moon.
2
] PER
Hipparchus's Period, is a series of 304 solar years,
returning in a constant round, and restoring the new —,
and full moons to the same day of the solar year, ac¬
cording to the sentiment of Hipparchus. I his period
arises by multiplying the Calippic period by loin.
Hipparchus assumed the quantity of the solar year to
be 36; days 5 hours 55' 12"} and hence concluded,
that in 104 years Calippus’s period would err a whole
day. He therefore multiplied the period by four,
and from the product cast away an entire day. But
even this does not restore the new and full moons to
the same day throughout the whole period ; but they
are sometimes anticipated I day 8 hours 23' 29 20 .
See Astronomy, N° 14.
Julian Period. See Julian.
Period, in Grammar, denotes a small compass 0*
discourse, containing a perfect sentence, and distin¬
guished at the end by a point, or full stop, thus (.) 5;
and in members or divisions marked by commas, co¬
lons, &.C. . r r
Father Buffier observes two difficulties in the use 01
the period, or point; i. e. in distinguishing it from the
colon, or double point and in determining justly the
end of a period, or perfect sentence. It is remarked
that the supernumerary members of a period, separated
from the rest by colons and semicolons, usually com¬
mence with a conjunction: yet it is true these same con-
iunctions sometimes rather begin new periods than su¬
pernumerary members of old ones. It is the sense of
things, and the author’s own discretion, that must make
the proper distinction which of the two in efiect it is.
No rules will be of any service, unless this be admitted
as one, that when what follows the conjunction is of as
much extent as what precedes it, it is usually a new pe¬
riod ; otherwise not.
The second difficulty arises hence, that the sense ap¬
pears perfect in several short detached phrases, wherein
it does not seem there should be periods a thing pre-
quent in free discourse: as, We are all in suspense: make
your proposals mimedicitely : you will be to blame Jor
detaining us longer. V here it is evident, that simple
phrases have perfect senses like periods, and ought to be
marked accordingly but that the shortness ot the dis¬
course making them easily comprehended, the pointing
is neglected.
De Colonia defines period a short but perfect sen¬
tence, consisting of certain parts or members, depending
one on another, and connected together by some com¬
mon vinculum. The celebrated definition of Aristotle
is, a period is a discourse which has a beginning, a
middle, and an end, all visible at one view. Rhetori¬
cians consider period, which treats of the structure of
sentences, as one of the four parts of composition. 1 he
periods allowed in oratory are three : A period of two
members, called by the Greeks dicolos, and by the La¬
tins bimemhris; a period of three members, tricohs, tn-
membris; and a period of ,yuadrtmenibns,tcti atolos.
See Punctuation.
Period, in numbers, is a distinction made by a point
or comma, after every sixth place, or figure; and is used
in numeration, for the readier distinguishing and naming
the several figures or places; which see under Numera¬
tion. , ...
Period, in Medicine, is applied to certain diseases
which have intervals and returns, to denote an entire
courst#
Period.
PER { ]
course or circle of such disease; or its progress from
any state through all the rest till it return to the same
again.
Galen describes period as a time composed of an in¬
tension arid remission ; whence it is usually divided into
two parts, the paroxysm or exacerbation, and remis¬
sion.
In intermitting fevers, the periods are usually stated
and regular j in other diseases, as the epilepsy, gout,
&lc. they are vague or irregular.
Period, in Oratory. See there, N° 47.
PERIODIC, or Periodical, something that ter¬
minates and comprehends a period j such is a periodic
month ; being the space of time wherein the moon di¬
spatches her period.
PERIOECI, 7rs£<6j«fl», in GcograpJiy, such inhabitants
of the earth as have the same latitudes, but opposite
longitudes, or live under the same parallel and the same
meridian, but in different semicircles of that meridian,
or in opposite points of the parallel. These have the
same common seasons throughout the year, and the same
phenomena of the heavenly bodies j but when it is noon¬
day with the one, it is midnight with the other, there
being twenty-four hours in an east or west direction.
These are found on the globe by the hour-index, or by
turning the globe half round, that is, 180 degrees either
way.
PERIOSTEUM, or Periostium, in Anatomy, a
nervous vascular membrane, endued with a very quick
sense, immediately surrounding, in every part, both the
internal and external surfaces of all the bones in the bo¬
dy, excepting only so much of the teeth as stand above
the gums, and the pecnliar places on the bones in which
the muscles are inserted. It is hence divided into the
external and internal periosteum ; and where it exter¬
nally surrounds the bones of the skull, it is generally
called the pericranium. See Anatomy Index.
PERIPATETICS, philosophers, followers of Ari¬
stotle, and maintainers of the peripatetic philosophy j
called also Aristotelians. Cicero says, that Plato left
two excellent disciples, Xenocrates and Aristotle, who
founded two sects, which only differed in name : the
former took the appellation of Academics, who were
those that continued to hold their conferences in the
Academy, as Plato had done before •, the others, who
followedAristotle, were called Peripatetics, from xi^nrx-
tiu, “ I walk j” because they disputed walking in the
Lyceum.
Ammonius derives the name Peripatetic from Plato
himself, who only taught walking j and adds, that the
disciples of Aristotle, and those of Xenocrates, were
equally called Peripatetics •, the one Peripatetics of the
Academy, the other Peripatetics of the Lyceum : but
that in time the former quitted the title Peripatetic for
that of Academic, on account of the place where they
assembled ; and the latter retained sipiply that of Peri¬
patetic. The greatest and best part of Aristotle’s phi¬
losophy was borrowed from Plato. Serranos asserts, and
says he could demonstrate, that there is nothing exqui¬
site in any part of Aristotle’s philosophy, dialectics,
ethics, politics, physics, or metaphysics, but is found
in Plato. And of this opinion are many of the ancient
authors, such as Clemens Alexandrinus, &cc. Gale at¬
tempts to show, that Aristotle borrowed a good deal of
his philosophy, both physical, about the first matter,
39 ] PER
and metaphysical about the first being, his affections,
truth, unity, goodness, &c. from the Scriptures; and
adds from Clearchus, one of Aristotle’s scholars, that
he made use of a certain Jew, who assisted him there¬
in.
Aristotle’s philosophy preserved itself mpuris natura-
hbus for a long time : in the earlier ages of Christianity,
the Platonic philosophy was generally preferred ; but
this did not prevent the doctrine of Aristotle from for¬
cing its way into the Christian church. Towards the
end of the fifth century, it rose into great credit; the
Platonics interpreting in their schools some of the wri¬
tings of Aristotle, particularly his dialectics, and re¬
commending them to young persons. This appears to
have been the first step to that universal dominion which
Aristotle afterwards obtained among the learned, which
was at the same time much promoted by the controver¬
sies which Origen had occasioned. This father was
Zealously attached to the Platonic system ; and there¬
fore, after his condemnation, many, to avoid the impu¬
tation of his errors, and to prevent their being counted
among the number of his followers, openly adopted the
philosophy of Aristotle. Nor was any philosophy more
proper tor furnishing those weapons of subtle distinctions
and captious sophisms, which were used in the Nestorian,
Arian, and Eutychian controversies. About the end
of the sixth century, the Aristotelian philosophy, as well
as science in general, was almost universally decried j
and it was chiefly owing to Boetius, who explained and
recommended it, that it obtained a higher degree of
credit among the Latins than it had hitherto enjoyed.
'Towards the end of the seventh century, the Greeks
abandoned Plato to the monks, and gave themselves up
entirely to the direction of Aristotle j and in the next
century, the Peripatetic philosophy was taught every¬
where in their public schools, and propagated in all pla¬
ces wutli considerable success. John Damascenus very
much contributed to its credit and influence, by com¬
posing a concise, plain, and comprehensive view of the
doctrines of the Stagirite, for the instruction of the
more ignorant, and in a manner adapted to common ca¬
pacities. Under the patronage of Photius, and the pro¬
tection of Bardas, the study of philosophy for some
time declined, hut was revived again about the end of
the ninth century. About the middle of the nth cen¬
tury, a revolution in philosophy commenced in France j
when several famous logicians, who followed Aristotle
as their guide, took nevertheless the liberty of illustra¬
ting and modelling anew his philosophy, and extending
it far beyond its ancient limits. In the 1 2th century,
three methods of teaching philosophy were in use by
the different doctors : the first was the ancient and plain
method, which confined its researches to the philosophi¬
cal notions of Porphyry, and the dialectic system, com¬
monly attributed to St Augustine, and in which was
laid down this general rule, that philosophical inquiries
W'ere to be limited to a small number of subjects, lest
by their becoming too extensive, religion might suffer
by a profane mixture of human subtilty with its divine'
wisdom. The second method was called the Aristo¬
telian, because it consisted in explications of the works '
of that philosopher, several of whose books being trans¬
lated into Latin, were almost everywhere in the hands
of the learned. The third was termed the free method,
employed bv such as were bold euough to search
S 2 after
PER [ * 4'© }
after truth in the manner the most adapted to rentier ot Rome,
their inquires successful, without reacting the su«
1! of Aristotle and Plato. A reformed system ot the J^e
PeriiThan- r;patetic philosophy tvas first introduced into the schools
ten’T, in the university of Paris, from whence it soon spread
V throughout Europe j and has subsisted m some universi¬
ties even to this day, under the name of school philoso¬
phy The foundation thereof is Aristotle s doctrine,
often misunderstood, but oftener misapplied : whence
the retainers thereto may be denominated llejoimed
Peripatetics. Out of these have sprung, at various
times, several branches j the chief are, the I homists,
Scotists, and Nominalists. See these articles.
The Peripatetic system, after having prevailed with
great and extensive dominion for many centuries, be-
lan rapidly to decline towards the close of the 17th,
when the disciples of Ramus attacked it on the one
hand, and it had still more formidable adversaries to
encounter in Descartes, Gassendi, and Newton. ee
Philosophy. . , . ...lu
PERIPATON, in antiquity, the name ot that walk
in the Lyceum where Aristotle taught, and whence the
name of Peripatetics given to his followers.
PERIPETIA, in the drama, that part ot a tragedy
wherein the action is turned, the plot unravelled, an
the whole concludes. See Catastrophe.
PERIPHERY, in Geometry, the circumference ot
a circle, ellipsis, or any other regular curvilinear figure.
See Geometry. . , r ,
PERIPHRASIS, circumlocution, formed 01
“ about,” and “ I speak j” in rhetoric, a circuit
or tour of words, much affected by orators, to avoi
common and trite manners of expression. Ihe peri¬
phrasis is of great use on some occasions } and it is olten
necessary to make things be conceived which are not
proper to name. It is sometimes polite to suppress the
names, and only intimate or design them. These turns
of expression are also particularly serviceable in ora¬
tory ; for the sublime admitting of no direct citations,
there must be a compass taken to insinuate the autiiors
whose authority is borrowed. A periphrasis, by turn¬
ing round a proper name to make it understood, ampli¬
fies and raises the discourse *, but care must be taken
it be not too much swelled, nor extended, malapro¬
pos ; in which case it becomes flat and languid, bee
Circumlocution and Oratory.
PERIPLOCA, Virginian Silk : a genus ot plants
belono-ing to the pentandria class 5 and in the natural
method ranking under the 30th order, Contortee. See
Botany Index.
PERIPNEUMONY, formed from
TTtpt, “ about,” and irvwpai', “ lungs,” in Medicine, an
inflammation of some part of the thorax, properly of the
lungs } attended with an acute tever, and a diiliculty ot
breathing. See Medicine, N 184.
PERIRRHANTERIUM, a vessel of stone or brass
which was filled with holy water, and with which all
those were sprinkled who were admitted by the ancients
to their sacrifices. Beyond this vessel no profane person
was allowed to pass. We are told by some, that it was
placed in the adytum, or inmost recess of the temple 5
others say it was placed at the door, which indeed seems
to be the most likely opinion. It was used both by
Greeks and Romans, and has been evidently borrow¬
ed, like many other Pagan ceremonies, by the church
PER
The Hebrews also had a vessel for purifi- PevinkaD.
CatpERISCII, in Geography, the inhabitants of either
frigid zone, between the polar circles and the poles,
where the sun, when in the summer signs, moves only
round about them, without setting ; and consequently
their shadows in the same day turn to all the points ot
the horizon. .
PERISTALTIC, a vermicular spontaneous motion
of the intestines, performed by the contraction ot the
circular and longitudinal fibres of which the fleshy coats
of the intestines are composed ; by means whereof the
chyle is driven into the orifices of the lacteal veins, and
the faeces are protruded towards the anus.
PERISTYLE, in Ancient Architecture, a building
encompassed with a row of columns on the inside.
PERITONAEUM, in Anatomy, is a thin, smooth,
and lubricous membrane, investing the whole internal
surface of the abdomen, and containing most of the vis¬
cera of that part as it were in a bag. See Anatomy
Index.
PERITROCHIUM, in Mechanics, denotes a wheel,
or circle, concentric with the base of a cylinder, and
moveable together with it about its axis. See Me¬
chanics. . .
PERJURY, in Law, is defined by Sir Edward Coke
to be a crime committed when a lawful oath is admi¬
nistered, in some judicial proceeding, to a person who
swears wilfully, absolutely, and falsely, in a matter ma¬
terial to the issue or point in question. In ancient times
it ivas in some places punished with death •, in otheis it
made the false swearer liable to the punishment due ta
the crime he had charged the innocent person with ; in
others a pecuniary mulct was imposed. But though it
escaped human, yet it was thought, amongst the ancients
in general, that the divine vengeance would most cer¬
tainly overtake It; and there are many severe inflictions
from the hand of God upon record, as monuments of
the abhorrence in which this atrocious crime is held by
the Deity. The souls of the deceased were supposed to
be employed in punishing perjured persons. Even the
inanimate creation was thought to take revenge for this
crime. The Greeks supposed that no person could swear
falsely by Styx without some remarkable punishment j
and that no person guilty of perjury could enter the
cave of Palsemon at Corinth without being made a me
morable example of divine justice. In Sicily, at the
temple of the Palici, there Avere fountains called Delh,
from which issued boiling Avater, with flames and balls
of fire •, and we are told that if any person savoi c false¬
ly near them, he was instantly struck dumb, blind, lame,
or dead, or was swallowed up by the waters. But al-
thouch perjury was thus held in general abhorrence,
notwithstanding the credit which was given to such ac¬
counts of divine inflictions, it Avas so much practised
by the Greeks, that Grceca fides became a proverb.
Lovers perjuries, hoAvever, were supposed to pass unno¬
ticed, or to be very slightly punished with blackness of
the nails, a decayed tooth, or some small diminution ot
beauty. r r
The ancient philosophers, however, wfere so afraid of
ueriury, that even an oath before a judge was never ad¬
mitted but for want of other proof. Plato’s precept
was “ Not to administer an oath wantonly, but on deep
grounds, and with the strictest caution.” Ulpian gives
PER [ 141 ] PER
his opinion thus : “ Some are forwai’d to take oaths
from a contempt of I’eligion j others, from an extraordi¬
nary awe of the Divine Majesty, carry their fear to an
unreasonable superstition; so make an equitable decision
of a judge necessary.” “ No man will perjure himself
(says Aristotle) who apprehends vengeance from Hea¬
ven and disgrace among men.” Clinias was so very
scrupulous, that rather than take an oath (though law¬
fully), he suffered the loss of three talents. Perjury, in
the time of Philo Judeus, was abominated and capitally
punished among the Jews •, though since they have much
degenerated, having been poisoned with the books of the
Talmud, which says, “ He who breaks his promissory
oath, or any vows he enters into by the year, if he has
a mind that they should be ineffectual and invalid, let
him rise the last day of the year, and say, Whatever
promises, oaths, and vows I may think fit to make in the
year following, let them be null, void, and of no effect.”
Tract, iii. part 3. of the Talmud, in the treatise Ned/ia-
rim, ch. 4. And the modern Jews use the same artifice,
thinking they may then lawfully deceive the Christians.
See Hieron. ex Dictis Talmud, c. 3. and Magister Jo¬
annes de Concor. Legum, tit. iv. c. 7.
In our law, no notice is taken of any perjury but
such as is committed in some court of justice having
power to administer an oath ; or before some magistrate
or proper officer invested with a similar authority, in
some proceedings relative to a civil suit or a criminal
prosecution : for it esteems all other oaths unnecessary
at least, and therefore will not punish the breach of
them. For which reason it is much to be questioned,
how far any magistrate is justifiable in taking a volun¬
tary affidavit in any extrajudicial matter, as is now too
frequent upon every petty occasion ; since it is more
than possible that, by such idle oaths, a man may fre¬
quently, in foro conscientice, incur the guilt, and at the
same time evade the temporal penalties of perjury. The
perjury must also be corrupt (that is, committed malo
owzoto), wilful, positive, and absolute j not upon surprise,
or the like : it also must be in some point material to
the question in dispute ; for if it only be in some trifling
collateral circumstance, to which no regard is paid, it is
no more penal than in the voluntax-y extrajudicial oaths
before mentioned. Subornation of perjury is the of¬
fence of procuring another to take such a false oath as
constitutes perjury in the principal. The punishment of
perjury and subornation, at common law, has been va¬
rious. It was anciently death j afterwards banishment,
or cutting out the tongue ; then forfeiture of goods $
and now it is fine and imprisonment, and nevermore to
be capable of bearing testimony. But the statute 5
Eliz. c. 9. (if the offender be prosecuted thereon) in¬
flicts the penalty of perpetual infamy, and a fine of 40I.
on the suborner ; and in default of payment, imprison¬
ment for six months, and to stand with both ears nailed
to the pillory. Perjury itself is thereby punished with
six months impiisonment, perpetual infamy, and a fine
of 20I. or to have both ears nailed to the pillory. But
the prosecution is usually carried on for the offence at
common law ; especially as, to the penalties before in¬
flicted, the statute 2 Geo. II. c. 25. superadds a power
for the court to order the offender to be sent to the
house of correction for a term not exceeding seven
years, or to be transported for the same period ; and
makes it felony, without benefit of clergy, to return or
4
escape within the time. It has sometimes been wished, Perjury
that perjury, at least upon capital accusations, whereby H
another’s life has been or might have been destroyed, Perizzites.
was also rendered capital, upon a principle of retalia-
tion 5 as it was universally by the laws of France.
And certainly the odiousness of the crime pleads stx-ong-
ly in behalf of the French law. But it is to be consider¬
ed, that they admitted witnesses to be heard only on
the side of the prosecution, and used the rack to extort
a confession from the accused. In such a constitution,
therefore, it was necessary to throw the dread of capital
punishment into the other scale, in order to keep in
awe the witnesses for the crown j on whom alone the
prisoner’s fate depended j so naturally does one cruel
law beget another. But corporal and pecuniary pu¬
nishments, exile, and perpetual infamy, are more suited
to the genius of the English Jaw ; where the fact is
openly discussed between witnesses on both sides, and
the evidence for the crown may be contradicted and
disproved by those of the prisoner. Where indeed the
death of an innocent person has actually been the con¬
sequence of such wilful perjury, it falls within the guilt
ot deliberate murder, and deserves an equal punishment j
which our ancient law in fact inflicted. But the mere
attempt to destroy life by other means not being capital,
thei’e is no reason that an attempt by perjury should j
much less that this crime should, in all judicial cases,
be punished with death. For to multiply capital pu¬
nishments lessens their effect, when applied to crimes
of the deepest dye j and, detestable as perjury is, it
is not by any means to be compared with some other
offences, for which only death can be inflicted j and.
therefore it seems already (except perhaps in the in¬
stance of deliberate murder by perjury) very properly
punished by our present law j which has adopted the
opinion of Cicero, derived from the law of the twelve
tables, Pei'juriipoena divina, exitium ; Humana, dede-
cus. See Oath.
PERIWIG. See Perruke.
PERIZONIUS, James, a learned and laborious
writer, was born at Dam in 1651. He became profes¬
sor of history and eloquence at the university of Frane-
ker, when, by his merit and learning, he made that
university flourish. However, in 1693, ^,e went to
Leyden, where he was made professor of history, elo¬
quence, and the Greek tongue ; in which employment
he continued till his death, which happened in 1715.
He wrote many Dissertations, and other learned and cu¬
rious works, particularly Origines Habylonicce et Tgyp-
tiacce, 2 vols. 8vo, &c. But the part of his labours
which is the most generally known, and perhaps the
most useful, is the notes which he wrote upon Sanctii
Minerva. That work, as published by Perizonius,
certainly suggested the idea of Harris’s Hermes } and
we hesitate not to say, that our countryman has made
hardly any improvement on the system of his master.
PERIZZITES, the ancient inhabitants of Palestine,
mingled writh the Canaanites. There is also great pi’O-
bability that they themselves were Canaanites j but ha¬
ving no fixed habitations, sometimes dispersed in one
country and sometimes in another, they were for that
reason called Periwzites, which signifies scattered or di¬
spersed. Pherwzoth stands for hamlets or villages. The
Perizzites did not inhabit any certain portion of the
land of Canaan j there were some of them on both sides
PER [ i
Peiizzites the fiver Jovian, in the mountains, find in the plains.
II In several places of Scripture tl.e Canaamtes ami 1 enz-
Perones. z;tes are mentioned as the two chief people of the coun-
1   ' try. It is said, for example, that in the time ot Abra¬
ham and Lot the Canaanite and Perizzite were m the
land (Gen. xiii. vO- The Israelites ol the tribe of Lph-
raim complained to Joshua that they were too much pent
up in their possession (Josh. xvn. 15.) : he bid them g ,
if they pleased, into the mountains of the 1 enzz.tes, and
Renhaims or giants, and there clearing the land, to cul¬
tivate and inhabit it. Solomon subdued the remains of
the Canaanites and Penzzites which the childien 0
Israel had not rooted out, and made them tributaiy to
him (1 Kings ix. 20, 21. and 2 Chr. viu. 7.). ■
is still mention made of the Ferrates ,n the tone of
F/ra fix l.L after the return from the captivity ot tfa-
bylon- and several Israelites had married wives from
that nation. ct rv
PERKIN, a beverage prepared from pears, bee uy-
DERKIN, under Agriculture, N” 656.
PERMEABLE, a term applied to bodies ot so
loose a texture as to let something pass through
tliepERMSKI, or Permia, a town of the Russian
empire, and capital of a province of the same name,
seated on the river Kama between the Dwina and the
Oby, E. Long. 55. 50- N. Lat. 57. 10.
PERMUTATION, in commerce, the same With
bartering. In the canon-law, permutation denotes the
actual exchange of one benefice for another. _
PERNAMBUCO, a province of Brazil, m boutli
America, bounded on the north and east by the ocean,
on the south by Bahia, and on the west by Piara. It
is about 300 miles in length and- as much m bieadth.
The Dutch became masters of it in 1630, but the Por¬
tuguese soon after retook .it. It produces a great
quantity of sugar, cotton, and Brazil wood. An in¬
surrection broke out 111 this province on the 7th Apri
1817. The Portuguese authorities were driven out,
and a republican constitution proclaimed ) but in the
following month the revolutionists were subdued.
PERNIO, a kibe or chilblain, is a little ulcer, occa-
sioned-by cold, in the hands, feet, lieels, nose, and lips.
It will come on when warm parts are too suddenly ex¬
posed to cold, or when parts from being too cold are
suddenly exposed to a considerable warmth j and has al¬
ways a tendency to gangrene, in which it frequently
terminates. It most commonly attacks children of a
• sanguine habit and delicate constitution j and may be
prevented or removed by such remedies as invigorate the
system, and are capable of removing any tendency to
crangrene in the constitution. . ,
° PERONiEUS, in Anatomy, is an epithet applied to
some of the muscles of the perone or fibula. See Ana¬
tomy, Table of the Muscles. •
PERONES, a sort of high shoes which were worn
not only by country people, but by men of ordinary
rank at Rome. In the early times of the common¬
wealth they were worn even by senatorsbut at last
they were disused by persons ot figure, and confined
to ploughmen and labourers. They were very rudely
formed, consisting only of hides undressed, and reach¬
ing to the middle of the leg. Virgil mentions the pe-
rones as worn by a company of rustic soldiers on one
^fpot only.
42 ] PER
PE BONNE, a strong town of France, in the de¬
partment of Somme. It is said never to have been
taken, though often besieged. It is seated on the
Somme. E. Long. 3. 1. N- Lat. 44. 50. Population
0700 in 1800. , , ,
PERORATION, in Rhetoric, the epilogue or last
part of an oration, wherein what the orator had insisted
on through his whole discourse is urged afresh with
greater vehemence and passion. Jbe peroration con¬
sists of two parts. 1. Recapitulation j wherein the
substance of what was diffused throughout the whole
speech is collected briefly and cursorily, and summed
up with new force and weight. 2. The moving the
passions j which is so peculiar to the peroration, that
the masters of the art call this part sedes ajfectuum. 1 he
passions to be raised are various, according to the -va¬
rious kinds of oration. In a panegyric, love, admira¬
tion, emulation, joy, &c. In an invective, hatred,
contempt, &c. In a deliberation, hope, confidence,
or fear. The qualities required in the peroration are,
that it be very vehement and passionate, and that it Le
short; because, as Cicero observes, tears soon dry up.
These qualities were well observed by Cicero, who
never had an equal in the management of this part 0. an
orator’s province ; for peroration was his master-piece.
“ Concerning peroration ("says Dr Blair), it need¬
less to say much, because it must vary so considerajly,
according to the strain of the preceding discourse.
Sometimes the whole pathetic part comes 111 most pro¬
perly at the peroration. Sometimes, when the discourse
has been entirely argumentative, it is fit to conclude
with summing up the arguments, placing them in one
view, and leaving the impression ol them full and strong
on the mind of the audience. For the great rule of a
conclusion, and what nature obviously suggests, is, to
place that last on which we choose that the strength ot
our case should rest. .
“ In all discourses, it is a matter of importance to hit
the precise time of concluding, so as to bring our dis¬
course just to a point; neither ending abruptly and un¬
expectedly, nor disappointing the expectation of the
hearers when they look for the close, and continuing to
hover round and round the conclusion till they become
heartily tired of us. We should endeavour to get off
with a good grace } not to end with a languishing and
drawling sentence, but to close with dignity and spmt,
that we may leave the minds of the hearers warm, and
dismiss them with a favourable impression of the sub¬
ject and of the speaker.”
PEROTIS, a genus of plants belonging to the tri-
andria class, and in the natural method ranking under
the 4th order, Gramma. See Botany Index.
PERPENDICULAR, in Geometry, a line falling
directly on another line, so as to make equal angles on
each side. See Geometry.
PERPETUAL, something that endures always, or
lasts for ever.
Perpetual Motion. See Movement.
PERPIGNAN, a considerable town of Rousillon,
in France, with a strong citadel, an university, and a
bishop’s see. It is seated on the river Tet j over which
there is a handsome bridge. E. Long. o. 43. N. Lat.
4 c. 18. . .
PERQUISITE, in a general sense, something gain¬
ed by a place over and above settled wages.
} r Perquisite,
per [ 143 ] PE R
'erquislte PERQUISITE, in Law, is any thing gotten by a man’s
(| own industry, or purchased with his money; in contra-
Perron distinction to what descends to him from his father or
—v other ancestor.
PERRAULT, Claude, the son of an advocate in
parliament, was horn at Paris in 1613; and was bred a
physician, though he never practised but among his re¬
lations, friends, and the poor. He discovered early a
particular taste for the sciences and fine arts; of which
he acquired a consummate knowledge without the as¬
sistance of a master: he excelled in architecture, paint¬
ing, sculpture, mathematics, physics, and all those arts
that relate to designing and mechanics. The entrance
into the Louvre, which was designed by him, is, ac¬
cording to the judgment of Voltaire, one of the most
august monuments of architecture in the world. M.
Colbert put him upon translating Vitruvius into French;
which he performed, and published it in 1673,
with figures from his own drawings; which are said to
have been more exactly finished than the plates them¬
selves. When the academy of sciences was established,
he was one of its first members, and was chiefly de¬
pended on for mechanics and natural philosophy. His
works are, Memoires pour servir a VLlistoire naturclle
des Animaux, folio, 1676, with figures; Essais de Phy¬
sique, 4 vols. 12mo, 1688 ; Recueil des plusieurs ma¬
chines de nouvelle invention, 410, 1700, &c. He died
in J 688.
Perrault, Charles, the brother of Claude, was born
at Paris in 1626, with as great a genius for arts, and a
greater for letters, than his brother. Colbert chose him
first clerk of the buildings, of which he was superinten-
dant, and afterward made him comptroller general of
the finances under him. He was one of the first mem¬
bers of the academy of the belles lettres and inscrip¬
tions, and was received into the French academy in
1671. His poem, La Peinture, printed in 1688, was
universally admired: that entitled La siec/e de Louisle
Grand, in which he exalted the modern authors above
the ancient, was a prelude to a war with all the learn¬
ed. After he had disengaged himself from this contest,
he applied himself to draw up eulogies of several great
men of the 17th century, with their portraits, of which
he has collected 102. There are other esteemed works
of Perrault.—Besides these there were two other bro¬
thers, Peter and Nicholas, who made themselves known
in the literarv world.
PERRON, James Davy du, a cardinal, distinguish¬
ed by his abilities and learning, was born in the canton
of Bern in 1556. He was educated by Julian Davy,
his father, a learned Calvinist, who taught him Latin
and the mathematics; after which, he by himself be¬
came acquainted with the Greek and Hebrew, philoso¬
phy, and the poets. Philip Despoites, abbot of Tyron,
made him known to Henry III. king of France, who
conceived a great esteem for him. Some time after,
Du Perron abjured Calvinism, and afterwards embraced
the ecclesiastical function ; and having given great
proofs of his wit and learning, he was chosen to pro¬
nounce the funeral oration of Mary queen of Scots.
After the murder of Henry III. he retired to the house
of Cardinal de Bourbon, and took great pains in bring¬
ing back the Protestants to the church of Rome. A-
mong others he gained over Henry Spondanus, after¬
wards bishop of Pamiers. He also chiefly contributed
to engage Henry IV. to change his religion ; and that Pen on
prince sent him to negociate his reconciliation to the ||
holy see, to which he succeeded. Du Perron wTas con- Pcrruke.
secrated bishop of Evreaux while he resided at Rome. v
On his return to France, he wrote, preached, and dis¬
puted against the reformed ; particularly against Du
Plessis Mornay, with whom he had a public conference
in the presence of the king at Fountainbleau. He was
made cardinal in 1604 by Pope Clement VIII. at the
solicitation of Henry IV. who afterwards nominated
him to the archbishopric of Sens. The king at length
sent him to Rome with Cardinal Joyeuse, in order to
terminate the disputes which had arisen between Paul
V. and the Venetians. It is said that this pope had
such a high opinion of the address of the cardinal Du
Perron, that he used to say, “ Let us pray to God to
inspire the cardinal Du Perron, for he will persuade us
to do whatever he pleases.” After the death of Henry
IV. he retired into the country, where he put the last
hand to his work; and, setting up a printing-house, cor¬
rected every sheet himself. He died at Paris in 1618.
His works were collected after his death, and published
at Paris in 3 vols. folio.
PERROT, Nicholas, Sieur d’Ablancourt, one of
the- first geniuses of his age, was born at Chalons in
1606. After studying philosophy about three years,
he w7as sent to Paris to follow the law. At eighteen
years of age he was admitted advocate of parliament,
and frequented the bar ; but he soon conceived a dis¬
taste for it, and therefore discontinued his practice.
Th is displeased an uncle, but whose favour he recover¬
ed by quitting the Protestant religion. He could not,
however, be prevailed upon to take orders in the
Romish church ; and some years alter, he had a de¬
sire to return to the religion he had abjured. But,
that he might not do any thing rashly, he resolved to
study philosophy and divinity. For that purpose he
chose for his master Mr Stuart a Scotsman and Luthe¬
ran, a man of great learning. Almost three years he
spent in the most assiduous study ; and then set out
from Paris to Champagne, where he abjured the Ro¬
man Catholic, and once more embraced the Protestant
religion. In 1637 he was admitted a member of the
French academy ; a little after which he undertook a
translation of Tacitus. W hilst he was engaged in that
laborious task, he retired to his small estate of Ablan-
court, and lived there till his death in 1664. He
was a man of fine understanding, of great piety and
integrity, and of universal learning. Moreri has gi¬
ven a catalogue of his works, the greatest part of
which consist of translations, which seemed rather ori¬
ginals.
PERRUKE, Peruke, or Periwig, was anciently
a name for a long head of natural hair ; such, particu¬
larly, as there was care taken in the adjusting and trim¬
ming of. Menage derives the word rather fancifully
from the Latin, pilus, “ hair.” It is derived, according
to this critic, thus, pilus, pelus, pclutus, pelutievs, pelu-
tica, perutica, peruca, perruque. 1 he Latins called it
coma ; whence part oi Gaul took the denomination of
Gallia Comata, from the long hair which the inhabi¬
tants wrore as a sign of freedom. An ancient author
says, that Absalom’s perruke weighed 200 shekels.
The word is now used for a set of false hair, curled,
buckled, and sewed together on a frame or cawl; an^
ciently
Pecruke,
Perry.
P E K t i
cicntly called capillamentum or “ false penuke.” It is
doubted whether or not the use of perrukes of tins kind
was known among the ancients. It is true, they used
false hair : Martial and Juvenal make merry with the
women of their time, for making themselves look young
with their borrowed hair j with the men who changed
their colours according to the seasons j and with the
dotards, who hoped to deceive the Destinies by their
white hair. But these seem to have scarce had any
thing in common with our perrukes •, and were at best
only composed of hair painted, and glued together.
Nothing can be more ridiculous than the description
Lampridius gives of the emperor Commodus’s perruke :
it was powdered with scrapings of gold, and oiled (if
we may use the expression) with glutinous periumes
for the powder to hang by. In effect, the use of per¬
rukes, at least in their present mode, is not much more
than 160 years old; the year 1629 is reckoned the
epocha of long perrukes, at which time they began to
appear in Paris; from whence they spread by degrees
through the rest of Europe. At first it was reputed
a scandal for young people to wear them, because the
loss of their hair at that age was attributed to a dis¬
ease the very name whereof is a reproach ; but at
length the mode prevailed over the scruple, and per¬
sons of all ages and conditions have worn them, lore-
going without any necessity the conveniences of their
natural hair. It was, however, some time before the
ecclesiastics came into the fashion : the first who as¬
sumed the perruke were some of the French clergy,
in the year 1660 ; nor is the practice yet well autho¬
rized. Cardinal Grimaldi in 1684, and the bishop of
Lavaur in 1688, prohibited the use of the perruke to
all priests without a dispensation or necessity. M. Thiers
has an express treatise, to prove the perruke indecent
in an ecclesiastic, and directly contrary to the decrees
and canons of councils. A priest’s head, embellished
with artificial hair curiously adjusted, he esteems a mon¬
ster in the church ; nor can he conceive any thing so
scandalous as an abbot with a florid countenance, height¬
ened with a well-curled perruke.
PERRY, Captain John, was a famous engineer,
who resided long in Russia, having been recommended
to the czar Peter while in England, as a person ca¬
pable of serving him on a variety of occasions relating
to his new design of establishing a fleet, making his
rivers navigable, &c. His salary in this service was
300I. per annum, besides travelling expences and sub¬
sistence money on whatever service he should be em¬
ployed, together with a further reward to his satisfac¬
tion at the conclusion of any work he should finish.
After some conversation with the czar himself, parti¬
cularly respecting a communication between the rivers
Volga and Don, he was employed on that work tor
three summers successively; but not being well sup¬
plied with men, partly on account of the ill success of
the czar’s arms against the Swedes at the battle of
Narva, and partly by the discouragement of the gover¬
nor of Astracan, he was ordered at the end of I7°7
stop, and next year was employed in refitting the ships
at Veronise, and 1700 in making the river of tliat name
navigable *, hut after repeated disappointments, and a
variety of fruitless applications for his salary, he at
last quitted the kingdom under the protection of Mr
Whitworth, the English ambassador, in 1712: (See
44 ] PER
his narrative in the Preface to The State of Tt/ssiu), In Perry,
1721 he was employed in stopping with success the Persecu.
breach at Dagenham, in which several other under-,
takers had failed ; and the same year about the harbour
at Dublin, to the objections against which he then pu¬
blished an Answer. He was author ot Ihe State of
Russia, 1716, 8vo, and an account of the stopping of
Dagenham Breach, 1721, 8vo; and died February 11.
1733.
Perry, the name of a very pleasant and wholesome
liquor extracted from pears, in the same manner as cyder
is from apples. See Cyder, and Agriculture Index.
The best pears for perry, or at least the sorts which
have been hitherto deemed the fittest for making this
liquor, are of a tart and harsh quality. Of these the
Bosbury pear, the Bareland pear, and the horse pear,
are the most esteemed for perry in Worcestershire, and
the squash pear, as it is called, in Gloucestershire ; in
both which counties, as well as in some ol the adjacent
parts, they are planted in the hedge-rows and most
common fields. There is this advantage attending pear-
trees, that they will thrive on land where apples will
not so much as live, and that some of them grow to such
a size, that a single pear-tree, particularly of the Bosbury
and the squash kind, has frequently been known to
yield, in one season, from one to four hogsheads ot perry.
The Bosbury pear is thought to yield the most lasting
and most vinous liquor. The John pear, the Harpary
pear, the Drake pear, the Mary pear, the Lullum peai,
and several others of the harshest kinds, are esteemed
the best for perry, but the redder or more tawney they
are, the more they are preferred. Pears as well as ap¬
ples, should be full ripe before they are ground.
Dr Beale, in his general advertisements concerning
cyder, subjoined to Mr Evelyn’s Pomona, disapproves
of Palladius’s saying, that perry will keep during the
winter, but that it turns sour as soon as the weather
begins to warm ; and gives, as his reasons for being
of a contrary opinion, that he had himself tasted at the
end of summer, a very brisk, lively, and vinous liquor,
made of horse pears ; that he had often tried the juice
of the Bosbuiy pear, and found it both pleasanter and
richer the second year, and still more so the third,
though kept only in common hogsheads, and in but
indifferent cellars, without being bottled ; and that a
very honest, worthy, and ingenious gentleman in his
neighbourhood, assured him, as of his own experience,
that it will keep a great while, and grow much the
stronger for keeping, if put into a good cellar and ma¬
naged with due care. He imputes Palladius’s enoi to
his possibly speaking of common eatable pears, and to
the perry’s having been made in a very hot country:
but he would have ascribed it to a more real cause,
perhaps, had he pointed out the want of a thorough
regular fermentation, to which it appears plainly that
the ancients were entire strangers ; for all their vinous
liquors were medicated by boiling before they were laid
up in order to be kept.
PERSECUTION, is any pain or affliction which a
person designedly inflicts upon another; and in a more
restrained sense, the sufferings of Christians on account
of their religion.
Historians usually reckon ten general persecutions,
the first of which was under the emperor Nero, 31 years
after our Lord’s ascension ; when that emperor having
set
PER [ H5 ] PER
(»ersecu- set fire to the city of Rome, threw the odium of that ex-
tion, ecrable action on the Christians, who under that pre-
ipersees. tence were wrapped up in the skins of wild beasts, and
worried and devoured by dogs j others were crucified,
and others burnt alive. The second was under Domi-
tian, in the year 95. In this persecution St John the
apostle was sent to the isle of Patmos, in order to be em¬
ployed in digging in the mines. The third began in
the third year of Trajan, in the year 100, and was car¬
ried on with great violence for several years. The fourth
was under Antoninus the philosopher, when the Christ¬
ians were banished from their houses, forbidden to show
their heads, reproached, beaten, hurried from place to
place, plundered, imprisoned, and stoned. The fifth
began in the year 197, under the emperor Severus.
The sixth began with the reign of the emperor Maxi¬
minus in 235. The seventh, which was the most dread¬
ful persecution that had ever been known in the church,
began in the year 250, in the reign of the emperor De-
cius, when the Christians were in all places driven from
their habitations, stripped of their estates, tormented
with racks, &.c. The eighth began in the year 257,
in the fourth year of the reign of the emperor Valerian.
The ninth was under the emperor Aurclian, A. D.
284 but this was very inconsiderable : and the tenth
began in the 19th year of Dioclesian, A. D. 303. In
this dreadful persecution, which lasted ten years, houses
filled with Christians were set on fire, and whole droves
were tied together with ropes and thrown into the sea.
See Toleration.
PERSEES, the descendants of a colony of ancient
Persians, who took refuge at Bombay, Surat, and in
the vicinity of those cities, when their own country
was conquered 1100 years ago by the Mahometan
Arabs. They are a gentle, quiet, and industrious
people, loved by the Hindoos, and living in great har¬
mony among themselves. The consequence is, that
they multiply exceedingly, whilst their countrymen in
the province of Keman are visibly diminishing under
the yoke of the Mahometan Persians. Of the manners
and customs of this amiable race, we have the follow¬
ing account in Heron’s elegant translation of Niebuhr’s
Travels.
‘'Ihe Pei'sees (says he) make common contributions
for the aid of their poor, and suffer none of their number
to ask alms from people of a different religion. They
are equally ready to employ their money and credit to
screen a brother of their fraternity from the abuses of
justice. W hen a Persee behaves ill, he is expelled from
their communion. They apply to trade, and exercise
all sorts of professions.
‘‘ Ihe Persees have as little knowledge of circum¬
cision as the Hindoos. Among them, a man marries
only one wife, nor ever takes a second, unless when the
first happens to be barren. They give their children in
marriage at six years of age *, but the young couple
continue to live separate, in the houses of their parents,
till they attain the age of puberty. Their dress is the
same as that of the Hindoos, except that they wear under
each ear a tuft of hair, like the modern Persians. They
are much addicted to astrology, although very little
skilled in astronomy.
“ They retain the singular custom of exposing their
dead to be eaten by birds of prey, instead of interring or
burning them. I saw (continues our author) on a hill
Vol. XVI. Part I. f
at Bombay a round tower, covered with planks of wood, pCrsee£
on xvhich the Persees lay out their dead bodies. When Persepolis.
the flesh is devoured, they remove the bones into two '■——Nr——'
chambers at the bottom of the tower.
“ The Persees, followers of the religion of Zerdust or
Zoroaster, adore one God only, eternal and almighty.
They pay, however, a certain worship to the sun, the
moon, the stars, and to fire, as visible images of the
invisible divinity. Their veneration for the element
of fire induces them to keep a sacred fire constantly
burning, which they feed with odoriferous wood, both
in the temples, and in the houses of private persons who
are in easy circumstances. In one of their temples at
Bombay, I saw a fire which had burnt unextinguished
for two centuries. They never blow out a light, lest
their breath should soil the purity of the fire. See
Polytheism.
“ T he religion of the Persees enjoins purifications as
strictly as that of the Hindoos. The disciples of Zer¬
dust are not, however, obliged to abstain from animal
food. They have accustomed themselves to refrain
from the flesh of the ox, because their ancestors pro¬
mised the Indian prince who received them into his
dominions never to kill horned cattle. This promise
they continue to observe under the dominion of Christ¬
ians and Mahometans. The horse is by them consider¬
ed as the most impure of all animals, and regarded with
extreme aversion.
“ Their festivals, denominated G/iumbars, which re¬
turn frequently, and last upon each occasion five days,
are all commemorations of some part of the work of
creation. They celebrate them not with splendour, or
with any particular ceremonies, hut only dress better du¬
ring those five days, perform some acts of devotion in
their houses, and visit their friends.”
The Persees were till lately but very little known :
the ancients speak of them but seldom, and what they
say seems to be dictated by prejudice, On this account
Hr Elyde, who thought the subject both curious and
interesting, about the end of the 17th century attempted
a deeper investigation of a subject which till then had
been but very little attended to. He applied to the
works of Arabian and Persian authors, from whom, and
from the relations of travellers, together with a variety
of letters from persons in India, fie compiled his cele¬
brated work on the religion of the Persees. Other ac¬
counts have been given by difl'erent men, as accident
put information in their way. But the most distinguish¬
ed is by M. Anquetil du Perron, who undertook a
voyage to discover and translate the works attributed
to Zoroaster. Of this voyage he drew up an account
himself, and read it before the Royal Academy of
Sciences at Paris in May 1761. A translation of it
was made and published in the Gentleman’s Magazine
for 1762, to which we refer our readers. The account
begins at page 373, and is concluded at page 614. Re¬
marks were afterwards made on Du Perron’s account
by a Mr Yates. See the same Magazine for 1766,
P- 529-
PERSEPOLIS, formerly the capital of Persia, situ¬
ated in N. Lat. 30. 30. E. Long. 84. o. now in ruins,
hut remarkable for the most magnificent remains of a
palace or temple that are to be found throughout the
world.—This city stood in one of the finest plains in
Persia, being 18 or 19 leagues in length, and in some
T places
PER [
places two, m some four, and In others six leagues in
breadth. It is watered by the great river Araxes, now
Bendemir, and by a multitude of rivulets besides. With¬
in the compass of this plain, there are between 1000
and i coo villages, without reckoning those in the
mountains, all adorned with pleasant gardens, and
planted with shady trees. The entrance ot this plain
on the west side has received as much grandeur irom
on me WtoL aiui, ..O    . , , r • J .
nature, as the city it covers could do from industiy o
art It consists of a range of mountains steep and lugli,
four leagues in length, and about two miles broad, lorm-
ing two flat banks, with a rising terrace in the middle,
the summit of which is perfectly plain and even, all ot
native rock. In this there are such openings, amt the
terraces are so fine and so even, that one wou ie
tempted to think the whole the work of art, it the great
extent, and prodigious elevation thereof, did not con¬
vince one that it is a wonder too great tor aught but
nature to produce. Undoubtedly these banks were the
very place where the advanced guards from l ersepolts
took post, and from which Alexander found it so ditti-
cult to dislodge them. One cannot from hence descry
the ruins of the city, because the banks are too high to
be overlooked ; but one can perceive on every side the
ruins of walls and of edifices, which heretofore adorned
the range of mountains of which we are speaking. On
the west and on the north this city is defended in the
like manner : so that considering the height and even¬
ness of these banks, one may safely say that there is not
in the world a place so fortified by nature.
The mountain Rehumut, in the form of an amphi¬
theatre, encircles the palace, which is one of the no¬
blest and most beautiful pieces of architecture remaining
of all antiquity. Authors and travellers have been ex¬
ceedingly minute in their descriptions of those ruins 5
and yet some of them have expressed themselves so dif¬
ferently from others, that, had they not agreed with
respect to the latitude and longitude of the place, mte
would be tempted to suspect that they had visited difte-
rent ruins. These ruins have been described by Gar¬
cias de Silva Figueroa, Pietro de la Valle, Chardin, Le
Brim, and Mr Francklin. We shall adopt the descrip¬
tion of an intelligent traveller. The ascent to the co¬
lumns is by a grand staircase of blue stone containing
104 steps.
“ The first object that strikes’the beholder on his en¬
trance, are two portals of stone, about 50 feet in height
each } the sides are embellished with tw o sphinxes of an
immense size, dressed out with a profusion of bead-
work, and contrary to the usual method, they are repre¬
sented standing. On the sides above are inscriptions in
an ancient character, the meaning of which no one hi¬
therto has been able to decypher.
« At a small distance from these portals you ascend
another flight of steps, which lead to the grand hall of
columns. The sides of this staircase are ornamented
with a variety of figures in basso relievo *, most of them
have vessels in their hands : here and there a camel ap¬
pears, and at other times a k*nd of triumphal car,
made after the Roman fashion j besides these are se¬
veral led horses, oxen, and rams, that at times inter¬
vene and diversify the procession. At the head of the
staircase is another basso relievo, representing a lion
seizing a bull j and close to this are other insciiptions
in ancient characters. On gettisg to the top of this
146 ] p -
staircase, you enter what was formerly a most magm- Pmcpo!*,
ficent hall: the natives have given tins the name ot 1 erseve-
chehul minor, or forty pillars ; and though this name is
often used to express the whole of the building, it is
more particularly appropriated to this part of it. A -
though a vast number of ages have elapsed since the
foundation, 15 of the columns yet remain entire j they
are from 70 to 80 feet in height, and are masterly pieces
v worked, and
are uum —* a 1 . 11 1
of masonry : their pedestals are curiously worked, and
appear little injured by the hand of time. I he shafts
are enfluted up to the top, and the capitals are adorned
with a profusion of fretwork.
“ From this hall you proceed along eastward, until
you arrive at the remains of a large square building, to
which you enter through a door of granite. Most of
the doors and windows of this apaitment are still stand¬
ing 1 they are of black marble, and polished like a
mirror : on the sides of the doors, at the entrance, are
bas-reliefs of two figures at full length ; they represent
a man in the attitude of stabbing a goat : with one
hand he seizes hold of the animal by the horn, and
thrusts a dagger into his belly w'ith the other ; one of
the goat’s feet rests upon the breast ot the man, and
the other upon his right arm. This device is common
throughout the palace. Over another door of the same
apartment is a representation of two men at full length ;
behind them stands a domestic holding a spread um¬
brella: thev are supported by large round stafls, ap¬
pear to bo in years, have long beards, and a profusion of
hair upon their heads.
“ At the south-west entrance of this apartment are
two large pillars of stone, upon which are carved four
figures : they are dressed in long garments, and hold in
their hands spears 10 feet in length. At this entrance
also the remains of a staircase of blue stone are still vi¬
sible. Vast numbers of broken pieces of pillars, shafts,
and capitals, aie scattered over a considerable extent of
ground, some of them of such enormous size, that it is
wonderful to think how they could have been brought
whole, and set up together. Indeed, every remains of
these noble ruins indicate their former grandeur and
magnificence, truly worthy of being the residence of a
erreat and powerful monarch.”
° These noble ruins are now the shelter of beasts and
birds of prey. Besides the inscriptions above mention¬
ed there are others in Arabic, Persian, and Greek. Dr
Hyde observes, that the inscriptions are veiy rude and
clumsy ; and that some, if not all ot them, are m praise
of Alexander the Great; and therefore are later than
that conqueror. See the article Ruins.
PERSEVERANCE, in Theology, a continuance in
a state of grace to a state of glory.
About this subject there has been much controversy
in the Christian church. All divines, except Unitari¬
ans, admit, that no man can be evei in a state of grace
without the co-operation of the spirit ot God*, but the
Calvinists and Arminians differ widely as to the nature
of this co-operation. The former, at least such as call
themselves the true disciples of Calvin, believe, that those
who are once under the influence of dAine grace can
never fall totally from it, or die in mortal sm. 1 he
Arminians, on the other hand, contend, that the whole
of this life is a state of probation •, that without the
grace of God we can do nothing that is good ; that the
Holy Spirit assists, but does not overpower, our natural
It'enseve-
rance
Persia.
PER [i47
faculties ; and that a man, at any period of Ins life, may
resist, grieve, and even quench, the spirit. See Theo¬
logy.
PERSEUS was the most ancient of all the Greek
heroes. He founded the city of Mycenae, of which he
] -PER
became afterwards king, and where he and his posterity
reigned for 100 years. He flourished, according to most
ehronologists, 1348, B. C. j but, according to Sir Isaac
Newton, only 1028.
Perseus. See Astronomy Index,
Persia
PERSIA,
Tipire.
r .3
arious
tmes of
ic coun-
y-
'.xtent of A MOST ancient and celebrated empire of Asia,
’ersia. extending in length from the mouth of the river
Araxes to that of the river Indus, about 1840 of our
miles, and in breadth from the river Oxus, to the Per¬
sian gulf, about 1080 of the same miles. It is bounded
on the north bv the Caspian sea, the river Oxus, and
Mount Caucasus; on the east, by the river Indus and
the dominions of the Great Mogul ; on tjie south, by
the Persian gulf and the Indian ocean ; and on the west,
^ by the dominions of the Grand Signior.
'ersia pro- We learn from Sir William Jones, the illustrious pre-
crly tfie sident of the Asiatic Society, that Persia is the name of
ame ol 011ly one province of this extensive empire, which by
rovioee of R*6 present natives, and all the learned Mussulmans who
iis vast reside in the British territories in India, is called Iran.
It has been a practice not uncommon in all ages to de¬
nominate the whole of a country from that part of it
with which we are best acquainted ; and hence have
the Europeans agreed to call Iran by the name of
that province of which Shirauz is the capital : See
Shirauz.
The most ancient name, however, of this country was
that of Elam, or, as some write it JElum, from Elam
the son of Shem, from whom its first inhabitants are des¬
cended. Herodotus calls its inhabitants Cephenes; and
in very ancient times the people are said to have called
themselves Artcei, and the country where they dwelt
Artcea. In the books of Daniel, Esdras, &c. it is call¬
ed by the names of Pars, Pharos, or Pars, whence the
modern name of Persia ; but whence those names have
been derived, is now uncertain.
That Persia tvas originally peopled by Elam the son
of Shem, has been very generally admitted ; but the
s^firstpo- truth is, that of the ancient history of this distinguished
empire very little is perfectly known. For this igno¬
rance, which at first seems strange, satisfactory reasons
may easily be assigned ; of which the principal are the
superficial knowledge of the Greeks and Jews, and the
loss ofPersian archivesor historical compositions. “That
the Grecian writers before Xenophon had no acquaint¬
ance with Persia, and that their accounts of it are
wholly fabulous, is a paradox too extravagant to be se¬
riously mentioned ; but (says Sir William Jones) their
connection with it in war or peace had been generally
confined to bordering kingdoms under feudatory princes;
and the first Persian emperor, whose life and character
they seem to have known with tolerable accuracy, was
the great Cyrus.” Our learned author, however, is
so far from considering Cyrus as the first Persian mo¬
narch, that he thinks it evident a powerful monarchy
had subsisted in Iran for ages before the accession of
that hero ; that this monarchy was called the Mahele-
4ian dynasty ; and that it was in fact the oldest mo¬
narchy in the world. The evidence upon which the pre-
. 4
pinions
specting
sident rests this opinion, is the work of a Mahometan
traveller, compiled from the books of such Persians as fled
from their country upon the innovation in religion made
by Zoroaster: and if these books, of which a few still
remain, be genuine, and the Mahometan a faithful com¬
piler, facts of which Sir William has not the smallest
doubt, the evidence is certainly sufficient to bear the
superstructure which he has raised upon it.
If the Persian monarchy was thus ancient, it is natu-Perhaps the
ral to suppose that Persia or Iran was the original seat original
of the human race, whence colonies were sent out orseatolt^°v
emigrated of themselves to people the rest of the habi-llUman
table globe. This supposition is actually made by our
ingenious author, who strongly confirms it by remarks
on the most ancient language of Persia, which he shows
to have been the parent of the Sanscrit, as well as of the
Greek, Latin, and Gothic (see Philology). He
therefore holds, as a proposition firmly established,
“ that Iran or Persia, in its largest sense, was the true
centre of population, of knowledge, of languages, and
of arts ; which instead of travelling westward only, as it
has been fancif ully supposed, or eastward, as might with
equal reason have been asserted, were expanded in all
directions to all the regions of the world.” He thinks
it is from good authority that the Saxon Chronicle
brings the first inhabitants of Britain from Armenia;
that the Goths have been concluded to come from Per¬
sia ; and that both the Irish and old Britons have been
supposed to have proceeded from the borders of the Cas¬
pian : for all these places were comprehended within
the ancient Iran. 5
Of this first Persian monarchy we have no historical Accounts of
accounts; and must therefore, after having thus men-
tioned it, descend at once to the era of Cyrus. This
prince is celebrated both by sacred and profane histo¬
rians ; but the latter are at no small variance concern¬
ing his birth and accession to the throne. According
to Herodotus, Astyages, the last king of the Medes,
being warned in a dream, that the son who was to be
born of his daughter Mandaue, should one day be lord
of Asia, resolved to marry her, not to a Mede, but to
a Persian. Accordingly he chose for her husband one
Cambyses, a man of a peaceable disposition, and of no
very high station. However, about a year after they
w^ere married, Astyages was frightened by another
dream, which made him resolve to dispatch the infant
as soon as it should be born. Hereupon the king sent
for his daughter, and put her under confinement, where,
she was soon after delivered of a son. The infant was
committed to the care of one Harpagus, with strict or-»
ders to destroy it in what manner he thought proper.
But he, having acquainted his wife with the command
he had received, by her advice gave it to a shepherd,
desiring him to let it perish by exposing it. But the
T 2 shepherd,
148
Persia.
PER
shepherd, out of compassion, exposed a still-born child
which his wife happened to be then delivered of, and
brought up the son of Mundane as his own, giving him
the name of Cyrus. . , .
When the young prince had attained the age ot ten
years, as he was one day at play with other children of
4e same age, he was chosen king by his companions j
and having, in virtue of that dignity, divided them into
several orders and classes, the son of Artembares, a lord
of eminent dignity among the Medes, refused to obey
his orders j whereupon Cyrus caused him to be seized,
and whipped very severely. The boy ran crying to his
father ; and he immediately hastened to the king s pa¬
lace, loudly complaining of the aflront his son had re¬
ceived from the son of a slave, and intreating Astyages
to revenge, by some exemplary punishment, the indig¬
nity offered to him and his family. Astyages, com¬
manding both the herdsman and his son to be brought
before him, asked the latter, how he, who was the son
of so mean a man, had dared to abuse the son of one ot
the chief lords of the kingdom ? Cyrus replied, that he
had done no more than he had a right to do ; tor the
boys of the neighbourhood having chosen him king, be¬
cause they thought him most worthy of that dignity,
and performed what he, vested with that character, had
commanded, the son of Artembares alone had slighted
his orders, and for his disobedience had suffered the pu¬
nishment he deserved. In the course of this conversa¬
tion Astyages happening to recollect, that his grandson,
whom he had ordered to be destroyed, would have been
about the same age with Cyrus, began to question the
shepherd concerning his supposed son, and at last ob¬
tained from him a confession of the whole truth.
Astyages having now discovered Cyrus to be his
grandson, sent for Harpagus, who also confessed that
he had not seen Mandane’s son destroyed, but had given
him to the shepherd j at which Astyages was so much
incensed, that, having invited Harpagus to an enter¬
tainment, he caused him to be served with the flesh ot
his own son. When he had done, the king asked him
whether he liked his victuals ; and Harpagus answer¬
ing that he had never tasted any thing more delicious,
the officers appointed for that purpose brought in a bas¬
ket, containing the head, hands, and feet of his son,
desiring him to uncover the basket, and take what he
liked best. He did as they desired, and beheld the
mangled remains of his only child without betraying
the least concern, so great was the command which he
had over his passions. The king then asked him, whe¬
ther he knew with what kind of meat he had been en¬
tertained. Harpagus replied, that he knew very well,
and was always pleased with what his sovereign thought
fit to ordain } and having thus replied, with a surprising
temper he collected the mangled parts of his innocent
son, and went home.
Astyages having thus vented his rage on Harpagus,
kegan next to consult what he should do with Cyrus.
The magi, however, eased him of his fears with regard
to him, by assuring him, that as the hoy had been once
chosen king by his companions, the dream had been al-
Pcrsia.
S I A.
into Persia, where he would find his father and mother
in circumstances very different from those of the poor *■
shepherd and his wife with whom he had hitherto lived.
Cyrus, on his arrival at his father’s house, was received
with the greatest joy. When he grew up, he soon be¬
came popular on account of his extiaoidinaiy parts ,
till at last his friendship was courted by Harpagus, who
had never forgot the cruel treatment he received fiom
Astyages. By this means a conspiracy was formed
against Astyages ; who being overthrown in two suc¬
cessive engagements, was taken prisoner and confined
for life. .
The account given by iXenophon 01 the rise of Cyrus
is much more consonant to Scripture} lor he tells us,
that Babylon was conquered by the united forces of the
Medes and Persians. According to him, Cyrus was the
son of Cambyses king of the Medes, and Mandane the
daughter of Astyages king of Persia. He was born a
year after his uncle Cyaxares, the brothel ol IMandane.
He lived till the age of twelve with his parents in Per¬
sia, being educated after the manner of the country,
and inured to fatigues and military exercises. At this
age he was taken to the court of Astyages, where he
resided lour years j when the revolt of the iMedes and
Persians from the Babylonians happened, and which
ended in the destruction of the Babylonish empire, as
related under the article Babylon. # 7
While Cyrus was employed in the Babylonish war,His war
before he attacked the metropolis itself, he reduced all with the
the nations of Asia Minor. The most formidable of^ ians-
these were the Lydians, whose king Croesus assembled
a verv numerous army, composed of all the other na¬
tions in that part of Asia, as well as of Egyptians,
Greeks, and Thracians. Cyrus being informed of these
vast preparations, augmented his forces to 196,000 men,
and with them advanced against the enemy, who were
assembled near the river Pactolus. After long marches,
he came up with them at Thymbra, not far from Sar¬
dis, the capital of Lydia. Besides the horse and foot,
which amounted to 196,000, as already observed, Cy¬
rus had 300 chariots armed with scythes, each chariot
drawn by four horses abreast, covered with trappings
that were proof against all sorts of missive weapons : he
had likewise a great number of chariots of a larger size,
upon each of which was placed a tower about 18 or 20
feet high, and in each tower were lodged 20 archers.
These towers were drawn by 16 oxen yoked abreast.
There was moreover a considerable number of camels,
each mounted by two Arabian archers, the one looking
towards the head, and the other towards the hinder
part of the camel. The army of Croesus consisted ot
420,000 men. The Egyptians, who alone were 120,000
in number, being the main strength of the army, weie
placed in the centre. Both armies were drawn up in an
immense plain, which gave room for the extending of
the wings on either side •, and the design of Croesus,
upon winch alone he founded his hopes of victory, was
to surround and hem in the enemy’s army. 8
When the two armies were in sight of each other,The
Croesus, observing how much his front exceeded that 0f”ra(
' but commanded the two
ready1verified, Z Xt Cyrus Xer would reign in any Cyrus, made .he centre halt
^ ♦'tm 1 •  1 YtlnncArl txrifli fluQ w111 o*S to SUtVcinCG. With <1 CICSl
other sense. The king, being well pleased with this
answer, called Cyrus, and, owning how much he had
been wanting in "the affection which he ought to have
had towards him, desired him to prepare for a journey
3
winsrs to advance, with a design to inclose the Peisian
armv, and begin the attack on both sides at once.
When the two detached bodies of the Lydian forces
were sufficiently extended, Croesus gave the signal to the
main
PER
Persia. ma”1 b0(ty> which marched up to the front of the Per-
■ sian army, while the two wings attacked them in flank j
so that Cyrus’s army was hemmed in on all sides, and,
as Xenophon expresses it, wras inclosed like a small
square drawn within a great one. This motion, how¬
ever, did not at all alarm the Persian commander} but,
giving his troops the signal to face about, he attacked
in flank those forces that were going to fall upon his
rear so vigorously, that he put them into great disorder.
At the same time a squadron of camels was made to ad¬
vance against the enemy’s other wing, which consisted
mostly of cavalry. The horses were so frightened at the
approach of these animals, that most of them threw their
riders, and trod them under foot } which occasioned
great confusion. Then Artageses, an officer of great va¬
lour and experience, at the head of a small body of
horse, charged them so briskly, that they could never
afterwards rally •, and at the same time the chariots,
armed with scythes, being driven in among them, they
were entirely routed. Both the enemy’s wings being
thus put to flight, Cyrus commanded his chief favourite
Abradates to fall upon the centre with the large cha¬
riots above mentioned. The first ranks, consisting most¬
ly of Lydians, not being able to stand so violent a
charge, immediately gave way; but the Egyptians, be¬
ing covered with their bucklers, and marching so close
that the chariots had not room to penetrate their ranks,
a great slaughter of the Persians ensued. Abradates
himself was killed, his chariot overturned, and the
greatest part of his men were cut in pieces. Upon his
death, the Egyptians, advancing boldly, obliged the
Persian infantry to give way, and drove them back
quite to their engines. There they met with a new
shower of darts and javelins from their machines $ and
at the same time the Persian rear advancing sword in
hand, obliged their spearmen and archers to return to
the charge. In the mean time Cyrus, having put to
flight both the horse and foot on the left of the Egyp¬
tians, pushed on to the centre, wrhere he had the mis¬
fortune to find his Persians again giving ground j and
judging that the only way to stop the Egyptians, who
were pursuing them, would be to attack them in the
rear, he did so j and at the same time the Persian ca¬
valry coming up to his assistance, the fight was renewed
with great slaughter on both sides. Cyrus himself was
in great danger ; for his horse being killed under him,
he fell among the midst of his enemies: but the Per¬
sians, alarmed at the danger of their general, threw
themselves headlong on their opponents, rescued him,
and made a teiTible slaughter 5 till at last Cyrus, admir¬
ing the valour of the Egyptians, offered them honour¬
able conditions : letting them know at the same time,
that all their allies had abandoned them. They accept¬
ed the terms offered them j and having agreed with Cy¬
rus that they should not be obliged to carry arms against
Croesus, they engaged in the service of the conqueror,
9 and continued faithful to him ever after,
ardis ta- The next morning Cyrus advanced towards Sardis,
ie Lydian an<^ Croesus marched out to oppose him at the head of
mpire the Lydians only : for his allies had all abandoned him.
ver- Their strength consisted mostly in cavalry ; which Cy-
lirewa j.us being well apprised of, he ordered his camels to ad¬
vance ; by whom the horses were so frightened, that
they became quite ungovernable. However, the Ly¬
dians dismounted, and for some time made a vigorous
S I A. 149
resistance on foot} but were at last driven into the city, Persia,
which was taken two days after : and thus the Lydian -y—^
empire was totally destroyed. j0
After the conquest of Sardis, Cyrus turned his arms Reduces
against Babylon itself, which he reduced in the manner Rabylon.
related under that article. Having settled the civil go¬
vernment of the conquered kingdoms, Cyrus took a
review of all his forces, which he found to consist of
600,000 foot, 120,000 horse, and 2000 chariots armed
with scythes. With these he extended his dominion all
over the nations to the confines of Ethiopia, and to the
Red sea } after which he continued to reign peaceably
over his vast empire till his death, which happened a,- 11
bout 529 before Christ. According to Xenophon, he His death,
died a natural death} but others tell us, that, having
engaged in a war with the Scythians, he was by them
overthrown and cut in pieces with his whole army,
amounting to 200,000 men. But this is very impro¬
bable, seeing all authors agree that the tomb of Cyrus
was extant at Pasargada in Persia in the time of Alex¬
ander the Great} which it could not have been if his
body had remained in the possession of the Scythians,
as these authors assert.
In the time of Cyrus, the Persian empire extended
from the river Indus to the iEgean sea. On the north
it was bounded by the Euxine and Caspian seas, and on
the south by Ethiopia and Arabia. That monarch
kept his residence for the seven cold months at Babylon,
by reason of the w'armth of that climate } three months
in the spring he spent at Susa, and twro at Ecbatan dur¬
ing the heat of summer. On his deathbed he appointed
his son Cambyses to succeed him in the empire} and to
his other son, Smerdis, he gave several considerable go¬
vernments. The new monarch immediately set about
the conquest of Egypt} which he accomplished in the
manner related in the history of that country. 12
Having reduced Egypt, Cambyses next resolved to Cambyses
turn his arms against the Carthaginians, Hammonians, conquers
and Ethiopians. But he w'as obliged to drop the first ^ “
of these enterprises, because the Phoenicians refused to
supply him with ships against the Carthaginians, who
were a Phoenician colony. However, he sent ambas¬
sadors into Ethiopia with a design to get intelligence of
the state and strength of the country. But the Ethio¬
pian monarch, being well apprised of the errand on
which they came, treated them with great contempt.
In return for the presents sent him by Cambyses, he
sent his own bow } and advised the Persians to make
war upon the Ethiopians when they could bend such a1
strong bow as easily as he did, and to thank the gods
that the Ethiopians had no ambition to extend their do¬
minions beyond their own country. 13
Cambyses was no sooner informed of this answer by His unsuc-
his ambassadors than he flew into a violent passion} an<^p^Sjtj0QX*
ordered his army immediately to begin their march, against
without considering that they were neither furnished Ethiopia
with provisions nor any other necessary. When he ar- and the
rived at Thebes in Upper Egypt, he detached 50,000
men, with orders to destroy the temple of Jupiter Am- 1
nion : but all these perished in the desert; not a single
person arriving either at the oracle, or returning to,
Thebes. The rest of the army, led by Cambyses him¬
self, experienced incredible hardships } for not being
provided with any necessaries, they had not marched a
fifth mart of the way when they were obliged to kill and
ea..
14
He mur¬
ders his
brother.
PERSIA.
eat tlieir beasts of burthen. hen these tailed, the sol¬
diers fed on srrass and roots, as long as any could he
found ; and at last were reduced to the dreadful neces¬
sity of eating one another ; every tenth man, on whom
the lot fell, being condemned to serve as food tor his
companions. The king, however, obstinately persisted
in his design } till, being apprehensive of the danger he
himself was in, he retreated to Thebes, after having-
lost the greatest part of his army.
Cambyses was a man of a very cruel and suspicious
temper, of which he gave many instances j and the fol¬
lowing proved indirectly the cause of his death. W e
have already observed ihat the king ot Ethiopia sent his
bow in return for the presents brought to him by the
ambassadors of Cambyses. The only man in the Per¬
sian army who could bend this bow was Smerdis the
king’s brother j and this instance of his personal strength
so alarmed the tyrant, that, without any crime alleged,
he caused him to be murdered. This gave occasion to
one Smerdis, a magian, who greatly resembled the
other Smerdis in looks, to assume the name of the de¬
ceased prince, and to raise a rebellion against Cambyses
who was generally hated lor his cruelty •, and this he
could the more easily do, as the chiet management ot
affairs had been committed to this Smerdis during the
king’s absence. Cambyses, on receiving the news of
this revolt, immediately ordered his army to march, in
order to suppress it j but as he was mounting his horse,
his sword, slipping out of its scabbard, wounded him in
the thigh. On this accident, he asked the name of the
city where he was j and being told that it was Ecbatan,
he said in the presence of all his attendants, “ Fate has
decreed that Cambyses the son of Cyrus shall die in this
place.” For, having consulted the oracle of Butus,
which was very famous in that country, he was told
that he should die at Ecbatan. This he had always un¬
derstood of Ecbatan in Media, and had therefore resol¬
ved to avoid it. Being now, however, convinced that
his end approached, he assembled the duel Persian lords
who served in the army, and having told them that his
brother was certainly dead, he exhorted them never to
submit to the impostor, or sutfer the sovereignty
again to pass from the Persians to the Medes, to which
nation Smerdis belonged, but to use their utmost
endeavours to place one of their own blood on the
t_ throne.
His death. ^ the king’s wound mortified, lie lived but a few
days after this ; but the assembly suppo-ing that he had
spoken only out of hatred to his brother, quietly sub¬
mitted to the impostor, who was thus lor a time esta¬
blished on the throne. Indeed, from his conduct during
the short time which he enjoyed the kingdom, he ap-
j6 pears to have been not at all undeserving of a crown.
Reign of He began with granting to all his subjects an exemption
Smer iis the from taxes and military service for three years, and
magian. treated all of them in the most beneficent manner. To
secure himself on the throne the more effectually, he
married Atossa the daughter of Cyrus ; thinking, that
in case of a discovery he might hold the empire by her
title. She had before been married to her brother Cam¬
byses, on a decision of the magi that a king of Persia
might do as he pleased; and by virtue of this decision
Smerdis also married her as her brother. The extreme
caution of Smerdis, however, promoted the discovery of
e rsi a.
his imposture. He had married all his predecessors
wives, among whom was one Phedyma, the daughter
of Otanes a Persian nobleman of the first rank. Otanes, |
who suspected that the king was not Smerdis the son of slure
Cyrus, sent a trusty messenger to his daughter, desiring vered.
to know whether he was so or not} but 1 hedyma, hav¬
ing never seen this Smerdis, could not give any answei.
Her father then desired her to inquire at Atossa, who
could not but know her own brother. However, he
Avas again disappointed ; for Phedyma acquainted him
that all the king’s wives were lodged in distinct and se¬
parate apartments, without being allowed to see each
other. This greatly increased the suspicions of Otanes;
upon which he sent his daughter a third message, desir¬
ing her, the next time she should be admitted to the
king’s bed, to take an opportunity of feeling whe¬
ther he had ears or not : for Cyrus had formerly caused
the hears of Smerdis the magian to be cut oil lor some
crime of which he had been guilty; so that, if the king
had ears, she might then be assured that he was Smerdis
the son of Cyrus. The event showed that the suspicions
of Otanes were just; and Phedyma having acquainted
her father that the king had no ears, a conspiracy was
immediately formed against him. While the conspira- is
tors were debating about the proper means of carrying A compi-
their designs into execution, Darius the son of Hystaspes
happening to arrive at Susa where his father was goyer-^^
nor, they all agreed to make him privy to their design.
He told them, at their first meeting, that he thought
nobody in the empire but himselt had known that Smer¬
dis the son of Cyrus was dead, and the throne usurped
by one of the magi; that he had come with a design to
kill the usurper, without imparting his design to any
one, that the glory of such an action might he entirely
his own. But since others were apprised of the impos¬
ture, he insisted that the usurper should he dispatched
without delay. Otanes, on the other hand, was for put-
ing off the enterprise till some better opportunity offer¬
ed ; but Darius protested, that if they did not make
the attempt that very day, he would prevent any one
from accusing him, by disclosing the whole matter to
the impostor himself.
In the mean time, Smerdis and his brother had by
great promises prevailed on Prenaspes (the executioner
of the true Smerdis) to bind himself by an oath not to
discover the fraud they had put on the Persians, and
even to make a public speech, declaring that the pre¬
sent king of Persia was really the son of Cyrus. At the
time appointed, he began his discourse with the genea¬
logy of Cyrus, putting his hearers in mind of the great
favours the nation had received from that prince. Af¬
ter having extolled Cyrus and his family, to the great
astonishment of all present, he confessed the whole trans¬
action with regard to the death of Smerdis ; telling the
people that the apprehensions of the danger he must in¬
evitably run by publishing the imposture had constrain¬
ed him to conceal it so long ; but now, not being able
any longer to act such a dishonourable part, he acknow¬
ledged that he had been compelled by Cambyses to put
his brother to death with his own hand, and that the
person who possessed the throne was Smerdis the ma¬
gian. He then begged pardon ol the gods and men
for the crime he had committed ; and hilminatirrgmany
imprecations against the Persians il they failed to reco-
PERSIA.
Persia.
ver the sovereignty, he threw himself headlong from the
top of the tower on which he stood, and died on the
spot.
In the meantime the conspirators, who were advan¬
cing towards the palace, were informed of what had
happened ; and Otanes was again for deferring the exe¬
cution of their enterprise : but Darius insisting upon the
danger of delay, they proceeded boldly to the palace;
and being admitted by the guards, who did not suspect
them, they killed both the usurper and his brother ; af¬
ter which they exposed their heads to the people, and
declared the whole imposture. The Persians at this
were so enraged, that they fell on the whole sect, and
killed every one. of the magi they could meet with ; and
had not the slaughter been stopped by night, not one of
the order would have been left alive. The day on
which this slaughter happened was afterwards celebrated
by the Perians with the greatest solemnity, and called
by the name of Magophonia, or the slaughter of the
Magi. On that festival the magi durst not appear
abroad, but were obliged to shut themselves up in
their houses. Smerdis the magian reigned only eight
months.
When the tumult was a little subsided, the conspira¬
tors, who were seven in number, met together in order
to elect a new king, or to determine what form of go¬
vernment they should next introduce. Otanes was for a
republic; but being overruled by the rest, he declared,
that as he was determined not to be a king, neither
would he be ruled by one ; and therefore insisted that
he and his family should ever afterwards remain free
from subjection to the royal power. This was not only
granted, but it was further agx-eed by the other six, that
whoever ivas chosen should every year present Otanes
with a Median vest, a mark of great distinction among
the Persians, because he had been the chief author of
the enterprise. They further agreed to meet at a cer¬
tain place next morning at sunrise on horseback, and
that he whose horse first neighed should be king. This
being overheard by Oebores, who had the care of Da¬
rius’s horses, he led a mare over-night to the place,
and brought his master’s horse to her. The next morn¬
ing, the horse remembering the place, immediately
jo neighed for the mare ; and the five lords dismounting,
)arius Hy saluted Darius as their king.
Darius Hvstaspes was elected king of Persia in the
year 522 B. C. Immediately after his accession, he pro¬
moted the other six conspirators to the first employments
in the kingdom, married the two daughters of Cyrus,
Atossa and Artystona, Parmys the daughter of the
true Smerdis, and Phedyma the daughter of Otanes, who
had detected the imposture of the magian. He then
divided the whole empire into 20 satrapies or govern¬
ments, and appointed a governor over each division,
ordering them to pay him an annual tribute. The in¬
habitants of Colchis, with some others, were enjoined
only to make annual presents, and the Arabians to fur¬
nish every year such a quantity of frankincense as equal¬
led the weight of 1000 talents. Thus Darius received
the yearly tribute of 14,560 Eubceic talents, upwards
of 260,000 pounds sterling.
Under Darius, the building of the temple of Jerusa¬
lem, which had been obstructed by Cambyses and Smer¬
dis, went on successfully, and the Jewish state was en¬
tirely restored. The most remarkable of Darius’s other
I5I
Persia.
aspescho-
en kin<r.
transactions were his expeditions against Babylon:
against Scythia, India, and Oreece. The expedition
against Babylon took place in the year 517 B. C. when
the people, unable to bear the oppression of the Persians, ^evo,t of
and likewise discontented because the seat of government
was removed from their city to Susa in Persia, took the
opportunity of the troubles which happened in the reigns
of Cambyses and Smerdis, to store their citv with all
kinds oi provisions sufficient to serve them for many
years ; after which they broke out into an open rebel¬
lion, and thus quickly brought upon them Darius with
all his forces. I he Babylonians perceiving themselves
shut up by so numerous an army, turned all their
thoughts towards the supporting of a long siege, which
they imagined would tire out the king’s troops. To
prevent the consumption of their provisions, they took
the most barbarous and cruel resolution that ever was
put in execution by any nation. They agreed among
themselves to get rid of all unnecessary mouths ; and
therefore, gathering together all the old men, women,
and children, they strangled them without distinction ;
every one being allowed only to keep the wife he liked
best, and a maid-servant to do the work of the house.
The siege continued for a year and eight months ; nor
was there any likelihood of its being ended, when Zo-
pyrus, one of Darius’s chief commanders, put him in
possession of it by the following stratagem. He cut off
his nose and ears, and having mangled his body with
stripes in a most cruel manner, he fled to the Babylo¬
nians thus disfigured, pretending that he had been so
treated by Darius for advising him to raise the siege.
Being intrusted with the command of some forces, he
cut off several parties of the Persian army, whom Darius
thus sacrificed in order to raise the character of Zopy-
rus the higher among the Babylonians. In this manner he
so much established his credit, that at last he was made
commander in chief of all the Babylonish forces, and the
guard of the city committed entirely to his care ; and no
sooner was this done than he delivered it up to Darius,
who, to prevent their rebelling a second time, beat down
the walls of that metropolis to the height of 50 cubits.
Three thousand of the most active in the rebellion were
impaled ; the rest pardoned. As they had destroyed
nmst of their women, the neighbouring nations were
commanded to furnish them with wives, and 50,000
women were sent to that city, by which means it was
prevented from being depopulated. Zopyrus was re¬
warded with the highest honours, and had the whole re¬
venues of Babylon bestowed on him for life.
After the reduction of Babylon, Darius undertook ajjjsunsuc.
Scythianexpedition, directed against those nations which cessful ex¬
lie between the Danube and the Tanais. His pretextpedition
for this war was, to revenge the calamities which these t^ie
nations had brought upon Asia about 1 20 years before, *
when they invaded and subdued Media ; keeping it in
subjection for the space of 28 years, as we have related
under that article. In this expedition he was attended
with an army of 700,000 men. With these he marched
to the Thracian Bosphorus ; which having passed on a
bridge of boats, he reduced all Thi-ace. From Thrace
he advanced to the Danube, where he had appointed his
fleet to meet him. This river he passed on another bridge
of boats, and entered Scythia. His enemies, however,
were too wise to oppose such a formidable power in the
open field; and therefore retired before him, wasting
the
V
PERSIA.
the country as they went along, till at ast the king,
sensible of the danger he was in, resolved to give over
the enterprise and return home. In order to do so with
safety, he lighted a great number of fires m the night¬
time,'and decamped •, leaving behind him the old men
and the sick, who fell into the hands of their enemies.
The Scythians perceiving that Darius was gone detach¬
ed a considerable body to the bridge over the Danube ,
and as they were well acquainted with the roads, they
got thither before the Persians. The Scythians had
sent expresses before hand to persuade the lomans whom
Darius had left to guard the bridge, to break it down
and retire to their own country *, and this they pressed
the more earnestly, that as the time prescribed by Da¬
rius was now expired, they were at liberty to return
home, without breaking their word or being wanting in
their duty. Miltiades, prince of the Chersonesus of
' Thrace, was for embracing so favourable an opportunity
of cutting off Darius’s retreat, and shaking off the Per¬
sian yoke at once : all the other commanders agreed
with him, except Hystiseus prince of Miletus •, who ic-
presented to the Ionian chiefs, that their power was con¬
nected with that of Darius, since it was under his pro¬
tection that each of them was lord m his own city j am
that the cities of Ionia would not fail to depose them and
recover their liberty, if the Persian power should sink
or decline. This speech made a deep impression on the
rest, and it was at last determined that they should wait
for Darius ; and in order to deceive the Scythians, they
began to break down the bridge, but advised them to
return back and defeat Darius. They did so, but missed
him ; and he having thus safely escaped so great a dan¬
ger, immediately repassed the Bosphorus, and took up
his winter quarters at Sardis, leaving Megabyzus, one
of his chief generals, to complete the conquest of
Thrace.
He con- The king having sufficiently refreshed his troops who
quers India. jia(j suffered extremely in the Scythian expedition, be¬
gan to think of extending his dominions eastward 5 and
fn order to facilitate his design, resolved in the first place
to discover those countries. With this view he causeel
a fleet to be built and equipped at Caspatyrus, a city on
the river Indus. The command of this fleet he gave ^o
one Scylax, a Grecian of Caryandia, a city of Cana, wno
was well versed in maritime affairs. Him he ordered to
sail down the current, and make the best discoveries he
.could of the countries lying on either side of the river,
till he arrived at the southern ocean ; from whence he
was to steer his course westward, and that way return
to Persia. Scylax, having exactly observed his instruc¬
tions, and sailed down the river Indus, entered the Keel
sea by the straits of Babelmandel, and on the thirtieth
month from his first setting out, landed at the same
place from whence Nechu king of Egypt formerly sent
out the Phoenicians who circumnavigated Africa, i rom
hence Scylax returned to Susa, where he gave a full ac¬
count of his discoveries ; upon which Darius, marching
into India at the head of a powerful army, reduced that
large country, and made it a province of the Persian
empire, drawing from thence an annual tribute of 360
2, talents of gold. „ ^ , t j-
Revolt of Soon after the expedition of Darius against India
the lonians, happened the revolt of the lonians, which gave occasion
s>cc- to his expedition into Greece ; an account of which is
given under the articles Attica, Greece, Sparta,
23
He con-
&c. The ill success which attended him here, how- Persia.
ever was so far from making him drop the enterprise, < v—j
that’it only made him the more intent on reducing the
Grecians; and he resolved to head his army in person,
bavin(7 attributed his former bad success to the inexpe¬
rience3 of his generals. But while he was employed in
making the necessary preparations for this purpose, he
received intelligence that the Egyptians had revolted,
so that he was obliged to make preparations for redu¬
cing them also j and before this could be done, the king
died, after having reigned 36 years, leaving the throne
to his son Xerxes. ^
This prince ascended the throne of Persia in the year Expeditions
48 c B C.; and his first enterprise was to reduce the of Xerxes
Egyptians j which he effectually did, bringing them in-
to a worse state of slavery than they ever had experien-Qreece
ced before. After this he resolved on an expedition
into Greece 5 the unfortunate event of which is related
under the article Attica. By his misfortunes in the
Grecian expedition, he became at last so dispirited, that
he thenceforth abandoned all thoughts of war and con¬
quests ; but growing tyrannical, and oppressing his sub¬
jects, he was murdered in his bed, in the year 464 B. *-•
and 21st of his reign ', and was succeeded by Ins third
son Artaxerxes, surnamed Longimanus on account of Xerxes sne
the great length of his arms. . . , . Artaxerxes
This prince is named Aluisuerus in bcnptuie, ami ^Eongima.
the same who married Esther, and during the whole otnus.
his reign showed the greatest kindness to the Jewish na¬
tion. In the beginning of his reign he was opposed by
Hystaspes the second son of Xerxes, whom, however,
he overcame, though not without considerable difficulty.
After this he applied himself to the settlement of the
affairs of government, and reforming many abuses which
had crept in *, and then, being fully established on the
throne, he appointed feasts and rejoicings to be made
for 180 days in the city of Susa j at one of which he
resolved to divorce his queen for disobedience •, and af¬
terwards married Esther, as we find it recorded in the
sacred writings.
In the fifth year of the reign of Artaxerxes the Egyp¬
tians revolted anew, and, being assisted by the Athenians,
held out for six years ; but were again obliged to submit,
and continued in subjection during the whole of his reign.
Nothing else remarkable happened during the fife of
Artaxerxes Longimanus, who died in the 41st year of ^
his reign •, and was succeeded by Xerxes II. the only Xerxes II.
son he had by his queen, though by his concubines he
had 17. Xerxes having drunk immoderately at an en¬
tertainment immediately after his accession, retired to a
chamber in order to refresh himself with sleep ; but here
he was murdered by Sogdianus, the son of Artaxerxes
by one of his concubines, after he had reigned 45 days. 2g
' Sogdianus was scarce seated on the throne when he Sogdianus,
put to death Bagorazus, the most faithful of all his la¬
ther’s eunuchs ; by which, and the murder of his sove¬
reign, he became generally odious. Upon this, sensible
of the dangerous situation in which he was, he sent for
one of his brothers named OcJnts, whom he suspected,
with a design to murder him the moment he arrived. 29
Ochus, however, understanding his design, put oil, ) c m
several pretences, his coming, till he haddrawn together
a powerful army, with which he advanced to the con¬
fines of Persia. Here he openly declared, that his design
was to revenge his brother’s death j which brought over
to
Persia.
30
taxerxcs
i lemon.
31
volt of
rus the
anger.
PER
to him mjiny of the nohility and governors of provinces,
1 by whom he was immediately proclaimed king. Sog-
dianus, seeing himself thus deserted, contrary to the ad¬
vice of all his friends, came to an accommodation with
Ochus 5 who no sooner had him in his power than he
caused him to be suffocated among ashes j a punishment
invented on purpose for him.
Ochus being firmly settled on the throne by the death
of Sogdianus, changed his name to Darius ; and is by
historians commonly called Darias Not/ms, or T/ie Bas¬
tard. But Arsites, another of the brothers, seeing in
what manner Sogdianus had got the better of Xerxes,
and been afterwards driven out by Ochus, began to en¬
tertain thoughts of treating him in the same manner.
He was not, however, so successful j for, being defeated
in an engagement, he surrendered himself in hopes of
mercy, but was immediately put to death by suffocation
in ashes. Several other persons wTere executed 5 hut
S I A.
these severities did not procure him the repose which he
expected; for his whole reign was disturbed with violent
commotions in various parts of the empire. One of the
most dangerous was raised by Pisuthna, governor of
Lydia; but he being deserted by his Greek mercenaries,
was at last overcome, and put to death : however, his son
Amorgas continued to infest the maritime provinces of
Asia Minor for twro years ; till he also was taken pri¬
soner by Tissaphcrnes, the new governor of Lydia, who
put him to death. Other insurrections quickly followed
this ; but the greatest misfortune which befel Darius
during the whole course of his reign was the revolt of
the Egyptians, who could not he reduced. Before his
death he invested Cyrus his youngest son with the su¬
preme government of all the provinces of Asia Minor.
This was done through the persuasions of his mother
Parysatis, who had an absolute sway over her husband;
and she procured this command for him, that he might
thereby he enabled to contend for the kingdom after his
father’s death. She even insisted that the king should
declare him heir to the crown before lie died ; hut this
he could not by any means he induced to do. He died
in the year 405 B. C. and was succeeded by his son Ar-
taxerxes, by the Greeks surnamed Mnemon on account
of his extraordinary memory.
The most remarkable transaction which happened dur¬
ing the reign of this prince was the revolt of his brother
Cyrus. This young prince had been raised to so great
power through the interest of his mother, on purpose
that he might revolt, as we have already seen. He be¬
gan with gaining over the cities under the government
of Tissaphernes ; which quickly produced a war with
that governor. Cyrus then began to assemble troops,
which he pretended were designed only against Tissa-
phernes. As he had given great assistance to the Lace¬
daemonians in their wars against the Athenians, he now
in return demanded assistance from them; which request
they very readily complied with, ordering their fleet im¬
mediately to join him, and to obey in every thing the
commands of Tamos his admiral. At last Cyrus, having
collected an army of 13,000 Greek mercenaries and
100,000 regular troops of other nations, set out from
Sardis, directing his march towards Upper Asia ; the
army being entirely ignorant of the expedition on which
they were going. When they arrived at Tarsus, the
Greeks, suspecting that they were marching against the
king, refused to proceed any further; but Cyrus having
Vol. XVI. Part I.
gained them over with presents and promises, they soon Persia
went on with satisfaction. Having arrived at Cunaxa  v—■
*53
Battle of
Cunaxa.
in the province of Babylon, Cyrus found Ins brother
with 900,000 men ready to engage him. Whereupon,
leaping out of his chariot, he commanded his troops to
stand to their arms and fall into their ranks ; which was
done with great expedition, no time being allowed the
soldiers to refresh themselves. Clearchus, the commander
of the Peloponnesian troops, advised Cyrus not to charge
in person, hut to remain in the rear of the Greek batta¬
lions ; but this advice he rejected with indignation, say¬
ing, that he should thus render himself unworthy of the
crown for which he was fighting. As the king’s army
drew near, the Greeks fell upon them with such a fury,
that they routed the wing opposite to them almost at the
first onset ; upon which Cyrus was with loud shouts
proclaimed king by those who stood next to him. But
he, in the mean time, perceiving that Artaxerxes was
wheeling about to attack him in flank, advancing against
him with 600 chosen horse, killed Artageses captain of
the king’s guards with his own hand, and put the whole
body to flight. In this encounter, discovering his bro¬
ther, he spurred on his horse, and, coming up to him,
engaged him with great fury; which in some degree
turned the battle into a single combat. Cyrus killed his
brother’s horse, and wounded him on the ground ; but
he immediately mounted another horse, when Cyrus at¬
tacked him again, gave him a second wound, and had
already lifted up his hand to give him a third, when the
guards, perceiving the danger in which their king was,
discharged their arrows at once against his antagonist,
who at the same time throwing himself headlong upon
his brother, was pierced through by his javelin. He
fell dead upon the spot; and all the chief lords of his
court, resolving not to survive him, were slain in the
same place.
In the mean time, the Greeks having defeated the
enemy’s left wing commanded by Tissaphernes, and the
king’s right wing having put to flight Cyrus’s left, both
parties, being ignorant of what had passed elsewhere,
imagined that they had gained the victory. But Tissa¬
phernes acquainting the king that his men had been put
to flight by the Greeks, he immediately rallied his
troops, in order to attack them. The Greeks, under
the command of Clearchus, easily repulsed them, and
pursued them to the foot of the neighbouring hills. As
night was drawing near, they halted at the foot of the
hill, much surprised that neither Cyrus himself, nor
any messenger from him, had appeared; for as yet they
knew nothing of his death nor the defeat of the rest of
the army. They determined therefore to return to their ‘
camp, which they did accordingly; but found there that
the greatest part of their baggage had been plundered,
and all their provisions taken, which obliged them to
pass the night in the camp without any sort of refresh¬
ment. The next morning, as they were still expecting
to hear from Cyrus, they received the news of his death,
and the defeat of that part of the army. Whereupon
they sent deputies to Ariseus, who was commander in
chief of all the other forces of Cyrus, offering him, as
conquerors, the crown of Persia. Arieeus rejected the
offer, and acquainting them that he intended to set out 33
early in the morning on his return to Ionia, advised
them to join him in the night. They followed his ad-sand
vice, and, under the conduct of Clearchus, began their Greeks,
f U march,
P E R
A.
marcli, arriving at his camp about midnight, whence
they set out on their return to Greece, fhey were
at a vast distance from their own country, in the very
heart of the Persian empire, surrounded by a victorious
and numerous army, and had no means of retreat
but by forcing their way through an immense tract
of the enemy’s country. Rut their valour and reso¬
lution mastered all these difficulties •, and, in spite ot a
powerful army, which pursued and harassed them all
the way, they made good their retreat lor 2325 miles
through the provinces belonging to the enemy, and
not safe to the Greek cities on the Euxine sea. This
retreat (the longest that was ever made through an
enemy’s country) was conducted at first by Clearchus ;
but lie being cut off through the treachery of lissa-
phernes, Xenophon was chosen in his room, who at
last brought his men safe into Greece : but for a tull
account of that famous retreat, see the article Xeno-
PHOtf. , , ,
War with The war with Cyrus Was scarcely ended, when ano-
thc Lace- ther broke out with the Lacedaemonians, on the lollow-
daemonians. :ng acc0unt. Tissaphefnes being appointed to succeed
Cyrus in all his power, to which was added all which
he himself possessed formerly, began to oppress the
Greek cities in Asia in a most cruel manner. On this
they sent ambassadors to Sparta, desiring the assistance
of that powerful republic. rl he Spartans having en ■
ed their long war with the Athenians, willingly laid
hold of the present opportunity of breaking again with
the Persians, and therefore sent against them an army
under the command of Thimbro, who, being strength¬
ened by the forces which returned under Xenophon,
took the field against Tissaphernes. But Thimbro be¬
ing soon recalled upon some complaints, Dercylhdas,
a brave officer and experienced engineer, was appoint¬
ed 10 succeed him 5 and he carried on the war to much
more advantage than his predecessor. On his arrival
in Asia, finding that Tissaphernes was at variance with
another governor named Phcirnabazus, he concluded a
truce with the former, and marching against Pharna-
bazus, drove him quite ont ot /Eolis, and took several
cities in other parts. The latter, however, imme¬
diately repaired to the Persian court, where he made
loud complaints against Tissaphernes, but gave, the
king a most salutary advice, which was to equip a
powerful fleet, and give the command of it to Conon
the Athenian, the best sea officer of his time, by which
means he would obstruct the passage of further reciuits
from Greece j and thus soon put an end to the power
of the Lacedaemonians in Asia. This advice being ap¬
proved of, the king ordered 500 talents for the equip¬
ment of a fleet, with directions to give Conon the com¬
mand of it
In the mean time, Dercyllidas, with all his valonr
and skill, suffered himself to be drawn into such a dis¬
advantageous situation that he must inevitably have
been destroyed with his whole army, had it not been
through the cowardice of Tissaphernes, who having
experienced the Grecian valour at the battle of Cu-
naxa, could not by any means be induced to attack
them. The Lacedaemonians, however, having heard
that the Persian monarch was fitting out a great fleet
against them, resolved to push on the war as vigorous¬
ly as possible *, and for this purpose sent over Agesi-
laus one of their kings, and a most experienced com-
S 1
mander, into Asia. This expedition was carried on
with such secrecy, that Agesilaus arrived at Ephesus
before the Persians had the least notice of his designs.
Here he took the field with io,oco foot and 4020
horse, and falling upon the enemy while they were to¬
tally unprepared, carried every thing before him. Tis¬
saphernes deceived him into a truce till he had leisure
to assemble his forces, but gained little by his treach¬
ery } for Agesilaus deceived him in his turn, and while
Tissaphernes marched his troops into Caria, the Greeks
invaded and plundered Phrygia.
Early in the spring, Agesilaus gave out that Ins de¬
sign was to invade Lydia j hut Fissapheriies, who ic-
membered the last year’s stratagem, now taking it for
granted that Agesilaus would really invade Caria,
made his troops again march to the defence of that
province. But Agesilaus now led his army into Ly¬
dia as he had given out, and approached Sardis ; upon
which Tissaphernes recalled his forces from their for¬
mer route, with a design to relieve the place. But Ca¬
ria being a very mountainous country, and unfit for
horse, he had marched thither only with the foot, and
left the horse behind on the borders ot that province.
Whence, on their marching back to the relief of Sar¬
dis, the horse being some days march before the foot,
Aoesilaus took the advantage of so favourable an op¬
portunity, and fell upon them before the foot could
come to their assistance. The Persians were routed at
the very first onset •, after which Agesilaus overran the
whole country, enriching both himself and his army
with the spoils of the conquered Persians.
By this continued ill fortune Artaxerxes was so much
provoked against Tissaphernes, that he soon after caused
him to be put lo death.
On the death of Tissaphernes, Tithraustes, who was
appointed to succeed him, sent large presents to Age¬
silaus, in hopes of persuading him to abandon his con¬
quests •, but finding that commander was not by any
means to be induced to relinquish the war, he sent Ti-
mocrates of Rhodes into Greece, with large sums of
money to corrupt the leading men in the cities, and re- ^
kindle a war against the Lacedaemonians. This strata- Agesilau
gem produced the intended effect} for the cities of obliged
Thebes, Argos, Corinth, and others, entering into aleaVe *
confederacy, obliged them to recal Agesilaus to the de¬
fence of his own country. 36
After the departure of Agesilaus, which happened Laceite
in the year 354 B. C. the Lacedaemonian power re-"®*
ceived a severe blow at Cnidos, where their fleet was
entirely defeated by that of Artaxerxes under Conon,
50 of their ships being taken in the engagement *, after
which, Conon and Pharnabazus being masters oi the
sea, sailed round the islands and coasts of Asia, taking
the cities there which had been reduced by the Lace¬
daemonians. Sestos and Abydos only held out, and re¬
sisted the utmost efforts of the enemy, though they had
been besieged both by sea and land.
Next year Conon having assembled a powerful fleet,
again took Pharnabazus on board, and reduced the
island of Melos, from whence he made a descent on
the coasts of Lycaonia, pillaging all the maritime pro¬
vinces, and loading his fleet with an immense booty.
After this, Conon obtained leave of him to repair to
Athens with 80 ships and 50 talents, in order to re¬
build the walls of that city $ having first convinced
Pharnabazus,
P E H
I’crsia.
e obli-
d to
tke peace
th the
usiaus.
38
pnts re-
ced.
Pliarnabazus, that nothing could more effectually con¬
tribute to the weakening of the power of Sparta than
putting Athens again in a condition to rival its power.
He no sooner arrived at Pirauis the port of Athens, but
he began to work j which, as he had a great number of
hands, and was seconded by the zeal of all those that
were w'ell inclined to the Athenians, was soon complet¬
ed, and the city not only restored to its former splendour,
but rendered more formidable than ever. The Lacedae¬
monians were now reduced to the necessity of accepting
such terms of peace as they could procure. The terms
were, that all the Greek cities in Asia should be subject
to the king of Persia, as also the islands of Cyprus and
Clazomena; that the islands of Scyros, Lemnos, and
Imbros, should be restored to the Athenians, and all the
cities of Greece, whether small or great, should be de¬
clared free ; and by the same treaty, Artaxerxes en¬
gaged to join those who accepted the terms be proposed,
and to assist them to the utmost of his power against
such as should reject them.
Artaxerxes, being now disengaged from the Grecian
war, turned his arms against Evagoras king of Cyprus.
This man was descended from the ancient kings of Sa-
laniine the capital city of the island of Cyprus. His
ancestors had held that city for many ages in quality of
sovereigns •, but were at last driven out by the Persians,
who, making themselves masters of the whole island, re¬
duced it to a Persian province. Evagoras, however, be¬
ing a man of an enterprising genius, soon became weary
of living in subjection to a foreign power, drove out the
Persian governor, and recovered his paternal kingdom.
Artaxerxes attempted to drive him out of it 5 but, be¬
ing diverted by the Greek war, was obliged to put oft’
the enterprize. However, Conon, by means of Ctesias
chief physician to Artaxerxes, got all differences accom*
modated, and Aitaxerxes promised not to molest him
in the possession of his small kingdom. But Evagoras
soon becoming discontented with such a narrow posses¬
sion, gradually reduced under his subjection almost the
whole of the island. Some, however, there were, who
held out against him, and these immediately applied to
Artaxerxes for assistance ; and he, as soon as the war
with Greece was at an end, bent all his force against
Evagoras, intending to drive him quite out of the island.
The Athenians, however, notwithstanding the favours
lately conferred upon them by the king of Persia,
could not forbear assisting their old ally in such a dread¬
ful emergency. Accordingly, they sent him ten men
of war under the command of Philocrates 5 hut the
Lacedaemonian fleet, commandi d by Talentias brother
to Agesilaus, falling in with them near the isle of
Ithodes, surrounded them, so that not one ship could
escape. The Athenians, determined to assist Evago¬
ras at all events, sent Chabrias with another fleet and
a considerable body of land forces j and with the as¬
sistance of these he quickly reduced the whole island.
But in a short time, the Athenians being obliged, in
consequence of the treaty concluded with the Persians,
to recal Chabnas, Avtaxerxes attacked the island with
an army of 300,000 men, and a fleet of 300 ships.
Evagoras applied to the Egyptians, Libyans, Arabians,
Tyrians, and other nations, from whom he received
supplies both of men and money $ and fitted out a fleet,
with which he ventured an engagement with that of
Artaxerxes. But being defeated, and obliged to shut
S I A.
155
himself up in Salamine, he was closely besieged by sea Pci-si;,
and land. Here at last be was obliged to capitulate, and —^—v—
abandon to thePersians the whole of the island exceptSa-
lamine, which he held as a king tributary to Artaxerxes.
The Cypri an war being t tided, Artaxerxes turned
his arms against the Cadusians, whose country lay be- so
tWeen the Luxine and Caspian seas. But these nations Tnsaeccss-
were too well accustomed to war to be overccme by the
Persians*, and therefore the king was obliged to aban-yLjnst t]„,
don the project, after having lost a great number of his Cadusiuns
troops and all the horses which he took out with him. a)!(l Kgjp-
ln his Egyptian expedition, which happened immedi-t!ans-
atcly after the Cadusian war, he was attended with little
better success ; which, however, was owing to the bad
conduct of his general Phainabazus. This commander
being entrusted with the management of the Egyptian
war, sent an ambassador to Athens, complaining that
Chabnas had engaged in the service of an enemy of
the king of Persia, with whom the state of Athens was
iu alliance, and threatening the republic with bis ma¬
ster’s resentment if proper satisfaction was not given s
at the same time he demanded Iphicrates, another A-
thenian, and the best general of his time, to command
the Greek mercenaries in the Persian service. This the
Athenians complied with 5 and Iphicrates having mu¬
stered his troops, so exercised them in all the arts-of
war, that they became afterwards very famous among
the Greeks under the name of Iphicratesian soldiers.
Indeed he had sufficient time to instruct them 5 for the
Persians were so slow in their preparations, that two
whole years elapsed before they were ready to take the
field. At the same time Artaxerxes, that he might
draw the more mercenaries out of Greece, sent ambassa¬
dors to the different states in it, declaring it to be his
will and pleasure that they should live at peace with
each other, on the terms of the treaty lately concluded:
which declaration was received with pleasure by all the
states except Thebes, who aspired at the sovereignty of
Greece ; and accordingly refused to conform to it. All
things, however, at last being ready for the expedition,
the troops were mustered at the city then called Ace%
and since Ptolemais; where they were found to consist
of 200,000 Persians under the command of Pbarnaba-
zus, and 20,000 Greeks led by Iphicrates. The fleet
consisted of 300 galleys, besides a vast number of other
vessels which followed with provisions. The fleet and
army began to move at the same time; and that they
might act in concert, they separated as little as possible. .
It was proposed, that the war should begin with the
siege of Pelusium ; but Nectanebus, the revolted king
of Egypt, had provided so well for the defence of the
place, that it was thought expedient to drop the enter¬
prise, and make a descent at one of the mouths of the
Kile. In this they succeeded : for the Egyptians not
expecting them at that place, had not taken such care
to fortify it as at Pelusium. The fortress of consequence
was easily taken, and all the Egyptians in it put to the
sword. After this, Iphicrates was for embarking the
troops without loss of time, and attacking Memphis the
capital of Egypt. Had this opinion been followed be¬
fore the Egyptians recovered from the consternation
into which they were thrown, it is highly probable that
the whole country might have been reduced at once :
but Pbarnabazus would undertake nothing before the
rest of the forces were come up. Iphicrates then, m
U 2 the
15*5
P K R
Persia.
40
Oclnis sue
ceeds Ar-
taxerxes.
41
Heduccs
Egypt.
the utmost vexation at losing so favourable an oppor¬
tunity, pressed Phamabazus to allow lum to attack the
place with the Greek mercenaries only-, but he lefused
this also, from a mean jealousy of the honour which
Iphicrates might acquire*, and'in the mean time the
Egyptians recovered sufficient courage to put themselves
in such a posture of defence, that they could not be at¬
tacked with any probability of success ; and at the same
time the Nile overflowing as usual, obliged them to ie-
turn to Phcenice. The expedition was again under¬
taken 1 2 years after, but without success.
The last years of the reign of Artaxerxes were great¬
ly disturbed by dissensions in his family *, which at last
broke his heart, and he died in the 94th year of his
age, and 46th of his reign. He was succeeded by one
of his sons named Ochus, who behaved with such enmi¬
ty that almost one half of his dominions revolted as
soon as he came to the throne. But, by reason of the
dissensions of the rebels among themselves, all of them
were reduced, one after another *, and among the rest,
the Sidonians, finding themselves betrayed, burnt them¬
selves to the number of 40,000, together with then-
wives and children. . . r
Ochus, having quelled all the insurgents immedi¬
ately set himself about reducing Egypt, and for this
purpose procured a reinforcement of other 10,000 mer¬
cenaries from Greece. On bis march, he lost a great
number of his men drowned in the lake Serboms which
lies between Phoenice and Egypt, extending about 30
miles in length. When the south wind blows, the
whole surface of this lake is covered with sand, in such
a manner that no one can distinguish it from the him
land. Several parties of Ochus’s army were lost in it
for want of proper guides ; and it is said that whole
armies have sometimes perished in tile same place.
When he arrived in Egypt, he detached three bodies to
invade the country in different parts ; each being com¬
manded by a Persian and a Greek general. The first
was led by Lachares the Theban, and Rosaces governor
of Lydia and Ionia : the second by Nicostratus the
Theban and Aristazanes ; the third by Mentor the
Rhodian and Bagoas an eunuch. The mam body of
the army he kept with himself, and encamped near Pe-
lusium, with a design to watch the events of the war
there. The event was successful, as we have related
under the article Egypt *, and Ochus having reduced
the whole country, dismantled their strongholds plun¬
dered the temples, and returned to Babylon loaded with
The king, having ended this war with such success,
conferred very high rewards on his mercenaries and
others who had distinguished themselves. To Mentor
the Rhodian he gave 100 talents, and other presents
to a great value j appointing him also governor of all
the coasts of Asia, and committing to his care the
whole management of the war which he was still carry¬
ing ou against some provinces that had revolted in the
beginning of his reign ; and all these either by strata¬
gems, or by force, he at last reduced ; restoring the
king’s authority in all these places.—Ochus then, find¬
ing himself free from all troubles, gave his attention to
nothing but his pleasures, leaving the administration
of affairs entirely to Bagoas the eunuch, and to Men¬
tor. These two agreed to share the power between
them; in consequence of which the former had the pro-
S I A.
vinces of Upper Asia, amt the latter all the lest.
Ba-
Persijt
42
goas, being by birth an Egyptian, had a great zeal
for the religion of his country, and endeavoured, on
the conquest of Egypt, to influence the king m ia-
vour of the Egyptian ceremonies ; hut, in spite of all
his endeavours,"Ochus not only refused to comply, but
killed the sacred hull, the emblem of the Egyptian god
Apis, plundered the temples, and carried away their
^r-red records. This Banoas supposed to be the highest Ochus mm
guilt Wltich a human creature could commit; and there-« by
fore poisoned his master and benefactor in the 21st jear 0
of his reign. Nor did his revenge stop here ; for he
kept the king’s body, causing another to be buried in
its stead; and because the king had caused his attend¬
ants eat the flesh of Apis, Bagoas cut his body in pieces,
and gave it so mangled to be devoured by cats, making
handles for swords of his bones. He then placed Arses
the youngest of the deceased king’s sons on the throne,
that he might the more easily preserve the whole power
to himself.
Arses did not long enjoy even the shadow ot power
which Bagoas allowed him, being murdered in the
second year of his reign by that treacherous eunuch, ^
who now conferred the crown on Darius Codomannus, Darius Co>
a distant relation of the royal family. Neither did hedomannus.
incline to let him enjoy the crown much longer than
his predecessor ; for, finding that he would not suffer
himself to be guided by him in all things, the trea^
cherous Bagoas brought him a poisonous potion ; but
Darius got rid of him by his own artifice, causing him
to drink the poison which he brought. This establish¬
ed Darius in the throne as far as security from internal
enemies could do so ; but in a very little time his do¬
minions were invaded, and, we may say, the same mo- 44
ment conquered, by Alexander the Great. The parti- Persia con-
culars of that hero’s conquest are related under the ar-q^JJ
tide Macedon ; we shall therelore here only ta^e ^ Great,
notice of the fate of Darius himself, with which the Per¬
sian empire concluded for many ages. After the battle
of Arbela, which was decisive in favour of Alexander,
the latter took and plundered Persepolis, from whence
he marched into Media, in order to pursue Darius, who
had fled to Ecbatan the capital of that province. This
unhappy prince had still an army of 30,000 foot, among
whom were 4000 Greeks, who continued faithful to
the last. Besides these, he had 4000 slingers and 3000
horse, most of them Bactrians, and commanded by Bes-
sus governor of Bactria. When Darius heard that
Alexander was marching to Ecbatan, he retired into
Bactria, with a design to raise another army; but soon
after, changing his mind, he determined to venture a
battle with the forces he still had left. On this Bessus
governor of Bactria, and Nabarzanes a Persian lord of
great distinction, formed a conspiracy against him, pro¬
posing to seize his person, and, if Alexander pursued
them,°to gain his friendship and protection by betraying
their master into his hands ; but if they escaped, their
design was to murder him, and usurp the crown. Ihe
troops were easily gained over, by representing to them
the desperate situation of Darius’s affairs ; but Darius
himself, though informed of their proceedings, and so¬
licited to trust his person among the Greeks, refused to ^
give credit to the report, or follow such a salutary coun-Darius sei
sel. The consequence of this was, that he was in a few zed by ^
days seized by the traitors ; who, out of respect to the '
J royal'* ’
4^
mur-
PER
royal dignity, bound him with golden chains, and shut-
1 ting him up in a covered cart, fled with him towards
Bactria. The cart was covered with skins, and strangers
appointed to drive it without knowing who the prisoner
was. Bessus was proclaimed commander in chief in the
room of Darius by the Bactrian horse 5 but Artabazus
and his sons, with the forces they commanded, and the
Greeks, under the command of one Patron, retired from
the body of the army under Bessus, and marched over
the mountains towards Parthiene. In the mean time
Alexander arriving at Ecbatan, was informed that Da¬
rius had left the place five days before. He then dis¬
patched orders to Clitus, who had fallen sick at Susa, to
repair, as soon as he recovered to Ecbatan, and from
thence to follow him into Parthia with the cavalry and
6000 Macedonians, who were left in Ecbatan. Alex¬
ander himself with the rest of the army pursued Darius j
and the nth day arrived at Phages, having marched in
that space of time 3300 furlongs. Most of those who
accompanied him died through the fatigue of so long
a march ; insomuch that, on his arrival at Ullages, he
could scarcely muster 63 horsemen. Finding that he
could not come up with Darius, who had already passed
the Caspian straits, he staid five days at Ullages, in order
to refresh his army and settle the affairs of Media.
From thence he marched into Parthia, and encamped at
a small distance from the Caspian straits, which he
passed the next day without opposition. He had scarce¬
ly entered Parthia, when he was informed that Bessus
and Nabarzanes had conspired against Darius, and de¬
signed to seize him. Hereupon, leaving the main body
of the army behind with Craterus, he advanced with a
small troop of horse lightly armed j and having march¬
ed day and night without ever halting, except for a few
hours, he came on the third day to a village where Bes¬
sus with bis Bactrians had encamped the day before.
Here he understood that Darius had been seized by the
traitors j that Bessus had caused him to be shut up in a
close cai’t, which he had sent before, that he might be
the more sure of his person ; and that the whole army
except Artabazus and the Greeks, who had taken an-
other route, obeyed Bessus. Alexander therefore taking
with him a small body of light armed horse, for the
others could not possibly proceed further, at last came
in sight of the barbarians, who -were marching in great
confusion. His unexpected appearance struck them,
though far superior in number, xvitli such terror, that
they immediately betook themselves to flight 5 and be¬
cause Darius refused to follow them, Bessus and those
who were about him discharged their darts at the un¬
fortunate prince, leaving him wallowing in bis blood.
After this they all fled different ways, and were pursued
with great slaughter by the Macedonians. In the mean
time the horses that drew the cart in which Darius was,
stopped of their own accord (for the drivers had been
killed by Bessus), near a village about four furlongs from
the highway. Thither Polystratus a Macedonian, be¬
ing pressed with thirst in the pursuit of the enemy, was
directed by the inhabitants to a fountain to refresh him¬
self, not far from the place where they stopped. As he-
was filling his helmet with water, he heard the groans
of a dying man j and looking round him, discovered a
cart with a team of horses, unable to move by reason of
the many wounds they had received. When he drew
S 1 A* I57
near, he perceived Darius lying In the cart, and very Persia-
near his end, having several darts sticking in his body.v v~-—>
However, he had strength enough left to call for some
water, which Polystratus readily brought him. Darius,
after drinking, turned to the Macedonian, and with a
faint voice told him, that, in the deplorable state to
which he was reduced, it was no small comfort to him
that his last words would not be lost: he then charged
him to return his hearty thanks to Alexander for the'
kindness he had shown to his wife and family, and to
acquaint him, that, with his last breath, he besought the
gods to prosper him in all his undertakings, and make
him sole monarch of the universe. He added, that it did
not so much concern him as Alexander to pursue and
bring to condign punishment those traitors who had
treated their lawful sovereign with such cruelty, that
being the common cause of all crowned heads. Then,
taking Polystratus by the- hand, “ G).ve Alexander
your hand, says he, as I give you mine, and carry him,
in my name, the only pledge I am able to give, in this
condition, of my gratitude and affection.” Having ut¬
tered these words, he expired in tlie arms of Polystratus.
Alexander coming up a few minutes after, bewailed his
death, and caused his body to be interred with the high- 47
est honours. The traitor Bessus being at last reduced His nnir-
to extreme difficulties, was delivered up by his own mendercrs i™1'*
naked and bound into the hands of the Macedonians jsue<^'
on which Alexander gave him up to Oxathres the
brother of Darius, to suffer what punishment be should
think proper. Plutarch tells us that he was executed
in the following manner : Several trees being by main
force bent down to the ground, and one of the traitor’s
limbs tied to each of them, the trees, as they were suf-
fei'ed to return to their natural position, flew hack with
such violence, that each earried with it the limb that
was tied to it.
4S
Thus ended the empire of Persia, 209 years after It Revolt o£
had been founded by Cyrus. After the death of A-^ar-
lexander the Persian dominions became subject to Se. lhians.
leucus Nicatm:, and continued subject to him for 62
years, when the Parthians revolted, and conquered the
greatest part of them. To the Parthians they conti¬
nued subject for 475 years ; when tire sovereignty was
again restored to the Persians, as related under the ar¬
ticle Parthia. 49
The restorer of the Persian monarchy was Arta- Persian em-
xerxes, or Artaxares, who was not only a private per- 1,uf
son, hut of spurious birth. However, he possessed
great abilities, by which means he executed his ambi¬
tious projects. He was no sooner seated on the throne
than he took the pompous title of king oj kings, and
formed a design of restoring the empire to its ancient
glory. He therefore gave notice to the Homan gover¬
nors of the provinces bordexang on his dominions, that
he had a just right, as the successor of Cyrus, to all
the Lesser Asia; which he therefore commanded them
immediately to quit, as well as the provinces on the
frontiers of the ancient Parthian kingdom, which were
already his. The consequence of this was a war with.
Alexander Severus the Homan emperor. Concerning
the event of this war-there are very different accounts.
It is certain, however, that on account of his exploits
against Artaxares, Alexander took the titles of Par-
thkus and Persicus ; though, it would seem, with no
great
] ;8
P E 11 S I A.
Persia.
5°
Succeeded
by Sapor,
emperor
prisoner;
51
great reason, as the Persian monarch lost none of his do¬
minions, and his successors were equally ready with him¬
self to invade the Roman territories.
Artaxarcs dying after a reign of 12 or 15 years,
v s 1 nor Avas succeeded by his son Sapor*, a prince ol great
vho takes abilities both ot body and mind, but fierce, haughtj,
Yak-rian untractable, and cruel, lie was no sooner seated on
the Homan t[]£, t[irone than he began a new war with the Romans.
In the beginning he was unsuccessful *, being obliged,
by the young emperor Gordian, to withdraw from the
Roman dominions, and was even invaded in his turn j
but, in a short time, Gordian being murdered by Pinlip,
the new emperor made peace with him upon terms very
advantageous to the Persians. He was no sooner gone
than Sapor renewed his incursions, and made such alarm¬
ing progress, that the emperor Valerian, at the age
of^o, marched against him in person with a numerous
army. An engagement ensued, in which the Romans
were defeated, and Valerian taken prisoner. Sapor
pursued his advantages with such insolence of cruelty,
that the people of the provinces took arms, first under
Cal list us a Roman general, and then under Odenatus
prince of Palmyrene. Thus they not only protected
themselves from the insults of the Persians, but even
gained many great victories over them, and drove Sa¬
por with disgrace into his own dominions. In his march
lie is said to have made use ot the bodies of his unfor¬
tunate prisoners to fill up the hollow roads, and to fa¬
cilitate the passage of his carriages over such rivers as
lay in his way. On his return to Persia, he was soli¬
cited by the kings of the Cadusians, Armenians, Bac-
trians, and other nations, to set Valerian at liberty;
and treats hut to no purpose. On the contrary, he used him the
him cruelly, worse *, treated him daily with indignities, set his toot
upon his neck when he mounted his horse, and, as is
affirmed by some, flayed him alive after some years con¬
finement ; and caused his skin to be tanned, which be
kept as a monument of his victory over the Romans.
This extreme insolence and cruelty was followed by an
uninterrupted course of misfortune. Odenatus defeat¬
ed him in every engagement, and even seemed ready to
overthrow his empire *, and after him Aurelian took
ample vengeance for the captivity of Valerian. Sapor
died in the year of Christ 273, after having reigned
31 years; and was succe.eded by his son Hormisdas, and
he by Varanes I. Concerning both these princes we
know nothing more than that the former reigned a
year and ten days, and the latter three years ; alter
which he left the crown to Varanes 11. who seems to
have been so much awed by the power ot the Romans,
that he durst undertake nothing. The rest ot the Per¬
sian history, to the overthrow of the empire by. the Sa¬
racens, affords nothing but an account of their conti¬
nued invasions of the Roman empire, which more pro¬
perly belongs to the history of Rome : and to which
The Per- therefore we refer. The last of the Persian monarchs,
fian empire of the line of Artaxares, was Tsdigertes, or Jezdegerd,
overthrown jis he is called by the Arabian and 1 ersian lustoiians.,
by the Sa- AVj10 Avas cotemporary with Omar the second caliph af-
tacens. ter Mahomet. He was scarcely seated on the throne,
when he found himself attacked by a powerful army of
Saracens under the command of one Sad, who invaded
the country through Chaldea. The Persian general
took all imaginable pains to harass the Arab’s on then
march ; antf having an army superior to them in num-
5
hers, employed them continually in skirmishes ; which
were sometimes favourable to him and sonw Ernes other-
But Sad, perceiving that this lingering war
Persia.
wise.    , , . . i - ,
would destroy his army, determined to hasten forward,
and force the enemy to a general engagement. 1 he
Persians declined this for a long time ; but at length,
finding a convenient plain where ail then toices 11, it lit
act, they drew up in order ot battle, and resolved to
wait for the Arabs. Sad having disposed his men in
the best order he could, attacked the 1 ersians with the
utmost fury'. 'Ihe battle lasted three days and three
night; the Persians retiring continually from one post
to another, till at last they were entirely defeated; and
thus the capital city, and the greatest part of the do¬
minions of Persia, fell into the hands of the Arabs. The
conquerors seized the treasures of the king; which
were so vast, that, according to a Mahometan tiadition,
their prophet trave the Saracen army a miraculous view
of those treasures before the engagement, in order to
encourage them to fight.
After the loss of this battle, Jezdegerd retired into
Chorasan, where he maintained himself as king, having
under his subjection two other provinces, named Kerman
and Segestan. But after he had reigned in this limited
manner for 19 years, one ot the governors of the few
towns he had left betrayed it, and called in the Turks.
This place was called Merov, seated on the river Gihon
or Oxus. Jezdegerd immediately marched against the
rebels and their allies. The Persians were defeated ;
and the unfortunate monarch, having with much diffi¬
culty reached the river, found there a little boat, and a
fisherman to whom it belonged. Ihe king offered him
a bracelet of precious stones ; but the tellow, equally
brutal and stupid, told him that his tare was five
farthings, and that he would neither take more nor
less. While they disputed, a party of the rebel horse
came up, and knowing Jezdegerd, killed him, in the
year 6152. ,
Jezdegerd left behind him a son named Firot/z, and a
daughter named Dara. The latter espoused Bostenay,
whom the rabbinical writers have dignified with the
title of the head of the captivity; and who, in fact, was
the prince of the'Jews settled in Chaldea. As for Fi-
rouz, he still preserved a little principality ; and when
he died, left a daughter named }lah AJi'ul, who married
Walid the son of the caliph Abdalmalek, by whom she
had a son named Yezid, who became caliph, and conse¬
quently sovereign of Persia ; and so far was this piince
from thinking himself above claiming the title derived
from his mother, that he constantly styled himself the
son ofKJmrOu king of Persia, the descendant oj ^e ca-
liph Maroan, and among whose ancestors on ihe side oj
ihe mother were the Roman emperor and the khaean.
Persia continued to be subject to the Arabs till the
decline of the Saracen empire, when it was seized by
various usurpers, till the time of Jenghis Khan, who
conquered it as well as almost all the rest ol Asia. Af-
ter his death, which happened in the rear 1227,! cisia,
together with the neighbouring countries, wire govern¬
ed by officers appointed by his successors, who reigned
at Kcerakorom, in the eastern parts of Tartary, till the
year 1253, when it became ome more the seat ot a
mighty empire under Hulaku the Mogul, who in 1756
abolished the caliphate, by taking the city of Bagdad,
as related under that article. After the death of Hu¬
laku,
53
State of
1 , r>ia on
du the
v.ofeui
riuocs.
Persia
PER
iaku, liis son Abaka succeeded to his extensive domi-
- nions } and his hist care was to shut up all the avenues
of his empire against the other princes of the race of
Jenghiz Khan, who reigned in different parts of Tar¬
tary. His precautions, however, were of little avail ;
for in the very beginning of his reign he was invaded
by Barkan Khan, of the race of Jagatay the son of
Jenghiz Khan, from Great Bukharia, with an army of
300,000 men. Abaka was but indifferently prepared
to oppose such a formidable power; but, happily for
him, his antagonist died before the armies came to an
engagement, upon which the invaders dispersed and re¬
turned to Tartary. In the year 1264, Armenia and A-
natolia were ravaged by the Mamlukes from Egypt, but
they were obliged to fly from Abaka ; who thus seemed
to be established in the possession of an empire almost as
extensive as that of the ancient Persian kings. His
tranquillity, however, was of short duration ; for, in
1268, his dominions were invaded by Borak Khan, a
prince likewise of the race of Jagatay, with an army of
100,000 men. He quickly reduced the province of
Chorasan, where he met with little opposition, and in
1269 advanced as far as Aderbijan, where Abaka had
the bulk of his forces. A bloody battle ensued ; in
which Abaka rvas victorious, and Box-ak obliged to fly
into Tartary, with the loss of all his baggage and great
part of his army. Abaka died in 1282, after a reign
of 17 years, not without suspicion of being poisoned;
and was succeeded by his brother Ahmed Khan. He
was the first of the family of Jenghiz Khan who em¬
braced Mahometanism; but neither he nor his successors
appear to have been in the least versed in the arts of
government ; for the Persian history, from this period,
becomes only an account of insurrections, murders, re-
jndeyTa- hellions, and poisonings, till the year 1335, when it
nerlane split all to pieces, and was possessed by a great number
nd his sue-of petty princes ; allot’ whom rvere at perpetual war
essors. with each other till the time of Timur Beg, or Ta¬
merlane, who once more reduced them all under one
jurisdiction.
After the death of Tamerlane, Persia continued to
be governed by his son Shah Rukh, a wise and valiant
prince • but immediately after his death fell into the
same confusion as before ; being held by a great num¬
ber of petty tyrants, till the beginning of the 16th cen ¬
tury, when it was conquered by Shah Ismael Safi, or
S'. Sefi ; of whose family we have the following account,
onquered His father was Sheykh Hayder or Haydr, the son of
Ismael Sultan Juneyd, the son of Sheykh Ibrahim, the son of
Sheykh Ali, the son of Sheykh Musa, the son of Sheykh
Sefi, who was the 13th in a direct line from Ali the son-
in-law of the prophet Mahomet. When Tamerlane re¬
turned from the defeat of Bajazet the Turkish sultan,
he carried with him a great number of captives out of
Caramania and Anatolia, all of whom he intended to
put to death on some remarkable occasion ; and with
this resolution he entered Ardehil, or Ardevil, a city
of Aderbijan, about 25 miles to the east of Taurus,
where he continued for some days. At this time lived
in that city the Sheykh Safi, or Sefi, above mentioned,
reputed by the inhabitants to be a saint, and, as such,
much reverenced by them. The fame of Safi’s sancti¬
ty so much moved Tamerlane, that he paid him fre¬
quent visits ; and when he was about to depart, promi¬
sed to grant whatever favour he should ask. Sheykh
54
eli.
S I A. 159
Safi, who had been informed of Tajnerlane’s design to Persia,
put the captives to death, requested of the conqueror
that he would spare the lives of those unfortunate men.
Tamerlane, desirous of obliging him, not only granted
this request, but delivered them up to him to be dis¬
posed of as he thought fit ; upon which the Sheykh fur¬
nished them with clothes and other necessaries as well
as he could, and sent them home to their respective
countries. This generous action proved very beneficial
to the family ; for the people were so much affected
with such an extraordinary instance of virtue, that they
repaired in great numbers to Safi, bringing with them
considerable presents ; and this so frequently, that few
days passed in which he was not visited by many. Thus
the descendants of the Sheykh made a conspicuous fi¬
gure till the year i486, when they were all destroyed
by the Turcomans except Ismael, who fled to Ghilan,
where he lived under the protection of the king of that
country ; after which he became conspicuous on the fol¬
lowing occasion.
There was at that time, among the Mahometans, a
vast number of people dispersed over Asia ; and among
these a particular party who followed that of Haydr
the father of Ismael, which Sheykh Safi, one of his an¬
cestors, had brought into great reputation. Ismael, who
had assumed the surname of Sofi, or Sage, finding that
Persia was all in confusion, and hearing that there wTas
a great number of the Hayderian sect in Caramania, re¬
moved thither. There he collected 7000 of his party-
all devoted to the interest of his family ; and while he
was yet only 14 years of age, conquered Shrrwan.
After this he pursued his conquests ; and as his antago¬
nists never united to oppose him, had conquered the
greatest part of Persia, and reduced the city of Bag¬
dad, by the year 1510. However, his conquests on the
west side were soon stopped by the Turks ; for, in 1511,
he received a great defeat from Selim I. who took Tau-
ris ; and would probably have crushed the empire of Is¬
mael in its infancy, had he not thought the conquest of
Egypt more important than that of Persia. After his
defeat by Selim, Ismael never undertook any thing of
consequence. He died in 1523, leaving the crown to
his eldest son Thamasp I.
The new shah was a man of very limited abilities,
and was therefore invaded by the Turks almost instant¬
ly on bis accession to the throne. However, they were
obliged to retreat by an inundation, which overflowed
their camp, and which frightened them with its red co¬
lour, probably arising from the nature of the soil over
which it passed. Thamasp, however, reduced Georgia,
to a province of the Persian empire ; that country be¬
ing in his time divided among a,number of petty prin¬
ces, who, by reason of their divisions, were able to make
little opposition.
The reigns of the succeeding princes afford nothing ojf,
remarkable til! the time of Shah Abbas I. surnamed theisliaii Ab,
Great. He ascended the throne in t!se year 1584 ; and the
his first care was to recover from the Turks and Tartars ^reat'
the large provinces they had seized which formerly be¬
longed to the Persian empire. He began with declaring
war against the latter, who had seized the finest part of
Chorasan. Accordingly, having raised a powerful ar¬
my, he entered that province, where he was met by Ab¬
dallah Khan the chief of the Usbeck Tartars. The
two armies lay in sight of each other for six months ;
bnjti
160
Persia.
PER
hut at length Abbas attacked and defeated lus enemies,
forcing them, for that time, to abandon Chorasan.
Here he continued for three years ; and on 1m leaving
that place, fixed the seat of government at Isaphan,
where it has continued ever since. His next expedition
was against the Turks. Understanding that the garri¬
son of Tauris was in no expectation of an enemy, he
formed a design of surprising the place j and having
privately assembled a few forces, be marched with such
celerity, that he reached a pass called Skibh very near
Tauris, in six days, though it is usually 18 or 20 days
journey for the caravans. Here the lurks had pos ed
a few soldiers, rather for the purpose of collecting the
customs on such commodities as were brought that way,
than of defending the pass against an enemy. Before
they came in sight of this pass, Abbas and some of his
officers left the rest of the army, and rode briskly up
to the turnpike. Here the secretary of the custom¬
house taking them for merchants, demanded the usual
duties. Abbas replied, that the person who had the
purse was behind, but at the same time ordered some
money to be given him. But while the secretary was
counting it, he was suddenly stabbed by the Shah s ol¬
der ; and the officers who were with him sudden y fal-
lino- upon the few soldiers who were there, obliged them
to submit 3 after which he entered the pass with his ar¬
my. The governor of Tauris marched out with a 1 the
troops he could collect on so short a warning 3 but being
inferior to the Persians, he was utterly deteated, and
himself taken prisoner 3 after which the city was obliged
to submit, as also a number of places 111 the neighbour¬
hood. One city only called Ovumi, being very strong¬
ly situated, resisted all the efforts of Abbas 3 but was at
last taken by the assistance of the Curds, whom he gain¬
ed over by promising to share the plunder of the place
with them. But instead of this, he formed a design to
cut them all off at 0.1003 fearing that they might at
another time do the Turks a service of the same nature
that they had done to him just now. lor this reason
he invited their chiefs to dine with him 3 and having
brought them to a tent, the entrance to which had
several turnings, he stationed on the inside two execu¬
tioners, who cut off the heads of the guests as soon as
d’AfterTliTs’shah Abbas considerably enlarged his do¬
minions, and repelled two dangerous invasions of the
Turks. He attempted also to promote commerce, and
civilize his subjects 3 but stained all his great actions, by
bis abominable cruelties, which he practised on every
one who gave him the least cause of offence 3 nay fre¬
quently without any cause at all. He took the isle of
Ormus from the Portuguese, who bad kept it since
by the assistance of some English ships in 1022 3
and died six years after, aged 70.
The princes who succeeded Shah Abbas tne Ureat,
were lemarkable only for their cruelties and debauche¬
ries, which occasioned a revolution in 1716, when the
Shah Hussein was dethroned by the Afghans, a people
inhabiting the country between Persia and India 3 who
being oppressed by the ministers, revolted under the
ir 57 conduct of one Mereweis. The princes of the Afghan
KhouU race continued to enjoy the sovereignty tor no more
Khan. than 16 years, when Ashraff the reigning shah was de-
* See Fat- thr011cd by one of his officers*. On this Jhamasp,
tms- otherwise called Prince T/iamas, the only survivor of
S I A.
the family of Abbas, assembling an army, invited into Persia
bis service Nadir Khan, who had obtained great reputa- ' v
tion for his valour and conduct. He was the son of a
Persian nobleman, on the frontiers of Usbeck Tartary 3
and his uncle, who was his guardian, keeping him out
of possession of the castle and estate which was his in¬
heritance, he took to robbing the caravans 3 and, having
increased his followers to upwards of 5000 men, be¬
came the terror of that part of the country, and espe¬
cially of his uncle, who had seized his estate. His uncle
therefore resolved to make his peace with him, and with
that view invited him to the castle, where he entertain¬
ed him in a splendid manner 3 but Nadir Khan ordered
his throat to be cut next night, and all his people to be.
turned out of the castle. No sooner had Nadir Khan
got the command of the Persian army, than he attack¬
ed and defeated the usurper Esriff, put him to death,
and recovered all the places the Turks and Russians
had made themselves masters of during the rebellion 3
and then Prince Thamas seemed to be established on the
throne : out Nadir Khan, to whom Thamas had given
the name of Thamas Kouli Khan, that is, the Slave cj
Thamas, thinking his services not sufficiently reward¬
ed, and pretending that the king had a design against
his life, or at least to set him aside, conspired against
his sovereign, and put him to death, as is supposed :
after which, he usurped the throne, styling himsell
Shah Nadir or King Nadir.
He afterwards laid siege to Candahar, of which a son
of Mereweis had possessed himself. During this siege,
the court of the Great Alogul being distracted with
factions, one of the parties invited Shah Nadir to come
to their assistance, and betrayed the Mogul into bis
hands. He thereupon marched to Delhi, the capital
of India, and summoned all the viceroys and governors
of provinces to attend him, and bring with them all 1 he
treasures they could raise 3 and those that did not bring
as much as lie expected, be tortured and put to death.
Having tlins amassed the greatest treasure that ever
prince was master of, he returned to Persia, giving the
Mogul his liberty, on condition of his resigning the
provinces on the west side of the Indus to the crown of
Persia. He afterwards made a conquest of Usbeck
Tartary, and plundered Bochara the capital city. Then
lie marched against the Daghestan Tartars 3 but lost
great part of bis army in their mountains, without fight¬
ing. He defeated the Turks in several engagements 3
but laying siege to Bagdad, was twice compelled to
raise the siege. He proceeded to change the religion
of Persia to that of Omar, hanged up the chief priests,
put his own son to death, and was guilty of such cruel¬
ty, that he was at length assassinated by bis own rela¬
tions, anno 1747. A contest upon this ensued between
these relations for the crown, which has rendered Persia
a scene of the most horrible confusion for upwards 01
c8
4 The reader will form some notion of the troubles of
ine reauei win. mini ouiu*. ..w-  -- preten
this unhappy country from the following series of. Prc' t0 tbe
tenders to the throne between the death of Nadir ami th10ne of
the accession of Kerim Khan. We give it from Franck- Persia,
lin’s Observations. 1st, Adil Shah.—2d, Ibraheem
Shah.—3d, Shah Kokh Shah.—4th, Suleeman Shah.—
cth, Ismaeel Shah.—6th, Azan Khan Afghan.—7th,
Hossun Khan Kejar.—8th, Ali Merdan Khan Bukhtea-
ri.—nth, Kerim Khan Zund. .
“ Their
Persia.
.59
erim
ban en-
yed a
ign of
;ar 30
ars.
60
vVenty-
0 offi-
irs take
ssession
the cita-
I.
61
kea
lan.
62
■sieges
2 citadel.
. 63
nploys
aeherous
axis to
' lice the
cers out,
^ is
, ^eessful,
“ Then* reigns, or more properly the length of time
J they respectively governed with their party, were as
follows : Adil Shah, nine months. Ibraheem Shah, six
months. Shah Kokh Shah, after a variety of revolu¬
tions, at length regained the city ofMeschid : he is now
alive (1787), and above 80 years ot age, reigning in
Chorasan, under the direction of his son Nussir Ullah
Meerza. Suleeman Shah, and Ismaeel Shah, in about
forty days were both cut off, almost as soon as they
were elevated. Azad Khan Afghan, one of Kerim
Khan’s most formidable rivals and competitors, was sub¬
dued by him, brought prisoner to Sliirauz, and died
there a natural death. Hossuu Khan Kcjar, another of
Kerim Khan’s competitors, was besieging Shirauz, when
his army suddenly mutinied and deserted him. The
mutiny was attributed to their want of pay. A party
sent by Kerim Khan took him prisoner. Ills head was
instantly cut off, and presented to Kerim Khan. Ilis
family were brought captives to Shirauz. They were
well treated, and had their liberty given them soon after,
under an obligation not to quit "the city. Ali Merdan
•Khan was killed by a musket shot as he wras walking on
the ramparts of Meschid encouraging his men. Kerim
K nan Zund, by birth a Curdistan, was a most favourite
officer of Nadir Shah, and at the time of his death was
in the southern provinces. Shirauz and other places
had declared for him. He found means at last, after
various encounters with doubtful success, completely to
subdue all bis rivals, and finally to establish himself as
ruler of all Persia. He was in powrer about 30 years j
the latter part ot which he governed Persia under the
appellation of vakeel of regent, for he never would re¬
ceive the title of Shah. He made Shirauz the chief
city of his residence, in gratitude for the assistance he
had received from its inhabitants and those of the south¬
ern provinces. He died in the year 1779, regretted by
all his subjects, who esteemed and honoured him as the
glory of Persia.
“ When the death of Kerim Khan was announced in
the city, much confusion arose 3 two and twenty of the
principal officers of the army, men of high rank and
family, took possession of the ark, or citadel, with a
resolution to acknowledge Alml Futtah Khan (the eld¬
est son of the late vakeel) as their sovereign, and to de¬
fend him against all other pretenders 3 whereupon Zikea
Khan, a relation of the late vakeel by the mother’s side,
who was possessed of immense wealth, enlisted a great
part of the army into his pay, by giving them very con¬
siderable bounties. Zikea Khan was of the tribe of
Zund (or the Lackeries) 3 a man remarkably proud,
cruel, and unrelenting. Having assembled a large body
of troops, he immediately marched them to the citadel,
and laid close siege to it for the space of three days 5 at
the expiration of which, finding he could not take it by
force, he had recourse to treachery. To each of the
principal khans he sent a written paper, by which he
swore upon the Koran, that if they would come out and
submit to him, not a hair of their heads should be
touched, and that they should have their effects secured
to them. Upon this a consultation was held by them 3
and it appearing that they could not subsist many days
longer, they agreed to surrender themselves, firmly rely¬
ing on the promises that had been made them. Zikea
Khan, in the mean time, gave private orders, for the
khans to he seized, and brought separately before him as
Vol. XVI. Part I. ~ ' t
PERSIA.
161
Persia
<4
they came out of the citadel. His orders were stiicfly
obeyed, and these deluded men were all massacred in his
presence ; he was seated the whole time, feasting his
eyes on the cruel spectacle.
“ Zikea Khan’s tyranny became soon intolerable, and Murdered,
he was cut oh by his own body guard, when Aliul Fut¬
tah Khan, who was at the tune in the camp, was pro¬
claimed king by the unanimous voice of the troops,
whom he immediately led back to Shirauz. On his
arrival he was acknowledged as sovereign by all ranks
of people, and took quiet possession of the govern¬
ment.
^ “ Mahomed Sadick Khan, only brother of the late Mahomed
Kerim Khan, who had during that prince’s life filled
the high office of beglerbeg of Fars, and had been
appointed guardian of his son Abul Futtah Khan, was seize the°
at this period governor of the city of Bassora, which govem-
had been taken by the Persians, previous to the vakeel’sment>
death. Upon hearing the news of his brother’s decease
he became ambitious of reigning alone, and from that
instant formed schemes for the destruction of his ne¬
phew 3 but as it was necessary for him to be on the
spot for the advancement of his views, he determined
to withdraw the Persian garrison from Bassora, who
were all devoted to his interest: accordingly he eva¬
cuated that place, and marched immediately for Shi*
rauz.
“ J he news of Sadick Khan’s approach threw the in¬
habitants of Sliirauz into the greatest consternation :
their minds were variously agitated on the occasion 5
some, from his known public character, expected he
would honestly fulfil the commands of his deceased
brother 3 others, who had been witnesses to the con¬
fusion of former times, on similar occasions, rightly
imagined that he would set up for himself 3 and indeed
this proved to be the case : for having entered Shirauz
a very few days after, he caused Abul Futtah Khan to
be seized, deprived of sight, and put into close confine¬
ment. _ 66
“ After this event, Sadick Khan openly assumed thewliicli he
government. As soon as the intelligence reached A]ie^ects”
Murad Khan, who Was at Ispahan, that lord instantly
rebelled : deeming himself to have an equal right to
the government with Sadick Khan, as in fact he had, he
could ill brook the thought of being obedient to him,
and openly declared himself a competitor for the em¬
pire. Persia was by this means again involved in all
the horrors of a civil war. Ali Murad Khan indeed
took possession of Shirauz, assumed the government, and
gave to the empire tine flattering prospect of being set¬
tled under the government of one man 3 but this prospect
was soon obscured by the power and credit acquired by
Akau Mahomed Khan.”
61
On the night following Kerim Khan’s death, this Akau Ma-
man found means to make his escape from Shirauz, and komed
fled to the northward, where collecting some troops, ^ie trot's
soon made himself master of Mazanderan and Ohi!an, ^
and was proclaimed nearly about the time that Ali Mu claimed at
rad Khan had taken Shirauz. “ It is remarkable (says Mazande-
our author), that from his first entering into competition rau aiid
for the government, he has been successful in every bat
tie which he has fought. He is an eunuch, having been
made so whilst an infant, by the command of Nadir
Shah, but possesses great personal bravery.”
Ali Murad Khan, hearing of the success of Akau
X Mahomed
€a
Jaafar
Khan as¬
serts Iris
pretensions
to the go-
v eminent.
69
Is defeated
liy Aku
Alahomed
lihan.
70
Air and
elimate
Fa sia.
PER
Mahomed Khan, determined to go against him *, hut as
he was previously proceeding to Ispahan to suppress a
rebellion, he fell suddenly from his horse and exputd
0n‘‘ At^this period, Jaafar Khan, tire eldest and only
surviving son of Sadick Khan, was governor of khnm ,
he deemed this a favourable opportunity to assert Ins
pretensions to the government, and immediately march¬
ed with what few troops he had to Ispahan : soon after
his arrival he was joined by the greater part of the mal¬
contents who were then in arms. In this situation he
remaivred Ze time ; but Akau Mahomed Khan coming
down upon him with his army, l^ 'vas ohl^ed 0 r k
bis fate in a battle, and, being defeated, fled with the
small remains of his troops, taking the road tohlnrauz.
Soon after finding himself strengthened by an increase
of his army, he determined to venture a second cngage-
ment with his opponent Akau Mahomed Khan , and
for this purpose marched with lm army towards Ispa¬
han : the two armies met near A exdekhast, when a bat¬
tle ensued, and Akau Mahomed Khan s superior for¬
tune again prevailing, Jaafar Khan was defeated, and
retired^to Shirauz, which he quitted on the 25th ot June
1787, and shortly after marched Ins army to the north¬
ward, but returned in October without liaying effected
anv thing.” Such was the state ot lersia in 1780-
Mr Francklin, from whose excellent Observations on
a Tour made in the years 1786-7 these particulars are
mostly extracted, soys that Jaalor Khan » ti e most
« likely, in case of success against his opponent, to re
store the country to a happy and reputable state : bu it
will require a long space of time to recover it Irom the
calamities into which the different revolutions have
broueA t it :—a country, if an oriental metaphor may
he allowed, once blooming as the garden ot Kdcn, iair
and flourishing to the eye -,-now, sad reverse . despoil¬
ed and leafless by the cruel ravages of wai, and deso¬
lating contention.” ..
As to the air and climate of this country, consider¬
ing the great extent thereof, it cannot but he very dif¬
ferent, according to the situation of .ts several parts ;
some being frozen with cold, whilst others are buint
with heat at tire same time ot the year, fhe air,
wherever it is cold, is dry 5 but where it is extremely
hot, it is sometimes moist. 'All along the coast ot the
Persian gulf, from west to east to the very mouth
of the river Indus, the heat for lour months is so ex¬
cessive, that even those who are born in the countiy,
unable to bear it, are forced to quit their houses am
retire to the mountains •, so that such as travel in these
parts, at that season, find none in the yUages, but
wretched poor creatures, left there to watch the effects
of the rich, at the expence of their own health, lire
extreme heat of the air, as it is unsupportable, so it
makes it prodigiously unwholesome j strangers trequent-
)v falling sick there, and seldom escaping. I he east¬
ern provinces of Persia, from the river Indus to the
borders of Tartary, are subject to great heats, though
not quite so unwholesome as on the coasts of the In¬
dian ocean and the Persian gulf', but in tire north¬
ern provinces, on the coast of the Caspian sea, the heat
is full as great, and, though attended witn moisture, as
unwholesome as on the coast before mentioned. I rom
October to May, there is no country in the world
more pleasant than this ; but the people carry mde-
Penia.
S I A.
lible marks of the malign influence of their summers,
looking all of them of a ia.nt yellow, and haymg u-^
neither strength nor spirits J though, about the end ot
April, they abandon their houses, and retire to the
mountains, which are 25 or 3c leagues from the sea.
But this moistness in the air is only in these parts ; the
rest of Persia enjoys a dry air, the sky being perfectly
serene, and hardly so much as a cloud seen to there¬
in. Though it seldom rains, it does not follow that the
heat admits of no mitigation: for ... the mght not-
Tvithstanding there is not a cloud to he seen, and the
sky is so clear, that the stars alone afford a light suf¬
ficient to travel by, a brisk wind springs up, which
lasts until within an hour of the morning, and gives
such a coolness to the air, that a man can heai a toler¬
able warm garment. The seasons in general, and parti¬
cularly in the middle of this kingdom, happen thus: the
winter, beginning m November, and lasting unt.lMarch,
is veiy sharp and rude, attended with frost and snow ,
which last descends in great flakes on the mountains, 7*
but never on the plains. The climate of Shiyuz, hereof
capital of Persia Proper, is represented by a traveller
who lately visited it, as one of the most agreeable in the
world, the extremes of heat and cold being seldom felt.
“ During the spring of the year the face of the country
appears uncommonly beautiful. The flowers, of winch,
they have a great variety, and of the brightest hues, the
fragrant herbs, shrubs, and plants, the rose, the sweet
basil, and the myrtle, all here contribute to refresh and
perfume the natural mildness of the air. lire mght.n-
Jrale of the garden (called by the Persians hooibul he%ar
dastaan), the goldfinch, and the linnet, by their melo¬
dious warblings at this delightful season of the year,serve
to add to the satisfaction of the mind, and to inspire it
with the most pleasing ideas. The beauties of nature
are here depicted in their fullest extent j the natural
historian and the botanist would here meet with ample
scope for pursuing their favourite investigations. Y\ ith
such advantages, added to the salubrity of the air, how
can it be. wondered at that the inhabitants of Shirauz
should so confidently assert the pre-eminence of their
own city to anv other in the world ?—or that such beau¬
ties should fail of calling forth the poetical exertions of
a Hafiz, a Sadi, or a Jami ? The mornings and even¬
ings are cool, hut the middle of the day is very pleasant.
In&summer the thermometer seldom rises above 73 in
the day time, and at night it generally sinks as low as
The autumn is the worst season of the year, that
.1 . *  1 — 41 * *. luan-m t n foil. O n fl fllll’lllfP
62.
02. Xlie HUiumu ^ - .
being the time when the rains begin to fall, and during
the autumnal months it is considered by the natives as
the most unhealthy, colds, fluxes, and fevers being very
general. In winter a vast deal of snow falls, and very
thick, hut ice is rarely to be found, except on the sum¬
mits of the mountains, or towards Ispahan, and the
more northern parts of Persia. One thing which is most
to he esteemed in this country, and renders it preferable
to any other part of the world, is their nights, which
are always clear and bright: and the dew, that in most
places is of so pernicious and dangerous a nature, is not
of the least ill consequence here : there is none at all in
summer, and in the other seasons it is of such a nature,
that if the brightest scimitar should be exposed to it all
tire night, it would not receive the least rust •, a circum¬
stance" I have myself experienc ed. This dryness in the
air causes their buildings to last a great while, and is
undoubtedly
PER
i*
Soil.
Praducc.
undoubtedly one of the principal reasons that the cele¬
brated ruins of Persepolis have endured for so many
ages, and, comparatively speakingj in so perfect a state.”
The great dryness of the air exempts Persia from thun¬
der and earthquakes. In the spring, indeed, there some¬
times falls hail J and, as the harvest is then pretty far
advanced* it does a great deal of mischief. The rain¬
bow is seldom Seen in this country, because there rise
not vapours sufficient to form it; but in the night there
are seen rays of light shooting through the firmament,
and followed as it were by a train of smoke. The winds,
however brisk, seldom swell into storms or tempests 5
but, on the other hand, they are sometimes poisonous
and infectious on the shore of the Gulf, as all travellers
agree. M. Tavernier says, that at Gombroon people
often find themselves struck by a south wind, in such a
manner, that they cry, “ I burn !” and immediately fall
down dead. M. le Brun tells us, that he was assured
while he was there, that the weather was sometimes so
excessively sultry as to melt the seals of letters. At
this time the people go in their shirts, and are continual¬
ly sprinkled with cold water j and some even lie several
hours naked in the water. Among the inconveniences
consequent from this malign disposition of the air, one
of the most terrible is the engendering, in the arms and
legs, a kind of long small worms, which cannot be ex¬
tracted without great danger wf breaking them 5 upon
which a mortification ensues.
The soil of Persia is in general stony, sandy, barren,
and everywhere so dry, that, if it be not watered, it pro¬
duces nothing, not even grass ; but, where they can turn
the water into their plains or valleys, it is not unfruit¬
ful. There is a great difference in point of fertility in
the different provinces of the empire j and those of Me¬
dia, Iberia, Hvrcania, and Bactria, are now in a great
measure \Vhat they were formerly, and surpass most of
the others in their productions. All along the Persian
gulf, the soil is still more barren, cattle less plenty,
and every thing in a worse condition than anywhere
else.
Though there is scarcely a province in Persia which
does not produce wine, yet the wine of some provinces
is much more esteeme d than that of others 5 but Schi-
ras, or, as it is written by Mr Francklin, Shirawz,
wine is universally allowed to be the very best in Persia;
insomuch, that it is a common proverb there, That to
live happily, one must eat the bread of Yezd, and drink
the wine of Schiras.
The grain most cortimon in Persia is wheat ; which
is wonderfully fair and clean. As for barley, rice, and
millet, they only make bread ol them in some places,
as in Courdestan, when their wheat bread is exhausted
before the return of harvest. They do not cultivate in
this country either oats or rye ; except where the Ar¬
menians are settled, who make great use of the latter
in Lent. Rice is the universal aliment of all sorts of
people in Persia ; for this reason they are extremely
careful in its cultivation ; for, after they have sown it
in the same manner as other grain, they in three months
time transplant it, root by root, into fields, which are
well watered, otherwise it would never attain that per¬
fection in which we find it there ; since it is softer,
sooner boiled, and more delicious, than the same grain
in any other part of the world. Perhaps its taste is,
in some measure, heightened by a practice which they
S I A.
16
follow to give it a glossy whiteness,, viz. by cleansing Pcma.
it, after it is beaten out of the husks, with a mixture'—
of flour and salt. Corn ripens exceedingly in this coun¬
try ; so that in some parts they have a threefold crop
in the year. The Persian bread is generally very thin,
white, and good ; and commonly cheap enough.
Metals of all sorts have been found in Persia. Since
the reign of Shah Abbas the Great, iron, copper, and
lead, have been very common ; but there are no gold
or silver mines open at present; though, as Persia is a
very mountainous country, such might very probably
be found, if pains were taken to search them out.
There are silver mines in Kerman and Mazanderan,
and one not far from Spauhawn ; but they cannot be
worked for want of wood. Minerals are also found in
Persia in abundance ; especially sulphur, saltpetre, salt,
and alum. Nothing is more common in this country
than to meet with plains, sometimes 10 leagues in
length, covered entirely with salt, and others with sul¬
phur or alum. In some places salt is dug out of mines,
and eVed used in building houses. Marble, freestone,
and slate are found in great plenty about Hamadan.
The marble is of four colours, viz. white, black, red
and black, and white and black. Persia yields two
sorts of petroleum or naphtha; namely, black and
white. In the neighbourhood of Tauris they find
azure; but it is not so good as that brought from Tar¬
tary. Among the most valuable productions of Persia
are the precious stones called turquoises, of which there
are several'rocks or mines.
The horses of Persia are the most beautiful of the
East, though they are not so much esteemed as those
of Arabia j so great, however, is the demand for them,
that the finest ones will fetch from 90I. to 450I. ster¬
ling. They are higher than the English saddle horses;
straight before, with a small head, legs wonderfully
slender, and finely proportioned ; they are mighty
gentle, good travellers, Very light and sprightly, and
do good service till they are 18 or 20 years old. The
great numbers of them sold into Turkey and the Indies,
though none can be carried out of the kingdom with¬
out special license from the king, is what makes them
so dear. Next to horses we may reckon mtiles, which
are much esteemed here, and are very fine ; and next
to these we may justly place asses, of which they have
in this country tw'o sorts ; the first bred in Persia, heavy
and doltish, as asses in other countries are ; the other
originally of an Arabian breed, the most docile and
useful creature of its kind in the w’orld. They are used
wholly for the saddle ; being remarkable for their easy
manner of going, and are very sure-footed, carrying
their heads lofty, and moving gracefully. Some of
them are valued at 20I. sterling. The mules here are
also very fine ; they pace well, never fall, and are sel¬
dom tired. The highest price of a mule is about 45I.
sterling. Camels are also numerous in Persia, and very
serviceable ; they call them kechtij-krouch-konion, i. e.
“ the ships of the land because the inland trade is
carried on by them as the foreign is by ships. Of these
camels there are two sorts, the northern and southern:
the latter, which is much the smaller, but swifter, will
carry a load of about 700 weight, and trot as fast as
a hoi’se will gallop ; the other will travel with a load
of 1200 or 1300 weight; both are profitable to theic
masters, as costing little or nothing to keep. They
X 2 travel
PER
travel without halter or reins ; grazing on the road
from time to t ime, notwithstanding their load. I hey
are managed entirely liy the vmce ; these who direct
them making use of a kind of song, and the camel mo-
vlnff brisker, or at Its ordinary pace, as they keep a
quicker or slower time. The camels shed their hair so
clean in the spring, that they look like sea ded swine .
but then they are pitched over, to keep the flies fiom
stinging them. The camel’s hajr is the most profitable
fleece of all the tame beasts : fine stuffs are made of
it; and in Europe, hats, with a mixture of a little
beaver.
As beef is little eaten in Persia, their oxen are ge¬
nerally employed in ploughing, and other sorts ot la¬
bour Hofs are nowhere bred in 1 ersia, if we except
a province or two on the borders of the Caspian sea.
Sheep and deer are very common throughout all 1 er-
Persia.
sia.
Of wild beasts, the number is not great in that coun¬
try, because there are few forests; but where there are
any, as in Hyrcania, now called Tabnstan, abundance
of lions, bears, tygers, leopards, porcupines, wild boars,
and wolves are to be found ; but the last are not so nu¬
merous as any of the other species. .
There are" but few insects in this country; which
may be ascribed to the dryness of the climate. In some
provinces, however, there is an infinite number o lo¬
custs or grasboppers, which fly about m such clouds as
to darken the air. In certain parts of the Persian do¬
minions they have large black scorpions so venomous,
that such as are stung by them die in a few hours. In
others they have lizards frightfully ugly, which are
an ell long, and as thick as a large toad, their s^ins be-
in" as hard and tough as that of the sea-dog ; they arc
safd to attack and kill men sometimes ; but that may be
doubted. The southern provinces are infested with
o-nats ; some with long legs, like those we call midges ;
and some white, and as small as fleas, which make no
buzzing, hut sting suddenly, and so smartly that the
sting is like the prick of a needle. Among the rep¬
tiles is a long square worm, called by the inhabitants
hazar-pey, i. e. “ thousand feet,” because its whole
body is covered with feet; it runs prodigiously fast; and
its bite is dangerous, and even mortal it it gets into the
eaThere are in Persia all the several sorts of fowls
which we have in Europe, but not in such great plenty;
excepting, however, wild and tame pigeons, of which
vast numbers are kept all over the kingdom, chiefly on
account of their dung ; which is the best manure lor
melons. It is a great diversion among the lower sort
of people in town or country to catch pigeons, though
it be forbidden : for this purpose they have pigeons so
taught, that flying in one flock, they surround such
wild ones as they find in the field, and bring them back
>vith them to their masters. The partridges of this
country are the largest and finest in the world, being
generally of the size of our fowls. Geese, ducks, cranes,
herons, and many other sorts of water fowl, are common
here ; as are likewise nightingales, which are heard all
the year,hut chiefly in the spring; martlets, which leain
whatever words are taught them ; and a bird called
mura, which chatters incessantly, and repeats what¬
ever it hears. Of birds of a larger size, the most re¬
markable is the pelican, by the Persians called tacab,
S I A;
i. e. “ water-carrier ;” and also misc, i. e.‘‘ sheep, be-^
cause it is as large as one of these animals . I here are
in Persia various birds of prey. Some of their falcons 0k
are the largest and finest in the world; the people takeNITI,OLOGi,
oreat pains to teach them to fly at game ; the Persian
fords being great lovers of falconry, and the king hav¬
ing genei-ally 800 of this sort ol birds, each ol which
has a person to attend it. . ,. , .
There is perhaps no country in flie world which,
nerally speaking, is more mountainous than Persia ; ^ ’
but many of them yield neither springs nor metals,
and but few of them are shaded with trees. It is true
some of the chief of them are situated on the frontiers,
and serve as a kind of natural ramparts, or bulwarks,
to this vast empire. Among the latter are the moun¬
tains of Caucasus and Ararat, sometimes called the
mountains of Daghestan, which fill all the space between
the Euxine and Caspian seas : those called Taurus,
the several branches thereof, run through Persia from
Natolia to India, and fill all the middle of the coun-
try. •
’As to rivers, except the Araxes, which rises in the
mountains of Armenia, and falls into the Kur or Cyrus
iefore it reaches the Caspian sea, there is not one navi¬
gable stream in this country. The Oxus divides I ersia
on the north-east from Usbeck Tartary. The Indus also
may now be reckoned among the rivers of Persia, as the
provinces lying to the west of that river are now in pos¬
session of that crown : this river is said to run a course
of move than 1000 miles, and overflows all the low
grounds in April, May, and June. 1 _
The seas on the south of Persia are, the gulf of Persia
or Bassora, the gulf of Ormus, and the Indian ocean.
The only sea on the north is the Caspian or Hyrcaman
sea ; which is mere properly a lake, having no commu¬
nication with any other sea. These seas, together with
the lakes and rivers, supply Persia with plenty of fish.
The Caspian sea contains very fine fish on one side ; and
the Persian gulf on the other is believed to have more
fish than any other sea in the world. On the coasts ot
this gulf is taken a sort of fish, for which they have no
particular name ; its flesh is of a red colour, very deli¬
cious, and some of them weigh 200 or 300 pounds.
The river fish are chiefly barbels ; but far from being
good. Those of the lakes are carps and shads. In the
river at Spauhawn are a great number of crabs, which
crawl up the trees, and live night and day under the
leaves, whence they are taken ; and are esteemed very
delicious food. . T, 7,5 .
In his voyage from Gombroon up the Persian gulf,Islands,^
Mr Ives makes mention of several islands, named Kisme, ‘
Polloar, Kyes, Inderabie, Shittewar, and Busheel. Some
of these were quite barren ; on others there were a few
trees and bushes, with little fishing towns, and a few
small vessels lying along shore. The date trees were
thinly scattered among the hills ; but though a small
portion of green might here and there be discovered, yet
such was the barrenness of these islands in general, that
it was for some time a matter of surprise bow sheep and
goats could possibly subsist upon them. On closer exa¬
mination, however, it was found, that the soil produced
a kind of small leaved juicy mallows, on which these
animals principally feed The Persian coast, as they
sailed along, afforded a most romantic prospect, appear¬
ing at first to be one continued rock, rent and tom
° asunder
iUT
i|
PER
rsia. asunder by earthquakes; but it was afterwards discover-
ed, that some part of it was only sand hardened by the
rains and sun.
Narban Point terminates in a long and low piece of
land, which runs off into the gulf from the foot of the
Persian hills. Between this point and the main land is
a channel, in which a ship of 900 tons burden might
easily ride. The Portuguese had formerly a settlement
here, the remains of which are still to be seen. A large
river empties itself into the sea at this place ; and Mr
Ives observes, that “ Providence seems here to have al¬
lotted a spot of ground amidst unhospitable rocks and
deserts, capable of affording the kind production of ve¬
getables for man and beast.” The adjacent country is
subject to the Arabs. •
Through all the Persian gulf, Mr Ives remarks that
the spring water on the islands is much better than that
on the continent j and the water nearest the sea on the
islands has greatly the advantage over that which is
found in the middle parts. I his holds good, however,
only in those parts which are near the sea ; for about 12
miles up the country, both on the Persian and Arabian
side of the gulf, the water is very good. At the island
called Bareen or Baharen, divers go down to the bottom
of the sea, at certain known depths, and come up again
with their vessels filled with fresh water. This fresh wa¬
ter is found in holes or little natural wells, some fathoms
below the surface of the sea. The Arabs have certain
marks on the island to teach them where to dive for the
fresh water. Mr Ives was assured by an Arabian mer¬
chant, that he himself had discovered a spring upon the
shore, by which one of these wells is served. He put
into this spring a bit of heavy stick ; and in two or three
days an Arabian diver brought it to him again from the
6 bottom of one of these holes.
The English and other nations, trade with the Per¬
sians several ways, particularly by the gulf of Ormus at
Gombroon, and by the way of Turkey. A trade also
was not many years since opened by the English with
Persia through Russia and the Caspian sea; but that is
now discontinued, having been prohibited by the court
of Russia, who were apprehensive that the English would
teach the Persians to build ships, and dispute the navi¬
gation of the Caspain sea with them. The principal
commodities and manufactures of Persia are raw and
wrought silks, mohair camhlets, carpets, leather; for
which, and some others, the European merchants en-
change chiefly wmollen manufactures; but the trade is
carried on altogether in European shipping, the Persians
have scarce any ships of their own, and the Russians the
sole navigation of the Caspian sea. There is not a richer
or more profitable trade in the world, than that which is
carried on between Gombroon and Surat in the East
Indies; and the English East India Company frequently
let out their ships to transport the merchandise of the
Banians and Armenians from Persia to India. The shah
or sovereign of Persia, is the chief merchant ; and he
usually employs his Armenian subjects to traffic for him
in every part of the world. The king’s agents must
have the refusal of all merchandise, before his subjects
are permitted to trade. It is computed that Persia pro¬
duces yearly upwards of 22,000 hales of silk, chiefly
in the provinces of Ghilan and Mazanderan, each bale
Weighing 263 pounds. Vast quantities of Persian silk
used to be imported into Europe, especially by the
Pci
s I A.
Dutch, English, and Russians, before the civil wars
began. The goods exported from Persia to India are,
tobacco, all sorts of fruits, pickled and preserved, espe¬
cially dates, marmalade, wines, distilled waters, horses,
Persian feathers, and Turkey leather of all sorts and
colours, a great quantity whereof is also exported to
Muscovy and other European countries. The exports
to lurkey are, tobacco, galls, thread, goats hair, stuffs,
mats, box-work, and many other things. As there are
no posts in the cast, and trading by commission with the
use of bills of exchange, is little known, traffic must
proceed in a very awkward heavy manner, in compari¬
son of that of Europe.
The most current money of Persia are the abassees, Money,
worth about is. qd. sterling ; they are of the finest
silver. An abassee is worth two mahmoudes ; a mah-
moude, two shahees; and a shahee, ten single or five
double easbeghes; these last pieces are of brass, the
others of silver; for gold is not current in trade. The
shahees are not very common ; hut mahmoudes and
casbeghes are current everywhere. Horses, camels,
houses, &c. are generally sold by the toman, which is
an imaginary coin, worth 200 shahees, or 50 abassees;
and they usually reckon their estates that way. Such a
one, they say, is worth so many tomans, as we .say
pounds in England.
Persia is an absolute monarchy, the lives and estates Govern-
of the people being entirely at the disposal of their ment‘
prince. The king has no council established, but is
advised by sucli ministers as are most in favour; and
the resolutions taken among the women of the haram
frequently defeat the best laid designs. The crown is
hereditary, excluding only the females. The sons of
a daughter are allowed to inherit. The laws of Persia
exclude the blind from the throne; which is the reason
that the reigning prince usually orders the eyes of" all
the males of the royal family, of whom he has any
jealousy, to he put out. The king has generally a great
many wives, which it would be death for any one besides
the eunuchs, who have the superintendance of them, to
look at, or even see by accident; wherefore, when he
travels, notice is given to all men to quit the road, nay
their very houses, and to retire to a great distance.
The prime minister is called attemaet doulct, which
signifies the director of the empire, and also ezizew,
or the great supporter of" the empire; as he alone al¬
most sustains the whole weight of the administration.
This minister’s chief study is to please his master, to se¬
cure to himself an ascendant over his mind, and to avoid
whatever may give him any uneasiness or umbrage.
With this view, he never fails to flatter him, to extol
him above all the princes upon earth, and to throw a
thick veil over every thing that might help to open his
eyes, or discover to him the weakness of the state. He
even takes particular care to keep the king in utter
ignorance; to hide from him, or at least to soften, all
unwelcome news; and, above all, to exalt immoderate¬
ly every the least advantage he obtains over his ene¬
mies. As he takes these methods, which indeed are
and must be taken, more or less, by the ministers of
every despotic prince, to secure the favour and confi¬
dence of his master; so the inferior officers and gover¬
nors of provinces are obliged to employ all the means
in their power to secure the prime minister’s, they de¬
pending no less upon him than he does upon the king.
There
I65
There Is a gradation of despotism and slavery, down
from the prime minister to the lowest retainer to the
court, or dependent on the government. Children are
sometimes in Persia required by the k.ng to cut oQ the
ears and nose, and even to cut the throats of then pa¬
rents; and these orders cannot he objected to, without
endangering their own lives. Indeed their baseness am
mercenariness are such, that they will perpetrate such
atrocious deeds without the least scruple or difficulty,
when they have a promise or expectation of possessing
their posts. The prime ministers, notwithstanding the
precarious footing on which they stand, m effect of then
abilities or good fortune, sometimes continue in their em¬
ployments during life, or, if removed are only banished
to some city, where they are allowed to spend the re¬
mainder of their days in a private station.
Next to the prime minister are the nadir, or grand¬
master of the househould j the mehter, or groom °f t!ie
chambers, who is always awhile eunuch •, the mirakbor
bashe, or master of the horse 5 the mir-shikar hashe or
great huntsman and falconer *, the divanbeggi, or cine
justice, to whom there lies an appeal from the degora, or
the lieutenant of police, in every town •, the vacka nu-
viez, or recorder of events, or first secretary of state j
the muslau-she-elmenaleck, or masterof the accounts and
finances of the kingdom the names humbashes, or the
king’s chief physicians } the shickada-fibashe, 01 inspec¬
tor of the palace, and regulator of rank at court; and
the khans, or governors of provinces, under whom are
other governors, called sol tuns, appointed also bythe king.
Civil matters are all determined by the cazi, and ec¬
clesiastical ones (particularly divorces) by the sheick-el-
selleum, or head of the faith •, an officer answering to the
mufti among the Turks *, under him are the sheick-el-
selom, and cadi, who decide in all matters of religion,
and make all contracts, testaments, and other public
deeds, being appointed by the king in all the principal
towns ; and next to these are the pichnamas, or directors
of the prayers •, and the moullahs, or doctors of the law.
Justice is carried on in Persia in a very summary man¬
ner •, the sentence, whatever it may be, being always
put into execution on the spot. Theft is generally pu¬
nished with the loss of nose and ears; robbing on the
road, by ripping up the belly of the criminal, in which
situation he is exposed upon a gibbet in one of the most
public parts of the city, and there left until he expires
in torment.
There is no nobility in Persia, or any respect shown
to a man on account of his family, except to those who
are of the blood of their great prophet or patriarchs;
but every man is esteemed according to the post he pos¬
sesses *, and when he is dismissed, he loses his honour, and
he is no longer distinguished from the vulgar.
With respect to the forces of Persia, their two bodies,
called the Kortshies and Goulans, that serve on horse¬
back, are well kept and paid, and may amount, the for¬
mer to about 22,000, and the latter to about 18,000.
The Kortshies are descended from an ancient but foreign
race •, and the Goulans are either Georgian renegadoes
or slaves, or the children of slaves of all nations. The
infantry, called Tangtchies, are picked out from among
the most robust and vigorous of the peasants, and com¬
pose a body of 40,000 or 50,000. The Persians have
few fortified towns, and had no ships of war, till Kouli
Khan built a royal navy, and among them had a man of
Persia.
Manners.
P E R S I A.
war of 80 guns 5 but since the death of that usurper, we
hear no more of their fleet. r
The arms of the king of Persia are a lion couchant,
looking at the sun as he rises over his back. His usual
title isS/iaw or Patshaw, the “ disposer of kingdoms.
They add also to the king’s titles those of stiltait, and
chan or chum, which is the title of the Tartar sove¬
reigns. To acts of state the Persian monarch does not
subscribe his name; hut the grant runs in this manner,
viz. This act, or edict, is given bij him whom the universe
The ancient Persians are known to have been exceed- ^
imrly voluptuous and effeminate. After the conquest ol^
the empire by Alexander, the Greek discipline and mar¬
tial spirit being in part communicated to them, they be¬
came much more formidable; and hence the Pailhians
were found to he a match not only for the Syro-Mace-
donian princes, but even for the Romans. Of their
manners we know little or nothing, but that to their va¬
lour and military skill they joined in a surprising degree
all the luxury and dissipation of the ancient Persians.
The modern Persians, like the Turks, plundering all
the adjacent nations for beauties to breed by, are men of
a good stature, shape, and complexion ; but the Gaures,
or ancient Persians, are homely, ill-shaped, and clumsy,
with a rough skin, and olive complexions. In some
provinces, not only the complexions but the constitutions
of the inhabitants, suffer greatly by the extreme heat
and unwholesomeness of the air. The Persian women
too are generally handsome and well-shaped, but much
inferior to those' of Georgia and Circassia. The men
wear large turbans on their heads, some of them very
rich, interwoven with gold and silver j a vest, girt with
a sash , and over it a loose garment, something shorter
with sandals, or slippers, on their feet. When they
ride, which they do every day, if it he but to a house in
the same town, they wear pliant hoots of yellow lea¬
ther j the furniture of their horses is extremely rich, and
the stirrups generally of silver : whether on horseback
or on foot, they wear a broadsword and a dagger in their
sash. The dress oft he women does not differ much from
that’of the men *, only their vests are longer, and they
wear stiffened caps on their heads, and their hair down.
With respect to outward behaviour, says an intelli¬
gent traveller, “The Persians are certainly the Pari¬
sians of the East. Whilst a rude and insolent demeanour
peculiarly marks the character of the Turkish nation to¬
wards foreigners and Christians, the behaviour ot the
Persians would, on the contrary, do honour to the most
civilized nations : they are kind, courteous, civil, and
obliging, to all strangers, without being guided by those
religious prejudices so very prevalent in every other Ma¬
hometan nation; they are fond of inquiring after the
manners and customs of Europe, and in return very rea¬
dily afford any information in respect to their own coun¬
try. The practice of hospitality is with them so grand
a point, that a man thinks himself highly honoured i
you will enter his house and partake of what the family
affords } whereas, going out ot a house without smoking
a calean, or taking any other refreshment, is deemed in
Persia a high affront.”
Their usual drink is water and sherbet, as in other
Mahometan countries, wine being prohibited j but of
all Mahometan nations they pay the least regard to this
prohibition. Many of them drink ytinc publicly, and al-
So
fll-cdotes
0 ,heir re-
pPA-
P E H
mo^t all of them in private (excepting those who have
performed the pilgrimage to Mecca, and ecclesiastics) :
they also are very liable to be quarrelsome when ine¬
briated, which is often attended with fatal consequences.
They eat opium, but in much less quantities than the
Turks j and indeed in every thing they say or do, eat
or drink, they make a point to be as different from this
nation as possible, whom they detest to a man, beyond
measure j esteeming Jews and Christians superior to
them, and much nearer to salvation.
Every one knows, that the religion of the Persians is
Mahometan •, and that they are of the sect of Ali, for
whom they entertain the most extravagant veneration.
Mr Francklin heard one of his guides on the road re¬
prove another for the expression O God! 0 Ali! “ No,
no (said his zealous companion), Ali jirst, God secondl’1’’
This attachment is the source of their hatred to the
Turks, and of many strange customs among themselves,
which we have not room to enumerate j a few, however,
must be mentioned.
“ Their mode of living is as follows : They always
rise at daybreak, in order to perform their devotions.
Their first prayer is denominated numaz, soobh, or the
morning prayer; it is said before sunrise, after which
they eat a slight meal called ndshta, or breakfast ; this
consists of grapes, or any other fruits of the season, with
a little bread and cheese made of goats milk ; they after¬
wards drink a cup of very strong coffee without milk or
■sugar ; then the calean or pipe is introduced. The
Persians, from the highest to the lowest ranks, all smoke
tobacco.
“ Their second hour of prayer is called numaz zb/iur,
or mid-day prayer, and is always repeated when the sun
declines from the meridian. Their dinner, or chdsht,
which is soon after this prayer, consists of curds, bread,
and fruits of various kinds ; animal food not being usual
at this meal.
“ The third hour of prayer is called numaz asur, or
the afternoon prayer, said about four o’clock.
“ The fourth hour of prayer is numaz sham, or even¬
ing prayer, which is said after sunset; when this is fi¬
nished, the Persians eat their principal meal, called
shami or supper. This generally con-dsts of a pilau,
dressed with rich meat sauces, and highly seasoned with
various spices : sometimes they eat kibaab or roast meat.
When the meal is ready, a servant brings notice there¬
of, and at the same time presents a ewer and water ;
they then wash their hands, which is an invariable cu¬
stom with the Persians both before and after eating.
They eat very quick, conveying their food to their
mouths with their fingers ; the use of knives and forks
being unknown in Persia. Sherbets of different sorts are
introduced, and the meal concludes with a desert of de¬
licious fruits. The supper being finished, the iamily sit
in a circle, and entertain each other by relating plea-
S I A.
sant stories (ol which they are excessively fond), and
also^by repeating passages from the works of their most
favourite poets, and amusing themselves at various
kinds of games. I he fifth and last prayer is styled
numaz akhir, the last prayer ; or sometimes numazsheb,
or the night prayer,repeatedabout an hourafter supper.” Sr
T lie most remarkable law among the Persians respects Remark-
marriage. A man may divorce 1ms wife when he chooses, able law
without assigning any other reason for the divorce than respe?lin*
that it is his pleasure. If he should change his mind, mania^
he may again marry her, divorce her a second time, and
a third time marry her ; but here this privilege stops.
No man is allowed to marry the woman whom he has
thrice divorced. A widow is obliged to mourn four
months for her deceased husband before she can be mar¬
ried to another ; but a concubine may form a new con¬
nection the instant that her keeper expires.
At the naming of children in Persia, Mr Francklin Ceremony
informs us that the following ceremony is observed: of naming
“ The third or fourth day after the child is born, thetheil-cllil-
friends and relations of the woman who has lain-in as-*3'1®11,
semble at her house, attended by music and dancing
girls hired for the occasion ; after playing and dancing
some time, a mullah or priest is introduced, who, taking
the child in his arms, demands of the mother what name
she chooses the infant should be called by ; being told,
he begins praying, and after a short time applies his
mouth close to the child’s ear, and tells him distinctly
three times (calling him by name) to remember and he
obedient to his father and mother, to venerate his Ko¬
ran and his prophet, to abstain from those things which
are unlawful, and to practise those things which are
good and virtuous. Having repeated the Mahometan
profession of faith, he then redelivers the child to his
mother ; after which the company are entertained with .
sweetmeats and other refreshments, a part of which the
females present always take care to carry away in their
pockets, believing it to be the infallible means of their
having offspring themselves.” 8;
The Persians excel more in poetry than any other sort Intellectual
of literature ; and astrologers are now in as great repu-excellence-
tation in Persia as the magi were formerly. Their
books are all manuscripts, the art of printing having not
yet been introduced among them : they excel indeed in
writing, and have eight different hands. They write
from the right hand to the left, as the Arabs do. In
their short band, they use the letters of the alphabet;
and the same letters differently pointed, will have 20
different significations. In short, the Persians are horn
with as good natural parts as any people in the East, »
but make a bad use of them ; being great dissemblers,
cheats, liars, and flatterers, and having a strong pro¬
pensity to voluptuousness, luxury, idleness, and indo¬
lence ; vices indeed to which the Asiatics in general are
much addicted. See Persia, Supplement.
P E R
PERSIAN wheel. See Hydrodynamics.
PERSICA, the Peach, is by Linnams referred to
the same class and genus with amygdalus. There is a
great variety of peach trees planted in the gardens, some
of which are preserved only for the beauty of their
flowers, but most of them for the sake of the fruit. Of
PER
those remarkable for the beauty of their flowers the
principal are, I. The vulgaris, or common peach-tree,
with double flowers, which is a very great ornament in
gardens, producing very large double flowers of a beau¬
tiful red or purple colour, and growing to a consider¬
able size. 2. The humilis, or dwarf-almond. 3. The
africana,
1
PER [i
afrfcana, or double-fWrlng dwarf-almonJ. TI.ese two
|| resell not above the height of three or lour feet, thoug
Pcrsimon. t|ie^r flowers are of equal beauty wit i t ie ormer.
—V—J Of the peach-trees cultivated for the sake ot her fruit
there is a great number. They are raised Irom the stones
of The fruit, which should be planted autumn on a
bed of light dry earth, about three inches deep and
four inches asunder. In the winter the beds should be
covered with mulch to protect then, from the fro»f In
this bed they should remain for a year j when they are
to be taken up and planted in a nursery, where they are
remain onf or two years ; after which they must he
removed to the places where they are to continue.
PERSIC ARIA. See Polygonum, Lot^'y
PERSICUS sinus, in Ancient Geography, (Mela,
Pliny) t a part of the sea which the Romans called
Male Rubrum, and the Greeks Mare Erythrerinn;
washing Arabia Felix on the east, between which and
C arm an i a entering into the land, it washes Persia on
the south! Its large mouth consists of straight sides,
like a neck, and then the land retiring equally a vast
wav, and the sea surrounding it m a large compass of
shore there is exhibited the figure of a human head
f Mela). Theophrastus calls this bay Sinus Arabieus, a
name it equally claims with Persicus, only for distinc¬
tion sake f*t-rsicus is appropriated to it by others
PERSIMON, See Diospyros, Botany Index
From the persimon is made a very palatable liquor in the
following manner: As soon as the fruit is ripe, a sub -
cient quantity is gathered, which is very ea*v, as each
tree isVll stocked with them. These persimon app es
are put into a dough of wheat or other flour, formed in¬
to cakes and put into an oven, m which they continue
till they are quite baked and sufficiently dry, when t icy
are taken out again : then, in order to brew the 1 jor
a pot full of water is put on the fire, and some of the
cakes are put in : these become soft by degrees as the
water grows warm, and crumble in pietes at last, the
pot is then taken from the fire, and the water m ,t we
stirred about, that the cakes may mix with it. this is
then poured into another vessel, and they continue to
steep and break as many cakes as are necessary for a
brewing : the malt is then infused, and they proceed as
usual with the brewing. Beer thus prepared is reckon¬
ed much preferable to other beer. They likewise make
brandy of this fruit in the following manner : having
collected a sufficient quantity of pers.mons in autumn
they are altogether put into a vessel, where they he for
a week till they are quite soft: then they pour water on
them, and in that state they are left to ferment of them¬
selves, without promoting the fermentation by any addi¬
tion. The brandy is then made in the common way,
and is said to be very good, especially if grapes (in par¬
ticular of the sweet sort), which are wild m the woods,
be mixed with the persimon fruit. Some persimons are
ripe at the end of September, but most of them later,
and some not before November and December, when
the cold first overcomes their acrimony. I he wood ot
this tree is very good for joiners instruments, such as
planes, handles to chisels, &c. but if after being cut
down it lies exposed to sunshine and ram, it is the hist
wood which rots, and in a year’s time there is nothing
left but what is useless. When the persimon trees get
once into a field, they are not easily got out of it again,
as they spread much. ^
tersi*
11
Person.
68 1 P E H
BE RSIS, a Roman lady, whom St Paul salutes in
his epistle to the Romans (xvi.
hr tlTalrTi stm labours. Noting elre of her
life is come to our knowledge, nor do we know that she
!s honoured by any church* which is something sin-
gU PERSIES Fla ecus, Aulus, a Latin poet in the
reign of Nero, celebrated for his satires. He was born,
according to some, at Volterra in l«^any , and ac¬
cording to others, at Tigulia, in the gulf Deha Specig,
in the year 34. He was educated till 12 years (dd at
Vol terra * and afterwards continued las studies at Rome
under Palsemon the grammarian, \ irgiums the E^tci -
cian, and Cornutus the Stoic philosopher, who contiacterl
a friendship for him. Persius consulted that illustrious
friend in the composition of las vetses. Lucian also stu¬
died with him under Cornutus * and appeared ^haim-
ed with his verses, that he was incessantly breaking out
into acclamations at the beautiful passages a. h.s satires
an example rarely seen in poets ot equal rank. He wa.
a steady friend, a good son, an affectionate brother and
parent He ^chaste, meek, and modest: which
shows how wrong it is to judge of a man s morals by his
writings * for the satires of Persius are not only lice
tious, but sharp and full of bitterness. He wrote but
seldom * and it was some time before he applied himse
^ plrsius was of a weak constitution, and troubled with
a had stomach, which was the cause of his death in the
ejeth year of his age. Six of his satires remain 5 in then
judgments of which the critics have been much divide^
excepting as to their obscurity, Pei sms -emg
moTobscure of all the Latin poets As a poet be js
certainly inferior to Horace and Juvenal, and all the
labours of Isaac Causabon, who has written a most learn¬
ed and elaborate commentary upon him, cannot make
him equal to either of them as a satirist though in va¬
lue and learning he exceeded them both. He was a
professed imitator of Horace * yet had httle of Horace s
Pvit, ease, and talent at ridicule. His style is grand
figurative, poetical, and suitable to the dignity of the
Stoic philosophy : and hence he shines most m lecom-
mending virtue and integrity : here it is that satire be¬
comes him. He was too grave to court the muses with
success : but he had a great soul, susceptible of noble
sentiments, which give a grace to but indifleient poetry.
His cotemporaries thought highly ot him. ^mtihan
allows, that Persius, although he wrote but book
of satires, acquired a great deal ot true glory, Multuin
et verce glories quamvis uno hbro 1 ersms niei ui
Martial says much the same thing, Seepius in hbro me-
moratur Persius uno, &c. • , •
PERSON, an individual substance ot a rational in¬
telligent nature. Thus we say, an ambassador represents
the person of his prince 3 and that, in law, the lather
and son are reputed the same person.
The word person, persona, is thought to he borrowed
d personando, from personating or counterleiting * an
is supposed to have first signified a mask : because, as
Boethius informs us, in larva coneava sonus
and hence the actors who appeared masked on^he stage
were sometimes called lurvati and sometimes.
He likewise says, drat as the several actors repr^eA
each a single individual person, viz.. Oedipus,ar Ehiune ,
PER
Person,
’’ersonal
or Hecuba, or Medea j for this reason, other people,
who were at the same time distinguished by something
' in their form, character, &c. whereby they might be
known, came likewise to be called by the Latins yrerso-
nce, and by the Greeks ‘Tr^urotnct. Again, as actors
rarely represented any but great and illustrious charac¬
ters, the word came at length to import the mind, as
being that whose dispositions constitute the character.
And thus men, angels, and even God himself, were
called persons. Things merely corporeal, as a stone, a
plant, or a horse, were called hypostases or supposilu, hut
never persons. Hence tiie learned suppose, that the same
name person came to be used to signify some dignity,
whereby a person is distinguished from another j as a la¬
ther, husband, judge, magistrate, &c. In this sense we
are to understand that of Cicero: “ Caesar never speaks
of Pompey, hut in terms of honour and respect: he does
many hard and injurious things, however, against his
person.”
Person we have already defined to mean an individual
substance of a reasonable nature. Now a thing may be
individual two ways: I. Logically, because it cannot
be predicated of any other; as Cicero, Plato, &c.
2. Physically; in which sense a drop of water, separated
from the ocean, may he called an individual. Person is
an individual nature in each of these senses ; logically,
according to Boethius, because person is not spoken of
universals, but only of singulars and individuals ; w'e do
not say the person of an animal or a man, but of Cicero
and Plato : and physically, since Socrates’s hand or foot
are never considered as perspns. This last kind of indi¬
vidual is denominated two ways : positively, when the
person is said to he the whole principle of acting ; for
to whatever thing action is attributed, that the philoso¬
phers call a person : and negatively, as when we say,
with the Thomists, &c. that a person consists in this,
that it does not exist in another as a more perfect being.
Thus a man, though he consists of two different things,
viz. body and spirit, is not two persons; because neither
part of itself is a complete principle of action, but one
person, since the manner of his consisting of body and
spirit is such as constitutes one whole principle of ac¬
tion ; nor does he exist in any other as a more perfect
being; as, for example, Socrates’s foot does in Socrates,
or a drop of water in the ocean.
Person, in Grammar, a term applied to such nouns
or pronouns as, being either prefixed or understood, are
the nominatives in all inflections of a verb ; or it is the
agent or patient in all finite or personal verbs. See
Grammar.
PERSONAL, any thing that concerns, or is re¬
strained to, the person : thus it is a maxim in ethics,
that all faults are personal.
Personal Action, in Law, is an action levied di¬
rectly and solely against the person, in opposition to a
real or mixed action. See Action.
Personal Goods, or Chattels, in Law, signifies any
moveable thing belonging to a person, whether alive or
dead. See Chattels.
Personal Identity. See Metaphysics, Part III.
Chap. iii.
Personal Verb, in Grammar, a verb conjugated
m all the three persons ; thus called in opposition to an
impersonal verb, or that which has the third person
only.
Vol, XVI. Part I, 1*
[ 169 ]
PER
PERSONALITY, in the schools, is that whichpt
constitutes an individual a distinct person.
PERSONATvE, is the name of the 40th order in *
Linnaeus’s Fragments of a Natural Method, consisting
of si number ol plants whose flowers are lurnislicd with
an irregular gaping or grinning petal, which in figure
somewhat resembles the snout of an animal. The bulk
ol the genera ol this natural order arrange themselves
under the class and order didyuamia angiospermia of
the Sexual Method.
I he rest, although they cannot enter into the artifi¬
cial class just mentioned, for want of the classic cha¬
racter, the inequality ol the stamina ; yet, in a natural
method, which admits of greater latitude, may be ar¬
ranged with those plants which they resemble in their
habit and general appearance, and particularly in the
circumstances expressed in that title.
PERSONIFYING, or Personalizing, the giv¬
ing an inanimate being the figure, sentiments, and lan¬
guage of a person.
Dr Blair, in his Lectures on Rhetoric, gives this ac¬
count of personification. “ It is a figure, the use of
which is very extensive, and its foundation laid deep in
human nature. At first view, and when considered ab¬
stractly, it would appear to be a figure of the utmost
boldness, and to border on the extravagant and ridicu¬
lous. For what can seem more remote liom the track
of reasonable thought, than to speak of stones and trees,
and fields and rivers, as if they were living creatines,
and to attribute to them thought and sensation, affec¬
tions and actions ? One might imagine this to he no
more than childish conceit, which no person of taste
could relish. In fact, however, the case is very differ¬
ent. No such ridiculous effect is produced by personifi¬
cation when properly employed ; on the contrary, it is
found to be natural and agreeable, nor is any very un¬
common degree of passion required in order to make us
relish it. All poetry, even in its most gentle and hum¬
ble lorms, abounds with it. From prose it is far from
being excluded ; nay, in common conversation, very
frequent approaches are made to it. When we say, the
ground thirsts for lain, or the earth smiles with plenty;
when we speak of ambition’s being restless, or a disease
being deceitful; such expressions show' the facility with
which the mind can accommodate the properties of liv¬
ing creatures to things that are inanimate, or to abstract
conceptions of its own forming.
“ Indeed, it is very remarkable, that there is a won¬
derful proneness in human nature to animate all objects.
Whether this arises from a sort of assimilating principle,
from a propension to spread a resemblance of ourselves
over all other things, or from whatever other cause it
arises, so it is, that almost evex-y emotion which in the
least agitates the mind bestows upon its object a mo¬
mentary idea of life. Let a man, by an unwary step,
sprain his ankle, or hurt his foot upon a stone, and in
the ruffled discomposed moment he will sometimes feel
himself disposed to break the stone in pieces, or to utter
passionate expressions against it, as if it had done him
an injury. If oiie has been long accustomed to a certain
set of objects, which hare made a strong impression on
his imagination; as to a house, where he has passed ma¬
ny agreeable years ; or to fields, and trees, and moun¬
tains, among which he has often w'alked with the great¬
est delight; when he is obliged to pari with them, espe-
Y ciallv
r^onaliti
II .
er-onify-
PER
[ I7° ]
PER
dally if he has no prospect of ever seeing them again,
he can scarce avoid having somewhat of the same feel¬
ing as when he is leaving old friends. I hey seem en¬
dowed with life. They became objects of his affection ,
and, in the moment of his parting, it scarce seems ab¬
surd to him to give vent to his feeling in words, and
to take a formal adieu. _ , . . . ,
“ So strong is that impression of life which is made
upon us, by the more magnificent and striking objects
of nature especially, that l doubt not in the least of this
having been one cause of the multiplication of divinities
in the heathen world. The belief of dryads and naiads,
of the genius of the wood and the god of the river,
among men of lively imaginations, in the parly ages of
the world, easily arose from this turn of mind. V\ hen
their favourite rural objects had often been animated in
their fancy, it was an easy transition to attribute to them
some real'divinity, some unseen power or genius which
inhabited them, or in some peculiar manner belonged to
them. Imagination was highly gratified, by thus gain-
iim- somewhat to rest upon with more stability 5 and
when belief coincided so much with imagination, very
slight causes would he sufficient to establish it.
“ From this deduction may be easily seen how it
comes to pass that personification makes so great a fi¬
gure in all compositions where imagination or passion
have any concern. On innumerable occasions it is the
very language of imagination and passion; and therefore
deserves to be attended to, and examined with peculiar
care. There are three different degrees of this figure,
which it is necessary to remark and distinguish, in or¬
der to determine the propriety of its use. 1 he first is,
when some of the properties or qualities of living crea¬
tures are ascribed to inanimate objects ; the second,
when those inanimate objects are introduced as acting
like such as have life ; and the third, when they are
represented either as speaking to us, or as listening to
what we say to them. ’
The ingenious professor goes on to investigate the na¬
ture of personification at considerable length. We shall
give his caution for the use of it in prose compositions ^
in which he informs us this figure requires to be used
with great moderation and delicacy. . “ I he same li¬
berty is not allowed to the imagination there as m
poetry. The same assistances cannot be obtained for
raising passion to its proper height by the force of num¬
bers and the glow of style. However, addresses to ina¬
nimate objects are not excluded from prose ; but have
their place only in the higher species of oratory. A
public speaker may on some occasions very properly ad¬
dress religion or virtue; or his native country, or some
city or province, which has suffered perhaps great cala¬
mities, or been the scene of some memorable action.
But we must remember, that as such addresses are among
the highest efforts of eloquence, they should never be at¬
tempted unless by persons of more than ordinary genius:
for if the orator fails in his design of moving our pas¬
sions by them, he is sure of being laughed at. Of all
frigid things, the most frigid are the awkward and un¬
seasonable attempts sometimes made towards such kinds
of personification, especially if they be long continued.
We see the writer or speaker toiling and labouring to
express the language of some passion which he neither
feels himself nor can make us feel. We remain not only
cold but frozen ; and are at full leisure to criticise on
the ridiculous figure which the personified object makes,
when we ought‘to have been transported with a glow of
enthusiasm/ Some of the French writers, particularly
Bossuet and Flechier, in their sermons and funeral ora¬
tions, have attempted and executed this figure, not with¬
out warmth and dignity. Their works are exceedingly
worthy of being consulted for instances of this and of
several other ornaments of style. . Indeed the vivacity
and ardour of the French genius is more suited to this
bold species of oratory, than the more correct but less
animated genius of the British, who in their piose
works very rarely attempt any of the high figures of
eloquence.”
Personify.
ing.
PERSPECTIVE.
PERSPECTIVE is the art of drawing on a plane
surface true resemblances or pictures of objects, as
the objects themselves appear to the eye from any di¬
stance and situation, real or imaginary.
It was in the 16th century that Perspective was re¬
vived, or rather reinvented. It owes its birth to paint¬
ing, and particularly to that branch of it which was em¬
ployed in the decorations of the theatre, where land¬
scapes were properly introduced, and which would have
looked unnatural and horrid if the size of the objects
had not been pretty nearly proportioned to their distance
from the eye. We learn from Vitruvius, that Agathar-
chus, instructed by JEschylus, was the first who wrote
upon this subject ; and that afterwards the principles
of the art were more distinctly taught by Democritus
and Anaxagoras, the disciples of Agatfiarchus. Of
the theory of this art, as described by them, we know
nothing ; since none of their writings have escaped
the general wreck that was made of ancient literature
in the dark ages of Europe. However, the revival of
painting in Italy was accompanied with a revival of this
The first person who attempted to lay down the rules
of perspective was Pietro del Borgo, an Italian. He
supposed objects to be placed beyond a transparent ta¬
blet, and endeavoured to trace the images which rays of
light, emitted from them, would make upon it. But
we do not know what success he had in this attempt,
because the book which he wrote upon the subject is
not now extant. It is, however, very much commend¬
ed by the famous Egnazio Dante ; and, upon the prin¬
ciples of Borgo, Albert Durer constructed a machine,
by which he could trace the perspective appearance ot
objects.
Balthazar Perussi studied the writings of Borgo, and
endeavoured to make them more intelligible. To him
we owe the discovery ot points of distance, to. which
all lines that make an angle of 45 degrees with the
ground-line are drawn. A little time after, Guido U-
baini, another Italian, found that all the lines that are
parallel
P E R S P E
parallel to one another, if they be inclined to the ground¬
line, converge to some point in the horizontal line ; and
that through this point also, a line drawn from the eye,
parallel to them, will pass. These principles put to¬
gether enabled him to make out a pretty complete theory
of perspective.
Great improvements wrere made in the rules of per¬
spective by subsequent geometricians ; particularly by
Professor Gravesende, and still more by Dr BrookeTay-
lor, whose principles are in a great measure new, and
far more general than any before him.
In order to understand the principles of perspective,
it will be proper to consider the plane on which the
representation is to be made as transparent, and inter¬
posed between the eye of the spectator and the object
to be represented. Hius, suppose a person at a win¬
dow looks through an upright pane of glass at any
object beyond it, and, keeping his head steady, draws
the figure of the object upon the glass with a black
lead pencil, as if the point of the pencil touched the
object itself j he would then have a true representa¬
tion of the object in perspective as it appears to his
eye.
In order to this two things are necessary : first, that
the glass be laid over with strong gum-water, which,
when dry, will be fit for drawing upon, and will retain
the traces of the pencil: and, secondly, that he looks
through a small hole in a thin plate of metal, fixed about
a foot from the glass, between it and his eye, and that
he keeps his eye close to the hole ; otherwise he might
shift the position of his head, and consequently make a
false delineation of the object.
Having traced out the figure of the object, he may
go over it again with pen and ink; and when that is
dry, put a sheet of paper upon it, and ti’ace it thereon
with a pencil : then taking away the paper and laying
it on a table, he may finish the picture by giving it the
colours, lights, and shades, as he sees them in the object
itself} and then he will have a true resemblance of the
object.
To every person who has a general knowledge of
the principles of optics, this must be self-evident: For
as vision is occasioned by pencils of rays coming in
straight lines to the eye from every point of the visible
object, it is plain that, by joining the points in the
transparent plane, through which all those pencils re¬
spectively pass, an exact representation must be formed
ol the object, as it appears to the eye in that particular
position, and at that determined distance j and were pic¬
tures of things to be always first drawn on transparent
planes, this simple operation, with the principle on
which it is founded, would comprise the whole theory
and practice of perspective. As this, however, is far
from being the case, rules must be deduced from the
sciences ol optics and geometry for drawing representa¬
tions of visible objects on opaque planes $ and the appli¬
cation of these rules constitutes what is properly called
the art of perspective.
Previous to our laying down the fundamental prin¬
ciples of this art, it may not be improper to observe,
that when a person stands right against the middle of
one end of a long avenue or walk, which is straight and
equally broad throughout, the sides thereof seem to ap¬
proach nearer and nearer to each other as they are fur-
C T I V E.
ther and further from his eye 5 or the angles, under
which their different parts are seen, become less and less
according as the distance from his eye increases; and if
the avenue be very long, the sides of it at the farthest
end will seem to meet: and there an object that would
coyer the whole breadth of the avenue, and be of a
height equal to that breadth, would appear only to be
a mere point. J
Having made these preliminary observations, we now
proceed to the practice of perspective, which is built up¬
on the following.
(Fundame?ital) THEOREM I.
I7I
Let abed (fig. 1.) represent the ground-plan of the
figure to be thrown into perspective, and efg h the
transparent plane through which it is viewed by the eye
at E. Let these planes intersect in the straight line
K L. Let B be any point in the ground plan, and BE
a straight line, the path of a ray of light from that
point to the eye. This will pass through the plane
efs h in some point b ; or B will be seen through that
point, and b will be the picture, image, or representa¬
tion of B.
If BA be drawn in the ground-plan, making any
angle BAK with the common intersection, and E\
be drawn parallel to it, meeting the picture-plane or
perspective-plane in V, and YA be drawn, the point b
is in the line VA so situated that BA is to EV as A
to b V.
For since EV and BA are parallel, the figure
BAZ>VE £ B is in one plane, cutting the perspective-
plane in the straight line VA; the triangles BA b, EV b,
are similar, and BA : EV—Z> A : Z> V.
Cor. 1. If B be beyond the picture, its picture b
is above the intersection KL ; but if B be between the
eye and the picture, as at B', its picture b' is below
KL.
2. If two other parallel lines BA', ES, be drawn,
and A', S, be joined, the picture of B is in the intersec¬
tion of the lines AV and A'S.
3. The line BA is represented by Z> A, or & A is the
picture of BA ; and if AB be infinitely extended, it
will be represented by AV. V is therefore called the
vanishing point of the line AB.
4. All lines parallel to AB are represented by lines
converging to V from the points where these lines in¬
tersect the perspective-plane; and therefore V is the
vanishing point of all such parallel hues.
5. The pictures of all lines parallel to the perspective- Fig- 4
plane are parallel to the lines themselves.
6. If through V be drawn HVO parallel to KL, the^g- 1
angle EVH is equal to BAK.
Remark, The proposition now demonstrated is not
limited to any inclination of the picture-plane to the
ground-plane; but it is usual to consider them as per¬
pendicular to each other, and the ground-plane as ho¬
rizontal. Hence the line KL is called the ground-line,
and OH the horizon line; and OK, perpendicular to
both, is called the height of the eye.
If ES be drawn perpendicular to the picture-plane,
it will cut it in a point S of the horizon-line directly
opposite to the eye. This is called the point of sight, 01
principal point.
Y 2 7. The
Plate
ccccx.
fig. I.
I72
PERSPECTIVE.
^S- 3-
7, The pictures of all vertical lines are vertical,
and the pictures of horizontal lines are horizontal,
because these lines are parallel to the perspective
Pl sT tIic point of sight S is the vanishing point of all
lines perpendicular to the perspective plane. _
The above proposition is a sufficient foundation tor
the whole practice of perspective, whether on direct or
inclined pictures, and serves to suggest all the various
practical constructions, each of which has advantages
which suit particular purposes. Writers on the subject
have either confined themselves to one construction,
from an affectation of simplicity or loudness lor system-,
or have multiplied precepts, by giving every construc¬
tion for every example, in order to make a great ooo v,
and give the subject an appearance ol importance and
difficulty. An ingenious practitioner will avoid both
extremes, and avail himself of the advantage of each
construction as it happens to suit his purpose. We shall
now proceed to the practical rules, which require no
consideration of intersecting planes, and are all perform¬
ed on the perspective plane by means of certain substi¬
tutions for the place of the eye and the original figure.
The general substitution is as follows:
Let the plane of the paper he first supposed to be
the ground-plan, and the spectator to stand at 1?
(ho-A). Let it he proposed that the ground-plan is
to be represented on a plane surface, standing perpen¬
dicularly on the line GK.L of the plan, and that the
uoint K is immediately opposite to the spectatoi,
or that FK is perpendicular to GL: then Tiv is
equal to the distance of the spectator’s eye from the
1 Now suppose a piece of paper laid on the plan with
its straight edge lying on the line GL j draw on
this paper KS perpendicular to GL, and make it
equal to the height of the eye above the ground-plan.
This may be much greater than the height of a man
because the spectator may be standing on a place much
raised above the ground-plan. Observe also that Jvb>
must be measured on the same scale on which the
o-round-plan and the distance FK were measured. 1 hen
draw HSO parallel to GL. This will be a horizontal
line, and (when the picture is set upright on GL) will
be on a level with the spectator’s eye, and the point b
will be directly opposite to his eye. It is therefore call¬
ed the principal point, or point of sight. Jhe distance of
his eye from this point will be equal to IK. Therefore
make SP (in the line SK) equal to FK, and P is the
projecting point or substitute for the place of the eye.
It is sometimes convenient to place B above S, some¬
times to one side of it on the horizontal line, and in va¬
rious other situations-, and writers, ignorant of, or in¬
attentive to, the principles of the theory, have given it
different denominations, such as point oj distance, point
of view, &c. It is merely a substitute for the point L
in fig. i. and its most natural situation is below, as in
this figure. . . ^ .
The art of perspective is conveniently divided into
Ichnography, which teaches how to make a perspec¬
tive draught of figures on a plane, commonly called the
ground-plan j and Scenography, which teaches how
to draw solid figures, or such figures as are raised above
this plan..
Fundamental Prob. I. I’o put into perspective any
given point of the ground-plan.
First general construction.
From B and P (fig. 3.) draw any two parallel lines3.
BA PV, cutting the ground-line and horizon-line in A
andV, and draw BP, AY, cutting each other mb; b
is the picture of B.
For it is evident that BA, PV, of this figure are ana¬
logous to BA and FA ot fig. I. and that BA . PA —
Z> A: A V.
If BA' he drawn perpendicular to GL, PAr will fall
on PS, and need not be drawn. A'V will he A'S.—
This is the most easy construction, and nearly the same
with Ferguson’s.
Second general construction.
Draw two lines BA, BA", and two lines PAf, PD,
parallel to them, and draw AY, A"D, cutting each
other \wb \ b is the picture of P by For. 2. Ibis con¬
struction is the foundation of all the rules of perspective
that are to be found in the books on this subject. I hey
appear in a variety of forms, owing to the ignorance or
inattention of the authors to the principles. I he rule
most generally adhered to is as follows .
Draw BA (fig. 4.) perpendicular to the groundFig.4.
line, and AS to the point of sight, and set off A/3 equal
to BA. Set off SD equal to the distance of the eye
in the opposite direction from S that /3 is from A,
where B and E of fig. 1. are on opposite sides of the
picture } otherwise set them the same way. D is called
the point of distance. Draw /3 D, cutting AS in A
This is evidently equivalent to drawing BA' and PS
perpendicular to the ground-line and horizon-line, and
BA" and PD (fig. 3.) making an angle of 450 with
these lines, with the additional puzzle about the way of
setting off A'A" and SD, which is avoided in the con-Fjg, 3.
stiuction here given.
This usual construction, however, by a perpendicular
and the point of distance, is extremely simple and con¬
venient ; and two points of distance, one on each side of
S, serve for all points of the ground plan. But the first
general construction requires still fewer lines, if BA be
drawn perpendicular to GL, because PV will then co¬
incide with PS.
Third general construction.
Draw BA (fig 4-) tlie SIven point B pcrpen-Fi& 4>
dicular to the ground-line, and AS to the point of sight.
From the point of distance D set off D d equal to BA,
on the same or the contrary sides as S, according as B is
on the same or the contrary side of the picture as the eye.
Join d. A, and draw D b parallel to d A. b is the pic¬
ture of B. For SD, D d, are equal to the distances of
the eye and given point from the picture, and SD : D
-2>S:6A.
This construction does not naturally arise from the
original lines, but is a geometrical consequence from
their position and magnitude ; and it is of all others the
most generally convenient, as the perpendicular distance
of any number of points may be arranged along SD
without confusion, and their direct situations transferred
to the ground-line by perpendiculars such as BA; and
nothing
PERSPECTIVE.
nothlug is easier tlian* drawing parallels, either bv a pa¬
rallel ruler or a bevel square, used by all who practise
drawing.
[Tig- 5- Pros. 2. To put any straight line EC (fig. 5.) of the
gi'ound plan in perspective.
Find the pictures h, c, of its extreme points by any of
the foregoing constructions, and join them by the straight
line h c.
Perhaps the following construction will be found very
generally convenient.
Produce CB till it meet the ground-line in A, and
draw PV parallel to it j join AV, and draw PB, PC,
cutting AV in b, c. V is its vanishing point, by Cor. 3.
of the fundamental theorem.
It must be left to the experience and sagacity of the
drawer to select such circumstances as are most suitable
to the multiplicity of the figures to be drawn.
Prob. 3. To put any rectilinealfigtire of the ground-plan
in perspective.
Put the bounding lines in perspective, and the pro¬
blem is solved.
The variety of constructions of this problem is very
great, and it would fill a volume to give them all.
The most generally convenient is to find the vanishing
points of the bounding lines, and connect these with
the points of their intersection with the ground line,
g. 6. For example, to put the square ABCD (fig. 6.) into
perspective.
Draw from the projecting point PV, PW, parallel to
AB, BC, and let AB, BC, CD, DA, meet the ground-
line, in «, x, 5, and draw ae V, S V, * W, /3 W, cutting
each other in a be d, the picture of the square ABCD.
The demonstration is evident.
This construction^ however, runs the figure to great
distances on each side of the middle line, when any of
the lines of the original figure are nearly parallel to the
ground-line.
g. 7. The following construction (fig. 7.) avoids this in¬
convenience.
Let D be the point of distance. Draw the perpendi¬
culars A «, B C x, D $, and the lines A. e, ^ f, C gy
D h, parallel to PD. Draw S «, S S x, S 3, and D e,
D./> D (fi ) h, cutting the former in a, b, c, d, the angles
of the picture.
It is not necessary that D be the point of distance,
only the lines A e, B &c. must be parallel to PD.
Remark. In all the foregoing constructions the ne¬
cessarylines (and even the finished picture) are frequent¬
ly confounded with the original figure. To avoid this
great inconvenience, the writers on perspective direct us
to transpose the figure} that is, to transfer it to the other
side of the ground line, by producing the perpendiculars
A«, B (3, C X, D 2, till « A/, /3 B', &c. are respectively
equafito A u, B /3, &c. •, or, instead of the original fi¬
gure, to use only its transposed: substitute A'B'G'D'.
This is an extremely proper method. But in this case
the point P must also be transposed to V above S, in
order to retain the first or most natural and simple con-
i 8. struction, as in fig; 8 ; where it is evident, that when
BA=AB', and SP—SP', and B'P'is drawn, cutting
AS in b, we have b A.: ASrrB'A: P'S^BA : PS,
and A is the pioture of B : ’whence follows the truth of-
all the subsequent constructions with the transposed
figure.
Prob. 4. To put any curvilim at figure on the ground-
plan into perspective.
Put a sufficient number of its points in perspective
by the foregoing rules, and draw a curve line through
them.
It is well known that the conic sections and some
other curves, when viewed obliquely, are conic sections
or curves of the same kind with the originals, with dif¬
ferent positions and proportions of their principal lines,
and rules may be given for describing their pictures
founded on this property. But these rules are very va¬
rious, unconnected with the general theory of perspec¬
tive, and more tedious in the execution, without being
more accurate than the general rule now given. It
would be a useless affectation to insert them in this ele¬
mentary treatise.
We come in the next place to the delineation of
figures not in a horizontal plane, and of solid figures.
For this purpose it is necessary to demonstrate the fol¬
lowing
THEOREM II.
The length of any vertical line standing on the
ground plane is to that of its picture, as the height of the
eye to the distance of the horizon line from the picture
of its foot.
Let BC (fig. 2 ) be the vertical line standing on B,Fig. 1.
and let EF be a vertical line through the eye. Make
BD equal to EF, and draw DE, CE, BE. It is evi¬
dent that DE will cut the horizon line in some pointr/,
CE will ertt the picture plane in e, and BE will cut it
in b, and that b c will be the picture of BC, and is ver¬
tical, and that BC is to ^ c as BD to b d, or as EF to
b d.
Cor. The picture of a vertical line is divided in
the same ratio as the line itself. For BC : BM=
be: b m.
Prob. 5. To put a vertical line of a given length in per¬
spective standing on a given point of the picture.
Through the given point b (fig. 9.) of the picture, Fig. 9..
draw S 6 A from the point of sight, and draw the ver¬
tical line AD, and make AE equal to the length or
height of the given line. Join ES, and draw be pa¬
rallel to AD, producing b c, when necessary, till it
cut the horizontal line in d, and we have be: bd,-=z
AE ; AD, that is, as the length of the givep lire to
the height of the eye, and & Jis the distance of the
horizon line from the point b, which is the picture of
the foot of the line. Therefore (Theor. 2.) b c is the
required picture of the vertical line.
This problem occurs frequently in views of archi¬
tecture ; and a compendious method of solving it would
be particularly convenient1. For this purpose, draw a ver¬
tical line XZ at the margin of the picture, or on a sepa¬
rate paper, and through any poirrfV of the horizondine
draw VX. Set oft XY, the height of the vertical-line,
and draw VY. Then from any points A, r, on which if.
is required1 to have the pictures of lines equal to XY,
draw bs, r f, parallel to the hsrizondldr, ami'draw the
verticals
T7.?
174
Fig. lo.
Fig. i r.
Fig- 14.
Fig- 13*
P E R S P
verticals 5 w, t v: these have the lengths required, which
may be transferred to b and i\ I his, v'ith the third
general construction for the base points, will save all the
confusion of lines which wrould arise from constructing
each line apart.
Prob. 6. To put any sloping line in perspective.
Prom the extremities of this line, suppose perpendi¬
culars meeting the ground plane in two points, which
we shall call the base points of the sloping line. Put
these base points in perspective, and draw, by last pro¬
blem, the perpendiculars from the extremities. Join
these by a straight line. It will be the picture re¬
quired.
Prob. 7. To put a square in perspective, as seen by a
person not standing right against the middle of cither
of its sides, but rather nearly even with one of its
corners.
In fig. 10. let ABCD be a true square, viewed by an
observer, not standing at 0, directly against the middle
of its sides AD, but at O almost even with its corner
D, and viewing the side AD under the angle ADD
the angle A 0 D (under which he wmuld have seen AD
from 0) being 60 degrees.
Make AD in fig. U. equal to AD in fig. 10. and
draw SP and O o‘parallel to AI)- Then’ in II-
let O be the place of the observer’s eye, and SO be
perpendicular to SP } then S shall be the point 01 sight
in the horizon SP.
Take SO in your compasses, and set that extent from
S to P } then P shall be the true point of distance, taken
according to the foregoing rules.
From A and D draw the straight lines AS and
DS ; draw also the straight line AP, intersecting DS
in C. . .
Lastly, through the point of intersection C draw BO
parallel to AD ; and ABCD in fig. n. will be a true
perspective representation of the square ABCD in fig.
10. The point M is the centre of each square, and
AMC and BMD are diagonals.
Prob. 8. To put a reticulated square in perspective, as
seen by a person standing opposite to the middle of one
of its sides.
A reticulated square is one that is divided into se¬
veral little squares, like net-work, as fig. 12. each side
of which is divided into four equal parts, and the
whole surface into four times tour (or 16) equal
squares.
Having divided this square into the given number
of lesser squares, draw the two diagonals A x C and
BxB.
Make AD in fig. 13. equal to AD in fig. 12. and di¬
vide it into four equal parts, as A e, eg,g i, and 1 D.
Draw SP for the horizon, parallel to AD, and,
through the middle point g of AD, draw OS perpendi¬
cular to AD and SP.—Make S the point of sight, and
O the place of the observer’s eye.
Take SP equal to SO, and P shall be the true point
of distance.—Draw AS and DS to the point of sight,
and AP to the point of distance, intersecting DS in
C : then draw BC parallel to AD, and the outlines of
the reticulated square ABCD will be finished.
From the division points e,g,i, draw the straight lines
E C T I V E.
ef g h, i k, tending towards the point of sight S ; and
draw' BD for one of the diagonals of the square, the
other diagonal AC being already drawn.
Through the points r and 5, where these diagonals
cut ef and ik, draw Im parallel to AD. Through the
centre-point x, where the diagonals cut g h, draw n o
parallel to AD.—Lastly, through the points v and w,
where the diagonals cut ef and i k, draw p q parallel to
AD j and the reticulated perspective square will be
finished.
This square is truly represented, as if seen by an ob¬
server standing at O, and having his eye above the ho¬
rizontal plane ABCD on which it is drawn } as if OS
was the height of his eye above that plane : and the
lines which form the small squares within it have the
same letters of reference with those in fig. 1 2. which is
drawn as it would appear to an eye placed perpendicu¬
larly above its centre x.
Prob. 9. To put a circle in perspective.
If a circle be viewed by an eye placed directly over
its centre, it appears perfectly round, but it it be ob¬
liquely viewed, it appears of an elliptical shape. This
is plain by looking at a common wine-glass set upright
on a table.
Make a true reticulated square, as fig. 12. of the same Fig<
diameter as you would have the circle ; and setting one
foot of the compasses in the centre x, describe as large
a circle as the sides of the square wull contain. Then,
having put this reticulated square into perspective, as in
fig. 13. observe through what points ol the cross lines
and diagonals of fig. 12. the circle passes ; and through
the like points in fig. 13. draw the ellipsis, which will
be as true a perspective representation of the circle, as
the square in fig, 13. is of the square in fig. 12.
This is Mr Ferguson’s rule for putting a circle in
perspective ; but the following rules by Wolf are per¬
haps more universal.
If the circle to be put in perspective be small, de¬
scribe a square about it. Draw first the diagonals of
the square, and then the diameters h a and d e (fig. 14.) Fig. 14.
cutting one another at right angles j draw the straight
lines fg and b c parallel to the diameter de. Through
b anil/, and likewise c and g, draw straight lines meet¬
ing DE, the ground line of the picture in the points 3
and 4. To the principal point V draw the straight lines
1 V, 3 V, 4 V, 2 V, and to the points of distance L and
K, 2 L and 1 K. Lastly, join the points of intersection,
a, b, d, f h, g, e, c, by the arcs a b, b d, df and ab dfh
g e c a will be the circle in perspective.
If the circle be large so as to make the foregoing
practice inconvenient, bisect the ground line AB, de¬
scribing, from the point of bisection as a centre, the
semicircle AGB (fig. 15.), and from any number of Fig. 15.
points in the circumference C, F, G, H, I, &c. draw to
the ground line the perpendiculars C 1, F 2, G 3, H 4,
I 5, &c. From the points A, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5>draw
straight lines to the principal point or point of sight V,
likewise straight lines from B and A to the points of di¬
stance L and K. Through the common intersections
draw straight lines as in the preceding case j and you
will have the points a, c,f g, h, i, b, representatives of
A, C, F, G, H, I, B. Then join the points 0, c,f,
&c. as formerly directed, and you have ,the perspective
circle acfghibihgfc a.
Hence
r75
P E R s P ;
Hence it is apparent how we may put not only a cir¬
cle but also a pavement laid with stones of any form in
perspective. It is likewise apparent how useful the
square is in perspective j for, as in the second case, a true
square was described round the circle to be put in
perspective, and divided into several smaller squares,
' so 111 tlus third case we make use of the semicirele,
only for the sake of brevity instead of that square and
circle.
Pros, i o. To put a reticulated square in perspective as
seen by a person not standing right against the middle
of either of its sides, but rather nearly even with one
of its corners.
In fig. 16. let O be the place of an observer, viewing
the square ABCD almost even with its corner X).—
Draw at pleasure SP for the horizon, parallel to AD,
and make SO perpendicular to SP: then S shall be the
point of sight, and P the true point of distance, if SP
be made equal to SO.
Draw AS and DS to the point of sight, and AP to
the point of distance, intersecting DS in the point C 3
then draw EC parallel to AD, and the outlines of the
perspective square will he finished. This done, draw
the lines which form the lesser squ:h-es, as taught in
Prob. 8. and the work will be completed.—You mav
put a perspective circle in this square by the same rule
as it was done in fig. 13.
Pros. 14. To put a cube in perspective, as if viewed
by a person standing almost even with one of its
edges, and seeing three of its sides.
In fig. 17. let AB be the breadth of either of the six
equal square sides of the cube AGf 3 O the place of the
observer, almost even with the edge CD of the cube, S
the point of sight, SP the horizon parallel to AD, and
P the point of distance taken as before.
Make ABCD a true square ; draw BS and CS to
the point of sight, and BP to the point of distance, in¬
tersecting CS in G—Then draw FG parallel to BC,
and the uppermost perspective square side BFGCof the
cube will be finished.
Draw DS to the point of sight, and AP to the
point of distance, intersecting DS in the point I: then
draw GI parallel to CD 3 and, if the cube be an 0-
paque one, as of wood or metal, all the outlines of it
will be finished 3 and then it may be shaded as in the
figure.
But it you want a perspective view of a transparent
glass cube, all the sides of which will be seen, draw
AH toward the point of sight, FH parallel to BA
and HI parallel to AD : then AHID will be the
square base of the cube, perspectively parallel to the
top BFGC 3 ABFH will be the square side of the
cube, parallel to CGhD, and 1 GIF! will be the square
side parallel to ABCD.
As to the shading part of the work, it is such mere
children’s play, in comparison of drawing the lines
which form the shape of any object, that no rules need
be given for it. Let a person sit with his left side to¬
ward a window, and he knows full well, that if any
solid body be placed on a table before him, the light
will fall on the left-hand side of the body, and the
right-hand side will be in the shade. .
C T I V E.
Pros. 13. To put any solid in perspective.
Put the base of the solid, whatever it be, in perspec¬
tive by the preceding rules. From each bounding
point of the base, raise lines representing in perspective
1 e altitude of the object 3 by joining these lines and
shading the figure according to the directions in the
preceding problem, you will have a scenographic re¬
presentation of the object. This rule is general 3 but
as its application to particular cases may not be appa¬
rent, it will be proper to give the following example
of it. r
Prob. 16. To put a cube in perspective as seen from
one of its angles.
Since the base of a cube standing on a geometrical
p ane, and seen from one of its angles, is a square seen
from one of its angles, draw first such a perspective
square : then raise from any point of the ground-line
DL (fig. 18.) the perpendicular HI equal to the side offig. is.
the square, and draw to any point V in the horizontal
line HR the straight lines VI and VH. From the
angles d, b, and c, draw the dotted lines d 2 and c 1 pa¬
rallel to the ground line DE. Perpendicular to those
dotted lines, and from the points 1 and 2, draw the
straight lines L 1 and M 2. Lastly, since HI is the al¬
titude of the intended cube in c, L 1 in c and b, M 2
in d, draw from the point a the straight line f c perpen¬
dicular to a L, and from the points b and c, b g and c e,
perpendicular to bc\, and abdc being according to
rule, make af=m, bg~ec=L x, and h d=M 2.
T hen, if the pointsg-, h, e,f be joined, the whole cube
will be in perspective.
Prob, 17. To put a square pyramid in perspective, as
standing upright on its base, and viewed obliquely.
In fig. ip. let AD be the breadth of either of the jrj,--
four sides of the pyramid ATCD at its base ABCD j
and MT its perpendicular height. Let O be the place
of the observer, S his point of sight, SE his horizon, pa¬
rallel to AD and perpendicular to OS 3 and let the
proper point of distance be taken in SE produced to¬
ward the left hand, as far from S as O is from S.
Draw AS and DS to the point of sight, and DL
to the point of distance, intersecting AS in the point
B. Then, from B, draw BC parallel to AD 3 and
ABCD shall be the perspective square base of the py¬
ramid.
Draw the diagonal A.C, intersecting the other dia¬
gonal BD at M, and this point of intersection shall be
the centre of the square base.
Draw MT perpendicular to AD, and of a length
equal to the intended height of the pyramid: then
draw the straight outlines AT, CT, and DT 5 and the .
outlines of the pyramid (as viewed from O) will be fi¬
nished 3 which being done, the whole may be so shaded
as to give it the appearance of a solid body.
If the observer had stood at 0, he could have only
seen the side ATD of the pyramid 3 and two is the
greatest number of sides that he could see from any
other place of the ground. But if he were at any
height above the pyramid, and had his eye directly
over its top, it would then appear as in fig. 20. and he jq,,
would see all its four sides E, F, G, H, with its top t,
just over the centre of its square base ABCD ; which •
r would
176
PERSPECTIVE.
J’ig. 21.
would be a true geometrical and not a perspective
square.
Prob. 18. To put two equal squares in perspective, one
of which shall be directly over the other, at any given
distance from it, and both of them parallel to the
plane oj the horizon.
In Go-. 21. let ABCD be a perspective square on a
horizontal plane, drawn according to the foregoing rules,
S being the point of sight, SP the horizon (parallel to
AD), and P the point of distance.
Suppose AD, the breadth of this square to be three
feet; and that it is required to place just such another
square EFGII directly above it, parallel to it and two
feet from it.
Make AE and DH perpendicular to AD, and two
thirds of its length: draw EH, which will be equal
and parallel to AD; then draw ES and HS to the
point of sight S, and EP to the point of distance P,
intersecting HS in the point G : tins done, (.raw T G
Fk. 22.
STig. 23.
Fig- 24.
draw Ft
parallel to" EH ; and you will have two perspective
squares ABCD and EFGH, equal and parallel to one
another, the latter directly above the former, and two
feet distant from it; as was required.
By this method shelves ma> be drawn parallel to one
another, at any distance from each other in proportion
to their length.
Prob. 19. To put a truncated pyramid in perspective.
Let the pyramid to be put in perspective be quin-
quangular. If from each angle of the surface whence
the top is cut off, a perpendicular be supposed to fall
upon the base, these perpendiculars will mark the
bounding-points of a pentagon, of which the sides will
be parallel to the s-des of the base of the pyramid,
within which it is inscribed. Join these points, and the
interior pentagon will be formed with its longest side
parallel to the longest side of the base of the pyramid.
From the ground line EH (fig. 22.) raise the perpen¬
dicular IH, and make it equal to the altitude of the in¬
tended pyramid. To any point V draw the straight
dines IV and HV, and by a process similar to that in
Prob. 16. determine the scenographical altitudes a, b,c,
d, e. Connect the upper points/, g, h, 1, k, by straight
lines; and draw Ik, fm, g n, and the perspective of
the truncated pyramid will be completed.
Cor. If in a geometrical plane two concentric cir¬
cles be described, a truncated cone may be put in
perspective in the same manner as a truncated py ra¬
mid.
Prob. 20. To put in perspective a hollow prism lying
on one of its sides.
Let ABDEC (fig. 23.) be a section of such a prism.
Draw HI parallel to AB, and distant from it the
breadth of the side on which the prism rests -, and from
each angle internal and external of the prism let fall
perpendiculars to HI. The parallelogram will be thus
divided by the ichnographical process below the ground¬
line, so as that the side AB of the real prism will be
parallel to the corresponding side of the scenographic
view of it."*To determine the altitude of the internal
and external angles. From H (fig. 24.) raise HI per¬
pendicular to the ground-line, and on it mark otl the
true altitudes H J, H 2, H 3, H 4, and H 5. Then if
5
from any point V in the horizon be drawn the straight
lines VH, V 1, V 2, V 3, V 4, V 5 or V IJ by a pro¬
cess similar to that of tin preceding problem, will be
determined the height of the internal angles, viz. i_
« o, 2=b b, ^-dd i and of the external angles, 3_c c
and iz=ce; and when these angles are formed and put
in their proper places, the scenograph of the prism is
complete.
Prob. 21. To put a square table in perspective, stand¬
ing on four upright square legs oj any given length
with respect to the breadth of the table.
In fur. 2i. let ABCD be the square part of the floor Fig. 21.
on which the table is to stand, and EFGH the surface
of tiie square table, parallel to the floor.
Suppose the table to be three feet in breadth, and its
height from the floor to be two feet ; then two thirds
of AD or EH will be the length of the legs 1 and k;
the other two (/ and m) being of the same length in
perspective.
Having drawn the two equal and parallel squares
ABCD and EFGH, as shown in Prob. 18. let the legs
be square in form, and fixed into the table at a distance
from its edges equal to their thickness. Take A a and
D d equal to the intended thickness of the legs, ani. ab
and dc also equal thereto. Draw the diagonals AC
and BD, and draw straight lines from the points a, b,c,
d, towards the point of sight S, and terminating at the
side BC. Then, through the points where these lines
cut the diagonals, draw the straight lines n and 0, p
and q, parallel to AD ; and you will have formed
four perspective squares (like ABCD in fig. 19.) lot Fig. 19.
the bases of the four legs of the table: and then it is
easy to draw the four upright legs by parallel lines,
all perpendicular to AD ; and to shade them as in the
figure. . . ,,
To represent the intended thickness of the table-
board, draw e h parallel to EH, and HG toward the
point of sight S : then shade the spaces between these
lines, and the perspective figure of the table will be
finished.
Prob. 22. To put five square pyramids in perspective,
standing upright on a square pavement composed oj
the sin faces o/'8i cubes.
In fig. 25. let ABCD be a perspective square drawn Fig. 25-
according to the foregoing rules; S the point of sight,
P the point of distance in the horizon PS, and AC and
BD the two diagonals of the square.
Divide the side AD into 9 equal parts (because 9
times 9 is 81) as A a, a b, b c, &c. and from these
points of division, c, b, c, d, &c. draw lines toward the
point of sight S, terminating at the furthermost side BC
of the square. Then, through the points where these
lines cut the diagonals, draw straight lines parallel to
AD, and the perspective square ABCD will be subdi¬
vided into 81 lesser squares, representing the upper
surfaces of 81 cubes, laid close to one another’s sides
in a square form.
Draw AK and DL, each equal to Aa, and per¬
pendicular to AD; and draw LN toward the point
of sight S : then draw KL parallel to AD, and its di¬
stance from AD will be equal to A a.—This done,
draw al, c m, c n, do, ep, f q, g r. and h s, all para -
lei to AK ; and the space ADLK will be subdivided
into
into nine equal squares, wliich are the outer upright
surfaces of the nine cubes in the side AD of the square
ABCD. 1
From the points where the lines, which are parallel
to AD in this square, meet the side CD thereof, draw
short lines to LN, a!i parallel to DXj, and they will di¬
vide that side into the outer upright surfaces of the nine
cubes which compose it: and then the outsides of all the
cubes that can be visible to an observer, placed at a pro¬
pel distance from the corner D of the square, will be
finished.
As taught in Prob. 17. place the pyramid AE up¬
right on its square base A t v a, making it as high as
you please $ and the pyramid DH on its square'base
// u w D, of equal height with AE.
Draw EH from the top of one of these pyramids
to the top of the other j and EH will be parallel to
AD.
Draw ES and HS to the point of sight S, and PIP to
the point of distance P, intersecting ES in F.
From the point F, draw FG parallel to EH ; then
draw FG, and you will have a perspective square EFGH
(parallel to ABCD) with its two diagonals EG and
FH, intersecting one another in the centre of the square
at I. ^ The four corners of this square, E, F, G, H
give the perspective heights of the four pyramids AE,’
Bf, CG, and DH ; and the intersection I of the dia¬
gonals gives the height of the pyramid MI, the centre
of whose base is the centre of the perspective square
ABCD. 1
. Lastly, place the three pyramids BF, CG, MI, up¬
right on their respective bases at B, C, and M ; and the
required perspective representation will be finished as in
the figure.
PERSPECTIVE.
Hk parallel to AD, and you will have the second per¬
spective square GHKI of the parallelogram Go on in
this manner till you have drawn as many perspective
squares up toward S as you please.
'1 hrough the point e, where DG intersect g S, draw
b f parallel to AD ; and you will have formed the two
perspective square bases Abed and e fH g 0f the two
pyramids at A and D.
Irom the point/(the upper outward corner of e f
D g) draw/b toward the point of distance, till it meets
Ab in /i; then, from this point of meeting, draw A m
parallel to GI, and you will have formed the two per¬
spective squares Ghtk and Imln, for the square bases
of the two pyramids at G and I.
Proceed in the same manner to find the bases of all
the other pyramids, at the corners of the rest of the
perspective squares in the parallelogram ABCD as
shown by the figure.— Then,
Having placed the first two pyramids at A and D
upright on their square bases, as shown in Prob o
vo ma1dvo e"1 °f a”y eqUal heiShts at P^asure, draw
Fo and r S from the tops of these pyramids to the point
of sight b : place all the rest of the pyramids upright
On their respective bases, making their tops touch the
straight lines ES and FS ; and all the work, except the
shading part, will be finished.
Prob. 24. To put a square pyramid of equal sized
cubes in perspective.
. l'lS- 27- represents a pyramid of this kind 5 consist-Fl¬
ing as it were of square tables of cubes, one table
above another; 81 in the lowest, 49 in the next 2c
in the third, 9 in the fourth, and 1 in the fifth or up¬
permost. Ihese are the square numbers of o 7 r *
and 1. h •>’
Prob. 23. To put upright pyramids in perspective, on
the sides' of an oblong square or parallelogram ; so
that their distances from one another shall be equal to
the breadth of the pai'allelogram.
In most of the foregoing operations we have consi¬
dered the observer to be so placed, as to have an ob¬
lique view of the perspective objects : in this, we shall
suppose him to have a direct view of fig. 26. that is,
standing right against the middle ©f the end AD which
is nearest to his eye, and viewing AD under an angle
of 60 degrees.
HQavlng CIJ,: AD in the middle, by the perpendicular
line S,y, take S therein at pleasure for the point of sight,
and draw ES for the horizon, parallel to AD Here
\ s n.uis^ supposed to be produced downward, below
t.ie limits of the plate, to the place of the observer ; and
SE to be produced towards the left hand beyond E, far
enough to take a proper point of distance therein, ac¬
cording to the foregoing rules.
Lake A d at pleasure, and D g equal to A d, for the
breadths of the square bases of the two pyramids AE
and DF next the eye : then draw AS and d S, and like¬
wise DS and g S, to the point of sight S ; and DG on
to the point of distance, intersecting AS in G : then,
from G draw GI parallel to AD, you will have the
ABC DrS^eC^Ve SfiUare AGID of the parallelogram
From I draw IH to (or toward) the point of dis¬
tance, imersecting AS in H: then, from II draw
A Oi.. XVI. Part I. f
If the artist is already master of all the precedino-
operations, he will find less difficulty in this than in at>
tending to the following description'of it : for it cannot
be described in a few words, but may be executed in a
very short time.
ln0% 2^‘ liav*ng drawn PS for the horizon, and ta-
ken S for the point of sight therein (the observer bein.r
at O) draw AD parallel to PS for the side (next the
eye) of the first or lowermost table of cubes. Draw
AS and DS to the point of sight S, and DP to the
point of distance P, intersecting AS in the point B.
Then, from B, draw BC parallel to AD, and you will
have the surface ABCD of the first table.
Divide AD into nine equal parts, as A o, a b, b c,
c d, &c. then make AK and DL equal to A a, and per¬
pendicular to AD. Draw KL parallel to AD, and
from the points of equal division at a, b, c, &c. draw
lines to KL, all parallel to AK. Then draw AS to
the point of sight S, and from the division points a, b,c
&c. draw lines with a black lead pencil, all tending to¬
wards the point of sight, till they meet the diagonal BD
of the square.
From these points of meeting draw black lead lines
to DC, all parallel to AD ; then draw the parts of these
lines with black ink which are marked 1, 2, 5, 4 &c.
between h E and DC. J ^
. Having drawn the first of these lines /3 q with black
ink, draw the parts a i, b k, c /, &c. (of the former
lines which met the diagonal BD) with black ink also ;
and xub out the rest of the black lead lines, which
^ would
178
would otherwise confuse the following part of the work.
Then draw LF towards the point of sight b •, and, tiom
the points where the lines 1, 2, 3, 4> &c- lin®
DC, draw lines down to LF, all parallel to DL , and
all the visible lines between the cubes in the first table
will be finished. 1 „ AT
Make i G equal and perpendicular to /3 t, and q M
equal and parallel to i G *, then draw GM, which will
be equal and parallel to i q. From the points/r, l, m, n,
&c. draw k, n, l 0, m p, &c. all parallel to / G, and the
outsides of the seven cubes m the side G q of the secon l
table will be finished. , ^ t c t MP
Draw GS and MS to the point of sight S, and Mt
to the point of distance P, intersecting Gb in rl j then,
from the point of intersection H, 6 p°
AD and you will have the surface GHIM of the se¬
cond table of cubes. .. . , i
From the points «, 0, p, q, &c. draw black lead
lines toward the point of sight S, till they nice
diagonal MH of the perspective square surface um.u;
and draw SM, with black ink, toward the point of
bl&From those points where the lines drawn from «, 0,
p, q, &c. meet the diagonal M H , draw black lead ones
to MI, all parallel to AD •, only draw the whole firs,
line y 1 with black ink, and the parts 2, 3, 4, am
« L 0 u,p v, &c. of the other lines between y ^ and
MI, and GM and y 1, with the sameand rub out all
the rest of the black lead lines, to avoid further contu¬
sion. Then, from the points where the short lines 1,
2 3 &c. meet the line MI, draw lines down to q l^,
all parallel to M q, and the outer surfaces of the seven
cubes in the side ME will be finished 5 and all these
last lines will meet the former parallels 2, 3, 4, die. m
the line <7 E. , 1 , p
Make t O equal and perpendicular to y t, and y i
equal and parallel to * O ; then draw OP, which will
he equal and parallel to t y—Tins done draw Ob and
PS to the point of sight S, and PP to the point of dis¬
tance P in the horizon. Lastly, from the P011^
where PP intersects OS, draw QR parallel to Or ;
and you will have the outlines OQRP of the surface of
the third perspective table of cubes.
From the points v, v, w, x, draw upright lines to
OP, all parallel to t O, and you will have the outer
surfaces of the five cubes in the side O y of this third
^Fr’om the points where these upright lines meet OP,
draw lines toward the point of sight S, till they meet
the diagonal PQ *, and from these points of meeting
draw lines to PR, all parallel to OP, making the parts
2 3 4 c of these lines with black ink which he be¬
tween ZY and PR. Then, from the points where these
lines meet PR, draw lines down to y N ; which will
bound the outer surfaces of the five cubes in the side
PN of the thiid table.
Draw the line ^ I with black ink j and, at a fourth
part of its length between $ and Z, draw an upright
line to S, equal in length to that fourth part, and ano¬
ther equal and parallel thereto from Z to V : then draw
SV parallel to 5 Z, and draw the two upright and equi¬
distant lines between $ Z and SV, and you will have the
outer surfaces of the three cubes in the side SZ of the
fourth table. _ „ . , ,
Draw SS and VS to the point of sight S m the ho-
PERSPECTIVk.
rizon, and VP to the point of distance therein, intersect¬
ing SS in T j then draw TU parallel to S\ , and you
have STUV, the surface of the fourth table, which be¬
ing reticulated or divided into 9 perspective small
squares, and the uppermost cube W placed on the »u
die most of the squares, all the outlines will be finished^
and when the whole is properly shaded, as in tig. 27.
the work wbll he done.
Prob. 25. To represent a double cross in perspective.
In fig. 2Q. let ABCD and EFGH be the two per- Fig. 2,.
spective squares, equal and parallel to one another, the
uppermost directly above the lowermost, drawn by the
rules already laid down, and as far asunder as is equal
to the given height of the upright part of the cross 5 b
being the point of sight, and P the point of distance, in
the horizon PS taken parallel to AD. .
Draw AE, DH, and CG j then AEHD and
DHGC shall be the two visible sides of the upright
part of the cross j of which, the length AE is here
made equal to three times the breadth EH.
Divide DH into three equal parts, HI, iK, ami " ''•
Through these points of division, at I and L, draw M U
and PR parallel to AD ; and make the parts M , I U,
PQ, KE, each equal to HI : then draw MP ami 01.
parallel to DH. . f
From M and O, draw MS and OS to the point of
sight S; and from the point of distance P draw PA
cutting MS in T : from T draw TL parallel to MO,
and meeting OS in U •, and you will have the upper¬
most surface MTUO of one of the cross pieces of the
figure. From R, draw RS to the point of sight S-,
and from U draw UV parallel to OR J and 0U\ R
shall be the perspective square end next the eye ot that
cross part. , • .
Draw PMX (as long as you please) from the point
of distance P, through the corner M; lay a ruler to N
and S, and draw XN from tlu line PX:—then lay the
ruler to I and S, and draw YZS.—Draw XT parallel
to MO, and make XW and YB equal and perpendi¬
cular to XY: then draw WB parallel to XT and
WXYB shall be the square visible end ot the other
cross part of the figure. . 0 , f Tt
Draw BK toward the point of sight S j and trornlJ
draw UP to the point of distance P, intersecting \ S
in Z : then, from the intersection Z, draw Z « parallel
to MO, and Z b parallel to HD, and the whole deli¬
neation will be finished. _
This done, shade the whole, as in fig. 30. and you ^.30.
will have a true perspective representation ot a double
cross.
Prob. 26. To put three rows of upright square objects
in perspective, equal in size, and at equal distance*
from each other, on an oblong square plane, the
breadth of which shall be of any assigned proportion
to the length thereof.
Elg. 31. is a perspective representation of an oblong Fig- 3*-
square plane, three times as long as it is broad, having
a row of nine upright square objects on each side and
one of the same number in the middle j all equally high,
and at equal distances from one another, both long-wise
and cross-wise, on the same plane. . - . , . p F-Jir. 32.
In fig. 32. PS is the horizon, S the point of sight, P *
PERSPECTIVE
the point of distance, and AD (parallel to PS) the
breadth of the plane.
Draw AS, NS, and DS, to the point of sight Sj the
point N being in the middle of the line AD : and draw
DP to the point of distance P, intersecting AS in the
point B : then, from B draw BC parallel to AD, and
you have the perspective square ABCD.
Through the point z’, where DB intersects NS, draw
a e parallel to AD ; and you will have subdivided the
perspective square ABCD into four lesser squares, as
A « z N, N z e D, « B & z', and i k Q e.
I rom the point C (at the top of the perspective
square ABCD) draw CP to the point of distance P,
intersecting AS in E 5 then from the point E draw EF
parallel to AD ; and you will have the second perspec¬
tive square BEFC.
Through the point /, where CE intersects NS, draw
6y'parallel to AD; and you will have subdivided the
square BEFC into the four squares B b l k, k l f C.
b E m /, and l mY f
1 1'oni the point F (at the top of the perspective
square BEFC) draw FP to the point of distance P, in¬
tersecting AS in I; then from the point I draw IK pa¬
rallel to AD ; and you will have the third perspective
square EIKF.
Through the point n, where FI intersects NS, draw
eg parallel to AD ; and you will have subdivided the
square EIKF into four lesser squares, Ec zz m, m ng F,
cion, and zz 0 K g.
From the point K (at the top of the third perspective
square EIKF') draw KP to the point of distance P, in¬
tersecting AS in L; then from the point L draw LM
parallel to AD ; and you will have the fourth perspec¬
tive square TLMK.
Through the point p, where EL intersects NS, draw
d h parallel to AD ; and you will have subdivided the
square ILMK into thefour lesser squareslz/0 p /zK,
d L q p, and /z <7 M /z.
Thus we have formed an oblong square ALMD,
whose perspective length is equal to four times its breadth,
and it contains 16 equal perspective squares.—If greater
length was still wanted, we might proceed further on
toward S.
Take A 3, equal to the intended breadth of the side
of the upright square object AQ (all the other sides
being of the same breadth), and AO for the intended
height. Draw O 18 parallel to AD, and make D 8
and 4 7 equal to A 3 ; then draw 3 S, 4 S, 7 S, and
8 S to the point of sight S ; and among them we shall
have the perspective square bases of all the 27 upright
objects on the plane.
Through the point 9, where DB intersects 8 S, draw
I 10 parallel to AD, and you have the three perspec¬
tive square bases A 1 23, 4567, 8 9 10 D, of the
three upright square objects at A, N, and D.
Through the point 21, where eb intersects 8 S,
draw 14, 11 parallel to AD ; and you will have the
three perspective squares, a 14 15 16 17 18 19 20, and
21 He 22, for the bases of the second cross row of
objects; namely, the next beyond the first three at A,
N, andD. '
Through the point w, where CE intersects 8 S, draw
a line parallel to BC ; and you will have three perspec¬
tive squares, at B, k, and C, for the base of the third
row of objects ; one of which is set up at B.
Through the point .r, where/c intersects 8 S, draw
a line paiallel to b f $ and you will have three perspec¬
tive squares, at 6, /, and x, for the bases of the fourth
cross row of objects.
Go on in this manner, as you see in the figure, to
find the rest of the square bases, up to LM; and you
wdll have 27 upon the whole oblong square plane, on
which you are to place the like number of objects, as
in fig. 31.
Having assumed AO for the perspective height of
the three objects at A, N, and D (fig. 32.) next the
observer’s eye, and drawn O 18 parallel to AD, in
order to make the objects at N and D of the same
height as that at O ; and having drawn the upright
lines 4 15, 7 W, 8 X, and D 22, for the heights at N
and D ; draw OS and RS, 15 S and WS, XS and
22 S, all to the point of sight S : and these lines will
determine the perspectively equal heights of all the rest
of the upright objects, as shown by the two placed at
a and B.
To draw the square tops of these objects, equal and
parallel to their bases, we only need give one example,
which will serve for all.
Draw 3 R and 2 Q parallel to AO, and up to the
line RS ; then draw PQ parallel to OR, and OPQR
shall be the top of the object at A, equal and parallel
to its square base A 1 2 3.—In the same easy way the
tops of all the other objects are formed.
When all the rest of the objects are delineated, shade
them properly, and the whole perspective scheme will
have the appearance of fig. 31.
Pkoe. 27. To put a square box in perspective, contain¬
ing a given number of lesser square boxes of a depth
equal to their width.
Let the given number of little square boxes or cells Fig.
be 16, then 4 of them make the length of each side of
the four outer sides a- b, b c, c d, da, as in fig. 33. and
the depth af is equal to the width a e. Whoever can
drawr the reticulated square, by the rules laid down to¬
wards the beginning of this article, will be at no loss
about putting this perspective scheme in practice.
Prob. 28. To put stairs with equal and parallel steps
in perspective.
In fig. 34. let a b he the given breadth of each step,™- ,
and a i the height thereof. Make b c,cd, d c, &c. 18
each equal to a b; and draw all the upright lines
a i, b l, c n, dp, &c. perpendicular to a h (to which
the horizon 5 S is parallel) ; and from the points i, l,
n, p, r, &c. draw the equidistant lines i B, / C, n D,
&c. parallel to a h; these distances being equal to that
of i B from a h.
Draw x i touching all the corner-points l, n,p, r, t,
v ; and draw 2 16 parallel to x i, as far from it as you
want the length of the steps to be.
Toward the point of sight S draw the lines a 1, i 2,
£ 3, /q, &c. and draw 16 15, 14 13, 12 11, 10 9, 8 7,
6 5> 4 3, and 2 1, all parallel to A h, and meeting
the lines w \$,u 13, s II, &c. in the points 15, 13, 1 r,
9> 7> 5> 3> and 1 : then from these points draw 1514,
13 1 2, 1 1 10, 9 3; 7 6, 5 4, and 3 2, all parallel to h a;
and the outlines of the steps will be finished From
the point 16 draw 16 A parallel to/z zz, and k x \G
will be part of the flat at the top of the uppermost step.
i8o
Fig. 35-
Fig. 36.
Fig. 37
P E R S P
This done, shade the work as in fig. JJ. and the whole
will be finished.
Pros. 29. To put stairs with flats and opening in
perspective, standing on a horizontal pavement oj
squares.
In fie;. 26. having made S the point of sight, and
drawn a recticulated pavement AB with black lead
lines, which may be rubbed out again *, at any distance
from the side AB of the pavement which is nearest to
the eye, and at any point where you choose to begin the
stair at that distance, as c, draw Go parallel to B. ,
and take a 6 at pleasure for the height of each step.
Take a b in your compasses, and set that extent as
many times upward from F to E as is equal to the first
required number of steps O, N, M, L, K; and from
these points of division in EF draw 1 b, 2(/, 3/, 4'b
and EA:, all equidistant from one another, and parallel
to Fa: then draw the equidistant upright lines a 6,
t d, uf, v h, w k, and I m, all perpendicular to 1' a :
then draw m b, touching the outer corners of these steps
at m, k, h, f, d, and b; and draw n s parallel to mb,
as far from it as you want the length of the steps i\, G,
M, N, O to be.
Towards the point of sight S draw m n, l $, ko, 1 o,
hp, fq, dr, and b s. Then parallel to the bottom-
line BA) through the points n, o,p, <7, r, s, draw n 8 j
J, 14; 6, 15; 7. ■6; >- >7i »“<! "',l"cl’ d,°"e’
draw n 5 and 06 parallel to Im, and the outlines of the
steps K, L, M, N, O will be finished.
At equal distances with that between the lines mark¬
ed 8 and 14, draw the parallel lines above marked 9
jo 11 12 and 13 j and draw perpendicular lines up¬
wards from the points n, 0, p, q, r, s, as m the %«i e-
Make H m equal to the intended breadth of the ilat
above the square opening at the left hand, and draw
HW toward the point of sight S, equal to the intended
length of the flat: then draw WP parallel to Hm, and
the outlines of the flat will be finished.
Take the width of the opening at pleasure, as from
F to C, and draw CD equal and parallel to FE. Draw
GH parallel to CD, and the short lines marked 33, 34,
&c. iust even with the parallel lines 1, 2, &c. Strom
the points where these short lines meet CD draw lines
toward the point of sight S till they meet DE j then
from the points where the lines 38, 39, 40, &c. ot
the pavement meet C y, draw upright lines parallel to
CD ; and the lines which form the opening will be
finished. „ Tt , .1
The steps P, Q, R, S, T, and the flat U above the
arch V, are done in the same manner with those in
fig. 34. as taught in Prob. 28. and the equidistant paral¬
lel lines marked 18, 19, &c. are directly even with
those on the left-hand side of the arch V, and the up¬
right lines on the right-hand side are equidistant with
those on the lelt. t „
From the points where the lines 18, 19, 20, &:c.
meet the right-hand side of the arch, draw lines toward
the point of sight S •, and from the points where the
pavement lines 29, 30, 31, 32, meet the line drawn
from A towards the point of sight, draw upright lines
toward the top of the arch.
Having done the top of the arch, as in^ the figure,
and the few steps to the right hand thereof, shade the
whole as in fig. 37. and the work will be finished.
E C T I V E.
38-
Prob. 30. To put upright conical objects in perspective,
as if standing on the sides of an oblong square, at di¬
stances from one another equal to the breadth of the
oblong.
In fig. 38. the bases of the upright cones arc per-Fig
spective circles inscribed in squares of the same diame¬
ter 3 and the cones are set upright on their bases by tne
same rules as are given for pyramids, which we need
not repeat here.
In most of the foregoing operations we have consider-
ed the observer’s eve to be above the level of the tops
of all the objects, as if he viewed them when standing
on high ground. In this figure, and in fig. 41. and
fig. 42. we shall suppose him to be standing on low
ground, and the tops of the objects to be above the
level of his eye. ,
In fig. 38. let AD be the perspective breadth of the Fig. 38.
oblong square ABCD j and let A a and D d (equal to
A a) be taken for the diameters of the circular bases of
the two cones next the eye, whose intended equal heights
shall be AE and DF.
Having made S the point of sight in the horizon pa-.
rallel to AD, and found the proper point of distance
therein, draw AS and a S to contain the bases of the
cones on the left-hand side, and DS and d S for those
on the right. 1 ^ r
Having made the two first cones at A and U of
equal height at pleasure, draw ES and I S from then
tops to the point ot sight, for limiting the perspective
heights of all the rest of the cones. Then divide the
parallelogram ABCD into as many equal perspective
squares as you please j find the bases ot the cones at
the corners ot these squares, and make the cones theie-
011, as in the figure.
If you would represent a ceiling equal and parallel
to ABCD, supported on the tops of these cones, draw
EF, then EFGH shall be the ceiling ; and by draw¬
ing cf parallel to EF, you will have the thickness
of the floor-boards and beams, which may be what you
please.
This shows how any number of equidistant pillars
may be drawn of equal heights to support the ceiling
of a lono- room, and how the walls of such a room may
be represented in perspective at the backs ol these pil¬
lars. It also shows how a street of houses may be drawn
in perspective.
Prob. 31. To put a square hollow in perspective, the
depth of which shall bear any assigned proportion to
its width.
Fig. 41. is the repesentation of a square hollow, Fig. 41.
of which the depth AG is equal to three times its
width AD j and S is the point of sight over which
the observer’s eye is supposed to be placed, looking
perpendicularly down into it, but not directly over the
middle.
Draw AS and DS to the point of sight S 5 make Si
the horizon parallel to AD, and produce it to such a
length beyond T that you may find a point ot distance
therein not nearer S than if AD was seen under an
angle of 60 degrees. . .
Draw DU to the point of distance, intersecting AS
in B ; then from the point B draw BC parallel to AD ;
and
PEKSPECTIVE.
and you will have the first perspective square ABCD,
equal to a third part ot the intended depth.
D raw C\ to the point ot distance, intersecting AS
in E ; •then from tlie point E draw EF parallel to ADj
and you will have the second perspective square BEFC,
which, added to the former one, makes two thirds of the
intended depth.
Draw FW to the point of distance, intersecting AS
in Gj then from the point G draw GH parallel to
AD ; and you will have the third perspective square
EGHF, which, with the former two, makes the whole
depth AGHD three times as great as the width AD,
in a perspective view.
Divide AD into any number of equal parts, as sup¬
pose 8 ; and from the division-points o, b, c, d, &c.
draw lines toward the point of sight S, and ending at
GH ; then through the points where the diagonals BD,
EC, GF, cut these lines, draw lines parallel to AD ;
and you will have the parallelogram AGHD reticu¬
lated, or divided into 192 small and equal perspective
squares.
Make AI and DM equal and perpendicular to AD •,
then draw IM, which will he equal and parallel to AD 5
and draw IS and MS to the point of sight S.
Divide AI, IM, and MD, into the same number of
equal parts as AD is divided j and from these points of
division draw lines toward the point of sight S, ending
respectively at GK, KL, and LH.
From those points where the lines parallel to AD
meet AG and DH draw upright lines parallel to AI
and DM; and from the points where these lines meet
IK and LM draw lines parallel to IM j then shade the
work, as in the figure.
Pros. 32. To represent a semicircular arch in perspec¬
tive as if it were standing on t wo upright walls^ equal
in height to the height of the observer's eye.
After having gone through the preceding operation,
42. this will be more easy by a bare view of fig. 42. than it
could be made by any description 5 the method being
so much like that of drawing and shading the square
hollow.—We need only mention, that aT b EA and
DF ctd are the upright walls on which the semicir¬
cular arch is built j that S is the point of sight in the
horizon T t, taken in the centre of the arch ; and d in
fig. 41. is the point of distance ; and that the two per¬
spective squares ABCD and BEFC make the paral¬
lelogram AEFD of a length equal to twice its breadth
AD.
Prob. 33. To represent a square in perspective, as view¬
ed by an observer standing directly even with one of
its corners.
43* In fig. 43. let A 9 BC be a true square, viewed by
an observer standing at some distance from the corner
C, and just even with the diagonal C 9.
Let p SP be the horizon, parallel to the diagonal AB}
and S the point of sight, even with the diagonal C 9.
Here it will be proper to have two points of distance p
and P, equidistant from the point of sight S.
Draw the straight line I 17 parallel to AB, and
draw A 8 and Bio parallel to CS. Take the distance
between 8 and 9 in your compasses, and set it off all the
way in equal parts from 8 to 1, and from 10 to 17.—
The line 1 17 should be produced a good way further
both to right and left hand from 9, and divided all the
tvay in the same manner.
Irom these points of equal division, 8, 9, 10, &e.
draw lines to the point of sight S, and also to the two
points of distance p and l1, as in the figure.
Now it is plain, that acb 9 is the perspective repre¬
sentation of A 9 BC, viewed by an observer even with
the corner C and diagonal C 9.—But if there are other
such squares lying even with this, and having the same
position with respect to the line 1 17, it is evident that
the observer, who stands directly even with the corner
C of the first square, will not be even with the like
corners G and K of the others j but will have an ob¬
lique view ot them, over the sides FG and IK, which
are nearest his eye : and their perspective representa¬
tions will be eg f 6 and h ki 3, drawn among the lines
in the figure: of which the spaces taken up by each
side lie between three of the lines drawn toward the
point of distance p, and three drawn to the other point
of distance P.
Prob. 34. To represent a common chair, in an oblique
perspective view.
The original lines to the point of sight S, and points
of distance p and P, being drawn as in the preceding
operation, choose any part of the plane, as l m n 13, on
which you would have the chair L to stand.—There
are just as many lines (namely two) between l and m
or 13 and n, drawn toward the point of distance p, at
the left hand, as between l and 13, or m and n, drawn
to the point of distance P on the right: so that Im,
mn, n and 13 /, form a perspective square.
From the four corners /, m, n, 13, of this square
raise the four legs of the chair to the perspective per¬
pendicular height you would have them : then make
the seat of the chair a square equal and parallel to l m n
13, as taught in Prob. 18. which will make the two
sides of the seat in the direction of the lines drawn to¬
ward the point of distance/?, and the fore and back part
of the seat in direction of the lines drawn to the other
point of distance P. This done, draw the back of the
chair leaning a little backward, and the cross bars
therein tending toward the point of distance P. Then
shade the work as in the figure j and the perspective
chair will be finished.
Prob. 35. To present an oblong square table in an ob¬
lique perspective view.
In fig. 43. M is an oblong square table, as seen by Fig. 43,
an observer standing directly even with C 9 (see Prob.
33.), the side next the eye-being perspectively parallel
to the side ae of the square abcQ.—The forementioned
lines drawn from the line 1 17 to the two points of di¬
stance /? and P, form equal perspective squares on the
ground plane.
Choose any part of this plane of squares for the feet
of the table to stand upon ; as at p, q, r, and s, in di¬
rection of the lines 0p and r s for the two long sides,
and t s and qr for the two ends ; and you will have the
oblong square or parallelogram qr s t for the part of the
floor or ground-plane whereon the table is to stand:
and the breadth of this plane is here taken in proportion
to the length as 6 to 10; so that, if the length of the
table be ten feet, its breadth will be six.
On the four little perspective squares at q, r, s, and
U
P E R S P E
L place the four upright legs of the table, of what
height you please, so that the height of the two next
the eye, at o and p, shall be terminated by a straight
line u v drawn to the point of distance P. This done,
make the leaf M of the table an oblong square, per-
spectively equal and parallel to the oblong square q r s t
on which the feet of the table stand. Then shade
the whole, as in the figure, and the work will be finish¬
ed.
If the line i 17 were prolonged to the right and left
hand, and equally divided throughout (as it is from I
to 17), and If the lines which are drawn from p and
P to the right and left hand sides ol the plate were
prolonged till they came to the extended line 1 17, they
would meet it in the equal points of division. In form¬
ing large plans of this sort, the ends of slips ol paper
may be" pasted to the right and left edges of the sheet
on which the plan is to he formed.
Of the Anamorphosis, or reformation of distorted images.
By this means pictures that are so mishapen, as to
exhibit no regular appearance of anything to the naked
eve, shall, when viewed by reflection, present a regular
and beautiful image. The inventor of this ingenious
device is not known. Simon Stevinus, who was the first
that wrote upon it, does not inform us from whom he
learned it. The principles of it are laid down by
S. Vauzelard in his Perspective Conique et Pylindrique;
and Caspar Schott professes to copy Marius Bettinus in
his description of this piece of artificial magic.
It will be sufficient for our purpose to copy one ol
the simplest figures of this writer, as by this means the
mystery of this art will be sufficiently unfolded. Upon
the cylinder of paper, or pasteboard, ABCD, fig. 44.
draw whatever is intended to be exhibited, as the let¬
ters IHS. Then with a needle make perforations along
the whole outline*, and placing a candle, G, behind this
cylinder, mark upon the ground plane the shadow of
them, which will be distorted more or less, according to
the position of the candle or the plane, &c. J his be¬
ing done, let the picture be an exact copy of this dis¬
torted image, let a metallic speculum be substituted in
the place of the cylinder, and let the eye of the specta¬
tor have the same position before the cylinder that the
candle had behind it. Then looking upon the speculum,
he will see the distorted image restored to its proper
shape. The reformation of the image, he says, will not
easily be made exact in this method, but it will be suf¬
ficiently so to answer the purpose.
Other methods, more exact and geometrical than
this, were found out afterwards.: so that these pictures
could be drawn by certain rules, without the use of a
candle. Schott quotes one of these methods from Bet¬
tinus, another from Herigonius, and another from Kir-
cher, which may be seen in his Magia, vol. i. p. 162,
&c. He also gives an account of the methods of re¬
forming pictures by speculnms of conical and other fi-
gures*
Instead of copying any of these methods from Schott
or Bettinus, we shall present our readers with that which
J)r Smith hath given us in his Optics, vol. 1. p. 250, as
no doubt, the best, and from which any person may
easily make a drawing of this kind. The same descrip¬
tion answers to two mirrors, one of which, fig. 39. is
convex, and the other, fig. 40* concave*
4
C T 1 V E.
In order to paint upon a plane a deformed copy
ABCDEKIHGF of an original picture, which shall
appear regular, when seen from a given point O, ele¬
vated above the plane, by rays reflected from a polish¬
ed cylinder, placed upon the circle / n p, equal to its
given base j from the point K, which must be suppo¬
sed to lie perpendicularly under O, the place of the e\e,
draw two lines It a, Re; which shall either touch the
base of the cylinder, or else cut oft two small equal
segments from the sides of it, according as the copy
is intended to be more or less deformed. Then, ta¬
king the eye, raised above R, to the given height RO,
somewhat greater than that of the cylinder, for a lumi¬
nous point, describe the shadow a c kf (of a square, .
fig. 39. or parallelogram standing upright upon a cFig.
as a base, and containing the picture required) any¬
where behind the arch / n p. Let the lines drawn
from R to the extremities and divisions of the base a,
b, c, d, e, cut the remotest part of the shadow in the
points f, g, h, 1, k, and the arch of the base in /, m,
n, 0, p; from which points draw the lines / AF,
m BG, n CH, 0 DI p EK, as if they were rays of
light that came from the focus R, and were reflected
from the base l 11 pi so that each couple, / A, l R,
produced, may cut off equal segments from the circle.
Lastly, Transfer the lines / a f m bg, &c. and all their
parts in the same order, upon the respective lines l A I,
m BG, &c. and having drawn regular curves, by esti¬
mation, through the points A, B, C, D, E, through
F, G, II, I, K, and through every intermediate order
of points 5 the figure ACEKHF, so divided, will be
the deformed copy of the square, drawn and divided
upon the original picture, and will appear similar to it,
when seen in the polished cylinder, placed upon the base
l n p, by the eye in its given place O.
The practical methods of drawing these images seem
to have been carried to the greatest perfection by J.
Leopold, who, in the ActaLipsiensia for the year I7I2>
has described two machines, one for the images to be
viewed with a cylindrical, and the other with a conical
mirror. The person possessed of this instrument has
nothing to do but to take any print he pleases, and while
he goes over the outlines of it with one pen, another
traces the anamorphosis.
By methods of this kind, groves of trees may be
cut, so as to represent the appearance of men, horses,
and other objects from some one point of view, which
are not at all discernible in any other. This might
easily be effected by one person placing himself in any
particular situation, and giving directions to other per¬
sons what trees to lop, and in what manner. In the
same method it has been contrived, that buildings of
circular and other forms, and also whole groups of
buildings, consisting of walls at different distances and
with different positions to one another, should be paint¬
ed so as to exhibit the exact representation of particu¬
lar objects, which could only be perceived in one situa¬
tion. Bettinus has illustrated this method by drawings
in his Apuiria.
It may appear a bold assertion to say, that the very
short sketch now given of the art of perspective is a
sufficient foundation for the whole practice, and includes
all the expeditious rules peculiar to the problems which
most generally occur. It is, however, true, and the in¬
telligent
PERSPECTIVE.
telligent reader will see, that the two theorems on which
the whole rests, include every possible case, and apply with
equal facility to pictures and originals in any position,
although the examples are selected of perpendicular pic¬
tures, and of originals referred to horizontal planes, as
being the most frequent. The scientific foundation be¬
ing so simple, the structure need not be complex, nor
swell into such volumes as have been published on the
subject: volumes which by their size deter from the
perusal, and give the simple art the appearance of in¬
tricate mystery ; and by their prices, defeat the design
of their authors, viz. the dissemination of knowledge
among the practitioners. The treatises on perspective
acquire their bulk by long and tedious discourses, mi¬
nute explanations of common things, or by great num¬
bers of examples 5 which indeed do make some of these
books valuable by the variety of curious cuts, but do not
at all instruct the reader by any improvements made in
the art itself. For it is evident that most of those who
have treated this subject have been more conversant in
the practice of designing than in the principles of geo¬
metry; and therefore when, in their practice, the cases
which have offered have put them on trying particular
expedients, they have thought them worth communicat¬
ing to the public as improvements in the art; and each
author, fond of his own little expedient, (which a
scientific person would have known for an easy corol¬
lary from the general theorem), has made it the prin¬
ciple of a practical system—in this manner narrowing
instead of enlarging the knowledge of the art; and the
practitioner tired of the bulk of the volume, in which a
single maxim is tediously spread out, and the principle
on which it is founded kept out of his sight, contents
himself with a remembrance of the maxim (not under¬
stood), and keeps it slightly in his eye to avoid gross
errors. We can appeal to the whole body of painters
and draughtsmen for the truth of this assertion ; and it
must not be considered as an imputation on them of re¬
missness or negligence, but as a necessary consequence
of the ignorance of the authors from whom they have
taken their information. This is a strong term, but it
is not the less just. Several mathematicians of emi¬
nence have written on perspective, treating it as the sub¬
ject of pure geometry, as it really is ; and the perform¬
ances of Dr Brook Taylor, Gravesande, Wolf, De la
Caille, Emerson, are truly valuable, by presenting the
art in all its perspicuous simplicity and universality.
The works of Taylor and Emerson are more valuable,
on account of the very ingenious and expeditious con¬
structions which they have given, suited to every pos¬
sible case. The merit of the first author has been uni¬
versally acknowledged by all the British writers on the
subject, who never fail to declare that their own works
are composed on the principle of Dr Brook Taylor ;
but any man of science will see that these authors have
either not understood them, or aimed at pleasing the
public by fine cuts and uncommon cases ; for without
exception, they have omitted his favourite constructions,
which had gained his predilection by their universality,
and attached themselves to inferior methods, more usual¬
ly expedient perhaps, or inventions (as they thought) of
their own What has been given in this article is not
professed to be according to the principles of Dr Brook
Taylor, because the principles are not peculiar to him,
but the necessary results of the theory itself, and incul¬
cated by every mathematician who had taken the trouble
to consider the subject. They are sufficient not only
for directing the ordinary practice, but also for suggest¬
ing modes of construction for every case out of the com¬
mon track. And a person of ingenuity will have a
laudable enjoyment in this, without much stretch of
thought, inventing rules for himself; and will be bet¬
ter pleased with such fruits of his own ingenuity, than
in reading the tedious explanation of examples devised
by another. And for this purpose we would, with Dr
laylor, “ advise all our readers not to be contented
with the scheme they find here; but, on every occasion,
to draw new ones of their own, in all the variety of cir¬
cumstances they can think of. This will take up more
time at first, but they will find the vast benefit and plea¬
sure of it by the extensive notions it will give them of
the nature of the principles.”
The art of perspective is necessary to all arts where
there is any occasion for designing; as architecture, for¬
tification, carving, and generally all the mechanical
arts ; but it is more particularly necessary to the art of
painting, which can do nothing without it. A figure in
a picture, which is not drawn according to the rules of
perspective, does not represent what is intended, but
something else. Indeed we hesitate not to say, that a
picture which is faulty in this particular, is as blameable,
or more so, than any composition in writing which is
faulty in point oi orthography or grammar. It is ge¬
nerally thought very ridiculous to pretend to write a
heroic poem, or a fine discourse, upon any subjec t, with¬
out understanding the propriety of the language in which
we write ; and to us it seems no less ridiculous for one
to pretend to make a good picture without understand¬
ing perspective : Yet how many pictures are there to he
seen, that are highly valuable in other respects, and yet
are entirely faulty in this point P Indeed this fault is so
very general, that we cannot remember that we ever
have seen a picture that has been entirely without it;
and,what is the more to be lamented, the greatest ma¬
sters have been the most guilty of it. Those examples
make it to be the less regarded; but the fault is not the
less, but the more to be lamented, and deserves the more
care in avoiding it for the future. The great occasion
of this fault, is certainly the wrong method that is ge¬
nerally used in educating of persons in this art: for the
young people are generally put immediately to drawing;
and when they have acquired a facility in that, they are
put to colouring. And these things they learn by rote,
and by practice only; but are not at all instructed in
any rules of art. By which means, when they come to
make any designs of their own, though they are very
expert at drawing out and colouring every thing that
offers itself to their fancy; yet for want of being in¬
structed in the strict rules of art. they do not know how
to govern their inventions wkh judgment, and become
guilty of so many gross mistakes ; which prevent them¬
selves, as well as others, from finding that satisfaction
they otherwise would do in their performances. To
correct this for the future, we would recommend it to
the masters of the art of painting, to consider if it would
not be necessary to establish a better method for the edu¬
cation of their scholars, and to begin their instructions
with the technical parts of painting, before they let
them loose to follow the inventions of their own uncul¬
tivated imaginations.
2 83
The
P E R S P E
The* art of painting, taken in its? full extent, consists
of two parts; the inventive, and the executive. Ihe
inventive part is common with poetry, and belongs more
properly and immediately to the original design (w.mm
it invents and disposes in the most proper and agreeable
manner) than to the picture, which is only a copy oi
that design already formed m the imagination ot the ar¬
tist. The perfection of this art of painting depends up¬
on the thorough knowledge the artist has of all the parts
of his subject; and the beauty of it consists in the happy
choice and disposition that he makes of it: And it is in
this that the genius of the artist discovers and shows it¬
self while he indulges and humours his fancy, winch
here is not confined. But the other, the executive part
of painting, is wholly confined and strictly tied to Lie
rules of art, which cannot be dispensed with upon any
account and therefore in this the artist ought to go¬
vern himself entirely by the rules of art, and not to
take any liberties whatsoever. For any thing that is
not truly drawn according to the rules of perspective, 01
not truly coloured or truly shaded, does not appear to
be what the artist intended, but something else. YV here-
fore if at any time the artist happens to imagine that
his picture would look the better, if he should swerve
a little from these rules, he may assure himself, that the
fault belongs to his original design, and not to the strict¬
ness of the rules-, for what is perfectly agreeable and
just in the real original objects themselves, can never
C T I V E.
appear defective in a picture where those (ibjects ate ex¬
actly copied. „ , , .
Therefore to offer a short hint of thoughts we have
some time had upon the method which ought to be fol¬
lowed in instructing a scholar in the executive part of
painting : we would first have him learn the most com¬
mon affections of practical geometry, and the first ele¬
ments of plain geometry and common arithmetic. VV hen
he is sufficiently perfect in these, we would have him
learn perspective. And when he has made some pro¬
gress in this, so as to have prepared his judgment with
the right notions of the alterations that figures must un¬
dergo^ when they come to be drawn on a flat, he may
then be put to drawing by view, and be exercised in
this alone with perspective, till he comes to be sufficient¬
ly perfect in both. Nothing ought to be more familiar
to a painter than perspective j tor it is the only thing
that can make the judgment correct, and will help the
fancy to invent with ten times the ease that it could do
without it. , . r }
We earnestly recommend to our readers the carcjut
perusal of Dr Taylor’s Treatise, as published by Colson
in 1749, and Emerson’s published along with his Op¬
tics. They will be surprised and delighted with the in¬
struction they will receive j and will then truly estimate
the splendid volumes of other authors, and see their h.
volity.
Perspec¬
tive.
PER
Perspective is also used for a kiftd of picture or
painting, frequently seen in gardens, and at the ends of
' galleries -, designed expressly to deceive the sight by re¬
presenting the continuation of an alley, a building, land¬
scape, or the like. _
Aerial Perspective, is sometimes used as a general
denomination for that which more restrictedly is called
aerial perspective, or the art of giving a due diminution
or degradation to the strength of light, shade, and co¬
lours of objects, according to their different distances,
the quantity of light which falls upon them, and the
medium through which they are seen -, the clnaro obscu¬
re or clair obscure, which consists in expressing the dif¬
ferent degrees of light, shade, and colour, of bodies,
arising from their own shape, and the position of their
parts with respect to the eye and neighbouring objects,
whereby their light or colours are affected 5 and keep-
ins;, which is the observance of a due proportion in the
general light and colouring of the whole picture, so
that no light or colour in one part may be too brighter
strong for another. A painter, who would succeed in
aerial perspective, ought carefully to study the effects
which distance, or different degrees or colours of light,
have on each particular original colour, to know how
its hue or strength is changed in the several circumstan¬
ces that occur, and to represent it accordingly. As all
objects in a picture take their measures in proportion to
those placed in the front, so, in aerial perspective, the
strength of light, and the brightness of the colours of
objects close to the picture, must serve as a measure*
with respect to which all the same colours at several di-
P E It
stances must have a propoltional degradation ill like cir- Per
cumstances. * . . . . ^ —
Bird's eye view in Perspective, is that winch sup¬
poses the eye to he placed above any building, &c. as
in the air at a considerable distance from it. This is ap¬
plied in drawing the representations of fortifications,
when it is necessary not only to exhibit one view as seen
from the ground, but so much of the several buildings
as the eye can possibly take in at one time from any si¬
tuation. In order to this, we must suppose the eye to
be removed a considerable height above the ground, and
to be placed as it were in the air, so as to look down
into the building like a bird that is flying. In represen-
tatioris of this kind, the higher the horizontal line is
placed, the more of the fortification will be seen, and
vice versa. . . . . .
Perspective Machine, is an instrument by which
any person, without the help of the rules of art, may
delineate the true perspective -figures of objects. Mr
Ferguson has described a machine of tins sort, of which
he ascribes the invention to Dr Bevis. .
Fig. 45- is a plan of this machine, and fig. 46. is a*k>
representation of it when made use of in drawing distant
objects in perspective.
In fig 45. a 6 c / is an oblong square board, repre-
senfed by ABEF in 6g. 46. and » (X and Y) arc
two hinges on which the part c l d (CLD) is moveable.
This part consists of two arches or portions of circles cm l
(CML) and / (DNL) joined together at tlie top l
(L), and at bottom to the cross bar d c (DC), to
which one part of each hinge is fixed, and the other
PERSPECTIVE.
PLATE CCCCX,
Fig.i.
Fig.2.
Fig .16.
y-0/ !
|
s' // / /
/ X / /
F/r>Ir? r^rjl .
</ r
Fig.ij.
S Jforrxfm. Y
^--'"■^4 
!»/>-"
^ U) i
,\ \ j
O ”
Fig. 21.
2?<-‘T~r xo7/.
Fig. 20.
v F
ilk1'/
IlIEIk K
Fig .24.
Fig .23.
JFj£r*?72z7’<zy4£? ' ■ -
PEKSJ'ECTJ VE . /%m;ccccx//
Fui. 9
//r/v x.r//
I^eiis im: c tiye .
s
PLATE (((’CJ///.
i>  
Fig. 33.
PERSPECTIVE.
Fig. 39.
A- v h _<y ,/'
/jAnz<; (crcx/i.
Fig. 40
Fig .42.
Perspective.
J^LAT'/s rrrrxv.
.' ‘ .Afz'fr7/ e// sen/// /
PEE {
part to a flat board, half the length of the hoard ab ef
(ABEF), and glued to its uppermost side. The centre
of the arch c m / is at and the centre of the arch d nl
is at c.
On the outer side of the arch dnl is & sliding piece
n (much like the nut of the quadrant of altitude belong¬
ing to a common globe), which may be moved to any
part of the arch between b and l: and there is such an¬
other slider o on the arch cm l, which may be set to
any part between c and /.—A thread cpn (CPN) is
stretched tight from the centre c (C) to the slider n (N),
and such another thread is stretched from the centre d
(D) to the slider o (O) j the ends of the thread being
fastened to these centres and sliders.
Now it is plain, that, by moving these sliders on their
respective arches, the intex-section p (P) of the threads
may be brought to any point of the open space within
the arches.—In the groove k (K) is a straight sliding
bar i (I), which may be drawn fui’ther out, or pushed
further in at pleasure.
To the outer end of this bar I (fig. 46.) is fixed the
upright piece HZ, in which is a groove for receiving the
sliding piece Q. In this slider is a small hole r for the
eye to look through, in using the machine ; and there is
a long slit in HZ, to let the hole r be seen through
when the eye is placed behind it, at any height of the
bole above the level of the bar I.
How to delineate the perspective figure of any distant
object or objects, by means of this machine*
Suppose you wanted to delineate a perspective repre¬
sentation of the house q srp (which we must imagine to
be a great way off, without the limits of the plate),
place the machine on a steady table, with the end EB'
of the horizontal board ABEF, toward the house, so
that when the Gothic-like arch DEC is set upright,
the middle part of the open space (about P) within it
may be even with the house when you place your eye
at Z and look at the house through the small hole r.
Then fix the corners of a square piece of paper with four
wafers on the surface of that half of the horizontal
board which is nearest the house j and all is ready for
drawing.
Set the ax*ch upright, as in the figure $ which it will
be when it comes to the perpendicular side t of the up¬
right piece s t fixed to the horizontal board behind U.
Then place your eye at Z, and look through the hole
r at any point of the house, as q, and move the sliders
N and O till you bring the intersection of the threads
at P directly between your eye and the point q: then
put down the arch flat upon the paper on the boai-d, as
at ST, and the intersection of the threads will be at W.
Mark the point W on the paper with tlxe dot of a black
lead pencil, and set the arch upright again as before:
then look through the hole r, and move the sliders N
and ® till the intersection of the threads come between
your eye and any other point of the house, as p : then
put down the ai-ch again to the paper, and make a pen¬
cil mark thereon at the intersection of the threads, and
draw a line from that mark te the former one at W •
'which line will be a true perspective repiesentation of
the corner p q of the house.
Proceed in the same manner, by bringing the inter¬
section of the threads successively between your eye and
other points of the outlines of the house, as r s, &c.
and put down the arch to marh the like points on the
Vol. XVI. Part I. +
185 ] PER
paper, at the intersection of the threads: then connect
these points by straight lines, which will be the perspec¬
tive outlines of the house. In like manner find points
for the corners of the doors and windows, top of the
house, chimneys, &c. and draw the finishing lines from
point to point: then shade the whole, making the lights
and shades as you see them on the house itself, and you
will have a true perspective figure of it.—Gnat care
must be taken, during the whole time, that the position
of the machine be not shifted on the table ; and to pre¬
vent such an inconvenience, the table should be very
strong and steady, and the machine fixed to it either by
screws or clamps.
In the same way, a landscape, or any number of ob¬
jects within the field of view through the arch, may be
delineated, by finding a sufficient number of perspective
points on the paper, and connecting them by straight or
curved lines as they appear to the eye. And as this
makes every thing in perspective equally easy, without
taking the trouble to learn any of the rules for drawing,
the operations must be very pleasing and agreeable.
Yet as science is still moi*e so, we would by all means
recommend it to our readers to learn the rules for draw¬
ing particular objects j and to draw landscapes by the
eye, for which, we believe, no perspective rules can be
given. And although any thing may be very truly
drawn in pex*spective by means of this machine, it can¬
not be said that there is the least degree of science in
going that way to work.
The arch ought to be at least a foot wide at bottom,
that the eye at Z may have a large field of view through
it: and the eye should then be, at least, inches
from the intersection of the threads at P when the arch
is set upright. For if it be nearer, the boundaries of
view at the sides near the foot of the arcli will subtend
an angle at Z of more than 60 degrees, which will not
only strain the eye, but will also cause the outermost
parts of the drawing to have a disagreeable appearance.
—To avoid this, it will be proper to draw back the
sliding bar I, till Z be 144 inches distant from P j and
then the whole field of view, through the foot wide
arch, will not subtend an angle to the eye at Z of
more than 45 degi-ees; which will give a more easy and
pleasant view, not only of all the objects themselves, but
also of their representations on the paper whereon they
are delineated. So that whatever the width of the
arch be, the distance of the eye from it should be in
this pi’oportion: as 12 is to the width of the arch, so
is 144 the distance of the eye (at Z) from it.
If a pane of glass, laid over with gum water, be fixed
into the arch, and set upright when dry, a person who
looks through the hole r may delineate the objects upon
the glass which he sees at a distance through and be¬
yond it, and then transfer the delineation to a paper
put upon the glass, as mentioned in the beginning of
the article Perspective.
Mr Peacock likewise invented three simple instru¬
ment for drawing architecture and machinery in per¬
spective, of which the x-eader will find sketches and de¬
scriptions in the 75th volume of the Philosophical
Transactions. These descriptions are not inserted here,
because we do not think the instruments superior to that
described by Ferguson, and because we wish that our
readers who have occasion to draw may make themselves
so much masters of the art of perspective, as to be above
A a the
Perspec¬
tive.
PER
[ 186 ]
PER
live.
„ the aid of such mechanical contrivances. But for the
PC"P sake of those whose opportunities oi improvement m the
art do not enable them to practise it without such hel^s,
we annex the following description of an instrument in
vented for this purpose by Dr Wol aston, and to which
he has given the name of Camera Lucula.
“ Having a short time since (says the author) amuse
myself with attempts to sketch various interesting views,
Shout au adequate knowledge of the art of ^wng,
my mind was naturally employed in facilitating
means of transferring to paper the apparent relative po-
sitions of the objects before me •, and I am in hopes tha
the instrument, which I contrived for this purpose, may
be acceptable even to those who have attained to greatm
proficiency in the art, on account of the many advanta-
ges it possesses over the camera obscura.
“ The principles on which it is constructed will p
bably be most distinctly explained by tracing the succes¬
sive steps, by which I proceeded .n its formation.
“ While I look directly down at a sheet of paper on
my table, if I hold between my eye and the paper a
niece of plain glass, inclined from me downwards at an
ingle of 450, I see by reflection the view that is before
me, in the same direction that I see my paper throng
the glass. I might then take a sketch of it j but the
position of the objects would be reversed.
“ To obtain a direct view, it is necessary to have two
reflections. The transparent glass must for this purpose
be inclined to the perpendicular line of sight only the
half of 45°, that it may reflect the view a second time
from a piece of looking-glass placed beneath it, and in¬
clined upwards at an equal angle. The objects now ap¬
pear as if seen through the paper in the same place as
before ; but they are direct instead of being inverted,
and they may be discerned in this manner sufficiently
well for determining the principal positions.
“ The pencil, however, and any object, which it is to
trace, cannot both be seen distinctly in the same state
of the eye, on account of the difference of their di¬
stances; and the efforts of successive adaption of the eye
to one or to the other would become painful it frequent¬
ly repeated. In order to remedy this inconvenience,
the paper and pencil may be viewed through a convex
lens of such a focus, as to require no more eflort than is
necessary for seeing the distant objects distinctly. I hese
will then appear to correspond with the paper in distance
as well as direction, and may be drawn with facility,
and with any desired degree of precision.
“ This arrangement of glasses will be best understood
from inspecting fig. 47. a 6 in the transparent glass; be
the lower reflector ; 6 a convex lens (of 12 inches to-
•cus) ; e the position of the eye ; and/g h e the course
of the rays. . . r
“ In some cases a different construction will be prefe¬
rable. Those eyes, which without assistance are adap¬
ted to seeing near objects alone, will not admit the use
of a convex glass ; but will on the contrary require one
that is concave to be placed in front, to render the di-
stant objects distinct. The frame for a glass of this
construction is represented at 1 k, (fig. 49.) turning up¬
on the same hinge at h with a convex glass in the frame
1 to, and moving in such a manner, that either of the
glasses may be turned alone into its place, as may be
necessary to suit an eye that is long or short sighted.
3
Those persons, however, whose sight is nearly perfect, Perspec-
may at pleasure use either of the glasses.  ^c.
“ The instrument represented in that figure diners ~ ,
moreover in other respects from the foregoing, which I
have chosen to describe first, because the action ot the
reflectors there employed would be more generally un¬
derstood. But those who are conversant with the sci¬
ence of optics will perceive the advantage that may be
derived in this instance from prismatic reflection; for
when a ray of light has entered a solid piece of glass,
and falls from within upon any surface, at an inclina¬
tion of only twenty-two or twenty-three degrees, as
above supposed, the refractive power of the glass is such
as to suffer none of that light to pass out, and the
surface becomes in this case the most brilliant reflector
that can be employed. # .
“ Tig. j8. represents the section of a solid prismatic
piece of glass, within which both the reflections requi¬
site are effected at the surfaces ab,b c, in such a man¬
ner that the ray f g, after being reflected first at g, and
again at h, arrives at the eye in a direction h e at right
angles iofg. .
“ There is another circumstance in this construction
necessary to be attended to, and which remains to be ex¬
plained. Where the reflection was produced by a piece
of plain glass, it is obvious that any objects behind the
glass (if sufficiently illuminated) might be seen through
the glass as well as the reflected image. But when the
prismatic reflector is employed, since no light can be
transmitted directly through it, the eye must be so pla¬
ced that only a part of its pupil may be intercepted by
the edge of the prism, as at e, fig. 48. Ihe distant ob¬
jects will then be seen by this portion of the eye, while
the paper and pencil are seen past the edge of the prism
by the remainder ot the pupil. ...
“ In order to avoid inconvenience that might arise
from unintentional motion of the eye, the relative quan¬
tities of light to be received from the object, and frorn
the paper, are regulated by a small hole in a piece ot
brass, which by moving on a centre at c, fig. 49- 19
pable of adjustment to every inequality of light that is
likely to occur. . , .
“ Since the size of the whole instrument, fiom being
so near the eye, does not require to be large, I have on
many accounts preferred the smallest size that could be
executed with correctness, and have had it constructed
on such a scale, that the lenses are only three-fourths
of an inch in diameter. ... <•
“ Though the original design, and principal use ot
this instrument is to facilitate the delineation of objects
in true perspective, yet this is by no means the sole pur¬
pose to which it is adapted ; for the same arrangement
of reflectors may be employed with equal advantage for
copying what has been already drawn, and may thus
assist a learner in acquiring at least a correct outline ot
anv subject. . .,,11.
For this purpose the drawing to be copied should be
placed as nearly as may be at the same distance before
the instrument that the paper is beneath the eye-hole,
for in that case the size will be the same, and no lens
will be necessary either to the object, or to the penci.
“ By a proper use of the same instrument, every pur¬
pose of the pentagraph may also be answered; as a paint¬
ing may be reduced in anv proportion required, by pla-
Perth.
PER [i
Perspec- ^ at a distance in due proportion greater than that
tive of the paper from the instrument. In this case a lens
becomes requisite for enabling the eye to see at two un-
equal distances with equal distinctness, and in order
that one lens may suit for all these purposes, there is
an advantage in carrying the height of the stand ac¬
cording to the proportion in which the reduction is to
be effected.
“ The principles on which the height of the stem is
adjusted will be readily understood by those who are ac¬
customed to optical considerations. For as in taking a
perspective view the rays from the paper are rendered
parallel, by placing a lens at the distance of its principal
focus from the paper, because the rays received from the
distant objects are parallel; so also when the object seen
by reflection is at so short a distance that the rays re¬
ceived from it are in a certain degree divergent, the rays
from the paper should be made to have the same de¬
gree of divergency in order that the paper may be seen
distinctly by the same eye ; and for this purpose the
lens must be placed at a distance less than its principal
focus. Ihe stem of the instrument is accordingly mark¬
ed at certain distances to which the conjugate foci are
in the several proportions of 2, 3, 4, &c. to 1, so that
distinct vision may be obtained in all cases, by placing
the painting proportionally more distant.
“ By transposing the convex lens to the front of the
instrument and reversing the proportional distances, the
artist might also enlarge his smaller sketches with every
desirable degree of correctness, and the naturalist might
delineate minute objects in any degree magnified.”
Perspective Glass, or Graphical Perspective. See
Dioptrics.
PERSPIRATION, in Physiology, the excretion of
a fluid through the pores of the skin. Perspiration is
distinguished into sensible and insensible; and here sensi¬
ble perspiration is the same with sweating, and insensible
perspiration that which escapes the notice of the senses.
PERSPICUITY, properly signifies the property
which any thing has of being easily seen through ; hence
it is generally applied to such writings or discourses as
are easily understood.
Perspicuity, in composition. See Oratory, N°
43-
PERTH, a county of Scotland, including Menteith,
Braidalbin, Athol, Stratherne, part of Cowrie, and
Perth Proper ; is bounded by Badenoch and Lochaber
on the north and north-west ; by Marr on the north¬
east ; by Argyle and Lennox on the west and south¬
west ; having Clackmannanshire, part of Stirlingshire,
and the Forth to the south ; the shires of Kinross and
Fife to the south-east, and Angus to the east. It ex¬
tends above 70 miles in length, and near 60 at its
greatest breadth, exhibiting a variety of Highlands and
Lowlands ; mountains, hills, dales, and straths, diversi¬
fied with pasture grounds, corn fields, and meadows ;
rivers, lakes, forests, woods,plantations,inclosures,towns,
Tillages, and a great number of elegant seats, beautifully
situated, belonging to noblemen and gentlemen. The
chief rivers of Perthshire are the Tay, the Teith, and
the Erne, besides a great number of subordinate streams.
The river Tay is famous for its salmon-fishex-y. The
river Erne rises from Loch Erne, a lake seven miles
long, in the mountainous country of Stratherne: this
river, after a course of 34 miles from west to east, dur-
87 ]
PER
Perth
ing which it receives many streams and rivulets, falls
into the Tay at Abernethy.   
“ The Tay (says a late traveller), on the southern Heim’s
bank of which the city of Perth stands, is truly a noble Tour> ll9^
river. It rises in Braidalbin, on the frontiers of Lome.
Betore it has advanced many miles from its source, its
stream is considerably augmented by the accession of se¬
veral small rills. Soon after, it diffuses its waters into
a small lake called Loch Dochart; and indeed the river
itself there bears rather the name of the Dochart. Con¬
tinuing its course from Loch Dochart, it soon again ex¬
pands into another lake. Out of this it proceedsr to Kil¬
im, still bearing, if I remember right, the name of the
Dochart. Here it meets with another river which flows
hither by a more north-easterly course. The waters are
diffused into the famous Loch Tay, 16 miles in length.
Issuing from this spacious lake at Kenmore, the Tay is
soon after increased by the accession of the Lyon. It
proceeds onward in an eastern direction through Athol,
receiving as it advances all the waters in the country’
till at Logierait it is joined by the large river of Tum-
mel. Here it bends to the south, and advancing about
eight miles reaches Dunkeld ; whence taking a more
northern direction, it continues its course towards Perth;
being as it advances still augmented by the accession of
various tributary streams, the most considerable of which
is the Almond. At Perth it turns to the south-east, and
receiving as it proceeds the waters of the Erne, passes by
Abernethy, once the capital of the Pictish kingdom.
Soon after this, it expands itself to the breadth of three
miles. Contracting its breadth, as it approaches Dundee,,
it there opens into the German ocean.
“ Such is the noble river; on the southern bank of
which, where it has increased into a vast body of wa¬
ter, and not a great many miles above where it dis¬
charges itself into the ocean, Perth is advantageously
situated. A person acquainted with the general cha¬
racter of great rivers, and with their influence in deter¬
mining theaspect and the fertilityof the districts through
which they pass, might readily, without farther know¬
ledge of the local circumstances than what is conveyed
in this account of the course of the Tay, and of the
situation of Perth upon it, conclude the city to stand
amid delightful scenery, and to enjoy most of the ad¬
vantages which natural circumstances afford, for the
promotion of trade and industry.”
Freestone, lead, iron, and copper ores, with some lapis
calaminaris, are found in different parts of Perthshire.
The soil, being generally rich and well manured, pro¬
duces excellent wheat, and all kinds of grain. The hilly
country abounds with pasture for the black cattle, horses,
sheep, goats, and deer. The heaths, woods, and forests,
are stored with variety of game ; the rivers teem with
salmon and trout; the gardens and orchards are stored
with all kinds of herbs, roots, apples, pears, cherries,
plums, and almost every species of fruit found in South
Britain. The houses and attire, even of the common¬
alty, are neat and decent; and every peasant can pro¬
duce a good quantity of linen, and great store of blan¬
kets, made in his own family. Indeed, this is the case
through all the Lowlands of Scotland. Flax is reared
by every husbandman ; and being dressed at home, is
spun by the females of his family into thread for linen;
this is woven by country weavers, of whom there is a
great number through all the low country, and after-
A a 2 wards
PER [ 188
wards bleached or whitened by the good-wife and her
servants ; so that the whole is made fit for use at a very
small expence. They likewise was .. card, spin and
weave their wool into tartan for plaids, kersies, and
coarse russet-cloth, for common wearing, besides great
part of it which is knit into caps, stockings, and mit .
Plaids, made of the finest worsted, are worn either plain
or variegated, as veils, by women of the lower and even
of the middle rank j nay some years ago, ladies ot ta-
shion wore silken plaids with an undress: this is a loose
piece of drapery, gathered about the head, shoulder.,
and waist, on which it is crossed, so as to leave the hands
at liberty, and produces a very good effect to the eye of
the spectator. The Lowlanders ofPerthshire are civi¬
lized, hospitable, and industrious : the ^^erce of the
country consists chiefly in corn, linen, and black cat e.
there are, moreover, some merchants who trade to fo¬
reign countries—For an account of the different divi¬
sions of this country above mentioned see the articles
as they occur in the order of the alphabet.
The population of this county in 1801 amounted to
126,366 (a), and in 1811 to I35>°93- , . .
The following table shows the state of the population,
according to its parishes at two different periods.
Parishes.
1 Aberdalgy
Aberfoil
Abernethy
Abernyte
5 Alyth
Arngask
Auchterarder
Auchtergaven
Balquhidder
10 Blackford
Blair Athol
Blairgowrie
Bendothy
Callander
15 Caputlv
Cargill
Clunie
Collace
Comrie
20 Crieff
Culross
Cupar
Dron
Dull
25 Dumbarnie
Dumblane
Dunkeld
Dunkeld, Little
Dunning
30 Errol
Forgandenny
Fortevoit
Fortingal
Fossaway
33 Foulis, Wester
Population
in 1755*
320
895
1490
258
2680
736
1194
1677
I592
1681
3257
I596
1293
m0
2048
1897
9°5
499
2546
1414
1695
1491
598
5748
764
3728
1298
2919
1491
2229
I295
1164
3859
i765
1706
Population in
175)0—179s-
523
79°
I4I5
345
2723
554
1670
1784
1300
136°
3120
1651
878
2100
2045
1720
1037
473
3000
2640
1442
2076
450
4676
1250
2750
1773
27°5
1600
2685
978
970
)H
15°5
1224
391
]‘
Parishes.
Foulis, Easter
Cask
Glendovan
Inchture
40 Kenmure
Killin
Kilmadock
Kilspindie
Kincardine
45 Kinclaven
Kinfauns
Kinloch
Kinnaird
Kinnoul
30 Kirkmichael
Lecropt
Lethendy
Logie
Logierait
33 Longforgan
Maderty
Meigle
Methven
Monedie
60 Monivaird
Monzie
Moulin
Muckbart
Muthil
6 c Perth
Port
Rattray
Redgorton
Rhind
70 St Madoes
St Martins
Scone
Tippermuir
Trinity Gask
y3 Tulliallan
76 Wee nr
PER
Population
in 17 sc •
386
385
220
893
3067
1968
2730
828
1250
993
639
331
557
1163
2689
577
346
1985
2487
1285
796
2285
1790-
1492
1460
1192
2109
535
2902
9019
1865
75 i
1074
498
189
1083
889
988
sns
1321
1295
118,903
Population in
I79c—x75is.
648
486
24O
IOOO
3463
2360
3209
718
2068
1150
628
372
4°4
1465
2200
420
367
1500
2200
1526
631
114.8
1786
1320
1025
1136
1749
326-
2948
19,87!
1765
300-
2123
495
. 300
1090
1442
1280
795
2430
1364
I33.274
118,903
Pet
Increase, 14J371
See Perthshire, Supplement.
Perth Proper, stretching 20 miles in length, and at
some places 15 in breadth, is bounded on the north-east,
by the Carse of Gowrie j on the east, by Angus j on the
west, by Stratherne; on the north, by Athol j and on
the south, by the frith of Tay. This is likewise a fruit,
ful country, populous and well cultivated, abounding
with gentlemen who possess opulent estates; with far¬
mers who understand agriculture *, and with manutac-
turers who turn their industry to great account. P'lorth'
eastward from Perth to Brechin lies the vale °f Strath¬
more, one of the most fertile districts in Scotland, which
gives the title of Earl to the noble family of Lyon.
x ERTHj
is only 14,878 > and in 1791 it was nearly 20,000, which will account lor the diiterence.
PER [ i
PERTH, the capital of the county of that name, is an
agreeable, populous town, situated 20 miles within land,
on the south bank of the river Tay. It was otherwise
called St Johnston's, from a church dedicated to St John,
as the patron of the place. It is a royal borough, second
in dignity to the metropolis, the seat of a large presby¬
tery, and gave the title of Earl to the family of Drum¬
mond, which is now forfeited. James Drummond, 4th
earl, was created duke of Perth by James II. for adher¬
ing to whose interests he was outlawed. His two grand¬
sons were attainted in 1745. No less than 14 national
councils have been held at Perth between 1201 and
1459. But the oldest was at Scone, A. D. 906. Perth,
in the reign of Edward I. of England,.was possessed by
the English, who secured it with fortifications : but af¬
ter an obstinate resistance, they were expelled by Robert
Bruce. In the year 1715, the rebels made it a place of
arms, and retired to it, after the battle of Dumblane;
but they were in a little time dislodged by the duke of
Argyle, and retreated northwards with the pretender.
I hey possessed it also in 1745* he pretender was pro¬
claimed king, new magistrates were appointed, and an
attempt was made to fortify it. The town is populous
and handsome ; the streets are well paved, and tolerably
clean at all times j and the houses, though not stately,
make a very decent appearance. Both the streets and
houses are, for the greater part, disposed in a regularity
of plan, which proves them not to be of the most remote
antiquity. It is indeed true that the level situation, be¬
ing singularly favourable to regularity, might, even from
the first, give this an advantage over many of our old
boroughs. Several streets run in a direction parallel
with the river, as far as a right line can bear tins relation
to a curve line, nearly between east and west: these are
again intersected by others extending between north and
south. ^ It should seem that anciently particular streets
were inhabited, each by a particular class of artisans.
The names still preserved seem to indicate as much.
The shop-keepers or merchants occupied one street; the
hammermen a second 5 and other crafts occupied, in the
same mannei, each a separate street. Many of the houses
in that street called the Wvter-gate, seem to be very old
buildings. Towards the south end of the Water-gate
stands the famous palace of the Cowrie family. The
house, and the very room, where the attempt of the
Cowries to seize or assassinate the king was supposed
to have been made, is now converted into barracks for
a train of artillery j but the back-stair, down which, the
Ruthvens were thrown, is pulled down. This strange
event, however magnified or attested by contemporary
writers, is made up of so many improbabilities, or cir¬
cumstances for which no reason can be assigned, that Sir
David Dalrymple, in republishing the account printed
by authority, 1600, preparatory to his further observa¬
tions on it, seems justified in absolutely discrediting a
fact which passed for problematical with so many persons
at the very time. Dr Robertson supposes it a plot of
Elizabeth to get James into her power. Mr Cant hav¬
ing discussed the whole story of the conspiracy in his
Muse’s Threnodie, p. 185—261, concludes, “ that as
this would have been a very impolitic measure, the best
way of accounting for it is by James’s known hatred to
the Puritans, and wish to get rid of two popular charac¬
ters.” . 1'he king had been seized and forced from his
favourites by the father of the Rt thvens 12 years before
89 ] PER
(ijSa'), and though he affected to forgive him, took
the first opportunity to condemn and execute him as a
traitor, 1584. Mr Camden was too good a courtier to
speak with impartiality of any part of this weak mo¬
narch’s conduct. Though the name of Cowrie was abo¬
lished, the title of lluthven was revived in the person of
^ir Ihomas Ruthven of Freeland, whom Charles II.
1651, created Lord Ruthven : but the honour, on the
death of his son David in 1704* devolved on Isabel, sur¬
viving daughter of his second sister, who married Sir
Francis Ruthven, and was succeeded, 1732, by. his son
James. * ~
T. he castle of Perth stood near the red bridge, whicii
terminated the narrow street called Skinner-gate. At’
the end of the Castle street another narrow street lead’s
west to the Black-friars, called Couvre feu-row, wherp
the curfeu bell was. The kings of Scotland before1
James II. were crowned at Scone, and resided at Perth
as the metropolis of the nation. James resided and was
educated in the castle of Edinburgh, and was crowned
there 1437. The parliaments and courts of justice were
removed from Perth to Edinburgh, but Perth kept its
priority till 22 James III. 1482.
Hie church in which John Knox harangued is still
standing, and is now divided into three ; named the
cast, the middle, and the west kirks. The east kirk
was lately very handsomely modernised within. There
is an old hospital, a considerable building, the found¬
ing of which is ascribed to James VI. The town-
house shuts up the eastern end of the Higli-street. A
monastery of Carthusians was here established by King
James I. of Scotland, who lost his life on the very spot,
by the treachery of Athol and his accomplices. The
king was buried in a very stately monument in this place,
which was called monasterium vallis virtutis, one of the
most magnificent buildings in the kingdom, which with
the rest was destroyed by the populace. James VI.
created George Hay commendator of the Carthusian
priory, giving him all its emoluments, with a vote and
seat in parliament j but these not being sufficient to sup¬
port the title, he surrendered it back to the king. The
only remains of this magnificent structure is to be seen
in the carved stones with which the south east porch of
St John’s church is built, now greatly decayed. The
king’s garment full of stabs was preserved here after
the reformation.
The town was anciently provided with a stone bridge
over the river, which an inundation swept away $ but
a new and very fine one has lately been built, the most
beautiful structure of the kind in North Britain, and was
designed and executed by Mr Smeaton. Its length is
900 feet; the breadth (the only blemish) 22 within
the parapets. The piers are founded 10 feet beneath
the bed of the river, upon oaken and beechen piles, and
the stones laid in puzzolano, and cramped with iron.
There are nine arches, of which the centre is 75 feet in
diameter. This noble work opens a communication with
all the different great roads of the kingdom, and was
completed at the expence of 26,000!. Of this the com¬
missioners of forfeited estates, by his majesty’s permission,
gave 1 i,oool.j Perth 2000I.5 private subscribers 4756I.;
the royal boroughs 500I. But still this great work
would have met with a check for want of money, had
not the earl of Kinnoul, with his characteristic public
spirit, advanced the remaining sum, and taken the se¬
curity
PER [ 1
cmity of the tolls, at his own hazard. The whole ex¬
pence has now been defrayed, and the toll has ceased.
P This town has but one parish, which has two churches,
besides meetings for separatists, who are very numerous.
One church, which belonged to a monastery, ^ very an¬
cient : not a vestige of the last is now to be seen , for the
disciples of Knox made a general desolation ofc''ei^ef1'
fice that had given shelter to the worshippers of the
church of Rome 5 it being one of his maxims, to p
down the nests, and then the rooks would fly away.
4he flourishing state of Perth it is said was onginal-
;1V owing to numbers of Cromwell’s wounded officers
kn'd soldiers choosing to reside here, after he left the
/kingdom, who introduced a spirit of industry among the
people. But this town, as well as all Scotland, dat
its prosperity from the year i745 i the government of
this* part of Great Britain having never been settled
till a little after that time. , . ,TT.ir r
1 That this town does not owe its origin to William I.
1210 as Boethius says, is evident from its being men¬
tioned as a considerable place in the foundation charter
of Holvroodhouse by David I. Him
Cer,ebthe « ^.80“"-= onlvT878, arf for
^TheUadfot Perth is considerable. Its staple ma¬
nufacture is linen, but of late the cotton manufacture
has almost superseded it. It exporU annually 15°>000':
worths linen, from 30’00° b,°llS °f '
and barley to Loudon and Edinburgh, and a vey large
ouantUy of cured salmon. That fish is taken there m
TtabLdance S 3000 having been caught .none m„„.
imr- weighing, one with another, 16 pounds , the whc
capture fs.ooo pounds. The fishery begins on St An-
tdrew’s day, and ends August 26th old style. T
rents of till fisheries amount to considerably upwards of
3000I per annum. Smelts come up this river in May
and June. W. Long. 3*J?- N. Lat. 56. 22.
Perth Amboy. See New Jersey.
PERTINAX, was an illustrious Roman emperor af¬
ter the death of Commodus. He was descended of a
a mean family *, and like his father, who was either a slave
or the son of1 manumitted slave, he for some time fol¬
lowed the employment of drying wood and making char-
Z\ His poverty did not, however, prevent him from
receiving afiberal education. For some time he was
employed in teaching a number of pupils the Greek m
thePRoman languages in Etruria. He left this laborious
profession and became a soldier, and by ffis valour ^
intrepidity gradually rose to offices of the M e trJ
in the army, and was made consul by M. Aurelius tor
bis services. He was afterwards entrusted with the go¬
vernment of Mcesia, and at length he presided over the
X of Rome as governor. When Commodus was mur-
deml, Pertinax was universally chosen to succeed to the
imnerial dignity } and his refusal, on the plea of old
ageP, and increasing infirmities, did not prevent Ins being
saluted emperor and Augustus. He complied with re¬
luctance ; but bis mildness, his economy, and popularity,
convinced the senate and the people of the prudence and
the justice of their choice. He forbade his name to be
inscribed on such places or estates as were part of
90 ] PER
imperial domains, and asserted that they belonged not Pertinax.
to him but to the public. He melted all the silver sta-1    
tues which had been raised to his predecessor, and he ex¬
posed to sale all his concubines, horses, arms, and all the
instruments of his pleasure and extravagance. With the
money raised from these relics he enriched the empire,
and was enabled to abolish all the taxes which Commo¬
dus had laid on the rivers, ports, and highways, through
the empire. These patriotic actions gained him the af¬
fection of the worthiest and most deserving of his sub-
iects ; but the extravagant, luxurious, and vicious, rais¬
ed their clamours against him } and when the emperor
attempted to introduce among the praetorian guards such
discipline as was absolutely necessary to preserve the
peace and tranquillity of Rome, the flames of rebellion
were kindled, and the minds of the soldiers totally alie¬
nated. Pertinax was apprized of their mutinying, but
he refused to fly at the hour of danger. He scorned the
advice of such of his friends as wished him to withdraw
from the impending storm; and he unexpectedly appear¬
ed before the seditious troops, and without fear or con¬
cern boldly asked them, whether they who were bound
by duty to defend the person of their prince and em¬
peror, were come to betray him and to shed his blood?
His undaunted courage and intrepidity would have had
the desired effect, and the soldiers had begun to retire,
when one of the most seditious of them advanced and
darted his javelin at the emperor’s breast, exclaiming.
The soldiers send you this. The rest instantly followed
the example ; and Pertinax, muffling up his head, and
calling upon Jupiter to avenge his death, remained un¬
moved, and was immediately dispatched. His head was
cut off and carried upon the point of a spear in triumph
to the camp. This abominable murder happened in the
103d year of the Christian era.
It was no sooner known that Pertinax had been mur¬
dered, than the enraged populace flocked from all quar¬
ters of the city ; and uttering dreadful menaces against
the authors of his death, ran up and down the streets m
quest of them. The senators were no less concerned for
his death than the people ; the more, because they were
now convinced, that the soldiers would suffer none to
reism but tyrants. However, as they had more to lose
than the common people, they did not offer to revenge
bis death; but either shut themselves up in their own
houses, or in those of the soldiers of their acquaintance,
thinking themselves there more safe. Such was the un¬
fortunate and much-lamented end of Publius Helvius
Pertinax, after he had lived 66 years 7 ™n*hs and f
or 28 days ; and reigned, according to Dio Cassius, 87
days, that is from the 1st of January to the 28th of
March. His body, together with his head, was inter¬
red with great pomp by Didius Julianus, his successor,
in the burying-place of his wife’s family. 1 he emperor
Septimius Severus, with the title of emperor, assumed
the name of Pertinax, which he knew would above any
thine else recommend him to the army in Illyncum,
and to the Roman people. He punished with great se¬
verity all those who had been accessary to his death, dis¬
banded the praetorian guards, honoured his memory
with a most magnificent funeral, at which was came
the effigies of the deceased prince, pronounced his pane¬
gyric, and caused him to be ranked in the number of the
gods, appointing the son chief priest to his father. Ihe
Pertiuax
li
Peru.
PER [ 191 ] PER
day of his accesion to the empire was yearly celebrated and would have restored the empire to its former lustre
with the Circensian games; and his birthday, for many had he been indulged with a longer reign
years after, with other sports. He performed great PERTINENT of Lands, in Scots Law. See Law
things, says Herodian, during his short administration, N° clxvii. 6. p. 670.
Peru.
P E
ERU, a country of South America, is bounded on
the north by Popayan, on the east by Amazonia,
on the south by Chili, and on the west by the Pacific
ocean 5 extending from 1° 40' north to 26° io' south
latitude, and between 56° and 8i° west longitude from
Greenwich j being about 1800 miles in length,
ilowdis- This country was discovered by the Spaniards j and
overed the first intelligence they had of it was on the follow-
y the Spa-ing occasion. Nunez de Balboa having been raised to
lards. tiie government of the small colony at Santa Maria in
Darien, made frequent inroads into the adjacent country,
subdued several of the caciques or petty princes, and col¬
lected a considerable quantity of gold. In one of these
expeditions, the Spaniards contended so violently about
the division of some gold which they had taken, that
they were on the point of coming to blows with one
another. A young cacique who was present, astonished
at such contention about a thing of which he kneyv not
the use, tumbled the gold out of the balance with indig¬
nation, and turning to the Spaniards, told them, that
since they valued gold so very highly, he would conduct
them to a country near the southern ocean, where the
most common utensils were made of that metal.
Balboa was transported at the news. He immediately
concluded, that the ocean mentioned by the cacique was
that which Columbus had so long sought for in vain, and
that the rich territory described to him must be part of
the East Indies. He was therefore impatient till he
should arrive at that happy country, in comparison with
the discovery of which all former exploits almost vanish¬
ed into nothing. In order therefore to procure a force
sufficient to ensure success in his enterprise, he first se¬
cured the friendship of the neighbouring caciques, and
then dispatched some of his officers to Hispaniola, with
a large quantity of gold as a proof of his past success,
and an earnest of what he expected. By this means he
secured the friendship of the governor, and procured a
considerable reinforcement. But though he now ima¬
gined himself sufficiently strong to attempt the discovery,
2 there were still prodigious difficulties to be surmounted,
fficulties r^'^e isthmus of Darien, though not above 60 miles in
ey had to breadth, has a chain of lofty mountains running through
ercome. its whole extent. Being situated between two vast
oceans, the Atlantic and Pacific, the climate is exces¬
sively moist, insomuch that it rains for two-thirds of the
year. In consequence of this the valleys are marshy,
and so frequently overflowed, that the inhabitants find
it necessary in some plaqes to build their houses upon
trees, in order to be elevated at some distance from the
damp soil, and the odious reptiles engendered in the
waters. There are also many large rivers very difficult
to be crossed j and as the country at that time was only
inhabited by a few wandering savages, the enterprise of
R U.
Balboa was looked upon as the most difficult that had.
been undertaken by any Spanish adventurer.
On this arduous task Balboa set out on the 1st day
of September 1513, about the time that the periodical
rains began to abate. He had only ipo Spaniards
along with him; but all of them were hardy veterans,
inured to the climate of America, and very much at¬
tached to their leader. A thousand Indians attended
in order to carry their provisions and other necessaries j
and they had along with them some of those fierce dogs
so terrible to the natives of America.
Balboa proceeded by sea, and without difficulty, to
the territories of a cacique whose friendship he had
gained; but as soon as he began to advance into the
interior parts of the country, he met with all the dif¬
ficulties above mentioned. Some of the caciques also,
at his approach, fled with all their people to the moun¬
tains, carrying off or destroying whatever could af¬
ford subsistence to an army. Others collected their
force in order to oppose him : however, Balbao conti¬
nued unmoved in spite of all difficulties, and at last, JBalboa first
after a most painful journey of 25 days, he arrived atgets a sight
the South sea j when, with the most extravagant trans- of the
ports of joy, he went into it up to the middle, and took SGUth sea‘
possession of the ocean in his master’s name, vowing to
defend it against all the enemies of Spain.
I hat part of the South sea which Balboa now dis¬
covered, he called the Gulf of St Michael; which name
it still retains, and is situated to the east of Panama.
Irom some of the neighbouring caciques he extorted
provisions and gold by force j others sent him presents
voluntarily; and he had the satisfaction to hear, that
the adjacent coasts abounded with pearl-oysters. The
inhabitants were also unanimous in declaring, that
there was to the southward a very rich and populous
country, where the people had tame animals, which
they endeavoured to describe to him, meaning the Pe¬
ruvian sheep. But, however, impatient he might be
to visit this empire, he considered it as highly im¬
proper to venture thither with a handful of men ex¬
hausted by labour and disease. He therefore led back
his followers to Santa Maria, in order to refresh them
after their fatigues j and from thence he sent an ac¬
count to the court of Spain of the important discovery
he had made, demanding a reinforcement of 1000 men,
in order to conquer the country he had newly discover¬
ed. But here his hopes were all blasted at once. The He Pe¬
king indeed determined to prosecute the discovery, but priced of.
refused to continue Balboa in his government, appoint- “s com'
ing Pedrarius Davila to supersede him, and giving him mand,
the command of 15 stout vessels, with 1200 soldiers, to
ensure his success.
Balboa, though much mortified by his disgrace,
submitted
192
P E
Peru, submitted to the king’s pleasure without repining. It
i. 'y ...i ; was not long, however, before he met with an adm-
tional misfortune •, the new governor tried him for some
pretended irregularities committed before his airival,
and fined him of almost all he was worth. In the mean
time the Spaniards, paying bo regard to the treaties
concluded by Balboa with the Indians, plundered and
destroyed all indiscriminately, insomuch that the whole
country, from the gulf of Darien to the lake Nicara¬
gua, was desolated. The new comers had also arrived
at the most unlucky time of the year, Jiamely, about the
middle of the wet season, when the excessive rains pro¬
duced the most violent and fatal diseases. To this was
joined an extreme scarcity of provisions j so that in the
space of a month above 600 Spaniards perished in the
utmost misery.
Balboa failed not to send violent remonstrances to
Spain against the conduct of the new governor j and
he on the other hand, accused his antagonist of ha¬
ving deceived the king by false accounts of the coun-
try, and magnifying his own exploits beyond measure.
At last the king, sensible of his error in superseding
Balboa, appointed him adelantado, or lieutenant-go¬
vernor of the countries on the South sea, with very
extensive privileges and authority *, enjoining P.edrari-
as to support him in all his enterprises, and toconsult
with him in every thing which he himself undertook.
It was impossible, however, to extinguish the envy of
Pedrarias *, and therefore, though a reconciliation tome
place in appearance, even so far, that Pedrarias agreed
5 to give his daughter in marriage to Balboa, yet he
And put to goon after had him condemned and executed on pretence
death. of disloyalty, **d an intention to revolt from the king.
On the death of Balboa, the thoughts of conquer¬
ing Peru were for a time laid aside ; however, it still
remained an object of desire to all the Spanish adven¬
turers in America. Accordingly, several armaments
were fitted out with a design to explore and take pos¬
session of the countries to the east of Panama ’, hut,
either through the difficulties which attended the un¬
dertaking itself, or the bad .conduct of the adventu¬
rers, all of them proved unsuccessful, until at last it be¬
came a general opinion, that Balboa’s scheme had been
entirely visionary
Peru.
A new ex- Still, however, there were three persons settled at
peditiom set panama> Glj whom the common opinions made §0 little
°n °0t' impression, .that they determined to go in quest of this
country, looked .upon to be chimerical by the genera¬
lity of their neighbours. Their names were Francisco
Pi%an'0, Diego de Almagro, and Hernando Luqve. 11-
zarro and Almagro were soldiers of fortune, and Luque
was an ecclesiastic, who acted both as priest and school¬
master at Panama. Their confederacy was authorised
by Pedrarias governor of Panama 5 and each engaged
tp employ his whole fortune in the adventure. Pizar-
ro, being the least wealthy of the three, engaged to take
upon himself the greatest share of the fatigue and dan¬
ger, and .to command in person the armament which
was to go first upon the discovery. Almagro ottered
to conduct the supplies of provisions and reiniorcements.
of troops which might be necessary •, and Luque was to
remain at Panama, in order to negociate with the go-
7 vernor, and to superintend whatever was carrying on
Meets with £or t|ie general Interest.
at1fiCCeSS In 1524> Pizarro set sail from Panama with a single
R U.
vessel of small burthen and 11 2 men ; and so little was
he or his countrymen at that time acquainted with the
climate of America, that the most improper season of
the whole year was chosen for his departure, the pe¬
riodical winds, which were then set in, being directly
opposite to the course which he proposed to steer. J he
consequence of this was, that, after beating about for
70 days with much danger and fatigue, he had ad¬
vanced scarce as far to the south east as a skiliul na¬
vigator will now make in three days. He touched at
several places of Terra Firma j but finding that coun¬
try exceedingly inhospitable and unhealthy, he was
obliged to retire to Chuchama, opposite to the I earl
islands, where he hoped to receive some reinforcements
from Panama. Here he was found by Almagro, who
had set out in quest of him with a reinforcement of 70
men, and bad suffered distresses very much resembling
those of Pizarro himself. In particular, he had lost an
eye in combat with the Indians. However, he had ad¬
vanced as far as the river of St Juan in the province of
Popayan, where the country showing a better aspect,
and the inhabitants more friendly, our projectors again
began to indulge themselves in hopes, and determined
bv no means to abandon their scheme.
* Almagvp .returned to Pananoa, in hopes of recruiting
their shattered troops. But the bad accounts of the ser¬
vice gave his countrymen such an unfavourable idea of
it that Almagro could levy no more than 80 men, and
these with great difficulty. Slender as this .reinforce¬
ment was, however, the adventurers did pot hesitate at
renewing their enterprise. The disasters and disap¬
pointments' they wet with in this new attempt, were
scarcely inferior to those they had already experienced,
when part of the armament at last reached the bay of
St Matthew on the coast of Quito, aod landed at laca-
mez to the south of the river of Emeralds, where they
met with a more fertile and champaign country than
anv they had yet seen ; the natives also were more ci¬
vilized, and clothed in garments of cotton or waollcn
stuff, adorned with trinkets of gold and siver. But not¬
withstanding these favourable appearances, Pizarro n
not think fit to attack such a powerful empire with a
handful of soldiers already exhausted j and therefore re¬
tired to a small island called Gallo, with part of the
troops j from whence he dispatched Almagro to 1 ana-
ma, in hopes of obtaining a reinforcement.
The reception which Almagro met with was by no
means agreeable. Some of the adventurers had in¬
formed their friends of the many dangers and losses
which they had sustained-, which not only disheaitened
people from engaging in the service, but wer.ghed so
much with Pedro de los Rios, the successor of Pedra¬
rias, that he prohibited the raising of pew recruits, and
even dispatched a vessel to bring home Pizarro and his
companions from the island of Gallo. Ahnagro an
Luque, though much mortified with this disappo
nient, privately advised Pizarro not to relinquish an en¬
terprise on which they had built all then- hopes H.
therefore positively refused to obey the orders of the go- ^
vernor, and employed all his address in persuading
men not to abandon him. But the calujuties to
they bad been exposed had such an theft upon them, b, ,,t
that when he drew a line upon the sand with !m sword. «
tellin« such as wished to .eturn that they mipht pasathut
over it, only 13 had resolution to remain with h.m.
rro
9
oes on
ith his
cheme at
til adven-
jres.
P E
Pem/i Pizarro with his little troop now fixed their residence
1 on the isle of Gorgona, which they considered as a safer
retreat than Gallo, as being farther removed from the
coast, and uninhabited, so that theY might with the
greater security wait for supplies. Here they continued
five months in the most unwholesome climate imagin¬
able, and at last had come to a resolution of committing
themselves to sea on a float, when a vessel arrived from
Panama to their relief^ This was the effect of the conti¬
nued solicitations of Almagro and Luque j who, though
•they could not prevail upon the governor to favour the
undertaking, had succeeded so far as to induce him to
send a small vessel to the relief of Pizarro and his unfor¬
tunate associates. However, the more effectually to
show his disapprobation of Pizarro’s scheme, the gover¬
nor refused to allow one landman to go on board of the
ship which he sent.—The hopes of the adventurers were
now again revived, and Pizarro easily induced them to
resume their scheme. Instead of returning to Panama,
therefore, they sailed to the south-east, and in 20 days
after the discovery of Gorgona, they discovered the
coast of Peru. Having touched at some places of less
note, they at length arrived at Tumbez, remarkable for
its stately temple, and a palace of the incas or sovereigns
of the country. Here they found that what had been
told them concerning the riches of the country was
true ; not only ornaments and sacred vessels being made
of gold and silver, but even such as were for common
use. Yet to attempt the conquest of this opulent em¬
pire with their slender force, would have been madness ■,
they contented themselves therefore with viewing it,
procuring two of the beasts of burthen called llamas,
to which they gave the name of sheep, some vessels of
gold and silver, and two young men, whom they pro¬
posed to instruct in the Castilian language. With these
Pizarro arrived at Panama in the year 1527, near three
years after he had set out from that place on his expe¬
dition.
The empire of Peru, thus discovered, is said to have
ie Incas ofkeen originally possessed by independent tribes, justly
reckoned among the most savage even in America ;
living more like wild beasts than men. For several ages
they lived in this manner, when suddenly there appear¬
ed on the banks of a lake called Titiaca, a man and wo¬
man of majestic form, and clothed in decent garments.
They declared themselves to be the children of the sun,
sent by their beneficent parent to instruct and reclaim
mankind.
The names of these two extraordinary personages
were Manco Capac and Mama Ocla. At their persua¬
sion, several of the dispersed savages united, and, re¬
ceiving their commands as heavenly injunctions, follow¬
ed them to Cuzco, where they settled, and began to
lay the foundations of a city. Manco Capac instruct¬
ed the men in agriculture, and other useful arts j while
Mama Ocla taught the women to spin and weave ; af¬
ter which Manco turned his attention towards the in¬
troduction of proper laws and regulations into his new
state.
Thus, according to the Indian tradition, was found¬
ed the empire of the Incas, or lords of Peru. At first
its extent was small, the territory of Manco Capac
reaching not above eight leagues from Cuzco his capi¬
tal. Within these narrow limits, however, he exer¬
cised the most perfect despotism, and the same was
Vol. XVI. Part I.
listory of
R U.
maintained by his successors, all of whom were not
only obeyed as monarchs, but reverenced as deities.
Their blood was held to be sacred, and, by prohibit¬
ing intermarriages with the people, rvas never conta¬
minated by mixing with that of any other race. The
family, thus separated from the rest of the nation, was
distinguished by peculiarities in dress and ornaments,
which it was unlawful for others to assume. Among
the Peruvians, however, it is said, that this high de¬
gree of veneration was made use of by the monarchs
only to promote the good of their subjects. If we may
believe the accounts given by their countrymen, the
Peruvian monarchs extended their empire not with a
view to increase their own power and wealth, but from
a desire of diffusing the blessings of civilization, and
the knowledge of the arts which they possessed, among
the barbarous people whom they reduced, and, during
a succession of 1 2 monarchs, not one deviated from this
character.
The Peruvians were taught by Manco to adore the Carver's
Creator of heaven and earth, whom they denominated Modem
Paca Camac, that intelligence which animated the General
world. They seldom built temples or offered sacrifices ^ave^er>
to him, but worshipped him in their hearts. One Relinjon 0i‘
temple, however, dedicated to The unknown God, the the Rery.
Spaniards found at their arrival, erected in a valley, v^aus-
thence named the valley of Paca Camac. The sacrifi¬
ces instituted in honour of the sun consisted chiefly of
lambs ; besides which they offered all sorts of cattle,
fowls, and corn, and even burnt their finest cloths on
the altar by way of incease. They had also drink of¬
ferings made of maize or Indian corn, steeped in water.
Nor were those oblations the only acts of adoration in
general use among them. When they first drank after
their meals, they dipped the tip of their finger into the
cup, and lifting up their eyes with great devotion, gave
the sun thanks for their liquor, before they presumed to
take a draught of it.
Besides the worship of the sun, they paid some kind
of veneration to the images of several animals and ve¬
getables that had a place in their temples. These were
generally the images brought from the conquered na¬
tions, where the people worshipped all sorts of creatures,
animate or inanimate 5 it being the custom, when a pro¬
vince wras subdued, to remove all their idols to the tem¬
ple of the sun at Cuzco.
Exclusive of the solemnities at every full moon, four
grand festivals were celebrated annually. The first of
those, called Raymi, was held in the month of June,
immediately after the summer solstice, and was kept
not only in honour of the sun, but of their first Inca,
Manco Capac, and Coya Mama Ocla, his wife and
sister, whom the Incas considered as their first parents,
descended immediately from the sun, and sent by him
into the world to reform and polish mankind. At this
festival, all the viceroys, generals, governors, and nobi¬
lity, were assembled at the capital city of Cuzco ; and
the emperor, or Inca, officiated in person as high-priest j
though on other occasions the sacerdotal function was
discharged by the regular pontiff, who was usually either
the uncle or brother of the Inca.
The morning of the festival being come, the Inca,
accompanied by his near relations, drawn up in order
according to their seniority, went barefoot in procession,
at break of day, to the market-place, where they re-
-f- B b • mained
PERU.
matned looking attentively towards the east in expec*
1 tation of the rising sun. The luminary no sooner ap¬
peared, than they tell prostrate on their faces in the
most profound veneration, and universally acknowled¬
ged it to be their god and father.
The vassal princes, and nobility, that were not ot
the blood royal, assembled in another square, and per¬
formed the like ceremony. Out ot a large flock of
sheep the priests then chose a black lamb, which they
offered in sacrifice, first turning its head towards the
east. From the entrails ot the victim, on this occa¬
sion, they superstitiously drew prognostics relating to
peace and war, and other public events.
That the Peruvians believed in the immortality of
the soul, appears from the practice of the Incas, who
constantly inculcated to the people, that, on leaving
this world, they should enter into a state ot happiness
. provided tor them by their god and fathei the sun.
They were Before the arrival of the Spaniards in America, the
acquainted Peruvians were acquainted with some points of astio-
with astro- nomy- They had observed the various motions of the
fore'tlicTar- planet Venus, and the different phases of the moon,
lival of the The common people divided the year only by the sea-
Spaniards. sons } hut the Incas, who had discovered the annual re¬
volution of the sun, marked out the summer and winter
solstices by high towers, which they erected on the east
and west of the city of Cuzco. When the sun came to
rise directly opposite to four of those towers, on the east
side of the city, and to set against those of the west, it
was then the summer solstice j and in like manner, when
it rose and set against the other towers, it was the winter
solstice. They had also erected marble pillars in the
great court before the temple of the sun, by which they
observed the equinoxes. This observation was made
under the equator, when the sun being directly vertical,
the pillars cast no shade. At those times they crowned
the pillars with garlands of flowers and odoriferous
herbs, and celebrating a festival, offered to their ador¬
ed luminary rich presents of gold and precious stones.
They distinguished the months by the moon, and
their weeks were called quarters ot the moon j but the
days of the week they marked only by the ordinal num¬
bers, as first, second, &c. They were astonished at
the eclipses of the sun and moon. When the former
hid his face, they concluded it was on account of their
sins, imagining that this phenomenon portended famine,
war, and pestilence, or some other terrible calamity.
In a similar state of the moon, they apprehended that
she was sick, and when totally obscured, that she was
dying. At this alarming crisis they sounded their trum¬
pets, and endeavoured by every kind ot noise to rouse
the lunar planet from her supposed lethargy ; teaching
their children to ciy out, and call upon mama quilla,
or “ mother moon,” that she would not die and leave
them to perish.
They made no predictions from any of the stars,
but considered dreams, and the entrails of beasts which
they offered in sacrifice, as instructive objects of divi¬
nation. When they saw the sun set, they imagined
that he plunged into the ocean, to appear next morning
ty in the east.
They had Among a people wholly void of letters, the specula-
tpaehers of tive essays of the understanding must have been very
njorality; j-u-Jc all[l imperfect. They had, however, among them
anientas, or philosophers, who delivered moral precepts,
and likewise cultivated poetry. Comedies and trage• ptni.
dies composed by those bards were acted on their festi-1
vals before the king and the royal family, the perfor¬
mers being the great men ot the court, and the pnn-
cipal officers of the army. The amentas also compo¬
sed songs and ballads , but if we may judge trorn the
rudeness of the music with which they are said to have
been accompanied, they ivere tar from being agreeable
to a polished ear. ... r4
That the Peruvians were not unacquainted with paint- and were (
ing and statuary, appears from the furniture and orna-notunae- ,
ments of their temples and palaces *, but in all the nn- kth paim>
plements of mechanic arts they were extremely deh- ing and
cient. Though many goldsmiths were constantly em- statuary,
ployed, they had never invented an anvil ot any me¬
tal, but in its stead made use of a hard stone. I hey
beat their plate with round pieces of copper in place
of hammers*j neither had they any files or graving
tools. Instead of bellows for melting their metals, they
used copper pipes, of a yard long, almost ot the form
of a trumpet. Having no tongs to take their heated
metal out of the fire, they made use of a stick or cop¬
per bar. Their carpenters had no other tools than
hatchets made of copper or flint; nor had they learned
the use of iron j though the country affords mines ot
that metal. Instead of nails, they fastened their tim¬
ber with cords or the tough twigs of trees. A thorn,
or a small bone, served them tor a needle ; and instead
of thread, the sinews of animals, or the fibres ot some
plant. Their knives were made ot flint or copper.
When the Spaniards first visited this country, they pIOgress0{
found it agitated by a civil war. Huana Capac, thetheSpa-
12tli monarch from the founder of the state, was seat-u^ub faci-
ed on the throne; who is represented as a prince nocivilwar
less conspicuous for his abilities in war than for hisainong the
pacific virtues. By him the kingdom of Quito was natives;
subdued, which almost doubled the extent ot the do¬
minions and power of the Peruvian empire. Notwith¬
standing the ancient and fundamental law against pol¬
luting the blood of the. Inca with any foreign alliance,
Huana married the daughter of the conquered mo¬
narch, by whom he had a son named Ata/iualpa, com¬
monly written Atubalipa, to whom, at his death in
j 529, he left the kingdom of Quito, bestowing the
rest of his dominions upon Huascar his eldest son by a
mother of the royal race. This produced a civil war,
in which Atabalipa proved victorious, and aftei wards
attempted to secure himself on the throne by putting to
death all the descendants of Manco Capac, styled the
children oj the sun, whom he could seize either by force
or stratagem; however, from a political motive, he
spared the life of his rival Huascar, who had the mis¬
fortune to be taken prisoner in an engagement, that,
by issuing out orders in his name, he might more easily
establish his own authority, and cover the illegality of
his birth.
This contest had so much engaged the attention of
the Peruvians, that they never once attempted to check
the progress ot the Spaniards. It was some time, how¬
ever, before Pizarro was informed of this contest, so
much in his favour. The first intelligence which he re¬
ceived of it was a message from Huascar, asking his
assistance against Atabalipa, whom he represented as
a rebel and an usurper. Pizarro perceived the impor¬
tance of the intelligence, and therefore determined
to
Peru, to push forward, while intestine discoid put it out of
‘ * ' 1 ' the power of the Peruvians to attack him with their
whole force. Being obliged to divide his troops, in
order to leave a garrison in St Michael, which might
J serve for a place of retreat in case of a disaster, he be¬
gan his march with only 62 horsemen and 102 foot-
soldiers, 20 of whom were armed with cross-bows, and
only three with muskets. He directed his course to¬
wards Caxamalca, a small town at the distance of 1 2
days march from St Michael, where Atabahpa was en¬
camped with a considerable body of troops. Before he
had proceeded far, an officer dispatched by the Inca
met him with a valuable present from that prince, ac¬
companied with a proffer of his alliance, and his assu¬
rances of a friendly reception at Caxamalca. Pizarro,
according to the usual artifice of his countrymen in
America, pretended to come as the ambassador of a
powerful monarch, and declared that he was now
advancing with intention to offer Atabalipa his aid
against those enemies who disputed his title to the
,, throne.
d by As the object of the Spaniards in entering their
eir xgno- country was altogether incomprehensible to the Peru-
»raotiveJianS.* *ia<^ f°rme(* various conjectures concerning
it, without being able to decide whether they should
p e n u.
tlie Spa
irds.
consider their new guests as beings of a superior nature,
who had visited them from some beneficent motive, or
as formidable avengers of their crimes, and enemies to
their repose and liberty. The continual professions of
the Spaniards, that they came to enlighten them with
the knowledge of truth, and lead them in a way of
happiness, favoured the former opinion ; the outrages
which they committed, their rapaciousness and cruel¬
ty, were awful confirmations of the latter. While in
this state of uncertainty, Pizarro’s declaration of his
pacific intentions so far removed all the Inca’s fears,
that he determined to give him a friendly reception.
In consequence of this resolution, the Spaniards wrere
allowed to march in tranquillity across the sandy desert
between St Michael and Motupd, where the most
feeble effort of an enemy, added to the unavoidable
distresses which they suffered in passing through that
comfortless region, must have proved fatal to them.
From Motupe they advanced towards the mountains
which encompass the low country of Peru, and pass¬
ed through a defile so narrow and inaccessible, that a
few men might have defended it against a numerous
army. But here likewise, from the same inconsiderate
credulity of the Inca, the Spaniards met with no op¬
position, and took quiet possession of a fort erected for
the security of that important station. As they now
approached near to Caxamalca, Atabalipa renewed
his professions of friendship; and, as an evidence of
his sincerity, sent them presents of greater value than
the former.
On entering Caxamalca, Pizarro took possession of a
large court, on one side of w'hich was a house which
the Spanish historians call a palace of the Inca, and on
the other a temple of the sun, the whole surrounded
with a strong rampart or wall of earth. When he had
posted his troops in this advantageous station, he dis¬
patched Hernando Soto, and his brother Ferdinand,
to the camp of Atabalipa, which was about a league
distant from the town. He instructed them to confirm
the declaration which he had formerly made of his pa¬
cific disposition, and to desire an interview with the peru
Inca, that he might explain more fully the intention v—
ot the Spaniards in visiting his country. They were
treated with all the respectful hospitality usual among
the Peruvians in the reception of their most cordial
friends, ami Atabalipa promised to visit the Spanish
commander next day in his quarters. The decent de¬
portment of the Peruvian monarch, the order of his
court, and the reverence with which his subjects ap¬
proached his person and obeyed his commands, asto¬
nished those Spaniards, who had never met in Ame¬
rica with any thing more dignified than the petty ca¬
cique of a barbarous tribe. But their eyes were still
more powerfully attracted by the vast 'profusion of
wealth which they observed in the Inca’s camp. The
rich ornaments worn by him and his attendants, the
vessels of gold and silver in which the repast offered to
them was served up, the multitude of utensils of every
kind formed of those precious metals, opened prospects
far exceeding any idea of opulence that a European of
the 16th century could form.
On their return to Caxamalca, while their minds
were yet warm with admiration and desire of the wealth
which they had beheld, they gave such a description of
it to their countrymen, as confirmed Pizarro in a resolu¬
tion which he had already taken. From his own obser¬
vation of American manners during his long service in
the New World, as well as from the advantages which
Cortes had derived from seizing Montezuma, he knew
of what consequence it rvas to have the Inca in his
power. For this purpose, he formed a plan as daring PerfidLos
as it was perfidious. Notwithstanding the character be scheme of
had assumed of an ambassador from a powerful monarch, fizairo to
who courted an alliance with the Inca, and in violation jdzc th&
of the repeated offers which he had made to him of his,nCa’
own friendship and assistance, he determined to avail
himself of the unsuspicious simplicity with which Ataba¬
lipa relied on his professions, and to seize his person du¬
ring the interview to which he had invited him. He
prepared for the execution of his scheme with the same
deliberate arrangement, and with as little compunction,
as if it had reflected no disgrace on himself or his coun¬
try. He divided his cavalry into three small squadrons,
under the command of his brothers Ferdinand, Soto, and
Benalcazar ; his infantry was formed into one body,
except 20 of most tried courage, whom he kept near
his own person to support him in the dangerous service
which he reserved for himself j the artillery, consist¬
ing of two field pieces, and the cross-bow men, were
placed opposite to the avenue by which Atabalipa was
to approach. All were commanded to keep within the
square, and not to move until the signal for action was
given.
Early in the morning the Peruvian camp was all in
motion. But as Atabalipa was solicitous to appear with
the greatest splendour and magnificence in his first inter¬
view with the strangers, the preparations for this were so
tedious, that the day was far advanced before lie began
his march. Even then, lest the order of the procession
should be deranged, he moved so slowly, that the Spa¬
niards became impatient and apprehensive that some sus¬
picion of their intention might be the cause of this delay.
In order to remove this, Pizarro dispatched one of his
officers with fresh assurances of his friendly disposition.
At length the Inca approached. First of all appeared
B b 2 400
195
P E
400 men in an uniform dress, as harbingers to cleai the
way before him. He himself, sitting on a throne or
couch, adorned with plumes of various colours, and al¬
most covered with plates of gold and sliver enriched
with precious stones, was carried on the shoulders ot his
principal attendants. Behind him came some chief of¬
ficers of his court carried in the same manner, seve¬
ral bands of singers and dancers accompanied this ca¬
valcade ; and the whole plain was covered with troops,
amounting to more than 30,000 men.
As the Inca drew near the Spanish quarters, r ather
Vincent Valverede, chaplain to the expedition, advan¬
ced with a crucifix in one hand, and a breviary in the
other, and in a long discourse explained to him the doc¬
trine of the creation, the fall of Adam, the incarnation,
the sufferings and resurrection of Jesus Christ, the ap¬
pointment of St Peter as God’s vicegerent on earth, the
transmission of his apostolical power by succession to the
popes, the donation made to the king of Castile by Pope
Alexander of all the regions in the New World. In
consequence of all this, he required Atabalipa to em¬
brace the Christian faith, to acknowledge the supreme
jurisdiction of the pope, and to submit to the king of
Castile as his lawful sovereign •, promising, if he com¬
plied instantly with this requisition, that the Castiban
monarch would protect his dominions, and permit him
to continue in the exercise of his royal authority •, but
if he should impiously refuse to obey his summons, he
denounced wrar against him in his master’s name, an
threatened him with the most dreadful enects ot his
vengeance. . ,
This strange harangue, unfolding deep mysteries, and
alluding to unknown facts, of which no power of elo¬
quence could have conveyed at once a distinct idea to
an American, was so lamely translated by an unskilful
interpreter, little acquainted with the idiom of the bpa-
nish tongue, and incapable of expressing himself with
propriety in the language of the Inca, that its general
tenor was altogether incomprehensible to Atabalipa.
Home parts in it, of more obvious meaning, filled him
with astonishment and indignation. His reply, how¬
ever, was temperate. He began with observing, that
he was lord of the dominions over which he reigned by
hereditary succession 5 and added, that he could not con¬
ceive how a foreign priest should pretend to dispose ot
territories which did not belong to him 5 that if such
a preposterous grant had been made, he, who was the
rightful possessor, refused to confirm it 5 that he had no
inclination to renounce the religious institutions esta¬
blished by his ancestors ; nor would he forsake the ser¬
vice of the sun, the immortal divinity whom he and his
people revered, in order to worship the God of the
Spaniards, who was subject to death 5 that with respect
to other matters contained in his discourse, as he had
never heard of them before, and did not now understand
their meaning, he desired to know where he had learn¬
ed things so extraordinary. “ In this book,” answered
Valverede, reaching out to him his breviary. The Inca
opened it eagerly } and turning over the leaves, lifted
it to his ear: “This (says he) is silent; it tells me
nothing;” and threw it with disdain to the ground.
The enraged monk, running towards his countrymen,
cried out, “ To arms, Christians, to arms ; the word
of God is insulted ; avenge this profanation on those
impious dogs.”
Peru.
18
R U.
Pizzaro, who during this long conference had with
difficulty restrained his soldiers, eager to seize the uch '■
spoils of which they had now so near a view, imme¬
diately gave the signal of assault. At once the martial
music struck up, the cannon and muskets began to fire,
the horse sallied out fiercely to the charge, the infantry
rushed on sword in hand. The Peruvians, astonished at
the suddenness of an attack which they did not expect,
and dismayed with the destructive effects of the fire¬
arms, and the irresistible impression of the cavalry, fled
with universal consternation on every side, without at¬
tempting either to annoy the enemy or to defend them¬
selves. Pizarro, at the head of his chosen band, advan¬
ced directly towards the Inca; and though his nobles Atabalipa.
crowded around him with officious zeal, and tell in
numbers at his feet, while they vied one with another
in sacrificing their orvn lives, that they might cover the
sacred person of their sovereign, the Spaniards soon pe¬
netrated to the r-oyal seat: and Pizarro seizing the. In¬
ca by the arm, dragged him to the ground, and cairied
him as a prisoner to his quarters. The fate of the mo¬
narch increased the precipitate flight of his followers.
The Spaniards pursued them towards every quarter, and,
with deliberate and unrelenting barbarity, continued to
slaughter wretched fugitives, who never once offered
at resistance. The carnage did not cease until the
close of day. Above 4000 Peruvians were killed. Not
a single Spaniard fell, nor was one wounded but Pi¬
zarro himself, whose hand was slightly hurt by one ot
his own soldiers, while struggling eagerly to lay hold on
the Inca. , . , offers
The plunder taken on this occasion was immense, but"
the Spaniards were still unsatisfied ; which being obser- mense sum
ved by the Inca, he endeavoured to apply himself toforhisii.
their ruling passion, avarice, in order to obtain his liber- be.ty.
ty : and therefore offered such a ransom as astonished
them, even after all they knew concerning the opulence
of the country. The apartment in which he was con¬
fined was 22 feet in length and 16 in breadth ; and all
this space he engaged to fill with vessels of gold as high
as he could reach. This proposal was eagerly caught
by Pizarro, and a line was drawn upon the walls to
mark the stipulated height.
Atabalipa, charmed with the thoughts of liberty, im¬
mediately set about performing his part of the agreement,
and despatched messengers into all parts of the empire,
in order to collect the immense quantity of gold which
he bad promised ; and though the unfortunate monarch,
was now in the hands ot his enemies, such was the ve¬
neration which his subjects had tor him, that his orders
were obeyed with as great alacrity as though be had
been at full liberty ; while he, in the mean time, flat¬
tering himself with the hopes of being soon released,
made no preparations for expelling the invaders from
his dominions. . .,
In a short time Pizarro received intelligence that Al-
magro was arrived at St Michael with a reinforcement
equal to the force he had with him. This was a matter
of £?reat joy to the Spaniards, and no small vexation to
Atabalipa, who now considered his kingdom as in dan¬
ger of being totally overrun by these strangers, whose
force be neither knew, nor the means they had of trans¬
porting themselves. For this reason he determined to
put his brother Huascar to death, lest he should join the
strangers against him* I o this- he was the rather in-
4‘
PERU.
izarro re¬
al ves to
ut the
ica to
eatb.
peru dined, as he had got information that the captive
—y—J prince had been making applications to them, and
had offered them a much larger sum than what was
stipulated for the Inca’s ransom j and in consequence
of this determination the unfortunate prince lost his
life.
In the mean time the Indians daily arrived at Caxa-
malca with vast quantities of treasure; the sight of which
so much enflamed the Spaniards, that they insisted upon
an immediate division : and this being complied with,
there fell to the share of each horseman 8000 pesos, at
that time not inferior to the value of as many pounds
sterling in the present century, and half as much to
each foot soldier, Pizarro and his officers receiving
shares proportionable to their dignity. A fifth part was
reserved for the emperor, together with some vessels of
curious workmanship as a present. In consequence of
this immense acquisition of wealth, many of the Spa¬
niards became clamorous for their discharge; which was
readily granted by their general, as well knowing that
the display of their riches would not fail to allure ad¬
venturers more hardy, though less opulent, to his stan-
dard.
After this division of the spoil, Atabalipa was very
importunate with Pizarro in order to recover his liber¬
ty; hut the Spaniard, with unparalleled treachery and
cruelty, had now determined to put him to death. To
this he was urged by Almagro’s soldiers, who, though
they had received an equal share with the rest, were still
unsatisfied. I he Inca’s ransom had not been completed ;
and they were apprehensive, that whatever sums might
afterwards be brought in, the troops of Pizarro would
appropriate them to themselves as part of that ransom.
They insisted with Pizarro, therefore, to put him to
death, that all the adventurers might for the future be
on an equal footing. Accounts were likewise received
that troops were assembling in the remote provinces of
the empire, which Pizarro suspected to be done by the
Inca’s orders. These accounts were heightened by one
Philipillo an Indian interpreter, who had conceived a
passion for one of the unhappy monarch’s wives; and
for that reason wished to have him put to death. Ata¬
balipa himself, too, had the misfortune to hasten his
own ruin by his conceiving a contemptuous notion of
Pizarro, which he had not the precaution to conceal
He had. since they were first discovered by him, admir¬
ed the European arts of reading and writing, and wished
much to know whether he should regard it as a natural
or acquired talent. In order to determine this, he de¬
sired one of the soldiers who guarded him to write the
name of God upon the nail of his thumb. This he shows
ed to several Spaniards successively, asking its meaning;
and to his surprise, they all returned the same answer.
At length Pizarro entered ; and, on presenting it to him,
he blushed, and was obliged to own his ignorance;
which inspired the Inca with the contemptuous notion
ii h im above mentioned.
abalipa In order, however, to give some show of justice to
eused and such a detestable action, and that he might be exempted
uuemn from staru|jng singly as the perpetrator, Pizarro resolved
to accuse the Inca of some capital crime, and institute a
court of judicature for the purpose of trying him. For
this purpose, he appointed himself and Almagro, with
two assistants, as judges, with full powers to acquit or
condemn : an attorney-general was named to carry on
the prosecution in the king’s name; counsellors were
chosen to assist the prisoner in his defence ; and clerks
were ordained to record the proceedings of court. Be¬
fore this strange tribunal a charge was exhibited still
more amazing. It consisted of various articles; that
Atabalipa, though a bastard, had dispossessed the lawful
owner of the throne, and usurped the regal power; that
he had put his brother and lawful sovereign to death;
that he was an idolater, and had not only permitted,
hut commanded the offering up of human sacrifices;
that he had a great number of concubines ; that since
his imprisonment, he had wasted and embezzled the royal
treasures, which now belonged of right to the conque¬
rors ; and that he had excited his subjects to take up
arms against the Spaniards. On these heads of accusa¬
tion they proceeded to try the sovereign of a great em¬
pire, over whom they had no jurisdiction. To all these
charges the Inca pleaded not guilty. With respect to
the death of his brother, he alleged, that the Spaniards
could take no cognizance of the fact. With regard to
the taxes which he had levied, and the wars he had car¬
ried on, they were nothing to the Spaniards; and as to
the conspiracy against the Spaniards, he utterly denied
it. lie called heaven and earth to witness the integrity
ol his conduct, and how iaithfully he had performed his
engagements, and the perfidy of his accusers. He de¬
sired to be sent over to Spain to take his trial before the
emperor; but no regard was paid to his intreaties.
He was condemned to be burnt alive; which cruel 22
sentence was mitigated, as a great favour, to Strang-and strans:
ling; and the unhappy monarch was executed without Ed.
mercy.
The death of the Inca was followed by a revolution
in the Spanish affairs, who now became generally odious.
Hideous cries were set up by his women as the funeral
procession passed by their apartment; many offered to
bury themselves alive with him ; and on being hindered, 23
strangled themselves out of grief and vexation. I he A general
whole town of Caxamalca was filled with lamentation,revoltof
which quickly extended itself over the whole kingdom. t!.ie Peru*
Friends and enemies accused the Spaniards of inhuma- TIU!1S'
nity and treachery;. Loads of gold that were coming to
Caxamalca by order of the deceased Inca were now
stopped ; and the loss of the treasure was the first unfor¬
tunate consequence which the Spaniards felt from their
late iniquitous conduct. The two factions of Indians
united against Pizarro ; and many of the Spaniards not
only exclaimed against the cruelty of the judges, but
would even have mutinied, had not a sense of the im¬
pending danger kept them quiet. At Cuzco the friends
of the emperor Huascar proclaimed Manco Capac the
legitimate brother of the late Inca, determining to sup¬
port him to the last against all the machinations of his
enemies. Pizarro, in the mean time, set up Taparpa,
the son of Atabalipa, causing him to be treated with all
the honours due to an emperor. Immediately he set out
for Cuzco, the gaining of which rvas absolutely necessary
for his design. An army of Indians occupied the passes,
and resolved to dispute his progress. The contest, how¬
ever, was soon decided ; the Spanish cavalry bore down
every thing before them, and great numbers of Indians
w'ere slain. rL'he conquerors gamed a considerable booty;
and Pizarro dispatched Almagro to reduce Cuzco, while
he himself founded a new colony in the fruitful val-
ley of Xauna; which, however, was not permament,
being
1
Peru.
. 24
Chili inva-
<ded by Al¬
varado.
25
He is obli¬
ged by ''i-
zarro to
abandon
the enter-
prize.
z6
Honours
conferred
on Pizarro
by the
-court of
Spain.
being afterwards removed to the place where Lima now
stands.
While Pizarro was thus employed, another comman¬
der named Ferdhmndo Soto, was detached with 60 horse
to make the best of his way to Cuzco, and clear the road
for the march ol the remainder o( the aimy. e
opposed by a formidable collection of Indians, who had
fortified themselves in order to defend a pass against
him : for which reason, fearing lest his strength might
be unequal, lie sent a message to Pizarro, desiring that
the Inca might join him, thinking that his presence
would awe the Peruvians, and prevent the further effu¬
sion of blood ; but his expectations were frustrated by
the death of the Inca, which happened about this time j
so that there was now a necessity for having recourse to
arms: for as the Spaniards set up no person in his
room, the title of Manco Capac was universally ac¬
knowledged. . ,
In the mean time, a new supply of soldiers arriving
from Spain, Benalcazar, governor of St Michael, un¬
dertook an expedition against Quito, where, accord¬
ing to the reports of the natives, Atabalipa had jelt
the greatest part of his treasure. He accomplished
his purpose with very great difficulty, having a coun¬
try covered with rocks and mountains to pass, and
being opposed by large bodies of the natives. But
when he got possession of the city, to his extreme mor¬
tification, he found that the inhabitants had carried oft
all their gold and silver*, for they being now acquaint¬
ed with the ruling passion of the Spaniards, had
taken care to disappoint it, by removing the treasures
which they knew very well had been the cause of the
expedition. „ .
About the same time Alvarado governor of Ouati-
mala, invaded the province of Chili. In this expedi¬
tion his troops endured such hardships, and sidle red
so much from the cold among the Andes, that a fifth
part of the men and all the horses died, and at the
same time the rest were so much dispirited and ema¬
ciated, that they became quite unfit for service. VV hat
was worst of all, when they had arrived at the end of
their journey, they met with a body of Spaniards drawn
up in hostile array to oppose them. These had been sent
against him by Pizarro, who claimed Chili as part of
his jurisdiction, and were now joined by Benalcazar,
with the troops under his command. Alvarado, how¬
ever, advanced boldly to the attack *, but on the inter¬
position of some moderate men in each party, the ctit-
ference was accommodated. Alvarado engaged to ie-
turn to his government, upon his being paid 100,000
pesos to defray the expence of his armament. How¬
ever, most of his followers remained in the country,
and enlisted in the service of Pizarro.
In the mean time Ferdinand Pizarro, the brother of
the general, had landed in Spain, wheie he pio
such immense quantities of gold and silver as astonish¬
ed the court, even after ail they had seen of the wealth
of their new discovered territories. 'I he general s au¬
thority was confirmed to film, with new powers and pri¬
vileges, and the addition of 70 leagues extending along
the coast, to the southward of the territory granted in
his former patent. Almagro had the title oi addantado
or governor conferred upon him, with jurisdiction over
200 leagues of a country lying southward from the pro-
5
Peru,
PERU. , , .,
vince allotted to t>izarro j he himself was made a knight
of the order of St J ago. .
Of these transactions some accounts were received at
Peru before the arrival of Ferdinand Pizano lumselfj
and no sooner did Almagro hear that he had obtained
the royal grant of an independent government, than,
pretending that Cuzco, the capital of all Peru, lay
within his jurisdiction, he attempted to seize it. 11-
zarro was no less ready to oppose him ; and a very
dangerous civil war was about to take place, when the
quarrel was made up, on condition that Almagro
should attempt the conquest of Chili j and it he did
not find there an establishment equivalent to Ins ex¬
pectations, Pizarro should yield up to him part ot
Peru. . r ,
By this reconciliation Pizarro was left at liberty
to settle the internal policy of his province, which,
though little qualified for a legislator, he attempted,
by dividing the country into various districts, ap¬
pointing magistrates to preside in each, and establis 1-
ing such regulations concerning the administration oi
justice, the royal revenue, &c. as occurred to him.
The seat of government he removed from Cuzco to p1*
ma, which he named Ceudad des los Reyes, and which
name it still retains among the Spaniards m all legal
and formal deeds. Its other name, Lima, is a cor¬
ruption of Rimac, the name of the valley in winch the
city stands. .
In the mean time Almagro had set out on his expe¬
dition to Chili; the event of which has been related un¬
der the article Chili ; and while he was thus employed,
Pizarro encouraged some of his most distinguished offi¬
cers to invade those provinces of the empire which had
not yet been visited by the Spaniards. This he did
with a view to keep them employed, and prevent tu¬
mults ; but it was attended with very terrible conse¬
quences. No sooner did Manco Capac the Inca per¬
ceive the security of the Spaniards in thus dividing their
forces, than he seized the opportunity of making one
vigorous effort to redress the wrongs of himself and his
countrymen, and expel the invaders, who had tyrannized
in such a cruel manner. Though strictly guarded by
the Spaniards, he found means to communicate his in¬
tentions to the chief men of his nation, whom he joined
in the year 1536, under pretence of celebrating a festi¬
val which he had obtained liberty from Pizarro to at-
tend. Upon this the standard of war was immediately A
erected, and a most formidable army, according to the o, the Pe.
Spanish historians, of 200,000 men collected. Many niTians.
Spaniards were massacred in their habitations, and seve¬
ral detachments entirely cut ofl ; and while this vast
armv laid siege to Cuzco, another formidable body in¬
vested Lima, and kept the governor closely shut up.
The greatest effort, however, was made against Cuzco,
which was defended by Pizarro and his two brothers,
With only 170 men. The siege lasted nine months;
many of the Spaniards were killed ; among whom was
Juan Pizarro, the general’s brother, and the best beloved
of them all. The rest were reduced to the most despe¬
rate situation, when Almagro appeared suddenly in the
neighbourhood of Cuzco. He had received such ac¬
counts of the insurrection in Peru, as would at any rate
have determined him to return to the assistance ot 11-
zarro; hut besides this, he had now received the royal
7 patent,
27.
Peru.
iS
They are
iefeated,
md dis-
jersed.
. .29
ivil war
.'tween
izarro
id Al-
agro.
P E
patent, creating him governor of Chili, anil deemed it
certain beyond all contradiction, that Cuzco lay within
his jurisdiction j for which reason he hastened to prevent
it irom falling into the hands of the Peruvians. On his
arrival his assistance was solicited by both parties. The
Inca made many advantageous proposals ; but at length
despairing of obtaining any cordial union with a Spa¬
niard, he attacked him in the night by surprise with a
great body of chosen troops. But the Spanish valour
and discipline prevailed against the numbers of their
enemies ; and the Peruvians were repulsed with such
slaughter, that a great part of the remainder dispersed,
and Almagro advanced to the gates of Cuzco without
opposition. Pizarro’s brothers took measures to oppose
his entrance ; but prudence for the present restrained
both parties from entering into a civil war while they
were surrounded with enemies ; and therefore each lead¬
er endeavoured to corrupt the followers of his antagonist.
In this Almagro had the advantage ; and so many of
Pizarro’s troops deserted in the night, that Almagro was
encouraged to advance towards the city, where he sur¬
prised the centinels, and investing the house where the
two brothers were lodged, he compelled them, after an
obstinate defence, to surrender at discretion ; and Al-
inagro’s authority over Cuzco was immediately recog¬
nized as authentic.
In this fray only two or three persons were killed ;
but matters soon began to wear a more serious aspect.
Francis Pizarro, having dispersed the Peruvians who in¬
vested Lima, and received considerable reinforcements
from other provinces, ordered 500 men under the com¬
mand of Alonso de Alvarado to march to Cuzco, in
hopes of relieving his brothers, if they were not already
cut off. They advanced to a small distance from the
capital, before they knew that they had a more formi¬
dable enemy than the Indians to encounter. When
they saw their countrymen drawn up on the banks of a
river to oppose them, they were greatly surprised j how¬
ever, Almagro, who wished rather to gain them than to
fight, began with attempting to seduce their leader.
Alvarado could not by any means be gained over j but
being inferior in military skill, Almagro attacked him
by surprise, entirely defeated and dispersed bis army,
taking himself and some of his principal officers pri¬
soners.
This victory seemed decisive j and Almagro was ad¬
vised to make it so by putting to death Gonzalo and
Ferdinand Pizarro, Alvarado, and some others whom
he could not hope to gain. This advice, however, he
declined from motives of humanity, and a desire of
making his adversary appear the agressor. For these
reasons, instead of marching directly against Pizarro, he
retired quietly to Cuzco \ which gave his adversary
time to recollect himself from the disorder into which
the news of so many disasters had thrown him. He be¬
gan again to practise upon Almagro those arts which
had before proved successful 5 and Almagro again suffer¬
ed himself to be deceived by pretended offers of pacifica¬
tion. I he negotiations for this purpose were protracted
for several months ; and while Almagro was employed
in detecting and eluding the fraudulent intentions of
the governor, Gonzalo Pizarro and Alvarado found
means to corrupt the soldiers who guarded them, and
not only made their own escape, but persuaded 60 of
R U.
Almagro’s men fo accompany them. There now re¬
mained only Ferdinand Pizarro in the hands of Alma¬
gro ; and he was delivered by another act of treachery.
The general proposed that all points of controversy
should be submitted to the decision of their sovereign :
and that Ferdinand Pizarro should be instantly set at ii-
berty, and return to Spain, together with some officers
whom the general proposed to send over to show the
justice ot his claims. .Though the intention of Pizarro
by making this proposal was evident, Almagro was de¬
ceived by it, and released those whom Pizarro wanted ;
which he had no sooner done, than the latter threw off
all disguise, and openly declared, that arms alone must
now decide the matter between them. He therefore im¬
mediately set out for Cuzco with an army of 700 men,
to which Almagro had only 500 to oppose. From the
weakness of his forces, probably, Almagro did not at¬
tempt to guard some strong passes, through which Pi¬
zarro had to march, but waited patiently for his adver¬
sary in a plain open country. „o
In the mean time, Pizarro advanced without any Almagro
obstruction from his enemy; and an engagement soonlJcfeated
happened, in which Almagro was defeated and takenan<^lakea!
prisoner. The conquerors behaved with great cruel-
ty, massacring a great number of officers, and treating
Almagro himself with great severity. The Indians had
assembled in great numbers to see the battle, with an
intention to join the vanquished party ; but were so
much overawed by the Spaniards, that they retired
quietly after the battle was over, and thus lost the only
opportunity they ever had of expelling their tyrants.—
Almagro, after having for some months languished in
prison, was at length formally tried, and condemned to
die by Pizarro. Notwithstanding his consummate bra¬
very, for which he was remarkable, this hardy veteran
could not bear the deliberate approach of death, but
condescended to use intreaties to save his life. The Pi-
zarros, however, continued inflexible; and he was first -r
strangled in prison, and then publicly beheaded. He and slrang*
left one son by an Indian woman, whom he appointed le(f
his successor, by virtue of a power granted him by the
emperor.
As during these dissensions all intercourse with Spain
ceased, it was some time before the accounts of the civil
war were received at court. The first intelligence was
given by some of Almagro’s soldiers, who had left
America on the ruin of their cause ; and they did not
fail to represent the injustice and violence of Pizarro
in the strongest colours, which strongly prejudiced the
emperor against him. In a short time, however, Fer¬
dinand Pizarro arrived, and endeavoured to give mat¬
ters a new turn. The emperor was uncertain which
of them he ought to believe ; and therefore thought it
necessary to send over some person with ample powers
to inquire into the merits of the cause, and to deter¬
mine certainly who was in the wrong. If he found the
governor still alive, he was to assume only the title of
judge, in order to have the appearance of acting in
concert with him ; but if he was dead, the viceroy
might then produce his commission appointing him Pi-
zarro’s successor in the government. This complaisance
to Pizarro, however, proceeded more from a dread of his
power than from any other thing ; for in the mean time,
his brother Ferdinand was arrested at Madrid, and con¬
fined A
2CO
Peru.
32.
Peru di-
vided by
Pizavro
P E
fined to a prison where lie remained above 20 years.
The person nominated to this important trust was Chns-
toval Vaca dc Castro,
While this gentleman was preparing lor his voyage,
Pizarro considering himself as the unrivalled master ot
ro periJ proceeded to parcel out his territories among the
“fates conquerors ; and had this division been made with any
degree of impartiality, the extent of country whtth he
had to bestow was sufficient to have gratified his mends,
and to have gained his enemies. But Pizarro conduc¬
ted this transaction, not with the equity and candour ot
a judge attentive to discover and to reward merit, but
with the illiberal spirit of a party-leader. Large di¬
stricts, in parts of the country most cultivated and po¬
pulous, were set apart as his own property, or granted
to his brothers, his adherents, and favourites. o
others, lots less valuable and inviting were assigned,
The followers of Almagro, amongst whom were many
of the original adventurers, to whose valour and per¬
severance Pizarro was indebted for his success, were to¬
tally excluded from any portion in those lands, to¬
wards the acquisition of which they had contributed
so largely. As the vanity of every individual sets an
immoderate value upon his own services, and the idea
' of each, concerning the recompense due to them, rose
gradually to a more exorbitant height in proportion
as their conquests extended, all who were disappointed
in their expectations exclaimed loudly against the ra¬
paciousness and partiality of the governor. The par¬
tisans of Almagro murmured in secret, and meditated
revenge. . . c .
Sapid as the progress of the Spaniards in Soutli
America bad been since Kzarro landed in Peru, their
avidity of dominion was not yet Satisfied. 1 he officers
to whom Ferdinand Pizarro gave the command of dif¬
ferent detachments, penetrated into several new pro¬
vinces •, and though some of them were exposed to
oreat hardships in‘ the cold and barren regions of the
Andes, and others suffered distress not inferior amidst
the woods and marshes of the plains, they made disco¬
veries and conquests which extended their knowledge
of the country, as well as added to their power. Pe¬
dro de Valdivia re assumed Almagro’s scheme of inva¬
ding Chili j and, notwithstanding the fortitude ol the
natives in defending their possessions, made such pro¬
gress in the conquest of the country, that he founded
the city of St Jago, and gave a beginning to the esta¬
blishment of the Spanish dominion there. But of all
the enterprises undertaken about this period, that of
Expedition Gonzales Pizarro was the most remarkable. I he go¬
of Gonzales vernol-, who seems to have resolved that no person in
  Peru should possess any station of distinguished emi¬
nence or authority but those of his own family, had
deprived Benalcazur, the conqueror of Quito, of his
command in that kingdom, and appointed his brother
Gonzales to take the government of it. He instructed
him to attempt the discovery and conquest of the coun¬
try to the east of the Andes j which, according to the
information of the Indians, abounded with cinnamon
and other valuable spices. Gonzales, not inferior to
any of his brothers in courage, and no less ambitious
of'acquiring distinction, eagerly engaged in this diffi¬
cult service. He set out from Quito at the head ot
240 soldiers, near one half of whom were horsemen,
with 4000 Indians to carry their provisions. In for-
Peru.
34
Pizarro.
R U.
cing their way through the defiles, or over the ridges
of The Andes, excess of cold and fatigue, to neither 0
which they were accustomed, proved fatal to the greater
part of the wretched attendants. The Spaniards, though
more robust, and inured to a variety of climates, suf¬
fered considerably, and lost some men •, but when they
descended into the low country, their distress increased.
During two months it rained incessantly, without any
interval of fair weather long enough to dry their clothes.
The vast plains upon which they were now entering,
either altogether without inhabitants, or occupied by
the rudest and least industrious tribes of the New World,
yielded little subsistence. They could not. advance a
step but as they cut a road through woods, or made it
through marshes. Such incessant toil and continual
scarcity of food, seem more than sufficient to have ex¬
hausted and dispirited any troops. But the fortitude
and perseverance of the Spaniards in the 16th century
were insuperable. Allured by frequent but false ac¬
counts of rich countries before them, they persisted m
struggling on, until they reached the banks of the Coca
or Napo "one of the large rivers whose waters pour in¬
to the Maragnon, and contribute to its grandeur.
There, with infinite labour, they built a bark, which
they expected would prove of great utility, both in con-
veyinf them over rivers, in procuring provisions, and in
exploring the country. This was manned with 50
soldiers, under the command of Francis Orellana, the
officer next in rank to Pizarro. The stream carried
them down with such rapidity, that they were soon far
a-head of their countrymen, who followed slowly and
with difficulty by land.
At this distance from his commander, Orellana, a
young man of an aspiring mind, began to fancy himseh^e ^
independent } and, transported with the predominant MBrag.
passion of the age, he formed the scheme of distinguish-„0n, and
ing himself as a discoverer, by following the course ofdesem
the Maragnon until it joined the ocean, and by sur¬
veying the vast regions through which it flows. I his
scheme of Orellana’s was as bold as it was treacherous.
For, if he he chargeable with the guilt ot having vio¬
lated his duty to his commander, and with having
abandoned his fellow-soldiers in a pathless desert, where
they had hardly any hopes of success or even of safety,
but what were founded on the service which they ex¬
pected from the bark, his crime is, in some measure,
balanced by the glory of having ventured upon a na-
vigation of near "2000 leagues, through unknown na¬
tions, in a vessel hkstilv constructed with green timber,
and by very unskilful hands, without provisions, with¬
out a compass, or a pilot. But his courage and ala¬
crity supplied every defect. Committing himself fear¬
lessly to the guidance of the stream, the Napo bore
him along to the south, until he reached the great
channel of the Maragnon. Turning with it towards
the coast, he held on his course in that direction. Do
made frequent descents on both sides the river, some¬
times seizing by force of arms the provisions ot the
fierce savages seated on its banks, and sometimes pro¬
curing a supply of food by a friendly intercourse with
more gentle tribes. After a long series of dangers,
which he encountered with amazing fortitude, and ol
distresses which he supported with no less magnanimi¬
ty, he reached the ocean, where new perils awaited
him. These he likewise surmounted, and got sa*e to
■ptm
J 35
Bireme
4lress of
Wizales
Jarro
a liis
P6
^ ii pira-
y imed
:fUst the
0 'nor;
P E
the Spanish settlement in the island of Cubagua ; from
thence lie sailed to Spain. The vanity natural to tra¬
vellers who visit regions unknown to the rest of man¬
kind, and the art of an adventurer, solicitous to mag¬
nify his own merit, concurred in prompting him to
mingle an extraordinary proportion of the marvellous
in the narrative of his voyage. He pretended to have
discovered nations so rich, that the roofs of their temples
were covered with plates of gold ; and described a re¬
public ot women so warlike and powerful, as to have
extended their dominion over a considerable tract of
the fertile plains which he had visited. Extravagant as
those tales were, they gave rise to an opinion, that a
region abounding with gold, distinguished by the name
ot El Dot^ado, and a community of Amazons, were to
be found in this part of the New World *, and such is
the propensity of mankind to believe what is wonder¬
ful, that it has been slowly, and with difficulty, that
reason and observation have exploded those fables. The
voyage, however, even when stripped of every romantic
embellishment, deserves to be recorded, not only as one
of the most memorable occurrences in that adventurous
age, but as the first event that led to any certain know¬
ledge of those immense regions that stretch eastward
from the Andes to the ocean.
No words can describe the consternation of Pizarro,
when he did not find the bark at the confluence of the’
Napo and Maragnon, where he had ordered Orellana
to wait for him. He would not allow himself to sus¬
pect that a man, whom he had entrusted with such an
important command, could be so base and so unfeeling
as to desert him at such a juncture. But imputing his
absence fiom the place of rendezvous to some unknown
accident, he advanced above 50 leagues along the
banks of the Alaragnon, expecting every moment to
see the bark appear with a supply of provisions. At
length he came up with an officer whom Orellana had
left to perish in the desert, because he had the courage
to remonstrate against his perfidy. From him he learn¬
ed the extent of Orellana’s crime j and his followers
perceived at once their own desperate situation, when
deprived of their only resource. The spirit of the stout¬
est hearted veteran sunk within him ; and all demand¬
ed to be led back instantly. Pizarro, though he as¬
sumed an appearance of tranquillity, did not oppose
their inclination. But he was now 1200 miles from
Quito j and in that long march the Spaniards encoun¬
tered hardships greater than those they had endured in
their pi ogress outward, without the alluring hopes
which then soothed and animated them under their suf¬
ferings. Hunger compelled them to feed on roots and
hemes, to eat all their dogs and horses, to devour the
most loathsome reptiles, and even to gnaw the leather
ol their saddles and sword-belts. Four thousand In¬
dians, and 210 Spaniards, perished in this wild and dis¬
astrous expedition, which continued near two years : and
as 50 men were aboard the bark with Orellana, only
80 got back to Quito. I hese were naked like savages,
and so emaciated with famine, or worn out with fatigue,
that they had more the appearance of spectres than of
men.
. Bat? instead of returning to enjoy the repose which
his condition required, Pizarro, on entering Quito, re¬
ceived accounts of a fatal event that threatened cala¬
mities more dreadful to him than those through which
Vol. XVI. Part I. f
R U.
he had passed. From the time that his brother made
the partial division of his conquests which has been
mentioned, the adherents of Almagro, considering them¬
selves as proscribed by the party in power, no longer
entertained any hope of bettering their condition.
Great numbers in despair resorted to Lima, where the
house of young Almagro was always open to them : and
the slender portion of his father’s fortune, which the
governor allowed him to enjoy, wTas spent in affording
them subsistence. The warm attachmeat with which
every person who served under the elder Almagro de¬
voted himself to his interests, was quickly transferred to
ins son, who was now grown up to the age of manhood,
and possessed all the qualities which captivate the af¬
fections ot soldiers. Of a graceful appearance, dexter¬
ous at all martial exercises, bold, open, generous, he
seemed to be formed for command; and as his father,
conscious of his own inferiority from the total want of
education, had been extremely attentive to have him in¬
structed in every science becoming a gentleman, the ac¬
complishments which he had acquired heightened the
respect of his followers, as they gave him distinction and
eminence among illiterate adventurers. In this young
man the Almagrians found a point of union which they
wanted j and looking up to him as their head, were
leady to undertake any thing for his advancement. N01
was affection for Almagro their only incitement j they
were urged on by their own distresses. Alany of them,
destitute of common necessaries, and weary of loitering
away life, a burden to their chief, or to such of their
associates as had saved some remnant of their fortune
from pillage and confiscation, longed impatiently for an
occasion to exert their activity and courage, and began
to deliberate how they might be avenged on the author
of all their misery. Their frequent cabals did not pass
unobserved j and the governor was warned to be on his
guard against men who meditated some desperate deed,
and had resolution to execute it. But, either from the
native intrepidity of his mind, or from contempt of
persons whose poverty rendered their machinations of
little consequence, he disregarded the admonitions of
his friends. “ Be in no pain (said he carelessly) about
my life ; it is perfectly' safe, as long as every man in
Peru knows that I can in a moment put him to death
who dares to harbour a thought against it.” This se-
curity gave the Almagrians full leisure to digest and
ripen every part of their scheme ; and Juan de Herrada,
an officer of great abilities, who had the charge of Al-
magro’s education, took the lead in their consultations,
with all the zeal which that connection inspired, and
with all the authority which the ascendant that he was
known to have over the mind of his pupil gave him.
On Sunday, the 26th of June, at midday, the season wools
of tranquillity and repose in all sultry climates, Her-murdered
rada, at the head of 18 of the most determined con¬
spirators sallied out of Almagro’s house in complete
armour ; and drawing their swords, as they advanced
hastily towards the governor’s palace, cried out, “ Long
live the king, but let the tyrant die.” Their associates,
warned of their motions by a signal, were in arms at
different stations ready to support them. Though Pi¬
zarro was usually surrounded by such a numerous train
of attendants as suited the magnificence of the most opu¬
lent subject of the age in which he lived, yet as he was
just risen from table, and most of his ow n domestics had
C c retired
PERU.
retired to their own apartments, the conspirators passed
rtrouRh the two outer courts of the palace unobserved.
Tliev vere at the bottom of the staircase, before a page
in waiting could give the alarm to hts master, who was
conversing with a few friends tn a large hall. The
Tov-Irnor, whose steady mind no form of danger could
appal, sorting up, called for arms, and commanded
Francisco de Chaves to make fast the door. J1'1"
officer, who did not retain so much presence oi mind a
to obey this prudent order, running to the «P ^ e
staircase wildly asked the conspirators what they meant,
and whither they were going? instead of answering,
they stabbed him to the heart, and burst the 1
Some of the persons who were there threw themselves
from the windows 5 others attempted to fly *, and a few
drawing their swords, followed their leader into an in¬
ner apartment. The conspirators, animated mth hav
ing the object of their vengeance now in view, ins ed
forward after them. Pizarro, with no other arms than
Ids sword and buckler, defended the entry, and bWr '
ed by his half-brother Alcantara and his litt e knot o
friends, maintained the unequal contest with intrepi¬
dity worthy of his past exploits, and with the vigour of a
youthful combatant. “ Courage (cried he) companion,
we are yet enow to make those traitors repent of their
audacity.” But the armour of the conspirators pro ec -
ed them, while every thrust they made took effect.
Alcantara fell dead at his brother’s feet *, his other de¬
fendants were mortally wounded. The governor, so
weary that he could hardly wield his sword, and no
longer able to parry the many weapons furiously aimed
at him, received a deadly thrust full in his throat, sunk
to the ground, and expired. . • , .t
4s soon as he was slain, the assassins ran out into the
streets, and waving their bloody swords, proclaimed the
death of the tyrant. Above 200 of their associates ha¬
ving joined them, they conducted young Almagro m
solemn procession through the cityj and assembling the
magistrates and principal citizens, compelled them to
acknowledge him as lawful successor to his father in his
government. The palace of Pizarro, together with the
houses of several of his adherents, were pillaged by the
v 38 A1 soldiers j who had the satisfaction at once of being a-
I°aU^ A1' venged on their enemies, and of enriching themselves
heads the by the spoils of those through whose hands all the wealth
rebels. peru |iad passed. . . . f
The new governor marched into the heart of the
empire, in order to reduce such places as refused to
acknowledge his authority. A multitude of ruffians
joined him on his march. His army breathed nothing
but vengeance and plunder: every thing gave way be¬
fore it. If the military talents of the general had equal¬
led the ardour of his troops, the war had ended here.
Unhappily for Almagro, he had lost Ins conductor John
de Herrada. His inexperience made him fall into the
snares that were laid for him by Pedro Alvares, who
had put himself at the head of the opposite party. He
lost, in attempting to unravel his plots, that time that
he ought to have employed in fighting. In these cir¬
cumstances, an event, which no one could have fore¬
seen, happened to change the face of affairs.
The licentiate Vaca di Castro, who had been sent
from Europe to try the murderers of old Almagro, ar¬
rived at Peru. As he was appointed to assume the
A
Peru.
government in case Pizarro was no more, all who had
not sold themselves to the tyrant hastened to acknow¬
ledge him. Uncertainty and jealousy, which had ioi
too long a time kept them dispersed, were no longer
an obstacle to their re-union. Castro, who was as re¬
solute as if he had grown old in the service, did not
suffer their impatience to languish, but instantly led them
against the enemy. The two armies engaged at Chapas
on the 16th of September 1542, and fought with inex¬
pressible obstinacy. Victory, after having wavered a 39
long time, at the close of the day deeded in favour of featedbey
that party whose cause was the most just. Ihose among yaca
the rebels who were most guilty, dreading to languish Castro,
under disgraceful tortures, provoked the conquerors to
murder them, crying out, like men m despair, It was 1
who killed Pizarro. Their chief was taken prisoner,
and died on the scaffold. . .
While these scenes of horror were transacting in A-
merica, the Spaniards in Europe were employed in find¬
ing out expedients to terminate them j though no mea¬
sures had been taken to prevent them. 1 ei u 1a on y
been made subject to the audience of Panama, which
was too remote to superintend the maintenance of good
order, and had too little influence to make its decrees
respected. A supreme tribunal was then established at
Lima for the dispensation of justice, which was to be
invested with authority sufficient to enforce and to re¬
ward a due obedience to the laws. Blasco Nunez v ela,
who presided in it as viceroy, arrived in 1544, attended
by his subordinates in office, and found every thing m
the most dreadful disorder.
To put an end to those tumults which now subsist¬
ed, would have required a profound genius, and many
other qualities which are seldom united. Nunez had
none of these advantages. Nature had only given him
probity, firmness, and ardour} and he had taken no
pains to improve these gifts. With these virtues which
were almost defects in his situation, he began to iulhl
his commission, without regard to places, persons, or
circumstances. . 40
Contrary to the opinion of all intelligent persons, jja(j C0B.
who wished that he should wait for fresh instructions duct of the
from Europe, he published ordinances, which declared
that the lands the conquerors had seized should not
pass to their descendants, and which dispossessed those
who had taken part in the civil commotions. All the
Peruvians who had been enslaved by monks, bishops,
and persons belonging to the government, were de¬
clared free. Those who belonged to other masters
were to be freed from their shackles at the death of
their oppressors. They could no longer be compelled
to bury themselves in the mines, nor could any kind of
labour be exacted from them without payment. Iheir
tribute was fixed. The Spaniards who travelled on
foot were deprived of the right of taking three In¬
dians to carry their baggage j and those who travelled
on horseback, of the right of taking five. Ihe ca¬
ciques were discharged from the obligation of furnish¬
ing the traveller and his retinue with provisions gratis.
Other tyrannical establishments also would soon have
been proscribed ; and the conquered people were on
the eve of being sheltered under the protection of
laws, which would at least have tempered the rigours
of the right of conquest, if even they had not entirely
repaired
Peru.
141
] is over
c e and
k; :d by
Ci:zales
F’uto.
repaired the injustice of them ; but it should seem that
J the Spanish government was only to be unfortunate in
the good it attempted to effect.
A change so unexpected filled those with consterna¬
tion who saw their fortunes wrested from them, or who
lost the flattering hope of transmitting them to their pos¬
terity. Even those who were not affected by these in¬
terested views, being accustomed to look upon the In¬
dians as the instruments and victims of their avarice,
had no conception that any other ideas could prevail con¬
cerning them. From astonishment they proceeded to
indignation, murmuring, and sedition. The viceroy was
degraded, put in irons, and banished to a desert island,
till he could be conveyed to Spain.
Gonzales Pizarro was then returned from his hazar¬
dous expedition, which had employed him long enough
to prevent him from taking a part in those revolutions
which had so rapidly succeeded each other. The an¬
archy he found prevailing at his return, inspired him
with the idea of seizing the supreme authority. His
fame and his forces made it impossible that this should
be refused him ; but his usurpation was marked with
so many enormities, that Nunez was regretted. He was
recalled from exile, and soon collected a sufficient num¬
ber of forces to enable him to take the field. Civil
commotions were then renewed with extreme fury by
both parties. No quarter was asked or given on either
side. The Indians took part in this as they had done in
the preceding wars ; some ranged themselves under the
standard of the viceroy, others under the banners of
Gonzales. From 15,000 to 20,000 of these unhappy
wretches, who were scattered about in each army, drag¬
ged up the artillery, levelled the roads, carried the bag-
- gage, and destroyed one another. Their conquerors
had taught them to be sanguinary. After a variety of
advantages for a long time alternately obtained, fortune
at length favoured the rebellion under the walls of
Quito in the month of January, in the year 1545; and
Nunez with the greatest part of his men were mas¬
sacred.
Pizarro took the road of Lima, where they were de¬
liberating on the ceremonies with which they should re¬
ceive him. Some officers wished that a canopy should
be carried for him to march under, after the manner of
kings. Others, with adulation still more extravagant,
pretended that part of the walls of the town, and even
some houses must be pulled down 5 as was the custom
at Rome, when the generals obtained the honours of a
triumph. Gonzales contented himself with making his
entrance on horseback, preceded by his lieutenant, who
marched on foot. Four bishops accompanied him, and
he was followed by the magistrates. The streets were
strewn with flowers, and the air resounded with the noise
of bells and various musical instruments. This homage
totally turned the head of a man naturally haughty, and
of confined ideas. He spoke and acted in the most de¬
spotic manner.
Had Gonzales possessed judgment and the appear¬
ance of moderation, it would have been possible for
him to render himself independent. The principal per¬
sons of his party wished it. The majority would have
beheld this event with indifference, and the rest would
have been obliged to consent to it. Blind cruelties,
insatiable avarice, and unbounded pride, altered these
dispositions. Even those, whose interests were con-
P E R U.
nected with those of the tyrant, wished for a deli¬
verer.
Such a deliverer arrived from Europe in the person ^
of the licentiate Pedro di la Gasca. The squadron and ^!1 ,eiu' P'Jt
the provinces of the mountains immediately declared for bks hVPe '
a. person who was invested with a lawful authority todiodila
govern them. Those who lived concealed in deserts, Giusea.
caverns, and forests, quitted their retreats to join him.
Gonzales, who saw no resource left to support him but
in some great achievement, took the road of Cuzco,
with a resolution to give battle. At some leagues dis¬
tance from this place he met the royal army, and at¬
tacked it on the 9th of June 1548. One of his lieute¬
nants, seeing him abandoned at the first charge by his
best soldiers, advised him to throw himself into the ene¬
my’s battalions, and perish like a Roman : but this
weak man chose rather to surrender, and end his life
on a scaffold. Carvajal, a more able warrior, and
more ferocious than himself, w^as quartered. This
man, when he w'as expiring, boasted that he had mas¬
sacred with his own hand 1400 Spaniards and 20,000
Indians.
Such was the last scene of a tragedy, of which every
act has been marked with blood. The government was
moderate enough not to continue the proscriptions j
and the remembrance of the horrid calamities they
had suffered kept the Spaniards in the bounds of sub¬
jection. What still remained of that commotion that
had been raised in their minds, insensibly sunk into a
calm; and the country hath remained in quiet ever
since.
With regard to the Peruvians, the most cruel mea-Har/fate
sures were taken to render it impossible for them to re- of the re¬
bel. Tupac Amaru, the heir of their last king, badruviiinSi
taken refuge in some remote mountains, where he lived
in peace. There he was so closely surrounded by the
troops which had been sent out against him, that he was
forced to surrender. The viceroy Francis de Toledo
caused him to be accused of several crimes that he had
not committed, and for which he was beheaded in 1571.
All the other descendants of the Incas shared the same
fate, under pretence that they had conspired against their
conquerors. The horror of these enormities excited so
universal an indignation both in the Old and the New
World, that Philip II. thought himself obliged to dis¬
avow them ; but the infamous policy of this prince was
so notorious, that no credit was given to this appearance
of his justice and humanity.
The empire of Peru, at the time it was subdued, ex-Exten!of
tended along the South sea, from the river of Emeralds the empire,
to Chili, and on the land side to Popayan, according to
some geographers. It contained within its extent that
famous chain of mountains which rises in the Terra Ma-
gellanica, and is gradually lost in Mexico, in order to
unite, as it should seem, the southern parts of America
with the northern.
It was subsequently divided into three grand divisions Posit’s
or audiences ; Quito, Lima or Los Reyes, and Los Char- Geography*
cos. As to its climate, mines, soil, and produce, they
differ greatly in different parts of this country.
The extensive province of Quito is bounded on the Province of
north by Popayan, and includes a part of that govern- Quit0’
ment, also by Santa Fe de Bogota •, and on the south by
the government of Piura and Chachapoyas $ on the
east it extends over the whole government of Maynas
C c 2 and
of this
province
P E
and the river of the Amazons to the meridian, which
divides the Spanish from the Portuguese dominions-, and
on the west it is bounded by the South sea, extending,
according to Antonio de Ulloa, 600 leagues in length,
and about 200 in its greatest breadth } but this greatly
exceeds the computation of all other geographers. He
however observes, that it must be owned a great part
of those vast dominions are either inhabited by nations
of Indians, or have not hitherto been sufficiently peopled
bv the Spaniards, if indeed they have been thorough¬
ly known j and that all the parts that can properly be
said to be peopled, and actually subject to the Spanish
c;ov,eminent, are those intercepted by the two Cordille¬
ras of the Andes, which, in comparison to the ex¬
tent of the country, may be termed a street or lane,
15 leagues, or sometimes more, from east to west;
to this must be added several detached governments,
separated by the very extensive tracts inhabited by free
46 Indians. . ,
Climate, The climate of Quito differs from all others in the
seasons,See.same parallel, since even in the centre ol the torrid
zone, or although under the equinoctial, the heat is not
only very tolerable, but even in some places the cold is
painful j while others enjoy all the advantages of a per¬
petual spring, the fields being constantly covered with
verdure, and enamelled with flowers of the most lively
colours. The mildness of the climate, free from the
extremes of heat and cold, and tire constant equality of
the day and night, render this country, which from its
situation might be thought to be parched by the con¬
stant heat of the sun, and scarcely inhabitable, both plea¬
sant and fertile ; for nature has here dispensed her bles¬
sings with so liberal a hand, that this country in several
respects surpasses those of the temperates zones, where
the vicissitudes of winter and summer, and the change
from heat to cold, cause the extremes of both to be
more sensibly felt. However, in different parts of the
country, the air is very diflerent ; in one part are moun¬
tains of a stupendous height and magnitude, with then
summits covered with snow. The plains are temperate,
the valleys hot, and, according to the high or low situa¬
tions of the country, are found all the variety of grada¬
tions in temperature possible to be conceived between
the extremes of heat and cold. o
Quito, the capital, in 13' south latitude, and 77
50' west longitude from Greenwich, is so happily situa¬
ted, that neither heat nor cold are troublesome, though
both may be felt in its neighbourhood j and what ren¬
ders this equality more delightful is, that it is constant
throughout the whole year, the difference between the
seasons being scarce perceptible. Indeed the mornings
are cool, the remainder of the day warm, and the nights
of an agreeable temperature. See Quito.
The winds, which are pure and salubrious, blow for
the most part from north to south, but never with any
violence, though they sometimes shift their quarters, but
without any regard to the season of the year. Such sig¬
nal advantages resulting from the climate, soil, and
aspect of this country, would be sufficient to render it
the most enviable spot upon earth, as it is supposed to
be the most elevated, if, whilst enjoying these delights,
the inhabitants were not harassed by terror, and expo¬
sed to continual danger j for here tremendous tempests
of thunder and lightning prevail, which are sufficient to
appal the stoutest heart; whilst earthquakes frequently
Peru.
47
R U.
spread universal apprehensions, and sometimes bury
cities in ruins.
The distinction of winter and summer consists in a
very minute difference $ the interval between the month
of September and those ot April, May, or June, is here
called the winter season, and the other months compose
the summer. In the former season the ram chiefly
prevails, and 111 the latter the inhabitants frequently
enjoy wbole days of fine weather 5 but whenever the
rains are discontinued for above a fortnight, the inha¬
bitants are in the utmost consternation, and public pray¬
ers are offered up for their return. On the other
hand, when they continue a short time without inter¬
mission, the like fears prevail, and the churches are
again crowded with supplicants to obtain fine weather 5
for a long drought produces dangerous diseases, and a
continual rain, without intervals of sunshine, destroys
the fruits of the earth. The city of Quito, however, en¬
joys one peculiar advantage, in being free from muske-
toes and other troublesome insects, such as fleas and ve¬
nomous reptiles, except the riigun or 'pique, which is a
very small insect shaped like a flea, but hardly visible
to the sight.
Though there is much barren land in the country, the Soit, pr@-
fertility of the soil in some spots is incredible, for theduce>&c*
fruits and beauties of the several seasons art visible at
the same time ; and the curious European observes with
a pleasing admiration, that while some herbs of the field
are fading, others of the same kind are springing up }
while some flowers lose their beauty, others blow to con¬
tinue the enamelled pro-pect : thus, when the fruits of
the trees have attained their maturity, and the leaves
begin to change their colour, fresh leaves blossom, and
fruits are seen in their proper gradations in size and ripe •
ness on the same tree. The same incessant fertility is
conspicuous in the corn, both reaping and sowing being
carried on at the same time: so that the declivities of
the neighbouring hills exhibit all the beauties of the
four seasons in one assemblage. Though all this is ge¬
nerally seen, yet there is a settled time for the grand
harvest: yet sometimes the most favourable season for
sowing in one place is a month or two after that of ano¬
ther, though their distance does not exceed three or four
leagues. Thus in different spots, and sometimes in one
and the same, sowing and reaping are performed through¬
out the whole year, the forwardness or retardment natu¬
rally arising from the different situations, such as moun¬
tains,rising grounds, plains, and valleys; and the tempe¬
rature being different in each, the best times for perform¬
ing the several operations of husbandry must also differ.
The chirimoya, is considered as one ot the most de¬
licious fruits in the world. Its dimensions are various,
being from one to five inches in diameter. Its figure is
imperfectly round, flatted towards the stalk, where it
forms a kind of navel ; but all the other parts are near¬
ly circular. It is covered with a thin soft shell, which
adheres so closely to the pulp as not to be separated
from it without a knife. I he outward coat is green,
variegated with prominent veins, forming all over it a
kind of net-work. The pulp is white, and contains a
large quantity of juice resembling honey, of a. sweet
taste, mixed with a gentle acid of a most exquisite fla¬
vour. The seeds are formed in several parts of the
pulp, and are somewhat flat. The tree is high and
tufted, the stem large and round, hut with some ine¬
qualities,
P E
iPeru. qualities, full of elliptic leaves, terminating in a point.
""v file blossom diflers little from tlie colour of the leaves,
which is a darkish green 5 and though far from being
beautiful, is remarkable for its incomparable fra¬
grance.
The granadilla in its shape resembles an hen’s egg,
but is larger. 'I he outside of the shell is smooth,
glossy, and of a faint carnation colour, and the inside
white and soft. i he shell contains a viscous liquid
substance, full of very small and delicate grains, less
hard than those of the pomegranate. This medullary
substance is separated from the shell by* a fine and trans-
paient membrane. Its fruit has a delightful sweetness
blended with acidity, very cordial and refreshing, and
so wholesome, that there is no danger of eating to ex¬
cess.
f \ie frutilla, or Peruvian strawberry, is very different
from that of Europe in size ; though "they are here ge¬
nerally not above an inch in length, they are much
larger in other parts of Peru ; but their taste, though
juicy, and not unpalatable, is not equal to those in £11-
45 ro?p; . ,
iibitants. I he country is obsexved to abound more in women
than in men, which is the more remarkable, as those
causes which induce men to leave their country, as tra-
velling, commerce, and war, naturally bring over more
men from Europe than women. But there are many
families in which there are a number of daughters,
without one son among them. The women enjoy a better
state of health than the men, which may be owing in
some measure to the climate, and more particularly
to the early intemperance and voluptuousness of the
other sex.
The Creoles are well made, of a proper stature, and
of a lively and agreeable countenance. The Mestizos
are also in general well made, often taller than the or¬
dinary size, very robust, and have an agreeable air. The
Indians, both men and women, are commonly low of
stature, though strong and well proportioned; but more
natural defects are to be found among them than in any
of the rest. Some are remarkably short, some idiots,
dumb, or blind. Their hair is generally thick and
long, which they wear loose on their shoulders; but the
Indian women plait theirs behind with a ribbon, and cut
that before a little above the eyebrows, from one ear
to the other. The greatest disgrace that can be offered
to an Indian of either sex is to cut off' their hair; for
whatever corporal punishment their masters think pro¬
per to inflict on them, they bear with patience ; but
this affront they never forgive ; and accordingly the
goverament has interposed, and limited this punishment
to the most enormous crimes. The colour of the hair
is generally a deep black: it is lank, harsh, and as coarse
as that of a horse. On the contrary, the male Mesti¬
zos, in order to distinguish themselves from the Indians,
cut off their hair ; but the females do not adopt that
p custom.
tydress. I he Mestizos in general wear a blue cloth, manufac¬
tured in this country ; but though they are the lowest
class of Spaniards, they are very ambitious of distin¬
guishing themselves as such, either by the colour or fa¬
shion of the clothes they wear.
I he Mestizo women affect to dress in the same man-
iicr as the Spanish, though they cannot equal the ladies
r a 205
in the richness of their stuffs. The meaner sort weap Peru,
no shoes ; but, like the men of the same rank, go bare- ^ —■■■ u '
footed. 6
The dress of the Indians consists of white cotton
drawers, which hang down to the calf of the leg,
where they are loose, and edged with a lace suitable to
the stuft. The use of a shirt is supplied by a black cot¬
ton frock, made in the form of a sack, with three open¬
ings at the top, one in the middle for the head, and
others at the corners for the arms; thus covering tlieir
naked bodies down to the knees. Over this is a serge
cloak, with a hole in the middle for putting the head
through, and a hat made by the natives. This is their
general dress, which they never lay aside, even while
they sleep ; and they have no additional clothing for
their legs or feet. The Indians, who have acquired
some fortune, particularly the barbers and phlebotomists, 1
distinguish themselves from their countrymen by the
fineness of their drawers, and by wearing a shirt, which,
though without sleeves, has a lace four or five fingers iu
breadth, fastened round like a kind of ruff or band.
I hey are fond of silver or gold buckles to their shoes,
though they wear no stockings ; and instead of a mean
serge cloak, wear one of fine cloth, which is often adorn¬
ed with gold or silver lace.
There are two kinds of dresses worn by the Indian*
women, made in the same plain manner with those worn
by the men in general, the whole consisting of a short
petticoat and a veil of American baize. But the dress
of the lowest class of Indian women is only a hag
of the same make and stuff as that of the men, which
they fasten on their shoulders with two large pins : it
reaches down to the calf of the leg, and is fastened
round the waist with a kind of girdle. Instead of a
veil, they wear about the neck a piece of the same
coarse stuff dyed black ; but their arms and legs are
naked. ^
The people have dishes unknown in Europe ; but are Food and
particularly fond of cheese; and have excellent butterdnnk, -
in the neighbourhood of Quito. Sweetmeats are very
much admired.
Rum is commonly drank here by persons of all ranks,
but their favourite liquor is brandy. The disorders ari¬
sing from the excessive use of spirituous liquors are
chiefly seen among the Mestizos ; and the lower class of
women, both among the Creoles and Mestizos, are also-
extremely addicted to the same species of debauchery.
Another liquor much used in this country is mate,
which is made of an herb known in all these parts of
America by the name of Paraguay, as being the pro¬
duce of that country. Some of it is put into a cala¬
bash tipped with silver, called here mate, with sugar
and some cold water. After it has continued there
some time, the calabash is filled with boiling water, and
they drink the liquor through a pipe fixed in the cala¬
bash. It is also usual to squeeze into the liquor a small
quantity of the juice of lemons or Seville oranges, mix¬
ed with some perfumes from odoriferous flowers. This
is their usual drink in the morning fasting, and many use
it also at their evening regale. The manner of drink¬
ing it appears very indelicate, the whole company taking
it successively through the same pipe, it being carried.
several times round the company till all are satisfied.
This among the Creoles is the highest enjoyment : so
that
206
Peru.
V E
that when they travel, they never fail to carry with
Pel'D.
51
Language.
themH sufficient quantity Jit, and till they have taken
their dose of mate they never eat.
The vice of gaming Is here carried to an ex rava-
want height, to the ruin of many families some losing
fheir stocks in trade, others the very clothes from then
hacks, and afterwards those belonging to their wives,
'which they hazard, stimulated by the hope of recover-
ine their own. . ..i j
The common people, the Indians and even the do-
mestics, are greatly addicted to stealing. ie e
nos, though arrant cowards, do not want audacity in
this wav •, for though they will not venture to attac
any one in the street, it is a common prac ice to snatch
off a person’s hat, and immediately seek their s.afety in
flightf This acquisition is sometimes of considerable
value 5 the hats worn by persons of rank, and e.^en ?
the wealthy citizens when dressed, being of white bea¬
ver, worth fifteen dollars, besides the hatband of gold
or silver lace, fastened with a gold buckle set with 1a-
monds or emeralds. Robberies on the highway are sel¬
dom heard of. >rr A-
In most of the towns and villages, different dia¬
lects are spoken, Spanish being no less common
than the Inga, the language of the country. The
Creoles use the latter as much as the former, but
both are considerably adulterated by borrowed words
and expressions. The first language generally spoken
by children is the Inga j for the nurses being Indians,
many of them do not understand a word of Spanish, and
thus they afterward learn a jargon composed of both
Thegsumptuous manner of performing the last of¬
fices for the dead, demonstrates how far the power ot
habit is capable of prevailing over reason and prudence,
for their ostentation is so great in this particular, that
many families of credit are ruined by preposterously en¬
deavouring to excel others and the people here may be
said to toil and scheme to lay up wealth, to enable their
successors to lavish honours upon a body insensible ot
S3 ^^hf commerce of the province of Quito is chiefly
Commerce. carr[et\ on by Europeans settled here, and others who
occasionally arrive. The manufactures of this province
are only cottons, some white and stripped baize, an
cloths, which meet with a good market at Lima tor
supplying the inward provinces of Peru. Ihe leturn
are made partly in silver, and partly in fringes made of
gold and silver thread, and wine, brandy, oil, copper,
tin, lead, and quicksilver. On the arrival of the gal¬
leons at Carthagena, these traders resort thither to pur¬
chase European goods, which, at their return, they con¬
sign to their correspondents all over the province. Ihe
coasts of New Spain supply this province with indigo,
of which there is a very large consumption at the ma¬
nufactures, blue being universally the colour which this
people adopt for their apparel. They also import, by
S2
Honour
paid the
dead.
R U.
way of Guayaquil, iron and steel both from l.urope
and the coast of Guatemala. . r- c
The disposition of the Ind.ans m the P™”"" of Di4H
Quito is extremely remarkable, and they appeal ol. t_[ie
no resemblance to the people found there by those who1>itantSf
first discovered the country. They at present possess a
tranquillity not to be disturbed either by fortunate 01
unfortunate events. In their mean appare they are as
contented as a prince clothed in the most splendid robes.
They show the same disregard to riches ; anu evelJ the
authority and grandeur within their reach is so little
the object of their ambition, that to all appearance it
seems to be the same to an Indian whether he be crea¬
ted an alcalde, or obliged to perform the office of a com¬
mon executioner. .i • „ „
Their sloth is so great that scarcely any thing can
induce them to work. Whatever therefore is necessary
to be done is left to the Indian women, who are much
more active •, they spin and make the half shirts and
drawers which form the only apparel of their husbands;
they cook the provisions, grind barley, and brew the
beer called chicha ; while the husband sits squatting on
his hams, the usual posture of the Indians looking at
his busy wife. The only domestic service they do is to
plough their little spot of land, which is sowed by the
wife. When they are once seated on their hams, no
reward can induce them to stir; so that if a traveller
has lost his way, and happens to come to one of their
cottages, they charge their wives to say that they are
not at home. Should the passenger alight and enter
the cottage, the Indian would still be safe ; for having
no light but what comes through a hole m the door, he
could not be discovered j and should the stranger even
see the Indian, neither entreaties nor rewards would
prevail on him to stir a step with him. _ ,
They are lively only in parties of pleasure, rejoicings,
entertainments, and especially dancing ; but in all these
the liquor must circulate briskly, and they continue
drinking till they are entirely deprived both of sense
and motion. , r ,. . .
It is remarkable that the Indian women, whether
maids or married, and Indian young men before they
are of an age to contract matrimony, are never guilty
of this vice : it being a maxim among them, that drunk¬
enness is the privilege of none but masters of families,
who, when they are unable to take care of themselves,
have others to take care of them. , . , , ,
The women present the chicha (a) to their husbands
in calabashes, till their spirits are raised ; then one plays
on a pipe and tabor, while others dance, borne of the
best voices among the Indian women sing songs m their
own language, and those who do not dance, squat down
in the usual posture till it comes to their turn. When
tired with intemperance, they all lie down together,
without regarding whether they be near the wife of an¬
other or their own sister or daughter. These festivities
sometimes continue three or four days, till the priest
coming
(a) This is a liquor made from maize by the foUowmg p^^ ^ ^ The flour, after it has been well
it begin to grow, is dried m the sun, then parched a i t , d t g to ferment. Its taste is nearly that
kneaded, is put with water into a large vessel, and left ^ J aperitive liquor j but it will not keep
of the most indifferent kind of cyder. It is a refreshing, nourishing, and apenu q
above eight days without turning sour.
tiding
i images.
P E
Peru, coining among them, throws away all the chicha, and
■—V"* 1 disperses the Indians, lest they should procure more.
Their funerals are likewise solemnized with exces¬
sive drinking. The house is filled with jugs of chicha,
for the solace of the mourners and other visitors *, the
latter even go out into the streets, and invite all of their
nation who happen to pass by to come in and drink to
the honour of the deceased. This ceremony lasts four
or five days, and sometimes more, strong liquor being
55 their supreme enjoyment.
leir man- The Indians in the audience of Quito are said to act
r of con-C0ntrary t0 an other nations in their marriages j for
they never make choice of a woman who has not been
first enjoyed by others, which they consider as a certain
indication of her personal attractions. After a young
man has made choice of a woman, he asks her of her
father, and having obtained his consent, they begin to
cohabit together as man and wife, and assist the father-
in-law in cultivating the land. At the end of three or
four months, and frequently of a year, the husband leaves
his bride or wife without anv ceremony ; and perhaps
expostulates with his father-in-law for endeavouring to
deceive him, by imposing upon him his daughter, whom
nobody else had thought worthy of making a bedfellow.
But if no disgust arises in the man on this account or
any other, after passing three or four months in this
commerce, which they call amanarse, or to habituate
one’s self, they then marry. This custom is still very
common, though the whole body of the clergy have used
all their endeavours to put a stop to it. Accordingly
they always absolve them of that sin before they give
them the nuptial benediction.
It has been observed, that the dependencies of the
r ^^jurisdictions of Quito are seated between the two Cor-
t pro dilleras of the Andes, and that the air is more or less
\ c. cold, and the ground more or less sterile, according to
the height of the mountains. These barren tracts are
called deserts : for though all the Cordilleras are dry,
some are much more so than others j and the continual
snow and frosts render some parts of them incapable of
producing a single plant, and consequently they are un¬
inhabitable by man or beast.
Some of these mountains, which appear to have their
bases resting on other mountains, rise to a most asto¬
nishing height, and, reaching far above the clouds, are
here, although in the midst of the torrid zone, covered
with perpetual snow. From experiments made with a
barometer on the mountain of Cotopaxi, it appeared
that its summit was elevated 6252 yards above the sur¬
face of the sea, something above three geographical
miles, which greatly exceeds the height of any other
volcanic mountain in the known world.
Cotopaxi became a volcano about the time when the
Spaniards first arrived in this country. Anew erup¬
tion happened in 1743, which had been for some days
preceded by a continual interior rumbling noise 5 after
which an aperture was made in its summit, as also three
others near the middle of its declivity ; these parts,
when the eruption commenced, were buried under pro¬
digious masses of snow. The ignited substances which
were ejected being mingled with a considerable quanti¬
ty of snow and ice, melting amidst the flames, were
carried down with such amazing rapidity, that the plain
from Callo to Latacunga was overflowed, and all the
houses with their wretched inhabitants >vere swept away
56
/hear-
H U. 207
in one general and instantaneous destruction. The river Peru,
of Latacunga was the receptacle of this dreadful flood, ^
till becoming swollen above its banks, the torrent rolled
over the adjacent country, continuing to sweep away
houses and cattle, and rendered the land near the town
of the same name as the river one vast lake. Here,
however, the inhabitants had sufficient warning to save
their lives by flight, and retreated to a more elevated
spot at some distance. During three days the volcano
ejected cinders, while torrents of lava with melted ice
and snow poured down the sides of the mountain. The
eruption continued for several days longer, accompanied
with terrible roarings of the wind, rushing through the
craters which had been opened. At length all was
quiet, and neither smoke nor fire were to be seen ; un¬
til in May 1744 the flames forced a passage through
several other parts on the sides of the mountain •, so
that in clear nights the flames, being reflected by the
transparent ice, exhibited a very grand and beautiful
illumination. On the 13th of November following, it
ejected such prodigious quantities of fire and lava, that
an inundation equal to the former soon ensued, and the
inhabitants of the town of Latacunga for some time
gave themselves over for lost.
The most southern mountain of the Cordilleras is
that of Mecas or Sangay, which is of a prodigious
height, and the far greatest part of it covered with
snow; yet from its summit issues a continual fire, at¬
tended with explosions which are plainly heard at 40
leagues distance. The country adjacent to this vol¬
cano is entirely barren, being covered with cinders
ejected from its mouth. In this mountain rises the
river Sangay, which being joined by the Upano, forms
the Payra, a large river which discharges itself into the
Maranon.
Pichincha, though famous for its great height, is
1278 yards lower than the perpendicular height of Co¬
topaxi, and was formerly a volcano, but the mouth or
crater on one of its sides is now covered with sand and
calcined matter *, so that at present neither smoke nor
fire issue from it. When Don George Juan and Don
Antonio de Ulloa were stationed on it for the purpose of
making astronomical observations, they found the cold
on the top of this mountain extremely intense, the wind
violent, and they were frequently involved in so thick a
fog, or, in other words, a cloud, that an object at six
or eight paces distance was scarcely discernible. The
air grew clear, by the clouds moving nearer to the
earth, and on all sides surrounding the mountain to a
vast distance, representing the sea with the mountain
standing like an island in the centre. When this hap¬
pened, they heard the dreadful noise of the tempests
that discharged themselves on Quito and the neighbour¬
ing country. They saw the lightning issue from the
clouds, and heard the thunder roll far beneath them.
While the lower parts were involved in tempests of
thunder and rain, they enjoyed a delightful serenity 5
the wind was abated, the sky clear, and the enlivening
rays of the sun moderated the severity of the cold. But
when the clouds rose, their thickness rendered respira¬
tion difficult; snow and hail fell continually, and the
wind returned with all its violence ; so that it was im¬
possible entirely to overcome the fear of being, together
with their hut, blown down the precipice on whose
edge it -was built, or of being buried in it by the con-
stan.: .t
208
Peru.
57 ,
Province of
Xiima.
P E
stant accumulations of ice and snow. Their fears were
likewise increased by the fall of enormous fragments of
rocks. Though the smallest crevice visible m their hut
was stopped, the wind was so piercing that it penetrated
through *, and though the hut was small, crowded with
inhabitants, and had several lamps constantly burning,
the cold was so great, that each individual was obliged
to have a chafing-dish of coals, and several men were
constantly employed every morning to remove the snow
which fell in the night. By the seventies ot such a
climate their feet were swelled, and so tender that walk¬
ing was attended with extreme pain, their hands co¬
vered with chilblains, and their lips so swelled and
chopt that every motion in speaking drew blood.
The next division of Peru is the audience of Lima,
58
Climate,
which is bounded on the north by Quito, on the east
by the Cordilleras of the Andes, on the south by the
audience of Los Charcos, and on the west by the Paci¬
fic ocean, it being about 770 miles in length from north
to south, being ol an unequal breadth,
cumate, The climate and soil of this country is uncommonly
soil, &c’. various ; in some places it is exceedingly hot, in others
mi this pro- insupportably cold; and in the city of Lima, where rain
never falls, it is always temperate. The seasons vary
within the compass of a few miles, and in certain paits
of the audience all the vicissitudes of weather are expe¬
rienced in 24 hours. It is extremely remarkable that
-no rains fall or rivers flow on the sea coasts, though the
country is refreshed by thick fogs, and the heat abated
by dense clouds that never condense into showers. 1 his
.phenomena has drawn the attention of many natura¬
lists, without their being able satisfactorily to account
for it. .
Spring begins toward the close of the year, that is
about the end of November or the beginning of Decem¬
ber, when the vapours which fill the atmosphere during
the winter subside, and the sun, to the great joy of the
inhabitants, again appears, and the country then begins
to revive, which, during the absence of his rays, had
continued in a state of languor. This is succeeded by
summer, which, though hot from the perpendicular di¬
rection of the sun’s rays, is far from being insupport¬
able ) the heat, which indeed would otherwise be exces¬
sive, being moderated by the south winds, which always
blow at this season, though with no great force. Win¬
ter begins at the latter end of June or the beginning of
July, and continues till November or December, when
the south winds begin to blow stronger, and to produce
a certain degree of cold, not indeed equal to that in
countries where ice and snow are known, but so keen
that the light dresses are laid by, and cloth or other
warm stuffs worn. During the winter the earth is co¬
vered with so thick a fog, as totally to intercept the
rays of the sun : and the winds, by blowing under the
shelter of this fog, retain the particles they contracted
in the frozen zone. In this season only the vapours dis¬
solve into a very small dew, which everywhere equally
moistens the earth j by which means all the hills, which
during the other parts of the year offer nothing to the
sight °but rocks and wastes, are clothed with verdure
and enamelled with flowers of the most beautilul co¬
lours. These dews never fall in such quantities as to
impair the roads or incommode the traveller; a very
thin stuff will not soon be wet through j but the conti¬
nuance of the mists during the whole winter, without
2
R U.
being exhaled by the sun, fertilizes every part of the
From a table of meteorological observations made in
the city of Lima, from the month of March 1791, to
March 1792, it appears that the thermometer was low¬
est during the month of September, when it descended
to 62°, and that it was highest in the month ot March,
-when it rose as high as 84°. These temperatures de¬
note the extremes of heat and cold in the winter and
summer of this climate. .
Lima is as free from tempests as from rain, so that
those of the inhabitants who have neither visited the
mountains' nor travelled into other parts, are absolute
strangers to thunder and lightning, and are thereiore
extremely terrified when they first hear the former or
see the latter. But it is very remarkable, that what is
here entirely unknown should be so common 30 leagues
to the east of Lima j it being no farther to the moun¬
tains, where violent rains and tempests of thunder ami
lightning are as frequent as at Quito.
But though the capital is freed from the terror ol
these tempests, it is subject to what is much more dread¬
ful. Earthquakes happen here so frequently, that the
inhabitants are under continual apprehensions ot being,
from their suddenness and violence, buried in the nims
of their own houses : yet these earthquakes, though so
sudden, have their presages, one of the principal ot
which is a rumbling noise in the bowels ot the eartli
about a minute before the shocks are felt, that seems to
pervade all the adjacent subterraneous part j this is fol¬
lowed by dismal bowlings of the dogs, who seem to pre¬
sage the approaching danger. The beasts of burden
passing the streets stop, and by a natural instinct spread
open their legs, the better to secure themselves Irorn
falling. On these portents the terrified inhabitants fly
from their houses into the streets with such precipitation,
that if it happens in the night they appear quite naked*,
the urgency of the danger at once banishing all sense ot
delicacy or shame. Thus the streets exhibit such odd
and singular figures as might afford matter ot diversion,
were it possible to be diverted in so terrible a moment.
This sudden concourse is accompanied with the cries ot
children waked out of their sleep, blended with the la¬
mentations of the women, whose agonizing prayers to
the saints increase the common fear and contusion. . Ihe
men are also too much affected to retrain from giving
vent to their terror *, so that the whole city exhibits a
dreadful scene of consternation and horror.
The earthquakes that have happened at the capital
are very numerous. The first since the establishment ot
the Spaniards was in 1582 j but the damage was much
less considerable than in some ot the succeeding. Six
years after Lima was again visited by another earth¬
quake, so dreadful, that it is still solemnly commemo¬
rated every year. In 1609 another happened, which
overturned many houses. On the 27th of November
1630, such prodigious damage was done in the city by
an earthquake, that, in acknowledgement of its not ha¬
ving been entirely demolished, a testival on that day is
annually celebrated. Twenty four years after, on the
3d of November, the most stately edifices in the city,
and a great number of houses, were destroyed by an
earthquake j but the inhabitants retiring, few of them
perished. Another dreadful one happened in 1678,
but one of the most terrible was on the 28th ot October
4 1007.
P E
Peru 1687. It began at four In the morning, anil destroyed
many of the finest public buildings and houses, in which
a great number of the inhabitants perished j but this was
little mo're than a prelude to what followed ; for two
hours after, the shock returned with such impetuous con¬
cussions, that all was laid in ruins, and the inhabitants
felt themselves happy in being only spectators of the ge¬
neral devastation, by having saved their lives, though
with the loss of all their property. During this second
shock, the sea retired considerably, and then returning
in mountainous waves, entirely overwhelmed Callao,
which is at five miles distance from Lima, and all the
adjacent country, together with the miserable inhabi¬
tants. From that time six earthquakes have happened
at Lima previous to that of 1746. This last was on the
28th of October, at half an hour after ten at night, when
the concussions began with such violence, that in little
more than three minutes the greatest part, if not all the
buildings in the city, were destroyed, burying under
their ruins those inhabitants who had not made sufficient
haste into the streets and squares, the only places of
safety. At length the horrible effects of the first shock
ceased ; but the tranquillity was of short duration, the
concussions swiftly succeeding each other. The fort of
Callao also sunk into ruins ; but what it suftered from
the earthquake in its building was inconsiderable, when
compared to the dreadful catastrophe which followed ;
for the sea, as is usual on such occasions, receding to a
considerable distance, returned in mountainous waves,
foaming with the violence of the agitation, and sudden¬
ly buried Callao and the neighbouring country in its
flood. This, however, was not entirely effected by the
first swrell of the waves j for the sea retiring farther, re¬
turned with still greater impetuosity, and covered both
the walls and other buildings of the place j so that what¬
ever had escaped the first inundation was totally over¬
whelmed by those succeeding mountainous waves.
Twenty-three ships and vessels, great and small, were
then in the harbour, 19 of which were sunk, and the
other four, among which was a frigate named St Fer-
min, were carried by the force of the waves to a consi¬
derable distance up the country. This terrible inunda¬
tion and earthquake extended to other parts on the coast,
and several towns underwent the same fate as the city
of Lima ; where the number of persons who perished
within two days after it began, amounted, according to
the bodies found, to 1300, besides the maimed and
wounded, many of whom lived only a short time in great
torture. The present population of this city, taken
from accurate sources, amounts to 52,627.
The country of Lima enjoys great fertility, producing
all kinds of grain and a prodigious variety of fruit.
Here industry and art supply that moisture which the
clouds withhold. The ancient incas of Peru caused
small canals to be formed, in order to conduct the wa¬
ters of the rivers to every part of the country. The
Spaniards, finding these useful works executed to their
hands, had only to keep them in order ; and by these
are watered spacious fields of barley, large meadows,
plantations, vineyards, and gardens, all yielding uncom¬
mon plenty. Lima differs from Quito, where the fruits
of the earth have no determined season ; for here the
harvest is gathered in, and the trees drop their leaves
in the proper season.
Although the summer here is hot, yet venomous crca-
Vol. XVI. Part I.
K U.
tures are unknown j and the same may be said of the
territory called Valles, though here are some parts, as
Tumbez and Piura, where the heat is almost as great as
that of Guayaquil. This singularity can therefore pro¬
ceed from no other cause than the natural drought of
the climate.
The audience of Lima is divided into four bishoprics, Divisions
Truxillo, Guamanga, Cusco, and Arequipa. The dio-oftheau.
cese of Truxillo lies to the north of the archiepiscopal di?nce oi’
diocese of Lima, and like all the others is divided into^ma'
several jurisdictions. The city of Truxillo is seated in
8° 6' south latitude, in a pleasant situation, though in a
sandy soil.
In the diocese of Guamanga is a rich quicksilver
mine, from which the inhabitants of a neighbouring
town procure their whole subsistence $ the coldness of
the air in that place checking the growth of all kinds
of grain and fruit, so that they are obliged to purchase
them from their neighbours. The quicksilver mines
wrought here supply all the silver mines in Peru with
that necessary mineral, and notwithstanding the prodi¬
gious quantities already extracted, no diminution is
perceived.
Cusco, which gives name to another diocese, is the
most ancient city of Peru, being of the same date with
the empire of the incas, and was founded by them as
the capital of the empire. On the mountain contiguous
to the north part of the city are the ruins of a famous
fort built by the incas j whence it appears that their de¬
sign was to inclose the whole mountain with a prodigi¬
ous wall, of such construction as to render its ascent ab¬
solutely impracticable to an enemy, in order to prevent
all approach to the city. This wall was entirely of free¬
stone, and strongly built, some ef the stones being of a
prodigious magnitude. The city of Cusco is nearly
equal to that of Lima. See Cusco.
In this bishopric are several mines of gold and sil¬
ver, that are extremely rich.
The fourth diocese of the audience of Lima is Are-
quipa, which contains the city of the same name, one
ol the largest in Peru. It is delightfully situated in
a plain ; the houses are well built of stone, and are.ge-
nerally lofty, commodious, finely decorated on the out¬
side, and neatly furnished within. The temperature of
the air is extremely agreeable, the cold being never ex¬
cessive, or the heat troublesome j so that the fields are
always clothed with verdure, and enamelled with
flowers, as in a perpetual spring. But these advantages
are allayed by its being frequently exposed to dreadful
earthquakes j for by these convulsions of nature it has
been four times laid in ruins. The city is, however,
very populous, and among its inhabitants are many no¬
ble families.
In this bishopric are several gold and silver mines,
and in some parts are large vineyards, from which con¬
siderable quantities of wine and brandy are made. A-
mong the other productions is Guinea pepper, in which
the jurisdiction of Arica in this diocese carries on a
very advantageous trade, the annual produce of these
plantations bringing in no less than 60,000 dollars per
annum. The pods of this pepper are about a quarter
of a yard in length, and when gathered- are dried in the
sun and packed up in bags of rushes, each bag con¬
taining an aroba or a quarter of a hundred weight, and
thus they are exported to all parts. Other places of
f D d this
6o
The au¬
dience of
Charcas.
61
Divisions
P E
this Jurisdiction are famous for vast quantities of large
and excellent olives, far exceeding the finest produ¬
ced in Europe, being nearly, it is saidf the size ot a
The audience of Charcas, the last division of Feru,
is equal in extent to that ot Lima j but manye its
parts are not so well inhabited, some being fu o vas
deserts and impenetrable forests, while others ave ex¬
tensive plains intercepted by the stupendous heigi o
the Cordilleras: the country is inhabited only in such
parts as are free from those inconveniences. It is bound¬
ed on the north bv the diocese of Cusco, and reaches
southward to Buenos Ayres-, on the east it, extends to
Brasil; and on the west it reaches to the Pacific ocean,
particularly at Atacama. The remainder of the pro¬
vince borders on the kingdom ot Chili. . .
  This audience is divided into the archbishopric ot
Stc. of this Plata, and five bishopries. Ft e shall begin with t ie
audience. formfcr. . „ ,
The famous mountain of Potosi is known all over the
commercial world for the immense quantity ot silver it
has produced. The discovery of this amazing treasure
happened at the commencement of the year 1545, t>y a
mere accident, which we shall mention atterwards. At
a small distance from it are the hot medicinal baths,
called Don Diego, whither some resort tor health and
others for amusement.
At the time when the first conquests were made,
when emigrations were most frequent, the country ot
the Incas bad a much greater reputation tor riches than
New Spain ; and, in reality, for a long time much more
considerable treasures were brought away from it. Ihe
desire of partaking of them must necessarily draw thi¬
ther, as was really the case,, a greater number ot Cas¬
tilians. Though almost all of them went over thither
with the hope of returning to their country to enjoy the
fortune they might acquire, yet the majority settled in
the colony. They were induced to this by the soltness
of the climate, the salubrity of the air, and the good¬
ness of the provisions. Mexico presented not the same
advantages, and did not give them reason to expect so
much independence as a land infinitely more remote
from the mother-country. _
Cusco attracted the conquerors in multitudes. Ihey
found this capital built on a ground that was very ine-
gular, and divided into as many quarters as there were
provinces in the empire. Each ot the inhabitants might
follow the usages of his native country } hut every body
was obliged to conform to the worship established by the
62
How the
country
was at first
settled by
the Spa¬
niards.
founder of the monarchy. There was no edifice that
had any grandeur, elegance, or convenience} because
the people were ignorant of the first elements ot archi¬
tecture. The magnificence ol what they called the pa¬
lace of the sovereign, of the princes of the blood, and of
the great men of his empire, consisted in the prolusion
of the metals that were lavished in decorating them.
The temple of the Sun was distinguished above all other
edifices j its walls were incrusted or sheathed with
pold and silver, ornamented with divers figures, and
foaded with the idols of all the nations whom the Incas
had enlightened and subdued.
As it was not a solicitude for their own preservation
which occupied the Spaniards at first, they had no soon¬
er pillaged the immense riches which had been amassed
n u.
at Cusco for four centuries, than they went in great p
numbers in 1534, under the order ot Sebastian de Ben-
alcazar. to undertake the destruction ot Quito. Ine
other towns and settlements of the empire were over¬
run with the same spirit of rapineand the citizens
and the temples were plundered in all parts.
Those of the conquerors, who did not take up then
residence in the settlements which they found alreauy
formed, built towns on the sea coasts, where hetore
there were none: for the sterility of the soil had not
permitted the Peruvians to multiply much there; and
they had not been induced to remove thither from the
extremity of their country, because they sailed very
little. Paita, Tiuxillo, Callao, Pisca, and Anca, were
the roads which the Spaniards deemed most convenient
for the communication they intended to establish among
themselves and with the mother country. J he ditier-
ent positions of these new cities determined the degree
of their prosperity.
Those which were afterwards built in the inland parts
of the country were not erected in regions which pre¬
sented a fertile soil, copious harvests, excellent pastures,
a mild and salubrious climate, and all the conveniences
of life. These places, which had hitherto been so well
cultivated by a numerous and flourishing people, were
now totally disregarded. Very soon they exhibited only
a deplorable picture of a horrid desert j and this wild¬
ness must have been more melancholy and hideous than
the dreary aspect of the earth before the origin of so¬
cieties. The traveller, who was led by accident or
curiosity into these desolate plains, could not forbear
abhorring the barbarous and bloody’authors of such de¬
vastations, while he reflected that it was not owing
even to the cruel illusions of glory, and to the fanati¬
cism of conquest, but to the stupid and abject desire of
gold, that they had sacrificed so much more real trea¬
sure, and so numerous a population. ^
This insatiable thirst of gold, which neither tended
to subsistence, safety, nor policy, was the only mo¬
tive for establishing new settlements, some of which
have been kept up, while several have decayed, and
others have been formed in their stead. The fate of
them all has corresponded with the discovery, progress,
or declension of the mines to which they were subordi-
Fewer errors have been committed in the means
procuring provisions. The natives had hitherto lived j^ves
hardly on any thing else but maize, fruits, and pulse,
for which they had used no other seasoning except salt,
63
and pimento. Their liquors, which were made from
different roots, were more diversified: of these the cbicha
was the most usual j but the conquerors were not satis¬
fied either with the liquors or with the food ol the peo¬
ple they had subdued. They imported vines from the
Old World, which soon multiplied sufficiently in the
sands of the coasts at lea, Pisca, Nasca, Moquequa,
and Truxillo, to furnish the colony with the wine and
brandy it wanted. Olives succeeded still better 5 and
yielded a greater abundance of oil, which was much
superior to that of the mother-country. Other fruits
were transplanted with the same success. Sugar suc¬
ceeds so well, that none of any other growth can be
compared to that which is cultivated in those parts,
where it never rains. In the inland country wheat and
barley
211
Peru.
64
anuf ac¬
res, ike.
barley wei’e sown j and at length all the European qua-
drupeds were soon found grazing at the foot of the
fiiountains.
This was a considerable step; but there still remained
much more to be done. . After they had provided for a
better and a greater choice of subsistence, the next care
of the Spaniards was to have a dress more commodious
and more agreeable than that of the Peruvians. These
were, however, better clothed than any other American
nation. They owed this superiority to the advantage
which they alone possessed, of having the Llama and
Pacos, domestic animals which served them for this
use. See Camelus, Mammalia Index.
After the conquest, all the Indians were obliged to
wear clothes. As the oppression under which they
groaned did not allow them to exercise their former in¬
dustry, they contented themselves with the coarser cloths
of Europe, for which they were made to pay an exor¬
bitant price. When the gold and silver which had esca¬
ped the rapacity ot the conquerors were exhausted, they
thought of re-establishing their national manufactures.
These were some time after prohibited, on account of
the deficiency which they occasioned in the exports of
the mother country. The impossibility which the Pe¬
ruvians found of purchasing foreign stuffs and paying
their taxes, occasioned permission to be given at the end
of ten years for their re-establishment. They have not
been discontinued since that time ; and have been
brought to as great a degree of perfection as it was pos¬
sible they could be under a continual tyrannv.
With the wool of the vicuna, a species of wild pacos,
they make, at Cuzco, and in its territory, stockings,
handkerchiefs, and scarfs. These manufactures would
have been multiplied, if the spirit of destruction had not
fallen on animals as well as on men. The same wool
mixed with that of the sheep imported thither from Eu¬
rope, which have exceedingly degenerated, serves for
carpets, and makes also tolerably fine cloth. Fleeces
of inferior quality are employed in serges, druggets, and
in all kinds of coarse stuffs.
The manufactures subservient to luxury are establish¬
ed at Arequipa, Cusco, and Lima. In these three
towns is made a prodigious number of gold toys and
plate, for the use of private persons, and also for the
churches. All these manufactures are but coarsely
wrought, and mixed with a great deal of copper. We
seldom discover more taste in the gold and silver laces
and embroideries which their manufactures also pro¬
duce. This is not altogether the case in regard to
their lace, which, when mixed with that of Europe,
looks very beautiful. This last manufacture is common¬
ly in the hands of the nuns, who employ in it the Peru¬
vian girls, and the young Mestees of the towns, who for
the most part before marriage pass some years in the
convent.
Other hands are employed in painting and gilding
leather for rooms, in making with wood and ivory pieces
of inlaid work and sculpture, and in drawing figures on
the marble that is found at Cucuca, or on linen im¬
ported from Europe. These different works, which are
almost all manufactured at Cusco, serve for ornaments
for houses, palaces, and temples : the drawing of them
as not bad, but the colours are neither exact nor perma¬
nent. If the Indians, who invent nothing, but are ex¬
cellent imitators, bad able masters and excellent models,
PERU.
Peru.
they would at least make good copyists. At the close
ot the last century, some works of a Peruvian painter,1
named Michael de St Jacques were brought to Rome •
and the connoisseurs discovered marks of genius in
them. b
Though the Peruvians were unacquainted with coin, Of the
icy knew the use of gold and silver ; for they employ-mines °f
ed them in different kinds of ornaments. Independentg.old and
of what the torrents and accident procured them of these *ilver'
metals, some mines had been opened of little depth.
1 he .Spaniards have not transmitted to us the manner
in which these rich productions were drawn from the
bosom of the earth. Their pride, which has deprived
us of so much useful knowledge, undoubtedly made
them think, that, in the inventions of a people whom
they called barbarous, there was nothing that was wor¬
thy to be recorded.
The difference as to the manner in which the Peru¬
vians worked their mines, did not extend to the mines
themselves. The conquerors opened them on all sides.
At first the gold mines tempted the avarice of the
greater number. Fatal experience discouraged those
whom passion had not blinded. They clearly saw, that
for some enormous fortunes raised in this manner, great
numbers who had only moderate fortunes, were totally
ruined. These mines sunk into such discredit, that, in
order to prevent them from being abandoned, the "0-
vernment was obliged to take the 20th part of their
produce, instead of the fifth which it at first received.
The mines of silver were more common, more equal
and richer. They even produced silver of a singular
species, rarely found elsewhere. Towards the sea-
coa^t, great lumps of this metal are found in the sands.
. . re are a greater number of other mines which are
infinitely more important, and are found in the rocks
and on the mountains. Several of them gave false
hopes. Such, in particular, was that of Ucuntaya, dis¬
covered in 1713. This was only an incrustation of al¬
most massive silver, which at first yielded several mil¬
lions, but was soon exhausted.
Others which were deeper have been alike deserted.
Iheir produce, though equal to what it was originally,
was not sufficient to support the expence of working
them, which augmented every day. The mines of Qui¬
to, Cusco, and Arequipa, have experienced that revolu¬
tion which awaits many of the rest.
There are greater numbers of very rich mines which
the waters have invaded. The disposition of the ground,
which from the summit of the Cordilleras goes conti¬
nually shelving to the South sea, must necessarily render
these events more common at Peru than in other places.
This inconvenience, which with greater care and skill
might often have been prevented or diminished, has
been in some instances remedied.
Joseph Salcedo, about the year 1660, had discovered,
not far from the town ol Puna, the mine of Laycacota.
t was so rich, that they often cut the silver with a chi¬
sel. Prosperity had so elevated the mind of the propri¬
etor, that he permitted all the Spaniards who came to
seek their fortunes in this part of the New World, to
work some days on their own account, without weigh¬
ing or taking any account of the presents lie made the m.
This generosity drew around him an infinite nbm’ber of
people, whose avidity made them quarrel with each
other, and the love of money made them take up arms
D d 2 and
ami fall upon on. another; and the,. heneraCor »h»
had neglected no exped.ent to prevent “n‘> e*H' « ,
their sanguinary content,ons, was hanged »»
ot' ‘intis J!i,lss
SS^-a^ienthw the,,on^ they
Dieeo tie Bacna associated with other opulent pe°p e
avert the springs which had deluged so much treasme.
’Phe labours which this difficult undertaking lequue ,
u,e la00“rfi. 71U Th ■ yields as much
were not finished till 1754- |he mine y
now as it did at first. But mines still ^cher than tb
have been discovered. Such, for example, is that ot
Potosi, which was found in the same country where the
Tncas worked that ot Porco.
An Indian, named Hualpa, in ^45 pursumg some
deer, in order to climb certain steep rocks laid hold ot
•i bush the roots of which loosened trom the earth, and
brought to view an ingot of silver. The Indian had re
course to it for his own use 5 and never failed to 1 eturn
to his treasure every time that his wants or his desires so¬
licited him to it. The change that had happened 1.1 his
fortune was remarked by one ot his countrymen and he
discovered to him the secret. The two COU,d
not keep their counsel and enjoy their good tortune.
They quarrelled •, on which the indiscreet confidant dis¬
covered the whole to his master, Villaroell, a SPa«iaj(
who was settled in the neighbourhood Upon tins the
mine became known, and was worked } and a great
number of them were found m his vicinity ; the princ -
pal of which are in the northern part ot the mountain,
and their direction is from north to south. 1 he most
intelligent people of Peru have observed, that this is in
general the direction of the richest mines.
' The fame of what was passing at Potosi soon spiead
abroad; and there was quickly h dt at the foot of ie
mountain a town, consisting of 60 OOO Indians and
, 0,000 Spaniards. The sterility of the soil did not
prevent its being immediately peopled. Coni fruit,
flocks, American stuffs, European luxuries, arrived heic
from every quarter. Industry, which everywhere follows
the current of money, could not search for it with so
much success as at its source. It evidently appeared that
iu 1738 these mines produced annually near 978,0001.
without reckoning the silver which was not registered,
and what had been carried off by fraud. Fiom tl
time the produce has been so much diminished, that no
more than one-eighth part of the coin which was for¬
merly struck is now made. . „ „ .
At the mines of Potosi, and all the mines of South
America, the Spaniards, in purifying their gold and
silver, used mercury, with which they are supplied from
Guanca Velica. The common opinion is, that this
mine was discovered in 1564. The trade of mercury
was then still free : it became an exclusive trade m
1 c7i At this period all the mines of mercury were
shut; and that of Guan^a Velica alone was worked,
the property of which the king reserved to himself.
It is now found to diminish. This mine is dug in a
prodigiously large mountain, 60 leagues from Lima. In
its profound abyss are seen streets, squares, and a cha¬
pel, where the mysteries of religion on all festivals are
PERU. . u 1
celebrated. Millions ot flambeaux are continually kept
to enlighten it. . .
Private people at their own expence work the mine
of Guanca Velica. They are obliged to deliver to
government, at a stipulated price, all the mercury they
extract from it. As soon as they have procured the
quantity which the demands of one year require the
work is suspended. Part of the mercury is sold on
the spot, and the rest is sent to the royal magazines
throughout all Peru; from whence it is delivered out
at the same price it is sold for in Mexico^ I bis ar¬
rangement, which has occasioned many of the mines to
drop, and prevented others from being opened, is in¬
excusable in the Spanish system. The court of Ma¬
drid, in this respect, merits the same reproaches as a
ministry in other countries would incur, that would be
blind enough to lay a duty on the implements of agri¬
culture. . „ ~ T
Peru originally included the provinces of Quito ami
Potosi, which are described with it in this article; but
these provinces are now separated from it. Ihe area
of Peru, thus restricted in its limits, is 33,628 square
leagues, as stated in the beginning of this article. Ihe
population by the last census amounted to 1,076,122
persons of all ages and conditions; but the returns are
believed to be under the truth, and the real amount ot
the population is believed to be about 1,300,000. t
these four-tenths are Indians. Ihe remainder is made
up of European Spaniards, Spanish Creoles, Mestizoes,
Negroes, Mulattoes, and Samboes. It is ascertained,
from a census in 1551, that the present number of inha¬
bitants in Peru, Santa Fe, and Buenos Ayres, does not
much exceed one third of the number at the conquest.
Peru, in its present extent, contained in 1791, 69
mines of gold which were then wrought, 784 mines of
silver, four of quicksilver, four of copper, 12 of lead.
The whole produce of its silver mines for the ten years,
ending in 1789, was 29,728,154 dollars; of its gold
mines, 4,424,635. For botli metals, the average an¬
nual produce was 3j415>21^ dollars. .
The produce of the royal duties from the mines ot
Potosi from 155610 1780—224 years, was 150,570,743
dollars. The corresponding produce of silver from
the mines is 2,400,000,000 dollars. But, as a great
part of the silver was smuggled, the actual produce
of the mines must have been much greater.
The commerce of Peru with the adjacent piovinces
of Chili, Guayaquil, Panama, and Guatemala, employs
41 vessels of different sizes, the tonnage of which is
351,500 quintals; and they are manned by 1460 sea¬
men. The annual imports in this trade for five years,
ending 1789, was 2,066,824 dollars, and the exports
1,694,755. The imports of Peru from the mother
country, for the five yearsending 1779, were 23,838,183
dollars, or 4,767,636 annually; but, in the five years
ending 1789, from the removal of certain restrictions
on the trade, they had increased to 42,099,313 dollars,
or 8,419,862 dollars annually. The exports were
21,302,385 dollars in the former period, and 35>979>339
in the latter. .
The revenue of Peru amounts to nearly 5,000,000 dol¬
lars annually ; but the clear revenue derived from the
colony of Old Spain does not exceed 500,000 dollars.
Feragia
II
iPetaguel
PET [2,
Balsam of Peru. See Myroxilon, Botany and
Materia Medica Index.
PERUGIA, a town of Italy, in the pope’s terri¬
tories, and capital of Perugino. It is an ancient, hand¬
some, populous, and large city, with a strong citadel,
an univeisity, and a bishop’s see. I he churches, and
many other buildings, as well public as private, are very
handsome. It is seated on a hill, in E. Long. 12. 20.
N. Lat. 43. 6.
PERUGINO, a province of Italy, in the territory
of the church, bounded on the west by Tuscany, on the
south by Orvietano, on the east by the duchies of Spo-
leto and Urbino, and on the north by the county of
Citta Castellana. I t is one ol the smallest provinces in
the teiiitory ot the church. Ihe air is very pure, and
the soil fertile in corn and good wine} besides, the lake
Perugia supplies them with plenty offish. The capital
town is Perugia. T he lake is eight miles from the city,
and is almost round, being about five miles in diameter}
in it there are three islands. This province is about 25
miles in length, and near as much in breadth.
Perugino. See Montanini.
PERUKE. See Perruke.
V1AN bark. See Cinchona, and Jesuits
Bark, Materia Medica Index.
PERUVIANA, a general name sometimes given to
the vast peninsula of South America, extending itself
from the isthmus of Darien to Cape Horn.
PESARO, a town of Italy, in the territory of the
pope, and duchy of Urbino, with a bishop’s see. The
environs are remarkable for producing good figs, of
which they send large quantities to Venice. It is seated
on an eminence at the mouth of the river Fogha on
the^fAf^nice- E' Long*I3, °: N- Lat* 43- 56.
AT a very Strong town in the kingdom of
Naples, and in the Hither Abruzzo; seated at the mouth
ot a river of the same name, which falls into the gulf of
\emce. E. Long. 15. 2. N. Lat. 42. 27.
PESCENNIUS Niger. See Niger.
. PESCHIERA, a small but strong town of Italy
in the Veronese, with a castle and a strong fort} seat-
ed on the river Mincio or Menzo, which proceeds from
E’ L°ng- iI‘ 4* N- Lat. 42. 27.
xr.aT,NAS, an ancient town of France, in the de¬
partment of Herault } delightfully seated on the river
Vein, 12 miles north east of Besseirs, and eight north of
Agde. E. Long. 3, 34. N. Lat. 43. 28.
PESSARY, in Medicine, a solid substance composed
ot wooi, lint, or hnen, mixed with powder, oil, wax, &c.
made round and long like a finger, in order to be intro¬
duced into the exterior neck of the matrix, for the cure
01 several uterine disorders*
PEST a town of Hungary, and now the capital of
the kingdom. It is situated on the Danube opposite
■Buna, with which it communicates by a bridge of boats.
It is the seat of the supreme courts of justice, of the
otbces of government, and of a well endowed universi¬
ty. The latter has a good museum and library. There
are also here an hospital for invalids, and a theatre,
ihe streets are spacious, and the houses generally hand¬
some:. the number ofinhabitants is estimated'at 42,000.
-rest is the most commercial city in Hungary, and pos¬
sesses some manufactures. E. Long. in. 10. N. Lat
47- 24.
p™NCE, in Mediciney the same with the
3 ] PET
PETAGUEL, a territory of South America, in
Brasil} bounded on the north by Dele, on the east by
the sea, on the south by the captainship of Rio-Grande,
W^St by TlWa- 11 contahis mines of silver! '
PETAL, in Botany, one of the coloured leaves which
compose the flower.
PETALISM, a mode of deciding on the guilt of ci¬
tizens, similar to the Athenian Ostracism, h was intro*
duced in Syracuse about the year before Christ 460, in or¬
der to prevent the tyranny of the richer citizens, who had
often about that time aimed at the diadem. To prevent
therefore, the evils daily arising from thence, and to bring
down the aspiring minds of the wealthy citizens, the Sy¬
racusans were forced to make a law not unlike that of
the Athenian ostracism ; for as at Athens every citizen
was to write on a shell the name of the person whom
they conceived to be the most likely, on account of his
wealth and adherents, to aspire to the crown} so at Sy¬
racuse they were to write on a leaf the names of such as
they apprehended powerful enough to usurp the sove-
reignty. When the leaves were counted, he who had
the most suffrages against him was, without any further
inquiry, banished for five years. This new-contrived
method of impairing the estates, and weakening the in¬
terest of the overgrown citizens, was called petalism,
10m tne Greek word petalon, which signifies “ a leaf.”
I his law was attended with many evil consequences ;
tor those who were most capable of governing the com-
monwealth were driven out, and the administration of
public affairs committed to the meanest of the people*
nay, many of the chief citizens, who were able to ren¬
der their country great service, fearing to fall under pe¬
nalties of this law, withdrew from the city, and lived
private in the country, not concerning themselves with
public affairs : whence all the employments being filled
with men of no merit or experience, the republic was on
the brink of ruin, and ready to fall into a state of anar-
cny and confusion. The law therefore of petalism, upon
more mature deliberation, was repealed soon after it had
been hrst enacted, and the reins of government were again
put into the hands ol men who knew how to manage them.
ptt't RD’ 111 ^le ar* "ar‘ ‘^ee Gunnery.
PETAU, Denis, or Dionysius Petavius, a French
Jesuit of great erudition, was born at Orleans in 1583.
His father was a man of literature, and observing strong
parts and an excellent genius for letters in his son, he
tons, every means in his power to improve them. He
used to tell his son, that he ought to qualify himself so
as to be able to attack and confound “ the giant of the
AHophylae}” meaning that most eminent schoiar Joseph
ocahger, whose abilities and learning were allowed to
have done great honour and much service to the reform-
ed. Young Petavius seems to have entered readily into
Ins father s vieivs} for he studied most intensely, and af¬
terwards levelled much of his erudition against Scaliger.
He joined the study of the mathematics to that of the
belles lettres 5 and afterwards applied himself to a course
of philosophy, which he began in the college of Orleans,
and finished a.t Pans. He afterwards maintained theses
in Greek, which was as familiar to him as Latin } and
the Latin, it is said, he understood better than he did his
own native language. When he was pretty well advan¬
ced, he had free access to the king’s library, which he
often visited an account of the Latin and Greek manu¬
scripts. Among other advantages which accompanied
Jus literary pursuits, was the friendship of Isaac Casau-
bon.
Petal
l!
Petau.
F E T [2
bon, whom Henry IV. called to Paris In 1600. It was
at Casaobon’s instigation, that Petarms tiougll the
but very young, undertook an edition of Tire M orks ot
Synesi/s. In this edition be corrected the Greek from
tjie manuscripts, translated that part ivlncb yet remained
to be translated into Latin, and wrote notes upon the
whole. He was but 19 years of age when he was mad
professor of philosophy in the university of Bourges, and
he spent the two following years in studying tile ancient
philosophers and mathematicians. In 1604, when Mo_
Jel, professor of Greek at Paris, published 1 he \Vorks of
Chrysostom, some part of Petavius s labours on by nesras
were added to them : from the title ot wh.el. we learn,
that he then took the name of ‘
wards changed into Petavius. H.s own edition ot 1 he
Works of Synesius did not appear till iOi 2. _
He entered into the society ot the Jesuits in 1605,
and did great credit to it by his vast and profound eru¬
dition. He became a zealous advocate tor the church
of Rome •, and there ivas no way ot serving it nv re
agreeable to him than that of criticising and abusing
its adversaries. He was most bittei against 1 ca i^ei ?
nor did he even spare his friend Casaubon whenever he
came in his way .-Petavius excelled particu arly m the
dark science of chronology, the learned world in gene¬
ral being obliged to him for some exact and nice disqui¬
sitions on this subject. His chief work, winch is in great
repute to this day, he intitled, Eationanum lemporum.
It is an abridgement of universal history, from the e
Rest times to 1632, in chronological order, with refer¬
ences to proper authorities. It was improved, and se¬
veral additions made to it, hyPenzomus, andotl^rs.
ter his death. This eminent lather, after a very labouous
life, died at Paris in the end of the year 1652, aged 69.
Gassendus, in his life of Pereschius says he was the most
consummate scholar the Jesuits ever had *, an opinion very
likely tft be true, when we consider that he often
tended successfully with Scaliger Salmasius and others
whose abilities have been universally acknowledged. liis
iudirment, however, was not equal to his erudition, am
his controversial writings are full of sourness and spleen.
We have the following character of a great work ot i e-
tavius by an author of much celebrity, but who perhap
is as much biassed on the side of infidelity as he thin
this learned Jesuit was in favour of the church of Rome.
The Dogmata Theologica of Petavius are a work ol in¬
credible labour and compass : the volumes which rekte
solely to the incarnation (two folios, 5th 6th, ol 37
pages) are divided into 16 books—the first of his histoiy,
fhe remainder of controversy and doctrine. The Jesuit s
learning is copious and correct: Ins Latimly is pure, 11
method clear, his argument profound and well connect¬
ed ; but he is the slave of the fathers, the scourge of
heretics, and the enemy of truth and candour, as often
as thev are inimical to the Catholic cause. .
PETAW, an ancient town of Germany, in the cir¬
cle of Austria, and in Stiria. It is a handsome place,
and is seated on the river Drave, 35 miles north-east
of Cilley, and 109 south of Vienna. E. .Long. 15. a •
N. Lat. 46. 40. „ . . • ch • a
PETCHELI, a province ol Asia, m China, ami
the chief in the whole empire > bounded on the east by
the sea, on the north by the great wall, on the west by
Cbansi, and on the south by Chantong and Honan.
“ This province contains nine cities ot the first class,
which have several others under their jurisdiction j these
14 ] PET
are about 40 in number, less considerable indeed, but all Pctc^
surrounded with walls and ditches Petcheh has few
mountains. Its soil is sandy, and produces very little
rice ; but all other kinds ol gram abound there, as well
as the greater part of the fruit-trees we have m Europe.
It pays an annual tribute to the emperor, which, accord-
imr to Father Martini, consists ct 601,1 53 baSs ot rice,
wheat, and millef, 224 pounds ol linseed-, 45,135°
spun silk j 13,748 of cotton-, 8,737,248 trusses of straw
for the horses belonging to the court, and i8o,b ;o mea¬
sures of salt, each containing 124 pounds j which is pro¬
portionally much inferior to that paid by other provin¬
ces. The population of this province is estimated at
“ It is remarked that the people of tins province
have not the same aptitude for acquiring the sciences
as those who inhabit the southern provinces ot the em¬
pirebut they are more robust ami warlike j and bit¬
ter calculated to endure the hardships and latigue o
war. This is the case with the Chinese ol a.l the other
northern countries. .
“ The face of the country here being Hat amt level,
permits the use of a kind 'of carriage, the construc¬
tion of which appears to be rather singu.ar. lather
Martini, one of the first missionaries m China, thus
describes it : ‘ They use, in the province ot Eetcheh,
a kind of chariot with one wheel, and constructed m
such a manner, that there is room in the middle lor
only one person, who sits asi if on horseback *, the
driver pushes behind, and, by means of wooden levers,
makes the chariot advance with safety and expedition.
This has perhaps given rise to the report of chariots
driven in that country by the wind, which the Chi¬
nese direct over land with sails, as they do ships at
«ea. A French missionary, who traversed this pro¬
vince in 1768, seems to have made use of the same
kind of carriage. ‘ We quitted the canal (says he)
to travel in carts, which is customary in this part ot
China ; but it is disagreeable beyond description. 1 ie
cart is amazingly clumsy, and has a great resemblance
to the carriage of a gun : there is room in it lor only
one person, who is frequently obliged to sit cross-fig¬
ged, as our taylors do in Europe -, it jolts prodigiously,
and, while the traveller is exposed to the scorching rays
of the sun, such clouds of dust sometimes arise as almost
suffocate him.’ , . . j „
“ The temperature of the air of this province does
not seem to agree with its latitude. Although Eet-
cheli extends no farther than to the 42d degree ot north
latitude, yet all the rivers there are so much Irozen du¬
ring four months in the year, that horses and waggons
with the heaviest loads may safely pass them. It deserves
to he remarked, that the whole body of ice is form¬
ed in one day, and that several are necessary to thaw
only the surface. What may appear no less extraordi¬
nary is, that during these severe frosts one does not leet
that sharp and pinching cold which accompanies the pro¬
duction of ice in Europe. These phenomena cannot be
accounted for, but by attributing them to the great
quantity of nitre which is found dispersed throughou
E pvovince, and to the serenity of the sky nteh even
during winter, is seldom obscured by a cloud. The pl y
steal explanationf vyhicb we have given ol this singuLr
sical explanation, vwiiGu . wlv
temperature, is fully confirmed by experiments Utely
made by Father Amiot at Peking, which convinced him,
that in this capital and neighbourhood, as far as seven or
Petclieli
PET [2
eigiit leagues round, the water, air, and earth, equally
abound with nitre. J
With regard to the water, the facility with which
it freezes, the solidity ot the ice and its duration, evi¬
dently announce the presence of nitre. A tub filled
with water, placed near one of Reaumur’s thermome¬
ters, had its surface immediately frozen, when the
mercury stood only one degree above the fr eezing
point •, and when it stood three degrees below freezing,
the water became a solid mass ot ice, it the diameter
of the vessel did not exceed a foot and a half, and the
depth of the water four or five inches. This water,
when the weather was fine, continued in the same state
ot congelation as long as the mercury in the thermo¬
meter did not rise higher than three degrees above o ;
when the mercury rose higher, it then began to dis¬
solve, but so slowly, that two or three days were scarce¬
ly sufficient to restore it to its former fluidity.” Cro¬
sier goes on to relate other experiments of Father A-
miot, which were made with a view to discover the
cause of the water’s freezing so in this temperate cli'-
mate j and he then proceeds to tell us, that “ if the
waters of the province of Petcheli contain much nitre,
it is no less certain, that the air which one breathes
there is abundantly impregnated with it. The follow¬
ing are indubitable proofs of it: 1st, Notwithstandino-
unwholesome food, such as the flesh of the greater part
of domestic animals that have died of old age or dis¬
ease, which the people of this province greedily devour,
notwithstanding filth and all the inconveniences result¬
ing from low, damp, and confined lodgings, where all
the individuals of the same family are, as it were, heap¬
ed one upon another, the plague never makes its ap¬
pearance in Petcheli j and the people are seldom attack¬
ed by any of those epidemical distempers which are so
common in Europe. 2dly, Provisions of every kind
may be kept at Peking a long wdiile, without being
subject to corruption. Raisins are eaten there fresh even
in May, apples and pears till midsummer; wild boars,
stags, deer, roebucks, rabbits, hares, pheasants, ducks,
geese, and all kinds of game, brought from Tartary to
i eking alter the commencement of winter ; fish of every
species, transported from the rivers of Leatong, will
eep without the assistance of salt, in their state of con¬
gelation, for two or three months, although they are ex¬
posed every day in the markets, carried from the mar¬
kets to private houses, and from private houses brought
back to the markets until they are all sold, which does
not happen before the end of March. It is certain that
these facts announce an antiseptic quality in the air,
which must undoubtedly proceed from the great quan¬
tity of nitre contained it.
“ 3dly, The earth which forms the soil of Petcheli
abounds no less with nitre ; whole fields may be seen in
the neighbourhood of Peking which are covered with
it. Every morning at sunrise, the country in certain
cantons appears white as if sprinkled by a gentle fall of
snow. If a quantity of this substance be swept together,
a great deal of kien, nitre, and salt, may be extracted
Irom it. The Chinese pretend that this salt may be
substituted for common salt; however this may be,*it is
certain, that in the extremity of the province towards
xuen-hoa-fou, poor people, and the greater part of the
peasants, make use of no other. With regard to the
iien procured from the earth, they use it for washing
15 ] PET
linen as we do soap. Although the land of Petciieli be Peteheii
replete with nitrous particles, it does not, however, form |)
dry deserts; it is cultivated with care, and becomes Peter.
fruitful by incessant labour. The earth is frozen in ' * *
winter to the depth of two or three feet, and does not
become soft before the. end of March. . This may ex»-
piain why the frost kills plants in the neighbourhood of
Pekin, which Linnaeus raised in Sweden, although it is
20 degrees farther north than the capital of the Chinese
empire. See China, Supplement.
PElECHIiE, in Medicine, a name given to those
spots, whether red or of any other colour, which appear
in malignant fevers.
PETELIA. See Strongoli.
PETER, St, the apostle, born at Bethsaida, was
son of John, Jona, or Joana, and brother of St An¬
drew (John i. 42. 43.). His first name was Simon or
Simeon ; but when our Saviour called him to the apo-
stleship, he changed his name into Cephas, that is, in
Smac, a stone or a rock, in Latin petra, whence Peter.
He was a married man ; and had his house, his mother-
in-law, and his wife, at Capernaum upon the lake of Gen-
nesareth (Mark i. 29. Matth. viii. 14. Luke iv. 38.).
St Andrew having been first called by Jesus Christ, met
his brother Simosi, and told him (John i. 41.) we have
found the IMessiah, and then brought him to Jesus.
Jesus beholding him, said to him, You are Simon son
of Jona; henceforth you shall be called Cephas, that
is, stone or rock. After having passed one day with
our Saviour, they returned to their ordinary occupa¬
tion, which was fishing. Yet it is thought they were
present with him at the marriage of Cana in Galilee.
This happened in the 30th year of the vulgar Christian
era.
Towards the end of the same year, Jesus Christ be¬
ing on the shore ot the lake of Gennesareth, saw Peter
and Andrew busy about their fishery, and washing their
nets, (Luke v. 1, 2, 3.). He entered into their boat,
and bid Peter throw out his nets into the sea, in order
to fish. Peter obeyed him, though he had already
fished the whole night without catching any thina.
They took so many fishes at this draught, that then-
own vessel, and that of James and John, sons of Zebe-
dee, were filled with them. Then Peter threw himself
at the feet of Jesus, and said to him, Depart from me,
Lord, for I am a sinner. Then Jesus said to them,
follow me, and I will make you fishers of men. He
said the same thing to James and John ; and immedi¬
ately they quitted their boats and nets, and followed our
Saviour.
Some time after, Jesus coming to Capernaum, enter¬
ed into the house of St Peter, where his mother-in-law
lay sick of a fever. He immediately healed her, and
she began to minister to him (Luke iv. 38. and Matt,
viii. 14.). A little while before the feast of the passover
of the following year, being the 3 2d of the vulgar era,
after Jesus returned into Galilee, he made choice of
twelve apostles, among which St Peter has always the
first place (Matt. x. 2. Luke vi. 13.). One night that
Jesus Christ walked upon the waters of the lake of
Gennesareth, St Peter asked him leave to come and
meet him (Matt. xiv. 28, 29.). Jesus gave him leave;
but he seeing a great wave coming, was afraid, and
therefore began to sink. Then Jesus held him up, and
said, O man of little faith, why was you afraid ? Af¬
terwards
PET [2
terwards landing on the other side of the lake, and the
multitude that he had fed the day before beyond the
lake being come to him at Capernaum, he spoke o
them of his body and of his blood winch he was to
give to his disciples to eat and drink. 1 his so oftend-
ed the multitude, that several of them quitted him there¬
upon. He therefore asked his apostles if they also would
leave him j to which Peter replied, To whom shall we
o-o Lord; for thou hast the words of eternal life
(John vi. 53, <4, &c.). One day, as our Saviour was
near Cmsarea Philippi, he asked his apostles whom the
world took him for? they answered, that some said he
was John the Baptist-, others, Elias and others Jere¬
miah, or one of the prophets. But whom do you ^y 1
am ? says Jesus Christ. Simon Peter answered, 1 hou
art Christ, the son of the living God. Jesus then said
unto Peter, Blessed art thou Simon Larjona J for flesh
and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my father
which is in heaven (Mat. xvi. 13, 14, &c-)- 5Vntl 1
say unto thee, that, as thou art Peter, so upon this rock
will I build my church, and the gates of hell shall not
prevail against it j and I will give unto thee the keys
of the kingdom of heaven, and whatsoever thou shall
bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatsoever
thou shall loose upon earth shall be loosed in heaven.
About six or eight days after this, our Saviour taking
Peter, James, and John, up a high mountain, apart from
the other disciples, showed them a glimpse of his giory,
and was transfigured before them (Mat. xvn. 1, 2, &c.
and Luke ix. 28.). Whereupon Peter, seeing Moses
and Elias together with Jesus, cried out to them in an
ecstacy, Lord, it is good for us to be here ! if you please
we will make three tents > one for yon, one tor Moses,
and one for Elias.
Jesus returning from thence to Capernaum, those
who gathered the tribute money came to Peter, and said,
Does not your master pay tribute ? Whereupon Jesus
ordered Peter to throw his line into the sea, and that he
should find wherewith to pay the toll for them two
in the mouth of the first fish he should take. 1 eter
obeyed j and finding a piece of money in the mouth of
the fish, he gave it to the tribute-gatherers, as he vyas
directed. One day, as Jesus was discoursing concerning
the forgiveness of injuries (Mat. xviii. 21, 22.), St
Peter asked him, how often they must forgive, and
whether it was sufficient to pardon an offender seven
Jmes ? Jesus told him, I say, you must pardon not only
as far as seven times, but even seventy-times seven.
Upon another occasion (Mat. xix. 27—29.), as our Sa¬
viour was speaking of the danger of riches, 1 cter sail
to him, Lord, we have left all things to follow thee ;
what reward shall we have for it ? Jesus answered him,
I tell you in truth, that you who have left all things to
follow me shall receive an hundred fold even in this
world, and in the other eternal life and at the last day,
when the Son of man shall come to judge the world, you
shall sit upon twelve thrones to judge the twelve tribes
of Israel. ^ .
On the Tuesday before our Saviour’s passion, Peter
showed him the fig-tree he had cursed the evening be¬
fore, which was now dried up and withered (Mark xi.
12—21.)-, and the day following, as they sat upon
the mountain of Olives, he, with the other -apostles,
asked Jesus when the temple was to be destroyed (Mat.
xxiv. 1, 2, &c. Mark xiii. 1, 2, &c. Luke xxii.). On
4
16 ] PET
Thursday he was sent with St John to prepare all things
for the passover -, and at evening, when Jesus was come *-
into the citv with his apostles, and being sat down at
table, began to speak of him that should betray him,
Peter made signs to John to ask him who this should
be (John xiii. 24.). After supper, the disciples enter¬
ed into dispute which should be the greatest among
them: whereupon Jesus Christ, laying aside his gar¬
ments, betook himself to wash their leet, to give them
an example of humility in his own person, bt Peter at
first made some difficulty, and would not sufler his mas¬
ter to wash his feet: but Jesus telling him, that it he
did not wash his feet, he could have no part in him ;
St Peter replied, Lord, wash not only my feet, but my
hands and head also (John xiii. 6—10.).
Some time after, Jesus said to him (Luke xxn. 31,
2 2 &.C.), Peter, Satan has desired to sift you as men
sift wheat -, but I have prayed for you, that your faith
may not fail: and when you are converted confirm your
brethren. By this he warned St Peter of his tall, that
was just at hand, and of his renouncing him -, from
which by the assistance of God, he was afterwards to
recover. St Peter then asked him, where he was go-
mv f and said, he was ready to follow him everywhere,
not only to prison, but to death itself. But Christ de¬
clared to him, that he would be so tar from following
him to death that he would abjure him three times that
very night before the cock should crow, or before break
of day. When supper was ended, he went to the gar¬
den of Olives, where, taking Peter, James, and John,
he went with them apart, that they m.ght be witnesses
of his agony. Peter, though before he had showed so
much resolution, yet fell asleep with the rest; which
occasioned Jesus to say to him, Do you sleep, Simon
Could you not watch with me one hour ? (Mark xiv.
2 7. Mat. xxvi. 40, &c.). . ,
Judas being come with the soldiers to seize Jesus,
Peter drew his sword, and cut off the right ear of one
called Malchus, who was servant to the high-priest.
but Jesus bid him put up his sword into the scabbard,
and told him, that all those who fought with the sword
should perish by the sword : and at the same time healec
Malchus’s ear (John xviii. 10, 1 eter fol owe
Jesus afar off, as far as the house of Ca.aphas, and was
let in by means of another disciple, who was known m
the family. The soldiers and servants that had brought
Jesus, having lighted a fire in the ™<Idle of the ha ,
Peter mingled among them to warm himself also, when
a maid-servant, having leaked earnestly upon him, said
Surely this man was with Jesus of Nazareth. But Petei
made answer, I know not what you say, tor I do not o
much as know the man. Present y after he went o
into the porch, when immediately the cock trew. ^
little while after another maid said to those that u
present, This man was with Jesus of Nazareth. But
Peter denied it with an oath. About an hour afi^r
one of the company affirmed that Peter was a disc,pie of
Jesus. Others insisted upon the same thing 5 and said
that surely he was one of them for h,s very speech be¬
trayed him to be a Galilean Lastly one of them be¬
ing a kinsman of Malchus whose ear Peter had cot ,
affirmed the same thing -, and asked him, Did notlse
^u with him in the garden ? Peter again denied it with
an oath, protesting that he did not know the mam
And at the same time the cock crowed the second
PET - [ 2
Peter, time. 1 lien Jesus, being in the same hall, and not far
■'"'v 1 ‘ from Peter, looked upon him ; and Peter tTien remem¬
bering what Jesus had said to him, that before cock-crow
he should deny him thrice, he went out of Caiaphas’s
house, and wept bitterly (Mat. xxvi. 73, 75. Mark xiv.
34>t72')'
\ ery probably he remained in secret, and in tears,
all the time of our Saviour’s passion, that is, all Friday
and Saturday following ; but on Sunday morning, Jesus
being risen, and Mary having been at the tomb, and not
finding the body of Jesus, she came in haste into the
city, to tell Peter and John that they had taken away
their master, and that she could not lind where they had
put him. Peter and John made haste thither, and John
coming first, did not go into the sepulchre. Peter then
coming up to him, presently stooped down, and saw the
linen clothes wherein the body had been wrapt. He
went then into the sepulchre, and John with him ; after
which they returned to Jerusalem, not knowing what
Jiad come to pass. But soon after Jesus appeared to the
holy women, who had come first to the sepulchre, and
bid them give his apostles notice of his resurrection.
And the same day our Saviour also appeared to Peter,
to comfort him, and assure him that his repentance bad
been acceptable to him.
Some days after, St Peter being returned into Galilee
as Jesus had commanded him, and going to fish in the
sea ol Galilee, or in the lake of Gennesareth, with some
other of the apostles, Jesus appeared to them on the shore,
and bid them throw out their nets on the right side of
the vessel. They threw them out, and took such a mul¬
titude of fishes that they could not draw up their nets
again. Then St John said to Peter, It is the Lord.
Peter immediately girded up himself, for he was naked,
and swimming to shore he came to Jesus : then drawing
their nets to shore, Jesus dined with them. After dinner,
Jesus said to Peter, Simon, son of Jona, do you love me
more than these ? He answered, Yea, Lord, you know
that I love you. Jesus says to him, Then feed my
lambs. He put the same question to him again; and
Peter making the same answer, our Lord said to him
again, Feed my sheep. This he repeated a third time ;
at which St Peter was troubled, and said, You know,
Lord, that I love you. Jesus replied to him, “ Feed
my sheep. I tell you for a truth, that when you were
young, you girded yourself, and went where you pleased 5
but now you are old, another shall gird you, and lead
you where you would not go.” This he said to let
him know what death he was to die. At the same
time, Peter seeing St John the Evangelist, said to our
Saviour, Lord, what must become of him ? Jesus an¬
swered, “ If I will that he tarry till I come, what does
that concern you ? Ho you follow me.” Thus he re¬
fused to declare in what manner St John should end
his life.
After that Jesus Christ had ascended into heaven,
and that the apostles had beeh witnesses of his ascen¬
sion, they returned to Jerusalemj to wait there for the
Holy Ghost, whom our Saviour had promised to send
them j and being assembled together in a house, they
continued there in prayer* and id the union of chari¬
ty, till the time that the Holy Ghost descended upon
them, in the forrfi of tongues of fire. During this in¬
terval, St Peter proposed to the apostles, and to the
rest of the assembly, to fill up the place that the fcrai-
Vol. XVI. Part I. t
17 ] PET
tor Judas had left vacant in the apostleship. The pro- Poter
posal was agreed to by all ; and two persons were pro- 1 v~”
posed, Joseph Barsabas and Matthias: upon this last
the lot fell ; and from that time he was admitted one
of the apostles. The tenth day after the ascension of
our Saviour, being the day of Pentecost, the Holv
Ghost having descended upon the apostles, and upon
all the faithful that vVere assembled with them, and
having replenished them with supernatural gifts, and
especially with the gift of tongues, all those who were
witnesses of this miracle expressed their admiration at
it j and there being upon that day at Jerusalem a great
many Jews from several provinces of the east, they
could not comprehend by what means these men, who
were Galileans, should speak the languages of all these
pagan nations (Acts ii. 1, 2, &c.). Some of them said,
that the apostles were full of new wine. But St Peter
standing up, told them, that what they heard and saw
was not the effect of drunkenness, but was the comple¬
tion of the promise that the Holy Ghost had made by
the prophet Joel (ii. 28.), to send his spirit upon all
flesh, and to give the spirit of prophecy to young and
old, to men and women. He afterwards spoke to them
of Jesus Christ, and told them that he was the true
Messiah, that he was risen from the dead as the scrip¬
ture had foretold he should ; declaring that himself and
the other apostles were witnesses of his resurrection, of
his ascension into heaven, and of the mission of the Holy
Ghost, the visible effects of which they saw with their
own eyes in the gifts of languages wherewith they had
been replenished.
Then those that heard him were touched with com¬
punction, and asked the apostles, Brethren, what shall
we do ? Peter answered them, Repent, and be bap¬
tized, and you shall receive the Holy Ghost. Then he
instructed them, baptized them, and that very day
three thousand persons were added to the church (Acts
iii. 1, 2, &c.). Some days after, St Peter and John,
going to the temple at the hour of prayers, met at a
gate of the temple a man who had been lame from his
birth, so that he was carried about. This man seeing
Peter and John, asked alms of them : upon which Peter
said to him, Silver or gold I have not; but such as I
have I give thee : In the name of Jesus of Nazareth,
rise up and walk. Presently the man got up, and went
into the temple along with them, lifting up his voice,
and glorifying God. He held St Peter, telling the
people then assembled all that had happened unto him.
Then Peter, taking this occasion, told the people, that
it was not by his own power that he had performed the
miracle they so much wondered at, but that it was
by the power of Jesus Christ that this man was healed.
He then laid before them the gfeat crime they had
committed, in putting Jesus Christ to death, who was
the SavioUr of the world, and the Messiah ; and after
he had shewn them by all the prophecies that Christ
was to die thus, he exerted them to repentance, and
to make a proper use of the death of Christ.
He was thus speaking to the people, when the priests
and Sadducees coming upon them, laid hold on Peter
and John, and put them in prison, until the day fol¬
lowing, it being now late (Acts iv. 1, 2, &c.). But
the number of those thdt were converted this day at
the second preaching of St Peter was about five thou¬
sand. The day following, the rulers, magistrates, and
E e chief
Peter.
PET [
chief priests being assembled on this occasion, ordered
the apostles to be brought before them j and then ask¬
ed them, by whose authority they performed the mi¬
racle of healing the lame man ? St Peter answered,
that it was in the name of Jesus of TSaz.areth, whom
they had crucified, and whom God raised again from
the'dead. The assembly were surprised at the bold¬
ness of the apostles upon this occasion : but came to a
resolution to dismiss them, charging them at the same
time to teach no more in the name of Jesus 5 and
threatening them if they should persist in disobedience
to these orders. The two apostles returned to their
brethren, and related to them all that had passed
which having heard, the brethren raised their voices
to heaven, begging God to give them strength and
courage to declare his word with perfect liberty j and
having finished their prayers, the place shook wherein
they were assembled, and they were again filled with the
Holy Ghost.
At this time many of the faithful sold their estates,
and brought the money to the apostles {id. v. I».2»
&c.). Of this number was a man called Ananias, with
his wife Sapphira, who, by a private agreement between
themselves, concealed a part of the money for whici
they had sold their land, and brought the rest to bt
Peter, as if it were the whole sum. Ananias came first j
and St Peter said to him, Ananias, how came Satan to
seduce you, and prevail with you to lie to the Holy
Ghost, by concealing part of the price of your land ? It
is not men that you thought to impose on, but God.
Immediately Ananias fell down dead, and they carried
him out and buried him. About three hours after, his
wife Sapphira came in, and St Peter said to her almost
the same things he had before said to her husband,
and. immediately she fell down also, and gave up the
ghost. This affair infused a great awe in the whole
church, and amongst all those that heard of it. (See
Acts v.).
The number of believers considerably increased eve-
jy day *, so that they even brought out the sick into
the streets, and laid them where Peter was to pass, that
at least his shadow might cover some of them, by which
means they were healed of their distempers. Then the
high-priest and his associates, that is, the Pharisees,
caused the apostles to he apprehended and put into pri¬
son. But an angel brought them forth, and bid them
go into the temple, and there boldly declare all the
words of life which God had taught them. This they
performed : upon which the princes and priests caused
them to he brought before them j and having demanded
why they had disobeyed their orders in continuing to
speak still in the name of Jesus Christ, Peter and the
apostles answered, that it was more necessary to obey
God than man. This answer provoked them very much,
and they were going to condemn them to death, when
Gamaliel prevailed with them to change their resolu¬
tion, by representing to them, that it this matter pro¬
ceeded from God, it was in vain for them to oppose it •,
hut if otherwise, then it should soon vanish of itself. So
they dismissed the apostles, after giving them 39 stripes
a-piece, and charged them to speak no more in the name
of Jesus Christ.
After the martyrdom of St Stephen, a persecution
was carried on against the faithful at Jerusalem, and
t^ey were obliged to take shelter in seveial places. The
21B ] ^ ^ ^
apostles alone continued at Jerusalem (Acts via. I, 2,
2 &.c.V St Philip the deacon going to Samaria, the
Samaritans received the word of the Lord, and several
of them were baptized. Then St Peter and bt John
repaired thither also, to give them the Holy Ghost,
which St Philip, being only a deacon, had net power
to do. Simon the magician was also baptized among
others j and admiring the power that the apostles had,
of conferring the Holy Ghost, would have bought the
same power of the apostles, and accordingly ollered mo¬
ney to St Peter. But Peter with indignation replied
to him, Thy money and thou perish together, who
thinkest the gifts of God can be bought with money .
Thou hast no part with us, nor hast any pretensions to
this ministry, for thy heart is not right before God.
He pent therefore of this wickedness, and pray to God
if perhaps he will pardon the wicked thoughts oi thy
heart. After this Peter and John returned again to Je¬
rusalem. See Acts viii.
The lire of persecution being now pretty well extin¬
guished, St Peter departed from Jerusalem (Acts ix. 32,
&c.), and visiting the disciples from city to city, he
came also to see the saints that dwelt at Lydda. Here
he found a man called iEneas, who had been paralytic
for eight years. St Peter said to him, TEneas, iise up j
Jesus Christ the Lord cures you. He presently got up *,
and all that dwelt at Lydda that saw the miracle were
converted to the Lord. TLhere was also at Joppa a cer¬
tain holy woman, named T-abitha, who happening to
die while St Peter was at Lydda, the disciples sent to
desire him to come to them. Whereupon St^ Peter
came, and entering into the chamber where Tahitha
lay dead, he caused eveiy body to go out, and betook
Peter,
himself to prayers. Then turning himself towards the
corpse, he said, Tahitha, arise. At which instant she
opened her eyes, and seeing St Peter, she sat up. TLhis
miracle was much famed at Joppa, and was the occa¬
sion that many were converted. St Peter stayed there
a good while, taking up his lodging with one Simon a
tanner.
Now there was at Caesarea of Palestine a centurion
called Cornelius, a man that feared God (Acts x. 1,
2, 3.), and to whom it was revealed by an angel, that
he should send to Joppa to Peter, who should tell him
what he had to do. Cornelius immediately sent two
of his servants •, and while they were upon the road, the
Lord sent a vision to Peter, to prepare him to go to
this man without any scruple, although he was not a
Jew j for as yet the door of the gospel had not been
opened to the Gentiles. St Peter, then being at the
top of the house, fell into a trance, and saw, as it were,
a great sheet of linen let down from heaven, which was
full of all kinds of animals and reptiles, both clean and
unclean. He had this vision three times, and heard a
voice, saying, Arise Peter, kill and eat. . But I eter
answered, Lord, I have never eaten any thing unclean.
The voice replied, Call not that unclean which God
has purified. After which the sheet was again taken
up into heaven. At the same time, the men came
in that had been sent by Cornelius. They acquainted
him with what had happened to their master, and de¬
sired him to go along with them to Caesarea. The
day following St Peter set out thither, and was ac¬
companied by some of the brethren of Joppa. (See
ActS TOU.
PET [2
Peter. When Peter was returned to Jerusalem, the faithful
.—y——of the circumcision said to him, why have you gone un¬
to the uncircumcised, and why do you eat with them P
hut Peter having related to them all that passed, they
were satisfied, and glorified God who had given the gift
of repentance leading to life as well to the Gentiles as
to the Jews. It is thought, that a little after this Peter
went to Antioch, where he founded the Christian church
of which he was bishop (Gal. ii. it.). It is believed
that he continued here seven years, though not constant¬
ly : for during this time, he went to Jerusalem, and to
the provinces of Asia Minor, to Bithynia, Cappadocia,
and Pontus, as is concluded from the epistle that he
afterwards addressed to the faithful of these provinces.
From thence he went to Rome, in the qid year of the
Christian era ; and it is thought that at his leaving An¬
tioch he there fixed St Ignatius in his place. Eusebius
thinks, that the chief occasion of his going to Rome was
to oppose Simon Magus, who by his deceits had per¬
verted a great number of persons. However, the pre¬
sence of St Peter, and the true miracles that he oppos¬
ed to the tricks of Simon, ruined, or much diminished,
the reputation of this impostor.
St Peter, leaving Rome, came to Jerusalem at the
passover, in the 44th year of the Christian era, when
Herod Agrippa began to persecute the church. That
prince put St James the Greater, brother of John, to
the sword (Acts xii. I. &c.) ; and perceiving that his
death was agreeable to the Jews, he moreover caused
Peter to be apprehended and put in prison, with a de¬
sign of executing him publicly after the passover.
But the very night that Herod thought of putting him
to death, as Peter, loaded with chains, was asleep be¬
tween two soldiers, the angel of the Lord awakened
him, broke off his chains, opened the prison door, and
brought him out the length of the street. Then the an¬
gel leaving him, he came to the house of Mary the mo¬
ther of John, where many of the faithful were assem¬
bled at prayers ; and having knocked at the door, a
damsel named Rhoda came to open it; but when she
heard Peter’s voice, instead of opening the door, she ran
in a transport of joy to acquaint the family that Peter
was at the door. Those who heard her could not be¬
lieve it, and said it was his angel, and not himself: but
continuing to knock, and being let in, he informed them
of what had happened to him.
He then left Jerusalem •, but we are not told what
became of him till the time of the council held at Je¬
rusalem in the year 51. It is thought that before this
time he made his second journey to Rome, from whence
he wrote his first epistle.
St Peter was obliged to leave Rome in the year 51
by order of the emperor Claudius, who had banished all
Jews from thence, because of the tumults they conti¬
nually raised there, excited by one Chrestus, as Sueto¬
nius says, meaning probably by this name Jesus Christ.
J'he apostle then returned into Judea, where was held
the council of Jerusalem j in which, after a strict exa¬
mination of the matter proposed to Peter and the
apostles, he spoke to them with much wisdom, saying
(Acts xv. 7, 8, &c.) that God having given his Holy
Ghost and the gift of faith to the Gentiles as well as
to the Jews, they ought not to impose the yoke of the
legal observances on the new converts, which (as he
says) neither we nor our fathers have been able to bear.
19 ] PE T
lint we believe, that it is tlirougli the grace of Jesus
Christ that both we and they shall be saved. St James
the Less, bishop ot Jerusalem, seconded this opinion of
St Peter j and the council came to this conclusion,
i hat no new obligation should be imposed on the Gen¬
tiles, but only that they should be required to abstain
from fornication, from the use of blood, and from meats
offered to idols. The resolution of this council was
wutten to the faithful of Antioch, because it was there
this question was first started.
.. Some time after, St Peter coming to Antioch (Gal.
11. 11. &c.), he ate and drank with the Gentiles, with¬
out regarding that distinction of meats enjoined by the
law. But after that, when some of the faithful of Je¬
rusalem came to Antioch, being converted Jews, St
I eter, out of fear to offend them, separated himself fi om
the converted Gentiles, and would no longer eat with,
them as before. St Paul, fearing that what St Peter
did, might be interpreted, as if he had a desire to oblige
the Gentiles to judaize, and to submit themselves to the
yoke of the law, and so to revoke and annul what he
himself had determined in the council of Jerusalem, he
withstood Peter to his face, and openly expostulated
with him, telling him he was much in the wrong to
endeavour to oblige the Gentiles, at least tacitly by’his
own manner of acting, to live as the Jews do j and
St Peter received this reprehension with silence and
humility.
The particulars of St Peter’s life are little knows
from the 51st year of the vulgar era, in which the
council of Jerusalem was held, till his last journey to
Rome, which was some time before his death. Then
being acquainted by revelation that the time of his
death was not far off (2 Pet. i. 14.), he had a mind
to write to the faithful that had been converted by
him, to put them in mind of the truths he had before
taught them. He sent them therefore his second
epistle.
St Peter and St Paul came to Rome about the sam£
time, in the year of Christ 65, where they performed
many miracles, and made many converts. Simon Ma¬
gus by his tricks continued here to deceive the people,
pretending himself to be the Messiah, and even attempt¬
ing to ascend into heaven j for having caused himself to
be carried up into the air by his deemons, in a fiery cha¬
riot, St Peter and St Paul betook themselves to their
prayers; and then the impostor,being forsaken by bisdse-
mons, fell dow n upon the ground, which fall some time
afterwards occasioned his death. See Simon Magus.
Soon after this St Peter was taken up and thrown
into prison, where it is said he continued for nine months;
at last he was crucified at Rome in the Via Ostia ; with
his head downwards, as he himself had desired of his
executioners. This he did out of a sense of humility,
for fear it should be thought, as St Ambrose says, that
he affected the glory of Jesus Christ, and the more to
augment the paijuff his execution.
It is said, that the body of St Peter was at. first bu¬
ried in the catacombs, two miles from Rome, from
whence it wfas afterwards transported to the Vatican,
where it has lain ever since. His festival is celebrated
with that of St Paul on the 29th of June. St Peter
died in the 66th year of the vulgar era, after having
been bishop of Rome for about 24 or 25 years. His
age might be about 74 or 75 years. It is generally
E e 2 agreed,
Peter.
Black
well s Sa
cred Clas.
sics de¬
fended.
pet [
agreed, that St Linus was his successor. The follow-
incr is the portraiture that Nicephoros grves us of St
Peter, which he has probably taken from the anctent
pictures that were preserved of this apostle. He va
not fat, but pretty tall and upright, having a fair and
pahsh counteLncl The hair of his head and beard
was thick, frizzled, and not long. His e}es weie
black, and blood shot j his eyebrows protuberant and
lofty ; his nose something long, and rather flat than
Sh Th'e two epistles of St Peter are addressed to those
Jewish converts who were scattered throughout Pon us
Galatia, &c. not only upon the persecution raised at
Jerusalem, but upon former dispersions of the Jews into
those places on several other occasions. The first epistle
is principally designed to comfort and confirm them un-
der those fiery trials and manifold temptations they were
then subject i, and to direct and instruct them how to
behave in the several states and relations both o m
civil and the Christian life, that they might not be en¬
gaged in those rebellions against Caesar and his oflice
then fomented among the Jews 5 and that they might
stop the months of those who spoke against them as
evildoers. In the second epistle, he prosecutes t
same subject, to prevent their apostasy from the faith,
on account of any persecutions they were liable to.
He likewise guards them against the corrupt pi inci-
ples of the Gnostics, and those who scoffed at the pro¬
mise of Christ’s coming, as it it would never be ve-
ificd
11 St Peter’s style, says a modern author, expresses the
. noble vehemence and fervour of his spirit, the In
• knowledge he had of Christianity, and the strong assur¬
ance he had of the truth and certainty of his doctrine ,
and he writes with the authority of the first man in the
college of the apostles. He writes with that quickness
ami rapidity of style, with that noble neglect of some
of the formal consequences and niceties of grammar,
still preserving its true reason and natural analogy
(-which are always marks of a sublime genius), that you
can scarce perceive the pauses of his discourse and di¬
stinction of his periods. Thg great Joseph Scaliger calls
St Peter’s first epistle majestic j and we hope he was
more judicious than to exclude the second, though he
did not name it. . . , • u f
A noble majesty, and becoming freedom, is what di¬
stinguishes St Peter-, a devout and judicious person can¬
not read him without solemn attention and awful con¬
cern The conflagration of this lower world, and future
220 ] PET
shoo of Jerusalem Is the author of this epistle, and that
the inscription which carries St Veter’s name is covrupt-
But the best critics adnut **£-
Peter.
judgment of angels and men, m the third chapter of
the second, is described in such strong and terrible terms,
such awful circumstances, that in the description we see
the planetary heavens and this our earth wrapped up
with devouring flames, hear the groans of an expiring
world apd the crashes of nature tumbling into universal
ruin ■
1U The authority of the second epistle of St Peter was
for some time doubted of, as Ongen, Lusebms, St Je¬
rome and others have observed. What made the an¬
cients call it in question, is the difterence of its style
from the first. The third chapter, which describes the
catastrophe of the visible world, made Grotius think
this epistle was wrote after the taking of Jerusalembe¬
cause that was not to happen till after the destruction of
that citv } upon which he conjectures, that Simeon bl¬
ed. 15ut the best enucs ctuu.ic -i—- -
inline work of St Peter, who discovers himself, where
he says, that he was piesent at our Lord s transfigura¬
tion ; and where he tell the Jews, this was the second
letter he had written to them. The reader may see this
question fully discussed, and the authority ol this epistle
established bevond all doubt, by the learned Dr Slier-
lock, in his Dissertation on the authority of the Second
Epistle of St Peter. , , ,
St Peter has been made the author of seyera books ,
such were, his Acts, his Gospel, his Revelation, .b,s work
about preaching, and another about judgment. 1 here
is extant a large history of St Peter, called the Recogni¬
tions, ascribed to St Clement.
Peter of Bhis, a learned man of the 12th century,
was born 'about the year H20, at the city of films m
France, from whence he derived his name. His pa¬
rents, being opulent, gave him a learned education. In
his youth, when he studied in the university of 1 aris,
he was excessively fond of poetry and when he was a
little further advanced in life, he became no ess fond m.
rhetoric, to the study of which he applied with the
greatest ardour. From Paris he removed to Bonoma m
Italy, to acquire the civil and canon law; in the know¬
ledge of both which he veiy much excelled. He ap¬
pears from his writings to have cultivated medicine, and
several branches of the mathematics, with no little care
and success. The study, of theology was the chief de¬
light and business of bis life, in which he spent tne
greatest part of bis time, and made the greatest progress.
But unfortunately it was that scholastic theology, which
consisted in vain attempts to prove and explain the ma¬
ny absurd opinions which then prevailed in the chuic i,
by the subtleties of Aristotelian logic. In attempting
to explain in this manner the most absurd of all opinions
that ever existed amongst mankind, he was the very nrst
person who employed the famous word transubstanlia-
tion, which was soon after adopted by the church of
fiome, and hath ever since made so great a noise. Be¬
ing appointed preceptor to William II. king of Sici y
in 1167, he obtained the custody of the privy seal', ami,
next to the archbishop ol Palermo, the prime mimstei,
had the greatest influence in all aftairs. But his power
was not of long duration for the archbishop being ba¬
nished in 1168, our author soon after left the court of
Sicily, and returned into Fiance. He ivas not long,
however, without a royal patron, being invited into
England by Henry II. who employed him as his private
secretary, made him archdeacon of Bath, and gave him
some other benefices. When he had spent a few yeais
at court, he conceived a disgust at that way of life (o
which he hath drawn a very unpleasing picture inone
of his letters), and retired into the family of Itichard
archbishop of Canterbury, who had made him his chan¬
cellor about the year 1176. In this station he continued
to the death of the archbishop in 1183, enjoying the
highest degree of favour with that prelate, though he
used much freedom in reproving him tor his remfssness
in the government of the church. Our author remain*
ed in the same station in the family of Archbishop Bald¬
win, who succeeded Richard, acting both as his secre¬
tary and chancellor. He was also sent by that pre ate
on an embassy to Rome in 1187, to plead his cause be-
Peter.
PET [ 221 ] PET
fere Pope Urban HI. in the famous controversy between made such an impression on his mind, that he coneeiv-
h-.m am. the monks ot Canterbury about the church of ed the almost impracticable design of forming a navy.
Peter.
Hackington. After the departure of his friend and
patron Baldwin for the Holy Land in 1190, our author
was involved in various troubles in his old age, the cau¬
ses ot which are not distinctly known 5 and died about
the end of the 12th century^ He appears from his
works, which may be jpstly reckoned among the most
valuable monuments of the age in which he flourished,
to have been a man of great integrity and sincere piety,
as well as of a lively inventive genius and uncommon
erudition. His printed works consist of 134 letters,
which he collected together at the desire of Henry IL 5
of 65 sermons, delivered on various occasions; and of
17 tracts on different subjects.
1 eter the Hermit. See CitoiSADE and Hermit.
Peter I. justly styled Peter the Great, czar, and
afterwards emperor, of liussia, founder of the Russian
empire; for though the country was well known, and
of great antiquity, yet it had no extent of power, of
political influence, or of general commerce, in Europe,
till his time. He was born in 1672; and was pro¬
claimed czar when but ten years of age, in exclusion
of John his eldest brother, who, being of a sickly con¬
stitution, was at the same time very weak in his under¬
standing. The princess Sophia, his half-sister, made
an insurrection in favour of John ; and to put an end
to the civil war, it was at last agreed that the two
brothers should jointly share the imperial dignity. Pe¬
ter had been very ill brought up, not only through the
general defects of the Russian education, but likewise
through the arts of the princess Sophia, who surrounded
him with every thing that might stifle his natural desire
of knowledge, deprave his mind, and enervate it with
pleasures. Notwithstanding this, his inclination for mi¬
litary exercises discovered itself in his tenderest years.
He formed a company of 50 men, commanded by foreign
officers, clothed and exercised after the German manner.
He entered himself into the lowest post, that of a drum¬
mer ; and never rose otherwise than as a soldier of for¬
tune. Herein his design was to teach his nobility, that
merit, not birth, was the only title to military employ¬
ments. He reinforced his company with several others,
till at last he had got together a considerable body of
soldiers. As he then had no war on his hands, he exer¬
cised them in all sorts of mock engagements, and by this
means secured to himself a body of well-disciplined
troops. J he sight of a Dutch vessel, which he had met
with on a lake belonging to one of his pleasure-houses,
His tirst care was to get some Hollanders to build some
small vessels at Moscow 5 and he passed two successive
summers on board English or Dutch ships, which set
out from Archangel, that he might instruct himself in
every branch of naval affairs (a). In 1696 czar John
died, and Peter was now sole master of the empire.
In 1698 he sent an embassy to Holland; and went
incognito in the retinue, and visited England, as well as
Holland, in order to inform himself fully in the art of
ship-building. At Amsterdam he worked in the yard
as a private ship-carpenter, under the name of Peter
Muhaelof; but he has been often beard to say, that if
he had never gone to England, he had still remained
ignoi ant of that art. In 1700 lie had got together
a body ol standing forces, consisting of 30,000 foot ;
and now the vast project he had formed displayed it¬
self in all its parts. He opened bis dominions, which
till then had been shut up, having first sent the chief
nobility of his empire into foreign countries to improve
themselves in knowledge and learning. He invited
into Russia all the foreigners he could meet with, who
were capable of instructing his subjects in any manner,
and bfibred them great encouragement to settle in his
dominions. This raised many discontents ; and the
despotic authority- lie exerted on that occasion was
scarcely powerful enough to suppress them. In 1700,
being strengthened by the alliance of Augustus king
of Poland, he made war on Charles XU. king of Swe¬
den, His first ill success did not deter himi; for he
used to say, I know that my armies must be overcome
for a great while ; but even this will at last teach them
to conquer. He afterwards gained considerable ad¬
vantages ; and founded Petersburg in 1703. 1111709
he gained a complete victory over the Swedes at Ptil-
towa. In 1712 he was inclosed by the Turks on the
banks of the Pruth ; and seemed inevitably lost, had
not the czarina Catherine bribed the grand visir, and
the czar’s prudence completed his deliverance. In
1716 he made a tour through Germany and Holland,
and visited tne royal academy of sciences at Paris. It
would be endless to enumerate all the various establish¬
ments for which the Russians are obliged to him. He
formed an army according to the manner of the poli-
test and most experienced nations : he fitted out fleets
in all the four seas which border upon Russia: lie
caused many strong fortresses to be raised after the best
plans ; and made convenient harbours : he introduced
arts
(a) The following circumstance, it is said, in some measure determined Peter to attempt those reformations
wiicli he a 1 ter wards accomplished. Great events have been sometimes the effect of little causes ; and it is at least
possible, that without the occurrence we are going to relate, Russia might still have been in a state of barbarism.
’ young Genevese, called Le EW, about 1695, went to Moscow with the Danish ambassador. The czar Peter
wio was then 19 years old, met with this Genevese, who had soon learnt the Russian tongue, and spoke almost
a the languages of Europe. Le Fort ingratiated himself with the prince, entered into his service and
soon afterwards into Ins familiarity. He made him comprehend that there was a different manner of living and
reigning from wliat had unhappily obtained throughout bis vast and miserable empire. A prince must be born
wit 1 an uncommon greatness of soul to listen readily to a stranger, and to be able to divest himself of the pre¬
judices of a throne and of his country. The czar was sensible that neither himself nor bis people were yet to be
reckoned among men ; and that he had an empire to form, but could have no assistance at home. From that
ime he took a resolution to leave his dominions ; and set out, like another Prometheus, to borrow celestial fire for
animating IUs countrymen.
PET [22
aits ami sciences into liis dominions, and freed religion
from many superstitious abuses : he ma<!e laws, built
cities, cut canals, &c j was generous m rewarding,
impartial in punishing', faithful, laborious, and humble,
yet was not free from a certain roughness oi temper
natural to his nation. He had indeed cured himse t
of excess in drinking 5 but he has been branded w.th
several other vices, particularly cruelty. He published
the unfortunate history of his son Prince Alexis (B) j
towards whom some blame his severity, while otheis
think it no more than was necessary. He perfectly
knew the honour due to persons of merit •, and not
only heaped honours upon them during their life, but
gave them marks of esteem even after their death.
He died of the strangury in 1725, and left the world
with the magnanimity oi a hero and the piety oi a
Christian.
2 ] p L .
Peter was tall of stature, and ot a bold and majestic
aspect, though sometimes disfigured by convulsions,
which altered his features. 11ns deformity was ascri¬
bed to poison, given him, as it is said, by his sister
Sophia-, but it was indeed no other than wine and
brandy, which he often drank to excess, relying too
much on the strength of his constitution. He con¬
versed with per-ons in all stations, from the mechamc
to the general of an army *, and his conversation was
neither like that of a barbarian who makes no distinc¬
tion between men, nor of a popular prince who seeks
to please all the world, but that of a person who aims
at instruction. He loved women as much as the king
of Sweden, his rival, dreaded them, and a*l were equal¬
ly agreeable to him j he valued himself on drinking
large draughts, rather than sipping delicious wine. V\ e
are told that kings and legislators should never suffer
themselves
Peter.
(b) Alexis, like his father, is said to have married a slave, and, .1 He
not the same success in his undertakings -, and the icing nit a a 1‘1“ j tribunal of the throne : but, what
became an example of the most terrible severity that -'er^^Vd rthe mi!!brtunes of ttt prince, who was born
is much to the honour of the empress Catherine, she ha n . j j gt SUSpected of acting the
of another woman, and loved nothing that Ins lather '7^. ^ ^ ^ , a Enfsian, and his Lf
cruel stepmother. The great crime of the nnfortuna e Alex s was m ^ f0°rThe glory of the nation. One
proving every thing that was grand and immortal, and projected y ^ undergo in the building of
day, hearing some Muscovites lamenting the insupporta e a igu Wi n |,e was called to attend his father
Petersburg, lie said, “ Take courage, this city will not stand long. . ^ He took violent purges for
in a journey of 600 or 700 leagues, which the czar often 16 •et^exceSS-ve drinking of brandy, impaired his
a distemper which he had not *, and such quantities o met u i , aenuainted with geometry and history,
health and his wits. At first he had an inclination to for which he^vas most re!
-and had learnt the German tongue : but he hate war, an w . f ’\\r0lfent}Uttle, sister of the empress
proached by his father. They had married him m 1711 to the pnneess of Wo ten butt e P
-Consort to Charles VI. Thi/marriage was unfortunate the ^ ^ -ported that
brandy, and for Afrosina, a Finland wench, of a large stature, well made and ve J S f d , CMrowltz se-
tlie pnneess died of chagrin, if it be possible for chagrin to P-ve morta ’ which he had
cretly espoused Afrosina in 1713, when the empress Catherine had just brought
110The8misunderstlmdmgs between the father and the son became every day 3ed^S
about the year 1716, threatened the prince to disinherit him J and the prince told him that he g
to a monastery. .... 1, -.i • clitics; ns cOriosity. He came at last into
The czar, in 1717, renewed his journeys, as well with a vmw top d ^ formed in his fa-
France. If the son had entertained an inclination to revolt, it he had actually p ? 1 and
vour, now was the time to drclaie liimself; but instead of difficuitTscvaped'togetlier some tliousands
creating dependents, lie took a journey in Ins turn, having with much dithcul y sciaped ogetner
o ducat which he had secretly borrowed. He threw himself under > ; P" fem S e he d to
brother of his deceased wife. They kept him tor some time mcgmto ® b Eussk knew the place of his
Naples, where be resided almost a year, while neither his father nor any person in P
"mile the son kept himself thus concealed, the father was at ^ns^here be was
paid him in other places, hot with a gallantry nowhere to be found but 1 i. • t (lav, Hc
factory, and one piece of work attracted his sight more than another, he wa p - u t full lenetli,
went io dine at the duke d’Antin’s at Petitbourg, where the hrst thing hf *7 b forfLi
in the same habit that he wore. When he was at the royal mint ^ T ^ S’ nurpose at his feet and left him t^
and presented him with them -, at last they struck one which icy e p P (;reai The reverse was a
take it up. He there saw himself perfectly engraven vn . these words ^“""k a ince ,vho
Fame, and round her in letters Vires acqinrit eundo ; an allusion no less ju »
really acquired new merit by travelling. ... . „ mtlnlcrtnce he returned to
After he had seen this country, where every thing disposes men to gpntUlV Petersburg from whence
his own, and resumed his severity. He had engaged Ins son to return fr Jepriving him of his
that young prince was conducted to Moscow before the eyar Ins f‘llll':'r > ,I,And of January 1718, in consi-
succession to the throne, by making him sign a solemn act of renunciatior
deration of which act the father promised the son to spare bis life. 0„nnll„(i T|ie (zar,
It was not altogether improbable that such an act would have been some tmre or other annulled. Hhmm,
5
PET C 2
Peter, themselves to be transported by passion j but never was
—v 1 any man more passionate than Peter the Great, or more
merciless. In a king this is more than an infirmity for
wdiicii we make amends by confessing it; but it was
generally remarked of Peter, and lie himself said to
a magistrate of Holland, at his second voyage, “ I have
reformed my nation, and have not been able to reform
myself.'’ it is true, the cruelties with which he is re¬
proached were not novelties at the court of Moscow,
any more than at that of Morocco : it was not uncom¬
mon to see a czar, with his own royal hand, inflict ico
lashes on the naked shoulders of a prime officer of the
crown, or of a lady of the palace, for failing in their
duty, by getting drunk ; or to try the goodness of his
sabre, by striking off the head of a criminal. Peter had
himself performed some of those ceremonies of bis coun¬
try ; Le Fort, however (see note a), had authority
enough over him at times to stay his hand even when
lifted up to strike, but he had not Le Fort always near
him.
The czar’s first marriage is thus related in the me¬
moirs of Peter Henry Bruce, Esq. “ It took place in
1690, when he was only 18. He was married to Ot-
tokessa Lapuchin, a boyar’s daughter, by whom he had
I mice Alexis ; some time after he turned her awTay and
shut her up in a monastery, on suspicion of infidelity.
It was said, that in one of her jealous fits she charged
Prince Menzikoff with carrying the czar to drabs of
his former acquaintance, who had been his customers
for cakes; upbraiding him with his first occupation :
and that Menzikoff ever after bore an irreconcileable
enmity to both her and her son. After the divorce,
2.3 ] PET
on:; Mias Moils, a very beautiful young iaily, born at
Moscow, of foreign parents, as much in favour with
the czar; but when he was abroad, Mr Keyserlins;
then residing at Moscow as envoy from the king of
I mssia, paid his addresses to, and married her. When
the czar returned, he was so much offended at Key-
serhng, that be ordered him to leave Moscow, which
occasioned his immediate recal by the king his master,
who sent another in his room. It was believed, if his
public character had not protected him, he would have
severely felt his majesty’s displeasure.
1 he czar was some time after smitten with the
charms of another beautiful young lady, the daughter
of a foreign merchant in this city": he first saw her in
her father’s house, where he dined one day. He was
so much taken with her appearance, that he offered
her any terms she pleased, it she would live with him ;
winch tins virtuous young woman modestly refused 5
but dreading the effects of his authority, she put on
a resolution, and left Moscow in the night, without
communicating her design even to her parents. Having
provided a little money for her support, she travelled
on foot several miles into the country, till she arrived
at a small village where her nurse lived with her hus¬
band and tneir daughter, the young lady’s foster-sister,
to whom she discovered her intention of concealing
herself in the wood near that village: and to prevent
any discovery, she set out the same night, accompanied
by the husband and daughter. The husband being
a timber-man by trade, and well acquainted with the
wood, conducted her to a little dry spot in the mid¬
dle of a morass, and there he built a hut for her habi¬
tation.
“V" °rder t0 g!,V' ,!t,™0re for“’ that he was a father, and only remembering that he was the
iler of an empire, winch his son might overturn, and involve m its ancient barbarity, ordered a public process
fcrionXtkZyTad iaeted":^"16 Pr"’Ce’ ^ ^ ^-ged, in the con-
ai ^n assembly was held of the bishops, inferior ecclesiastics, and professors ; who found in the Old Testament
hat those who cursed heir father or their mother should be put to death ; that David indeed had pardoned
Absalom, who had rebelled against him, but that Absalom was never pardoned by God. Such was their oni
nion, without drawing any conclusion ; but it was in effect signing a warrant for bis death. Alexis had not in
fact cursed his father, neither had he ever revolted like Absalom ; he had never lain publicly with the kimr’s
concubines ; but he had left the kingdom without his father’s permission, and had written letters to his friends
in which he only signified that he hoped they would one day be mindful of him in Russia. But whatever mi.dit
be his case, of 124 lay judges, who were appointed to sit on him, there was not one that judged his offences less
than capital; and those who could not write, made others sign for them. It is reported in Europe, that the czar
had got translated from Spanish into Russian the criminal process against Don Carlos, that unfortunate prince
whom his father Fhilip I. had confined in a prison, where the heir of that great monarchy ended his days. But
lere was nothing like a process carried on against Don Carlos, nor was it ever known whether that prince died a
natural or a violent death. Peter, the most despotic of princes, wanted not an example. Certain it is that the
prince died the day after the sentence, and that the czar had at Moscow one of the best apothecary’s shops in Eu-
rope. It is probable, however, that the prince Alexis, the heir of the most extensive empire in the world beine
condemned unanimously by his father’s subjects, which were one day to be his own, might die of the sudden shock
and change given to the body at the apprehension of so strange and dismal a sentence. The father went to see his
son in his last agonies ; and it is said he shed tears. Infelix utcunque ferent eu fata nepotes. These tears how¬
ever, did not prevent the wheels from being covered with the broken limbs of his son’s friends. He beheaded Irs
own brother-in-law Count Lapuchin, brother to his wife Ottokessa Lapuchin whom he had divorced, and uncle
to rrxnce Alexis. The prince’s confessor had also his head cut off. If Muscovy has been civilized she has it
must be confessed, paid dear for her improvement. ’ ’
The remainder of the czar’s life was nothing but a series of grand projects, labours, and exploits, that
seemed to efface the memory of his excessive severities, which were perhaps necessary. He made frequent
speeches to his court and to his council. In one he told them that he had sacrificed his son to the welfare of his
PET
t 224 ]
PET
tation. She had deposited her money with her nurse to
procure little necessaries for her support, winch were
faithfully conveyed to her at night by the nurse or her
daughter, by one of whom she was constantly attended
in the nisht time. 11 i 1
“ The next day after her flight, the czar called at
her father’s to see her, and finding the parents in an¬
xious concern for their daughter, and himself disap¬
pointed, fancied it a plan of their own concerting.
He became angry, and began to threaten them u it 1
the effects of Ins displeasure if she was not produced .
nothing was left to the parents but the most solemn
protestations, with tears ot real sorrow running own
their cheeks, to convince him of their innocence, an
ignorance of what was become of her ; assuring him
of their fears that some fatal disaster must have befallen
her, as nothing belonging to her was amissing, excep
what she had on at the time. The czar, satisfied ot
their sincerity, ordered great search to be made for her,
with the-offer of a considerable reward to the person
who should discover what was become of her, but to no
purpose: the parents and relations, apprehending s ic
was no more, went into mourning for her.
“ Above a year after this she was discovered by an
accident. A colonel who had come from the army_ to
see his friends, going to hunt in the wood, and to -
lowing his game through the morass, he came to the hut,
and looking into it saw a pretty young woman in a mean
dress. After inquiring of her who she was, and how she
came to live in so solitary a place, he found out at last
that she was the lady whose disappearance had made so
great a noise ; in the utmost confusion, and with the most
fervent intreaties, she prayed him on her knees that he
would not betray her j to which he replied, that he
thought her danger was now past, as the czar was then
otherwise engaged, and that she might with safety dis¬
cover herself, at least to her parents, with whom he
would consult how matters should be managed. I he
lady agreed to this proposal j and he set out imme¬
diately, and overjoyed her parents with the happy dis¬
covery ; the issue of their deliberation was to consult
Madame Catherine (as she was. then called) in what
manner the affair should be opened to the czar. 1 he
colonel went also upon this business, and was advised by
Madame to come next morning and she would introduce
him to his majesty, when he might make the discovery
and claim the promised reward. He went according to
appointment •, and being introduced, told the accident
by which he had discovered the lady, and represented
the miserable situation in which he found her, and what
she must have suffered by being so long shut up in such
a dismal place, from the delicacy of her sex. Lhe czar
showed a great deal of concern that he should have been
the cause of all her sufferings, declaring that he would
endeavour to make her amends. Here Madame Cathe¬
rine suggested, that she thought the best amends his ma-
iesty could make, was to give her a handsome fortune
and the colonel for a husband, wbo had the best right,
having caught her in pursuit of his game. The czar,
agreeing perfectly with Madame Catherine’s sentiments,
ordered"5one of his favourites to go with the colonel, and
brino- the young lady home *, where she arrived to the
inexpressible joy of her family and relations, who had all
been in mourning for her. The marriage was under the
direction and at the expence of the czar, who bimseli
gave the bride to the bridegroom ; saying, that he pie-
sented him with one of the most virtuous ot women J and
accompanied his declaration with very valuable presents,
besides settling on her and her heirs three thousand rubles
a-year. This lady lived highly esteemed by the czar,
ami every one who knew her. Besides the concurring
reports of other people, I had the story from her own
mouth.” T , r-
On the whole, that Peter I. was a great man, tew
will deny who know what real greatness is. A minute
account of the life of this distinguished emperor would
make a large volume 5 we have been able to give but
the mere outlines of it: the anecdotes however at the
end, show in some degree the nature ot the man-, at all
events they show one important truth, that it is a more
difficult thing to reform one’s self than to reform a king¬
dom ; to conquer one’s passions, than to conquer the
world. The Kussians, however, if there be any good in
civilization, owe to him every thing: and they seem to
be sensible of it j for a very pompous oration was de¬
livered to his memory by Michael Lomonosso.l, before
the Academy of Sciences at St Petersburgh, on the 26th
of April 1755. For a minuter account ot his im¬
provements, &c. see Russia, Petersburgh, and Ca¬
therine I.
Peter the WM Boy. This extraordinary creature
occasioned great speculation among the learned j but we
do not know that any satisfactory causes have been as¬
signed for the striking difference between him and other
human beings. . c
The following account of him is extracted from the
parish-register of North-church, in the county ot Hert¬
ford. “ Peter, commonly known by the name ot Pe¬
ter the mid Boy, lies buried in this churchyard oppo¬
site to the porch. In the year 1725 he was found in the
woods near Hamelen, a fortified town m the e eetorate
of Hanover, when his majesty George I. with his at¬
tendants, was hunting in the forest ot Hertswold. He
was supposed to be then about 12 yeais ot an nac
subsisted in those woods upon the bark of trees, leaves,
berries, &c. for some considerable length of time. How
lone he had continued in that wild state is altogether
uncertain-, but that he had formerly been under the care
of some person, was evident from the remains ot a shirt
collar about his neck at the time when he was found.
As Hamelen was a town where criminals were confined
to work upon the fortifications, it was then conjectured
at Hanover that Peter might be the issue ot one of those
criminals, who had either wandered into the woods and
could not find his way back again, or being discovered
to be an idiot was inhumanly turned out by his paren s,
and left to perish or shift for himself. In the following
year 1726, he was brought over to England, by the
order of Queen Caroline then princess of Males, and put
under the care of Dr Arbuthnot with proper masters to
attend him. But notwithstanding there appeared to e
no natural defect in his organs ot speech, after all 11
pains that had been taken with him he could never be
brought distinctly to articulate; a single syllable, an
proved totally incapable of receiving any instruction-
He was afterwards intrusted to the care of Mrs litch-
bourn, one of the queen’s bedohamber women, with a
handsome pension annexed to the charge. Mrs I itch-
bourn usually spending a few weeks every summer at the
hnnse of Mr James Penn, a yeoman farmer at Axtei s
Peter.
PET C 2
Peter. End in this parish, Peter was left to the care of the said
—Mr lenn, who was allowed 35I. a-year for his support
and maintenance. After the death" of James Fenn he
was transferred to the care of his brother Thomas Fenn,
at another farm-house in this parish called Broadway,
where he lived with the several successive tenants of
that farm, and with the same provision allowed hy go¬
vernment, to the time of his death, Feb. 22. 1785, when
he was supposed to he about 72 years of age.
“ Peter was well made, and of the middle size. His
countenance had not the appearance of an idiot, nor
was there any thing particular in his form, except that
two of the fingers of his left hand were united by a
web up to the middle joint. He had a natural ear for
music, and was so delighted with it, that if he heard
any musical instrument played upon, he would imme¬
diately dance and caper about till he was almost qui^e
exhausted with fatigue ; and though he could never be
taught the distinct utterance of any word, yet he could
easily learn to hum a tune. All those idle tales which
have been published to the world about his climbing up
trees like a squirrel, running upon all fours like a wild
beast, &c. are entirely without foundation ; for he was
so exceedingly timid and gentle in bis nature, that he
would suffer himself to be governed by a child. There
have been also many false stories propagated of bis in¬
continence *, but from the minutest inquiries among those
who constantly lived with him, it does not appear that
he ever discovered any natural passion for women, though
he was subject to the other passions of human nature, such
as anger, joy, &c. Upon the approach of bad weather
he always appeared sullen and uneasy. At particular
seasons of the year he showed a strange fondness for steal¬
ing away into the woods, where he would feed eagerly
upon leaves, beech-mast, acorns, and the green bark of
trees, which proves evidently that he had subsisted in
that manner for a considerable length of time before he
was first taken. His keeper therefore at such seasons
generally kept a strict eye over him, and sometimes even
confined him, because if he ever rambled to any distance
from bis home he could not find his way back again : and
once in particular, having gone beyond his knowledge,
he wandered as far as Norfolk, where he was taken up,
and being carried before a magistrate, was committed to
the house of correction in Norwich, and punished as a
sturdy and obstinate vagrant, who would not (for indeed
he could not) give any account of himself: but Mr Fenn
having advertised him in the public papers, he was re¬
leased from his confinement, and brought back to his
usual place of abode.
“ Notwithstanding the extraordinary and savage state
m which Peter was first found greatly excited the atten¬
tion and curiosity of the public ; yet, after all that has
been said of him, he was certainly nothing more than a
common idiot without the appearance of one. But as
men of some eminence in the literary world have in their
works published strange opinions and ill-founded conjec¬
tures about him, which may seem to stamp a credit upon
Vol. XVI. Part I. f
25 ] PET
what they have advanced ; that posterity may not through
their authority be hereafter misled upon the subject, this
short and true account of Peter is recorded in the parish-
register by one who constantly resided above 30 years
in his neighbourhood, and had daily opportunities of see¬
ing and observing him.”
Perhaps our readers will not be displeased if we pre¬
sent them with Lord Monboddo’s account of this extra-
ordinaiy cieature (a). ii It was in the beginning of
June 1782 (says his lordship) that I saw him in a farm¬
house called Broadway, within about a mile of Berkham-
stead, kept there upon a pension which the king pays.
He is but low of stature, not exceeding five feet three
inches 5 and although he must now be about 70 years of
age, has a fresh healthy look. He Wears his beard j his
face is not at all ugly or disagreeable ; and he has a look
that may be called sensible and sagacious for a savage.
About 20 years ago he w’as in use to elope, and to be
missing for several days j and once, I was told, he wan¬
dered as far as Norfolk; but of late he has been quite
tame, and either keeps in the house or saunters about
the farm. He has been the 13 last years where he lives
at present 5 and before that he was 12 years with an¬
other farmer, whom I saw and conversed with. This
farmer told me, that he bad been put to school some-
where in Hertfordshire, but had only learned to articu¬
late his own name Peter, and the name of King George,
both which I heard him pronounce very distinctly. But
the woman of the house where he now is (for the man
happened not to be at home) told me, that he under¬
stood every thing that was said to him concerning the
common affairs of life j and I saw that he readily under¬
stood several things that she said to him while I was pre¬
sent. Among other things she desired him to sing Nancy
Dawson 5 which he did, and another tune which she
named. He never was mischievous, but had always that
gentleness of nature which I hold to be characteristical
of our nature, at least till we became carnivorous, and
hunters or warriors. He feeds at present as the farmer
and his wife do; but, as I was told by an old woman
(one Mrs Collop, living at a village in the neighbour¬
hood called Hempstead, who remembered to have seen
him when he first came to Hertfordshire, which she com¬
puted to be 55 years before the time I saw her), he then
fed very much upon leaves, and particularly upon the
leaves of cabbage, which he ate raw. He was then, as
she thought, about 13 years of age, walked upright, but
could climb trees like a squirrel. At present he not only
eats flesh, but has also got the taste of beer, and even of
spirits, of which he inclines to drink more than he can
get. And the old farmer above mentioned, with whom
he lived twelve years before he came to this last farmer,
told me, that he had acquired that taste before he came
to him, which is about 25 years ago. He has also be¬
come very fond of fire, but has not yet acquired a liking
for moneyfor though he takes it, he does not keep it,
but gives it to his landlord or landlady, which I suppose
is a lesson that they have taught him. He retains so
F f much
(a) This eccentric writer, in support of his hypothesis, that man in a state of nature is a mere animal, without
clothes, houses, the use of fire, or even speech, adduces the oran-outang, or man in the woods, and this Peter the
wild man and others, as examples. He denies the want of the organs of speech as an objection, and insists they
only want the artificial use of them.
PET [2
Peter, much of Ms natural instinct, that he has a fore-feeling
—V—' of bad weather, growling and howling, and showi g
great disorder, before it comes. _ t • i r
“ These are the particulars concerning him which I
observed myself, or could learn by information from the
neighbourhood.” From all these facts put together his
lordship makes the following observations : .
“ ist Whatever doubts there may be concerning the
humanity of the oran-outang, it was never made aque-
tion but that Peter was a man.
4. 2dly, That he was, as the Dean [Swift] says, ot a
father and mother like one of us. This, as 1 have said,
was the case of two savages found in the Dismal swamp
in Virginia, of the one found in the island of Diego Gar¬
cia, and of him that was discovered by M. le Roy in the
Pyrenees, and in general of all the savages that have
been found in Europe within these last 300 years •, for
l do not believe, that for these 2000 years past there has
been a race of such savages in Europe. , , «
“ qdly I think there can be no reason to doubt ot
what was’ written from Hanover, and published in the
newspapers, that he was found going upon all tours, as
well as other solitary savages that have been found m
Europe. It is true that others have been found erect *,
which was the case of the two found in the Dismal swamp
of Virginia, likewise of the man of the Pyrenees, and ot
him in the island of Diego Garcia 5 hut these I suppose
were not exposed till they had learned to walk upright j
whereas Peter appears to have been abandoned by his
parents before he had learned that lesson, but walked as
we know children do at first. # ...
u 4thly, I think it is evident that he is not an idiot,
not only from his appearance, as I have described it, and
from his actions, but from all the accounts that we have
of him, both those printed and those attested by persons
yet living •, for as to the printed accounts, there is not
the least information of that kind in any of them, except
in one, viz. Wye’s letter, N° 8. wherein is said, that
some imputed his not learning to speak to want ot un¬
derstanding v which I should think showed rather want
of understanding in those who thought so, when it is
considered that at this time he had not been a year out
of the woods, and I suppose but a month or two under
the care of Dr Arbuthnot, who had taken the charge ot
Iris education. The Dean indeedtells us, that he suspected
he was a pretender, and no genuine wild man, but not a
word of his being an idiot. And as to the persons living,
not one with whom I have conversed appeared to have
the least suspicion of that kind 5 though it is natural that
men who were not philosophers, and knew nothing ot
the progress of man from the mere animal to the intel¬
lectual creature, nor of the improvement of our under¬
standing by social intercourse and the arts ol. lile, but
believed that man when he came to a certain age has
from nature all the faculties which we see him exert,
and particularly the faculty of speech, should think him
an idiot, and wanting even the capacity of acquiring un¬
derstanding. I knew an officer of dragoons, a man of
very good sense, who was quartered where Peter then
lived for some months, and saw him almost every day,
26 1 PET
and who assured me that he was not an idiot, but show-
ed common understanding, which was all that could be
expected from one no better educated than he.
‘‘ Lastly, those who have considered what I have .aid
00 of the difficulty of articulation, will not be surprised
that a man who had lived a savage for the first 14 or 15
years of his life, should have made so little F ogress m
that art. I cannot, however, have the least doubt, that
if he had been under the care of Mr Braidwood of Edin
burgh, he would have learned to speak, though with
much more difficulty than a man who had been brought
up tame among people who had the use of speech, and
who consequently must know the advantage of it. And
I can have as little doubt that Mr Braidwood ^could
have taught the oran-outang in Sir Ashton Lever $ col¬
lection, who learned to articulate, a few words, so as to
speak plainly enough.” r t? i a
St Petek Le Port, a market town of England, in
the south-east part of Guernsey, in Hampshire, m the
British channel, consisting of only one long and nar¬
row street. The mouth of the harbour is well set with
rocks, and is on each side defended by a castle*, one call¬
ed the Old castle, and the other Castle-cornet. Ihe go¬
vernor of the island generally resides here, who has the
command of the garrison in this and all the other castles.
The harbour has a good road, from whence ships may
sail with any wind, and from the road pass under the
guns of the castle to the pier, close up to the town.
The pier is a noble work, formed of vast stones, joined
together with great art and regularity j it is not only a
security to the ships, but, being contiguous to the town,
is handsomely paved at the top with large smooth flag¬
stones, guarded with parapets, and, being of a great
length and breadth, forms a pleasant walk, affording a
free prospect of the sea and the neighbouring islands.
Cornet-castle, which commands both the town and the
harbour, stands on a rock, separated from the land y
an arm of the sea, no less than 600 yards wide, and not
fordable but at low water in great spring-tides.
St Peter's island, in the lake of Bienne in Switzer¬
land, remarkable for being one of the retreats of Rous¬
seau *, whence it has also got the name of Roi/sseau s
island. It lies towards the south side of the lake, and
produces a great variety of shrubs and trees, particularly
large oaks.'beech, ami Spanish chesnut. Ihe southern
shore slopes gradually to the lake, and is covered with
herbage ; the remaining borders are steep and v°cky ?
their summits in a few places thinly covered with
Peter.
their summits in a icw - - ,
shrubs ; in others their perpendicular sides aie clothed
to the water’s edge with hanging woods. Ihe views
from the different parts of the island are beautiful and
diversified ; that to the north being the most extensive
and pleasing. It commands the prospect of the rake,
which is of an oval form *, its cultivated borders, inter¬
spersed with villages and castles, with the towns 0
Nidau and Bienne standing upon the farther extremity.
Agreeable walks are carried through the woods, and
terminate in a circular pavilion placed in the centre 0
the island. Before the troubles in France, on bunday,
and particularly the vintage-time, this island was idlea
(B) Lord Monboddo, far from thinking speech or articulation nat'na ^ Ucated operations. Add tl
any teaching or imitation attain to the ready performance of such various an P P another.
this, when the organs are completely formed to one language, how hard it is to make them
Peter,
Peter¬
borough
with parties who amused themselves with wandering
about the woods or dancing in the circular pavilion.
w How they employ themselves now it is not so easy to
say, as it was overrun and subjected by the forces of
that unhappy nation, and of course tainted with their
destructive principles. It was retaken by the Spaniards,
and properly belongs to the king of Sardinia. There is
only one farm-house on the island, in an apartment of
which Rousseau wras lodged.
PETER-Pence, was an annual tribute of one penny,
paid at Rome out of every family at the feast of St Peter.
And this Ina the Saxon king, when he went in pilgrim¬
age to Rome about the year 740, gave to the pope, partly
as alms and partly in recompense of a house erected in
Rome for English pilgrims. And this continued to be
paid generally until the time of King Henry VIII.
when it was enacted, that from henceforth no person
shall pay any pensions, Peter-pence, or other imposi¬
tions, to the use of the bishop or see of Rome.
PETERBOROUGH, a city of Northamptonshire,
about 82 miles from London. It is the least city ex¬
cept perhaps Ely, and unquestionably the poorest bi¬
shopric, though one of the oldest towns in England. It
had a monastery dedicated to St Peter, and founded as
early as the year 655, to which the abbot of Croyland
and his monks flying for protection in the year 870,
they were overtaken and murdered in a court of this
monastery, called the monks churchyard, because they
■were all buried here ; and to this day is to be seen the
tombstone with their effigies, which had been erected
over their common grave. Soon after this the Danes
destroyed both the monastery and friars, so that it lay
destitute for above 100 years. The monks were, how¬
ever, restored, and lived very sumptuously, with a mit¬
red abbot at their head, till the reformation, when Hen¬
ry VIII. converted it into a bishop’s see. The cathe¬
dral, which is said to be more than 1000 years old, though
apparently more modern, is a most noble Gothic fabric,
and was much more so before it ivas defaced in the civil
wars. The west front, which is 156 feet broad, is very
stately; and besides columns curiously adorned, is sup¬
ported by three of the tallest arches in Britain. The
windows of the cloisters are finely stained with scripture
history and the succession of its abbots. There are in
the church, monuments of Queen Catherine, wife of
Henry \ III. and of Mary queen of Scots ; and the
figure of one Mr Scarlet the sexton, who buried them,
and lived to 95, after he had buried all the housekeepers
of the town twice over- There is but one parish-church
besides the cathedral. The city is governed by a mayor,
recorder, and aldermen, by a charter of Henry VIII.
All its officers are elected by the dean and chapter,
consisting of six prebendaries, who are all lords of the
manor. Besides the dean and chapter, who are an ex-
clesiastical corporation distinct from the bishop, there are
eight petty canons, four students in divinity, one epistler,
one gospeller, a subdean, subtreasurer, and chanter, eight
choristers, eight singing men, two chancellors, besides a
steward, organist, &c. a grammar school, and two chari¬
ty schools. The river Nen, over which there is here a
wooden bridge, is navigable by barges to Northampton,
50 miles further, which bring coal, corn, &c. and by
which they export in some years 6000 quarters of malt,
besides other goods, especially the woollen manufactures
either of cloth or stockings, in which the poor are em¬
ployed. The air of Peterborough is said not to be very p *
wholesome, by reason of the neighbouring fens ; but the bomugl,
water ol the river is good, the highest spring-tide never Peterhead.
coming up within five miles of the town; and there is ex- ’ 
j lent water in their wells. The streets are poor, and the
houses but mean; there is, however, a handsome market-
house, over which are kept the assizes and sessions. Its
jurisdiction extends over 32 towns and hamlets, wherein
the civil magistrates appointed by the royal commission
are vested with the same power as judges of assize, and
hold their quarterly sessions in this city. The number of
1 was 3449> an<l in 18x1, 3674.
( a t0Wn in Scotlan(l> in the county
ot Aberdeen, lies about 30 miles north-east of that city,
it stands on the most easterly point in Scotland, and
irom thence due west that kingdom is broadest.
Peterhead is the nearest land to the northern conti-
nent of Europe, and lies within 300 miles of the cape,
which is called the Na%e of Norway. Through this
channel the grand body of the herrings pass in their an¬
nual migrations from Shetland and the north seas to the
more southern latitudes, attended with the all-devouring
cod and ling; on which account Peterhead, or, as it is
sometimes called, Buchanness, hath always been the se¬
cond station of the Dutch busses after leaving the Shet¬
land islands. Tradition says, that some hundred years
ago the Dutch offered Lord Mareschal, then the pro¬
prietor of the coast, to cover a small island called Inch-
Keith vn\h silver for the property of it to carry on their
hshenes, which for obvious reasons could not be ac¬
cepted. Be that as it may, the Dutch, in time of
peace, still frequent the coast in July and August, and
sometimes ico sail are seen within sight of land, busily
employed in the herring and white fisheries. The na¬
tives, to whom this treasure properly belongs, have
lately made some attempts towards the white fishery, of
which they cure and vend, chiefly at the London mar¬
ket, 4000 barrels of delicate small cod and ling annual-
ly. 'I hey also fit out some vessels for the Hebride fish¬
ery off Barrahead for the Barcelona market; and they
claim the merit of having taught the islanders how to
take and cure the large fish which abound on their
coasts. They have often gained the highest premiums
allowed by government for curing white fishes.
Few harbours in Great Britain are of more import¬
ance to navigation than this of Peterhead, as, in case of
violent storms from the easterly points, large vessels em¬
bayed betwixt this and the mouth of the Forth have not
a port that they can safely take at every time of the
tide, that of Abeideen excepted. If therefore they can¬
not make their way to sea in the teeth of a strong east¬
erly wind, or double this headland that they may gain
the Murray frith, they must inevitably come on shore.
This harbour lies on a spacious bay, where vessels of any
burden may ride in all other winds, and is therefore the
general rendezvous of the shipping which frequent the
northern seas, where they cast anchor on clean ground
and ride safely till the storms have abated. But though
nature hath done so much for the benefit of navigation
something is left for the exercise of human aid. The
harbour can at present contain in perfect safety 40 or 50
sail of vessels drawing 12 feet water, and is capable of
being extended so as to admit a greater number of ships
drawing 20 feet: by which means not only casual mer¬
chantmen but small ships of war with their convoys
F f 2 would
PET [2
,„d would Bud this a most desirable refuge when pursued by
lot superior force. The harbour is defended by a good bat-
—' terv. A considerable trade is carried on from this place
directly to the Baltic for deals, iron, hemp, tar, and
other articles. There is also a manufacture o^ewmg
thread, which employs many young ^r,s- ^ min ^
well in the summer-months gives gieat gaiety
place : its salutary virtues have long, and vve bel.ev
Cy justly, been celebrated. The waters of tins spring
are'powerfully diuretic, and are thought to be efficaci¬
ous in removing complaints in the bowels.
Twelve pounds avoirdupois of this water were analy¬
sed by Dr Laing, who found it composed ot
Muriate of iron, 30.75 grains.
Carbonate of iron, 3’^5
Muriate of lime, 7-00
Siliceous earth, 2.00
Sulphate of lime, 2.00
    soda, J3,25
Muriate of soda, 7-5
Carbonic acid gas, 83.5 cubic inches. The ingeni¬
ous author of the above analysis recommends this water
very much in cases of scrofula. Its roost valuable pro¬
perty is tonic, which is no doubt derived from the iron
that enters into its composition.
There are here many elegant houses for the accommo¬
dation of strangers. There is also a ball-room under
which there are two salt-water baths. Ihese baths are
much frequented in nervous disorders : their ellect in
strengthening the constitution is often surprising. Owing
to the open peninsulated situation, the air ol t is p ace
is esteemed peculiarly pure and healthful •, even the fogs
rising from the sea are thought to be medicinal . the
town is therefore much enlivened by the concourse ot
company who frequent it on these accounts. Upon the
whole the town is neat and well built, the houses are
handsome, and the streets tolerably spacious and very
clean ; and has every appearance of a thriving ami
plentiful place. In 1793, the population was 4100,
being 1613 greater than in 1755 » 111 ^oi, the num¬
bers had increased to 4491, and in 1811 to 4707.
PETERHOFF, in Russia, is situated about 20
miles from Petersburg!!, and is distinguished for its
palace and gardens. The palace was begun by Peter I.
and finished by Elizabeth. As it ,s placed upon an
eminence, it commands a most superb view of Cron-
stadt, Petersburg, the intervening gulf, and the oppo¬
site coast of Carelia. The palace is most magnificent¬
ly furnished, and the suite of apartments are truly
princely. The presence-chamber is richly ornamented
with portraits of the sovereigns of the house ot Roman-
of who have reigned in Russia since 1613* >
Tra- The gardens of Peterhoff (says an intelligent tra¬
il. i veiler) have been celebrated for their taste and elegance j
and from the number of jet d’eaus, fountains, basons,
cascades, parterres, &c. they have been compared to
those of Versailles : and indeed in one respect they are
far superior •, for the water-works of the latter only play
upon particular occasions, while those of Peterhofi are
perennial. These gardens, which at the time of their
formation were greatly admired in this country, though
not congenial to the taste of the empress, are suftered
to remain in their present state 5 as during summer her
majesty principally resides at Tzarskoe-Selo, where the
28 ] PET
grounds are disposed in a more modern and Plea®j"g Pet^off
manner.” A vast number ot silver do phins and gilded ^ J|^
statues are scattered through them j but the mo t  ^
markable figures are those of two gladiators placed m
a bason of water. These are represented, not with the
sword and buckler, the ancient implements ot war, but
with a brace of pistols. These they point to each other
in a threatening posture, while the watei gus ics imp
tuously from the barrels. In that part ot the garden
which lies between the palace and the gulf, close to t
water, is a building which was the favourite retreat ot
Peter I. It is preserved, together with its fuimture,
entirely in its original state, with a kind of re igious ve
Deration. Its plainness shows the frugal simplicity in
which that monarch was accustomed to live. In the
same celebrated gardens there is a remarkable bui1 inS
called the mountain for sledges, and often by travelle
the flying mountain. “ It stands (says Mr Coxe) in the
middle of an oblong area, inclosed by an open colon¬
nade, with a flat roof, which is railed for the conveni¬
ence of holding spectators. The circumference ot this
colonnade is at least half a mile. In the middle of the
area stands the flying mountain, stretching nearly irom
one end to the other. It is a wooden building, sup¬
ported upon pillars, representing an uneven suriace 0
ground, or a mountain composed ot three principal as¬
cents, gradually diminishing in height, with an inter¬
mediate space to resemble valleys: from top to bottom
is a floored way, in which three parallel grooves are
formed. It is thus used : a small carriage containing
one person being placed in the centre groove upon the
highest point, goes with great rapidity down one hill,
the velocity which it acquires in its descent carries it up
a second; and it continues to move in a similar manner
until it arrives at the bottom of the area, where it rolls
for a considerable way on the level surface, and stops
before it attains the boundary : it is then placed in one
of the side grooves, and drawn up by means ot a cord
fixed to a windlass. To a person unacquainted with the
mechanism, this entertainment would appear tremen¬
dous ; but as the grooves always keep the carriage in its
richt direction, there is not the least danger of being
overturned. At the top of the mountain is a handsome
apartment for the accommodation ot the court and prin¬
cipal nobility i there is also room for many thousand
spectators within the colonnade and upon its root.
Near the flying mountain is a spacious amphitheatre,
in which tournaments are usually exhibited.’
PETERS, Father, a Jesuit, was conlessor and
counsellor to James II. king of England. This prince
dismissed him in 1688, because he was considered as
the author of those troubles in which the kingdom was
then involved. “ He was (says Bishop Burnet) the
most violent of the king’s advisers, and the person most
listened to. Though he had the honour of being nobly
descended, he was a man «f no extensive erudition, and
was eminent only for his bigotry and forwardness.
Though Burnet is not always to be believed, yet cei-
tain it is, from the testimony of other historians, that
Father Peters was by no means a person properly qua¬
lified to direct King James in the critical situation m
which he then stood. . • • 1
PETERSBURGH, St, a city in Russia, and capi¬
tal of a province of the same name, and ot the whole
empire. It is situated in N. Eat. 59. 26. 23. andj..
pet [2
ara;. Long. 30. 25. and contains about 260,000 inhabitants.
—' It was founded in the year 1703 by Czar Peter the
Great, whose ambition it was to have a fleet on the
Baltic; for which reason he determined to found a
city which might become the centre of trade through¬
out all his dominions. The spot he pitched upon was
a low, fenny, uncultivated island, formed by the
branches of the river Neva, before they fall into the
gull of Finland. In the summer this island was cover¬
ed with mud ; and in winter became a frozen pool,
rendered almost inaccessible by dreary forests and deep
morasses, the haunts of bears, wolves, and other sa¬
vage animals. Having taken the fort of Nattebourg,
and the town of Neischanz, in the year 1703, this
mighty conqueror assembled in Ingria above 300,000
men, Russians, Tartars, Cossacks, Livonians, and
others, even from the most distant parts of his empire,
and laid the foundation of the citadel and fortifica¬
tions, which were finished in four months, almost
in despite of nature. He was obliged to open ways
through forests, drain bogs, raise dykes, and lay cause¬
ways, before he could pretend to found the new city.
The workmen were ill provided with necessary tools and
implements, such as spades, pick-axes, shovels, planks,
and wheel-barrows : they were even obliged to fetch
the earth from a great distance in the skirts of their gar¬
ments, or in little bags made of old mats and rags sewed
together. They had neither huts or houses to shelter
them from the severity of the weather : the country,
which had been desolated by war, could not accommo¬
date such a multitude with provisions; and the supplies
by the lake Ladoga were often retarded by contrary
winds. In consequence of these hardships, above 100,000
men are said to have perished : nevertheless the work
proceeded with incredible vigour and expedition ; while
Peter, for the security of his workmen, formed a great
camp, in such a manner, that his infantry continued in
Finland, and his cavalry were quartered in Ingria.
Some Swedish cruizers being descried in the neighbour¬
hood, the czar posted a body of troops in the isle of Rut-
zari, by whom the Swedes were repulsed, and the work
met with no farther interruption. The buildings of the
city kept pace with the fortress, which is the centre of
the town, surrounded on all sides by the Neva ; and in
little more than a year, above 30,000 houses were erect¬
ed. At present there may be about double that num¬
ber in Petersburg, though many of them are paultry
and inconsiderable. In order to people this city, Peter
invited hither merchants, artificers, mechanics, and sea¬
men, from all the different countries of Europe: he de¬
molished the town of Nieuschants, and brought hither
not only the materials of the houses, but the inhabitants
themselves. A thousand families were drawn from Mos¬
cow ; be obliged his nobility to quit their palaces and
their villas in and about Moscow, and take up their re¬
sidence at Petersburg, in a much more cold and com-
lortless climate. Finally, resolving to remove hither
the trade of Archangel, he issued an ordonnance, im¬
porting, that all such merchandise as had been convey¬
ed to Archangel, in order to be sold to foreigners,
should now be sent to Petersburg, where they should
pay no more than the usual duties. These endeavours
and regulations have rendered this one of the greatest
and most flourishing cities in Europe. The Russian
29 ]
PET
boyars and nobility liave built magnificent palaces, and
are now reconciled to their situation. At first many
houses were built of timber; but these being subject to
sudden conflagrations in spite of all the precautions that
could be taken, the czar, in the year 1714, issued an
order, that all new houses should be walled with brick
and covered with tiles. The fort is an irregular hexa¬
gon, with opposite bastions. This, together with all
the rest of the fortifications, was in the beginning form¬
ed ot earth only; but in the sequel they were faced with
strong walls, and provided with casemates, which are
bomb-proof. In the curtain of the fort, on the right
hand side, is a noble dispensary, well supplied with ex¬
cellent medicines, and enriched with a great number of
porcelain vases from China and Japan. From one of
the gates of the fort a draw-bridge is thrown over an
arm ot the river, In which the czar’s gallevs and other
sma 1 vessels are sheltered in the winter. The most re¬
markable building within the fort is the cathedral, built
by the direction of an Italian architect. Petersburg is
partly built on little islands, some of which are connect¬
ed by draw-bridges ; and partly on the continent. In
the highest part, on the bank of the Neva, the czar fix¬
ed his habitation, or ordinary residence, built of free¬
stone, and situated so as to command a prospect of the
greater part of the city. Here likewise is a royal foun-
dery; together with the superb houses of many noble-
marshy ground on which the city is built,
being found extremely slippery, dirty, and incommodi¬
ous, the czar ordered every inhabitant to pave a certain
space before his own door. In the year 1716 Peter
taking a fancy to the island Wasili-Osterno, which he’
had given as a present to Prince Menzikoff, resumed
the grant, and ordered the city to be extended into this
quarter. He even obliged the boyars, or nobles, to
build stone houses on this spot, though they were alrea¬
dy in possession of others on the side of Ingria: accord-
yigly this is now the most magnificent part of the city.
On the other side of a branch of the Neva stands the
czar’s country or summer palace, provided with a fine
garden and orangery. On the bank of the same river is
the slaboda, or suburbs, in which the Germans general¬
ly choose their habitation. Petersburg is very much
subject to dangerous inundations. In the year 1715, all
the bastions and draw-bridges were either overwhelmed
or carried away. The breadth, depth, and rapidity of
the Neva, have rendered it extremely difficult, if not
impracticable, to join the islands and the continent by
bridges. Besides, Peter was averse to this expedient
for another reason; resolved to accustom his subjects to
navigation, he not only rejected the project of a bridge,
but also ordered that no boat should pass between the
islands and continent, except by the help of sails only.
In consequence of this strange regulation, many lives
were lost: but at length he gained his point; and by
habituating his sluggish Muscovites to the dangers of the
sea, in a little time produced a breed of hardy sailors.
The adjacent country is so barren, that the town must
be supplied with provisions from a great distance •
consequently they are extremely dear. Here are woods
in plenty, consisting of pine, fir, alder, birch, poplar,
cind elm j but the oak and the beech are generally
brought from Casan. In winter the weather is extreme¬
ly cold, and hot in the summer. In June the length of
the
PET
[ 23° 1
PET
isnot visible more thao three hours above the
''“ThTczar Peter, who was indefatigable in his endea-
vours to improve and civilize his subjects, neglec e no-
Sg which he thought could contribute to these pu -
nose! He condescended even to institute and regulate
assemblies at Petersburg : these were opened
the afternoon, and the house was shut a ten • hrt'vee
these hours the fashionable people of both sexes me
without ceremony, danced, conversed, or played eithe
It cards or at chess, this last being a favourite diver¬
sion among the Russians. There was likewise an apart¬
ment appointed for drinking brandy, and smoking to¬
bacco. Plays and operas were likewise introduced fo
the same purposes 5 but as Peter had little relish, and
less taste, for those entertainments, they were performe
in a very awkward manner in his lifetime. however
since hiT death these performances have been trough
to a greater degree of art and decorum.
This great northern legislator e^ablislied’
neighbourhood of Petersburg, manufactures of linen
paper, saltpetre, sulphur, gunpowder and bricks, tog
ther with water-mills for sawing timber. He institu
a marine academy, and obliged every conslf^ ta^’
ly in Russia, to send at least one son or kinsman, be
/ween the ages of ten and eighteen, to this seminary,
where he was instructed in navigation, learned the la
guages, was taught to perform his exercises, and to live
undfr the severest discipline. To crown his other plans
of reformation, he granted letters patent for funding
an academy, upon a very liberal endowment and
though he did not live to execute this scheme, his m
press, who survived him, brought it to Perfection.
1 Peter the great has been much censured for transfer¬
ring the seat of the empire from Moscow to St Peters¬
burg 5 the former of which lay nearer to the centre of
his dominions. But these objections will have but little
weight with those who consider the consequences ot th
removal. The new city is nearer than Moscow was to
the more civilized parts of Europe •, and from an inter¬
course with them the manners of the Russians have bee
improved, and the nobility in particular have lost much
of their feudal importance. Above all, the grand ob-
iect of Peter, that of having a formidable navy in the
Baltic has certainly been obtained, and the empress 0
Russia is now the arbitress of the north, and in some
degree the mediatrix of all Europe. In short, the erec¬
tion of St Petersburg was perhaps one of the best acts of
Peter’s reign, and has in its consequences been the most
beneficial. Indeed it is at least probable, that if through
any revolution the seat of government should be again
transferred to Moscow, we should nowhere see the tra¬
ces of these memorable improvements, which the passing
century has given birth to, hut in the annals ot history •,
and Russia would again, in all probability, relapse into
her original barbarism. ^ ,
The erection of such a city as Petersburg in so short
a time is truly wonderful. Mr Coxe says his mind was
filled with astonishment, when he reflected that so late
as the beginning of the 18th century, the ground on
which it stands was one vast morass, occupied by a very
few fishermen’s huts. The present divisions ot the
town, some of which we have already mentioned, are
3
called, I. The Admiralty quarter; 2. The J°frof
or Island ; 3. The Fortress ; 4. The island of bt P ders- y—
burg ; and,35. The various suburbs of Livonia, of Mos¬
cow, of Alexander Nevski, and of M iburg. _
The late empress has done so much tor this city,
that she may not improperly be called its second foun¬
dress. It is nevertheless, still an infant place, and, as
Mr Wraxall observes, ‘only an immense outline
which will require future empresses, and almost future
aS“TheCstreets in general, says a late traveller, are Coxe's T-
broad and spacious 5 and three of the principal ones, uefo.
•which meet in a point at the admiralty, and leach to
the extremities of the suburbs, are at least two miles in
length. Most of them are paved ; but a tew are still
suffered to remain floored with flanks. In several parte
of the metropolis, particularly in the ^ assili Ostrof,
wooden houses and habitations, scarcely superior to com¬
mon cottages, are blended with the public bmldings J
but this motley mixture is far less common than at Mos¬
cow, where alone can be formed any idea of an ancient
Russian city. The brick houses are ornamented with a
white stucco, which has led several travellers to say
that they are built with stone •, whereas, unless I am
greatly mistaken, there are only two stone structures in
all Petersburg. The one is a palace, building by the
empress upon the banks of the Neva, called ^ marMe
palace; it is of hewn granite, with marble columns an
ornaments ; the other is the church of St Isaac, con¬
structed with the same materials, but nut yet finished.
“ The mansions of the nobility are many ot them
vast piles of building, but are not in general upon so
large and magnificent a scale as several I observed at
Moscow: they are furnished with great cost, and in
the same elegant style as at Pans or London. I hey
are situated chiefly on the south side of the Neva, ei¬
ther in the Admiralty quarter, or in the suburbs ot .Li¬
vonia and Moscow, which are the finest parts ot the
city.” See Neva. .
“ Petersburg, although it is more compact than the
other Russian cities, and has the houses in many streets
contiguous to each other, yet still hears a resemblance
to the towns of this country, and is built in a very
straggling manner. By an order issued many years
ago by the government, the city was inclosed within a
rampart, the circumference whereof is 21 versts, or 14
English miles.” , . ,, t
The public hospital is under an admirable system ot
management, both with regard to the cleanliness an
comfort of the inmates. The revenues arise from the
surplus profit of the Lombard bank, and amount to
about 120,000 roubles per annum 5 by which provision
is made for upwards of 200 people in the house, and
assistance given to 15,000 out patients. _
The Foundling Hospital, though inferior in magni¬
tude to that of Moscow, had 6000 children on its lists
in 1813, of whom 600 were kept within the house.
The expense incurred for the whole is 40,000 roubles
per annum. The children upon being sent here are im¬
mediately vaccinated, and when recovered, .placed out
with different families to nurse, till the period of then-
education commences. They are next selected, accord¬
ing to their natural talent, for the several employments,
liberal or mechanical, to which they seem most 1-
clined, and are brought up accordingly under excel-
PET
::tersburgJent preceptors. Some are sent to the manufactories;
.—y-rnU some to the military schools, and others kept at home,
and instructed in the arts or the belles lettres.
The fashionable promenade of the boulevards consists
of three avenues of trees carried round three sides of
the admiralty, a building which exhibits perhaps the
longest regular facade in Europe : it is upwards of a
quarter of an English mile in extent, adorned at in¬
tervals with six several porticoes, and surmounted rather
fantastically, with a thin taper dome and spire.
The academy of arts is zealously patronised by the
government 5 and from the revenues allotted to it, is
well furnished with models from the antique, as well as
other matters suited to the institution. The labours of
the students exhibit some of the highest specimens of
imitative excellence. Their designs in architecture
are of great merit, and their pictures possess a free
style of execution, combined with chasteness and har¬
mony of colouring, seldom equalled in any modern
school.
The mint is a pretty large establishment, furnished
with a very complete coining apparatus, exactly similar
to that employed in London, and made in England by
Messrs Watt and Bolton. T-he labourers are all peas¬
ants, and receive merely soldiers pay. They are daily
stript to the skin, and so narrowly searched, that even
the cunning of a Russian cannot find a secure mode of
peculation. From excessive issues the paper money
has long been very low in value. In 1814, according
to Mr James, the paper rouble was worth onlv lOgd.
instead of 3s. 4d.
Of the edifices lately erected in Petersburg, the ca¬
thedral church of the virgin of Casan is the most mag¬
nificent. It was opened in 1814, having been 15 years
in building, and cost no less than 15,000,0000! roubles.
The plan was furnished by Worowitchki, a Russian
slave, educated at the imperial academy under the pa¬
tronage of his master Count Strogonov. He displayed
an extraordinary genius for architecture, and not only
planned the cathedral, but superintended the execution
of the work. He just lived to see it finished. The
building is in the form of a cross with a cupola in the
m the centre 5 each arm of the cross terminates with a
Corinthian portico ; and that in the front is received
into a grand semicircular colonnade four columns in
depth. The arc ol this colonnade was intended to have
been ornamented with the statues of St Peter and St
Paul, raised on gigantic blocks of solid granite ten or
twelve feet high, but this has not yet been accomplish¬
ed. Ihe design is thought to be wanting in harmony j
but the decorations are chaste, and the effect of the
whole is noble and imposing in a very high degree.
Education among the higher classes of the male sex
E very much neglected. The tutorage of a French
abbe at home, and a short residence at one of the uni¬
versities, is the only chance given to the son of a man
of consequence for pursuing the belles lettres, or for
acquiring any other knowledge than such as may be
picked up in society. But the professional education
of those who are destined for the civil, military or com¬
mercial line is much better. Girls are brought up with
a degree of attention proportionate to the neglect with
which the other sex is treated. The Convent de De¬
moiselles, and the Institute of Catherine, both flourish¬
ing under the patronage and perpetual inspection of
P E T
are the chief seminaries for fe-Petersburg.
Notwithstanding the timidity
character, a public examination is held
every three years, and rewards are bestowed on those
who have made the greatest progress. The convent
contains two separate establishments, one for the educa¬
tion of 260 girls, the daughters of the burgeois, the
other for those of the class of nobility. The period of
education is about nine years, during which they re
ceive instruction in the French, German, and Russian
languages, in the Russian history, in natural philosophy,
music, dancing, embroidery, writing, arithmetic, and
geometry.
I here are various manufactures in the city or neigh¬
bourhood conducted by the government. There is a
cotton, manufactory on the Neva, for which 600 boys
and girls are furnished from the Foundling hospital.
I here is an imperial plate glass manufactory worked
by the emperors slaves; an extensive cloth manufac¬
tory ; a porcelain manufactory, and several others. It
is believed that the government loses considerably by
these establishments, but they are supported with the
vievy of naturalizing these species of industry.
The trade of Petersburg is extensive. The number
of ships entered at the port in 1813, was 690, of which
343 were British.
We have already said that Petersburg is very liable
to be inundated. An inundation of a very alarming
nature took place when Mr Coxe ivas there in Sep¬
tember 1777, of which the following account was gi¬
ven in Journal St Petersburg, September 1777 '• “ In
the evening of the 9th, a violent storm of wind blowing
at first S. W. and afterwards W. raised the Neva, and
its various branches to so great a height, that at five in
the morning the waters poured over their banks, and
suddenly overflowed the town, but more particularly
the \ assili Ostrof and the island of St Petersburg. The
torrent rose in several streets to the depth of four feet
and a half, and overturned, by its rapidity, various
buildings and bridges. About seven, the wind shift¬
ing to N. W. the flood fell as suddenly j and at mid¬
day most of the streets, which in the morning could
only be passed in boats, became dry. For a short time,
the river rose 10 feet 7 inches above its ordinary level.” .
All our readers have unquestionably heard of the
equestrian statue of Peter I. in bronze. We shall give
an account of that extraordinary monument in Mr
Coxe’s own words. “ It is (says he) of a colossal size,
and is the work of Monsieur Falconet, the celebrated
French statuary, cast at the expence of Catherine II.
in honour of her great predecessor, whom she reveres
and imitates. It represents that monarch in the atti¬
tude of mounting a precipice, the summit of which he
has nearly attained. He appears crowned with laurel,
in a loose Asiatic vest, and sitting on a housing of bear- *
skin : Jus right hand is stretched out as in the act of
giving benediction to his people; and his left holds
the reins. The design is masterly, and the attitude is
bold and spirited. If there be any defect in the figure,
it consists in the flat position of the right hand; and for
this reason,, the view of the left side is the most striking,
where the whole appearance is graceful and animated.
The horse is rearing upon its hind legs; and its tail,
which is full and flowing, slightly touches a bronze ser¬
pent, artfully contrived to assist in supporting the vast
1 weight
[ 23i ]
the empress dowager,
males at Petersburg,
of the female
PET
[ 232 1
PET
weiglit of the statue in due equilibrium. ™e artist biu
Pew tog. B „f bis genius, represented Peter as
' SeTeUlator of his country, without any allusion to
conquest and bloodshed ; wisely prefenung h^cml qua-
lities to bis military exploits. I he contrast between the
composed tranquillity of Peter (though perhaps not ab¬
solutely characteristic) and the hre ot the
to press forwards, is very striking. The simphc.tyot
the insc ription corresponds to the feubhmi ? , lt.
8i„n and is far preferable to a pompous de a.l ot exalt
cdS virtues, whicfh the voice of flattery applies to every
Sovereign without distinction. It is elegantly fin'shed m
E characters, on one side in Latin, and on the oppo¬
site in Russian. Fetroprimo Cathnrma secunda, 1782,
i. e. Catherine II. to Peter I. . v not
“ The statue, when I was at Petersburg,
erected, but stood under a large wooden shed near the
Neva, within a few yards of its enormous pedestal.
When Falconet had conceived the des.gn ot his statue,
the base of which was to be formed by a -ge
he carefully examined the environs of Petersburg, ,
among the7detached pieces of granite which aie sea -
tered about these parts, one could be J^nd o mag
tude correspondent to the dimensions of the equestri.
fi * After considerable research, he discovered a
stupendous mass half buried in the midst ot a moiass.
The expence and difficulty of transporting it were no
xne expense v . order the morass
obstacles to Catherine II. Ry oraer
was immediately drained, a road was cut throug a
forest and carried over the marshy ground, and the
which, after it ha,l been somewhat «^e.gh;
pd at least I coo tons, was removed to letersbuig.
This more than Roman work was, m less than six
months from the time of its first discovery accomp is -
ed bv a windlass, and by means of large friction ba
' . , i j vnmnvpd in orooves fixed on each
1 J , •
death ; all deserters who should return to their vesper- Peterdw*
tive corps within a limited time •, and releases al cnmi-
nals condemned to hard labour, provided they had not
been guilty of murder. , . , 1
Mr Coxe informs us, that the weather is extremely
changeable in this capital, and the cold is at times ex¬
treme-, against which the inhabitants take care to pro¬
vide (see Peasant), though some o them nevertheless
unfortunately fiill victims to it. “ As I traversed the
city, (says Mr Coxe), on the morning ot 12th J anuary,
I observed several persons whose faces had been bitten
by the frost: their cheeks had large scars, and appealed
as if they had been singed with an hot non. As I was
walking with an English gentleman, who, instead ot a
fur cap, had put on a common hat, his ears were sudden¬
ly frozen : he felt no pain, and would not have percei¬
ved it for some time, if a Russian, in passing by, had not
informed him of it, and assisted him in rubbing the pait
affected with snow, by which means it was instantly re¬
covered. This, 01 friction with flannels, is the usual le-
medy ; but should the person in that state approach the
fire, or dip the part in warm water, it immediately mor¬
tifies and drops off.—.The common people continued at
their work as usual, and the drivers plied in the streets
with their sledges, seemingly unafiected by the host,
their beards were incrusted with clotted ice, and the
horses were covered with isicles.
“ It sometimes happens that coachmen or servants,
while they are waiting for their masters, aie
death. In order to prevent as much as possible these
dreadful accidents, great fires of whole trees, piled one
upon another, are kindled in the court-yard ot the pa¬
lace and the most frequented parts of the town. A
the flames blazed above the tops of the houses, and cast
a glare to a considerable distance, 1 was frequently nmch
i x* i.U~ crrmins 01 llus-
months irom uic   - a glare to a consiaeraoie j
ed by a windlass, and by means of large fr.etmn bah g contemplating the picturesque groups ot Hus
alternately placed and removed in grooves hxed on cac i . dress and long beards, assembled
slde ofVer-oad. In this manner it was drawn with tl.e Ere. The centlnels upon duty, having no
40 men seated upon its top, about four ml es tml wUch are, 0f great use to protect the glands
hanks of the Neva ; there it was 0f the’threat, generally tie handkerch.els under thetc
X" reEn“ VwX io’ the spot where it chins, and cover their ears w.t„ small cases
„ow stands. When landed at Petersburg, it was 42 feet
long at the base, 36 at the top, 21 thick, and 17 high ,
ifulk greatly surpassing in weight the most boasted
monuments of Roman grandeur, which a“ori-ng to the
fond admirers of antiquity, would have baffled the ski
of modern mechanics, and were alone sufficient to icn
der conspicuous the reign of the most degenerate em-
Pe‘‘The pedestal, however, though still of prodigious
magnitude, is far from retaining its original dimensions
as Sin order to form a proper station for the statue, and
to’represent an ascent, the summit whereof the horse is
endeavouring to attain, its hulk has been necessarily di
minisbed. But I could not observe, without regret, that
the artist has been desirous to improve upon nature:
and, in order to produce a resemblance of an abrupt
broken precipice, has been too lavish of the chisse .
“ The statue was erected on the pedestal on the 27th
of August 1782. The ceremony was performed with
great solemnity, and was accompanied with a solemn
inauguration. At the same time the empress issued a
proclamation, in which, among other instances of her
clemency, she pardons all criminals under sentence ot
The police of this city has been much admired.
This establishment consists of a police master, two pre¬
sidents, the one for criminal, the other tor civil cases^
and two consulters, chosen from the burgher class, lo
this is committed the care to maintain decorum good
order and morals; the attainment ot which is thus a
C° The residence is divided into ten departments, each
of which has a president who must possess a cornet
knowledge of the inhabitants in his own department ot
which he is regarded as the ccnwr morum h°a «
must be a refuge both night and day for all m distress,
and he must not leave the city for two any
pretext whatever, without appointing a substitute to ac
fn his absence. The constables and -atchmen of h s
department are subject to his orders j and in the
charge of his duty, he has two sergeants to attend
1U The night watchmen have stations assigned them,
afid are to be aided in the seizing ot offenders,^ ^
any service their commanders may leqmie.
als7 a command of 120 men, who are suported by.a ^
PET
g giment of luissars, should the nature of their duty be at
any time so hazardous as to render such a measure ne*
cessary.
This piece of political mechanism is so harmoniously
connected in all its parts, that it becomes the admiration
ot every foreigner.
So extraordinary is the vigilance observed by every
part of this admirable whole, that all secret inquisitions
are totally superfluous. The police has a knowledge of
every person in the residence ; travellers are subject to
certain formalities, in consequence of which to hide the
place of their abode, or the time of their departure, are
alike impracticable. Every householder must declare
to the police who lodges with him, or what strangers
have put up at his house. When travellers leave the
town, they must publish in the newspapers their name,
quality, and place of abode, three different times, and
produce the papers containing such advertisement.
PETERSBURGH, in America, is a sea-port town in
Virginia, 25 miles southward of Richmond, seated on
both sides of the Appamatox river, about 12 miles above
its junction with James river, and contained j668 in¬
habitants in 1810. There is no regularity, and very
little elegance in Petersburgh. It is merely a place of
business. The Free Masons have a hall tolerably ele¬
gant j and the seat of the Bowling family is pleasant
and well built. It is rather unhealthy. Like Rich¬
mond, Williamsburgh, Alexandria, and Norfolk, it is a
coiporation; and what is singular, Petersburgh city
comprehends part of three counties. The celebrated
Indian queen, Pocahonta, from whom descended the
Randolph and Bowling families, formerlyresided at this
place. It is a place of considerable trade. Tobacco is
the staple produce, of which above 20,000 hogsheads
are annually received at the warehouses.
p^TERSIIELD, a handsome town of Hampshire
in England, and sends two members to parliament. It
is seated in W. Long. 1. c. N. Lat. ci. c.
PETER W ARAD IN, a fortified town in Sclavonia,
and one of the strongest frontier places the house of
Austria has against the Turks, seated on the Danube
between the Drave and the Save. E. Long. 20. o N
Lat 45. 20.
PETIOLE, in Botany, the slender stalks that sup¬
port the leaves of a plant.
PETIT, or Petite, a French word signifying lilth
or small. b
Petite Guerre, denotes the operations of detached
parties and the war of posts. See War, Part HI.
Petit Sergeanty. See Sergeanty.
Petit Treason. See Treason.
. ETiT, John, a doctor of the Sorbonne, very early
r 233 i
PET
' --- ”  YJJ mo rwnuwicu£*e, Ulltl
those eloquent orations which he pronounced before the
university of Paris. He was employed in the famous
embassy which was sent from France to Rome, for the
purpose of healing the schism in 1407 ; but he soon lost
all the honour which he had acquired. John Sans
eur, duke of Burgundy, having treacherously contri-
1 to assassinate Louis of France, duke of Orleans, on-
^y brother to Charles VI. John Petit, entirely devoted
0 the views of the murderer, maintained in a public
imputation, at Paris, the 8th of March 1408, that the
muuerwas lawful. Ho had the effrontery to assert,
1 vr “ a^owe<^ to employ fraud, treason, and
Vot. XvI, Part I.
every other method, however base, in order to get rid of
a tyrant ; and that no faith ought to be kept with him.”
He dared to add further, that “ the man who should
commit such an action, not only deserved to be exempt¬
ed trom punishment, but to receive a reward ” ThL
sanguinary doctrine was loudly exclaimed against; bid’
he duke of Burgundy s powerful influence sheltered
Eet.t for some time. Some eminent writers, however,
of that period, with Gerson at their head, denounced
he doctrine to John de Montaigu, bishop of Paris, who
condemned it as heretical the 23d November 141I It
was likewise condemned by the council of Constance
the year following at the instigation of Gerson ; but no
notice was taken either of Petit’s name or bis writings
In fine, the king, on the 16th of September 1416 or¬
dered the parliament of Paris to pronounce a severe de¬
cree against this dangerous performance ; and it was al
so censured by the university. But the duke of Bur¬
gundy, in 1418, had interest enough to compel the grand
vicars^ of the bishop of Paris, who then Jay sick at St
Omer s to retract the sentence which that prelate had
past in 1414. Petit died three years before, i. e. in
141!, at Hesdin ; and his apology in favour of the duke
of Burgundy, with all the particulars of that infamous
transaction, may be seen m the fifth volume of the last
edition of Gerson’s works. Father Pinchinat, of the
order of St Irancis, and author of the Dictionary of
Heresies, in 4to, has endeavoured to vindicate his order
£om a charge brought by some writers, who have called
± etit a Lordelur, or Franciscan Friar. “ He proves
very clearly (says Abbd Prevot) that he was a secular
priest; and adds, that upon the same evidence, Father
Mercier, a Cordelier, had a warm dispute in 1717 with
, ™ho had given this title to Petit in his Col-
Jection ot Censures. He represented to him (says heL
before a meeting of the Faculty, the falsity of such Z
claim, and the injury which he offered to the order of
bt * ,'a^cis- Dupin, convinced of his error, candidly
owned that he was led into it by following some infidel
writers, and promised to retract it in the new edition of
the Censures, which was published in 1720. M Fleu-
ry, who had committed the same mistake, promised also
to make amends for it by a solemn recantation ; but dy¬
ing before he had an opportunity of doing that piece of
justice to the Cordeliers, the continuator of his Ecclesi¬
astical History, who had not such opportunities of in¬
formation, fell into the same fault.” (Pour contre
tom. x. p. 23.). If we take the opinion of L’Advo-
cat s Dictionary, it would appear no fault was commit¬
ted ; for it gives a list of the pensioners of the dukes of
Burgundy, in order to prove that John Petit was a
Cordelier. Indeed, it is highly probable that if Dupin
gained «. Itself a character “•T"’
£ ose eloquent orations which he pronounced before the it was owino- tn a fivm . “j 0P,mo.n'
• * /* 7 JIJIUIJ J
it was owing to a firm persuasion that they had commit¬
ted no error.
, Petit, John Lewis, an eminent surgeon, born at Pa¬
lis in 1674* He had so early an inclination fo surgery
that Mr Littre, a celebrated anatomist, being in his
father’s house, he regularly attended that gentleman’s
lectures, from his being seven years of age‘. He was
received master in surgery in the year 1700 ; and ac¬
quired such reputation in the practice of that art, that
in 1726 the king of Poland sent for him to his court,
and in 1734 the king of Spain prevailed on him to go
into that kingdom. He restored the health of those
P' g princes 4
PET
t 234 ]
PET
prince* ; and they endeavoured to delam hm, by cffer- ^ ^ “^Tt London! who recommended
Sr rntTrS^ t’ aVadcny of scien- Pe.itot to Charier I. He had the h.nonr to pa.nt the >—
hecame director of the royal acadeory.of ^Xr
he then went to Paris, where he was highly favoured by
surgery 5 made several important discoveries j and in
vented new instruments for the improvement of sur¬
gery. He died at Paris in 1750. He wrote an ex¬
cellent Treatise on the Diseases of the Bones, the
best edition of which is that of 1723 ; and many-
learned Dissertations in the Memoirs of the Academy
of Sciences, and in the first volume of the Memoirs of
PETITIO FRINCIPII, in Logic, the taking a thing
for true, and drawing conclusions from it as such, when
it is really false j or at least wants to be proved betore
nay inferences can be drawn from it.
PETITION, a supplication made by an interior to
a superior, and especially to one having jurisdiction, t
is used for that remedy which the subject hath to help
a Wrons done by the king, who hath a prerogative not
to be sued by writ: In which sense it is either gene¬
ral, That the king do him right •, whereupon follows a
weneral indorsement upon the same, Let right be done
the parly : Or it is special, when the conclusion and in¬
dorsement are special, for this or that to be done, &c.
By statute, the soliciting, labouring, or procuring the
putting the hands or consent of above twenty persons to
any petition to the king, or either house ot parliament,
for alterations in church or state, unless by assent ot
three or more justices of the peace of the county, or a
maiority of the grand jury at the assizes or sessions, &c.
and repairing to the king or parliament to deliver such
petition with above the number of ten persens, is sub¬
ject to a fine of 100I. and three months imprisonment,
being proved by two witnesses within six months, in the
court of B. R. or at the assizes, &c. And if what is
required by this statute be observed, care must be taken
that petitions to the king contain nothing which may he
interpreted to reflect on the administration *, for il they
do it may come under the denomination of a libel: and
it ’is remarkable, that the petition of the city of Lon¬
don for the sitting of a parliament was deemed libel¬
lous, because it suggested that the king’s dissolving a
late parliament was an obstruction of justice ; also the
petition of the seven bishops, sent to the Tower by
James II. was called a libel, &c. To subscribe a pe¬
tition to the king, to frighten him into a change oj his
measures,intimating, that if it be denied many thousands
of his subjects will be discontented, &c. is included
among the contempts against the king’s person and go¬
vernment, tending to weaken the same, and is punish¬
able by fine and imprisonment.
PETITORY action, in Scots Law. See Law,
N° clxxxiii. 18. 20.
PETITOT, John, a curious painter in enamel, who
was born at Geneva in 1607, reached a great degree of
perfection in the art. He was wonderfully patient in
finishing his works, but he had the address to conceal his
labour. He only painted the heads and hands of the
figures : the hair, grounds, and drapery, being executed
by Bordier his brother-in-law. These two artists had
the credit of associating and labouring together for fifty
years, without the least misunderstanding between them.
It is asserted by an ingenious French writer, that Peti-
tot and Bordier derived the knowledge of the most cu-
Louis XIVV and acquired an ample fortune. Being
Protestant, the revocation ol the edict of Nantz obliged
him to retire to Geneva j but settling soon after at V e-
ray in the canton of Bern, he passed the remainder ot
his life in ease and affluence. He died in lopi-
Petitot may be called the inventor of painting por¬
traits in enamel. Though his friend Bordier made se¬
veral attempts before him, and Sir Theodore Mayerne
had facilitated the means of employing the most beau¬
tiful colours j yet Petitot completed the works, which
under his hand acquired a softness and liveliness ot co¬
louring that will never change, and will ever render
his works variable. He made use of gold and si vcr
plates, and seldom enamelled on copper. When he first
came in vogue, his price was 20 louis’s a head, which
he soon raised to 40. It was his custom to take a paint¬
er with him, who painted the picture in oil *, after which
Petitot sketched out his work, which he always finish¬
ed after the life. When he painted the king of Prance,
he took those pictures for his copies that most resembled
him ; and the king afterwards gave him a sitting or two
to finish his work.
PETIVER, James, a celebrated English botanist,
was contemporary with Plukenet 5 but we are whdly
unacquainted with the precise time of his birth. He
was by profession an apothecary, having served an ap¬
prenticeship under Mr Feltbam, apothecary to Bartho¬
lomew’s hospital. He settled in Aldersgate-street when
he commenced business on his own account, where he
continued during the whole of his life. His business
was extensive j and he was afterwards chosen apothecary
to the Charter-house. Excepting Sir Hans Sloane, and
Mr Courten, he was the only person after the Trade-
scants, who made any important collections in natural
history, previous to those ot the present day. He em¬
ployed the captains and surgeons of different ships to
bring him home specimens *, and by means of printed
directions he enabled them to select proper objects. In
this manner his collection soon became so valuable, that
he was offered 4000I. for it by Sir Hans Sloane, some
time prior to his decease j but, after he died, it was
purchased by that naturalist. His fame was extended
both at home and abroad by his valuable museum. He
was chosen a fellow of the Royal Society ; and having
become acquainted with Ray, he assisted him in arran¬
ging the second volume of his History of Plants. He
died on the 20th of April, 17185 and bis funeral was
honoured by the attendance of Sir Hans Sloane, and
other eminent men, as pall-bearers. _
He published several works, on different subjects ot
natural history, such as Musci Petivcriani Centuria de¬
cern, 1602—1703, 8vo : Ga%ophylacii Natures et Artis,
Decades decern, folio, 1702, with 100 plates : A cata¬
logue of Mr Ray’s English Herbal, illustrated with fi¬
gures, folio, 1713, and continued in 1715 : Many small
publications, which may be found enumerated in Hr
Pultney’s book : Many papers in the Philosophical
Transactions 5 and a material article m the third voT
lume of Ray’s work, entitled, Plant* Jlanores Ch£™seS’
Petiver
PET [ ' 2
Madras-pa taii<zy €t AJ'ricaTicc^ a Jcicobo Pctivcvo cid opus
|| consummandum collated, &c. Many of his small tracts
Petrarch, having become scarce, his works were collected and
—r~/ published, exclusive of his papers in the Transactions,
in 2 vols. folio, in the year 1764.
PETIVER1A, a genus ot plants belonging to the
hexandria class, and in the natural method ranking un¬
der the 12th order, Holoraceee. See Botany Index.
PETRA, (Caesar, Eucian), a town of Greece, on
the coast of Illyricum, near Dyrrhachium, and not far
from the mouth of the river Panyasus.—Another Pe¬
tra, (Livy) ; a town of Maedica, a district of Thrace,
lying towards Macedonia; but in what part of Mace¬
donia, he does not say.
Petra (Ptolemy), PeTr^a (Silius Italicus), Pctrina
(Italicus), in both which last urbs is understood j an
inland town of Sicily, to the south-west of Engyum.
Now Petraglia (Cluverius).
Petra Jecktael (2 Kings xiv.), a town of the Ama-
lekites ; near the Adscensus Scorpionis (Judges i.) and
the valley of Salt in the south of Judea j afterwards in
the possession of the Edomites, after destroying the A-
malekites.
Petra Becem, or Reketn, so called from Rekem
king of the Midianites, slain by the Israelites (Num.
xxxi.). Formerly called Arce , now Petra; the capital
of Arabia Petraea (Josephus). Ptolemy places it in
Long. 66. 45. from the Fortunate islands, and Lat. 30.
20. It declines therefore 80 miles to the south of the
parallel of Jerusalem, and 36 miles, more or less, from its
meridian to the east. Josephus says, that the mountain
on which Aaron died stood near Petra; which Strabo
calls the capital of the Nabataei; at the distance of three
or four days journey from Jericho. This Petra seems
to be the Sela of Isaiah xvi. 1. and xlii. 11. the He-
bicw name of Petra, <k a rock I hough some imagine
Petra to be no older than the time of the Macedonians.
PETRARCH, Francis, a celebrated Italian poet,
was born at Arezzo in 1304, and was the son of Pe-
trarco di Parenzo. He studied grammar, rhetoric, and
philosophy, for four years at Carpentras; from whence
he went to Montpelier, where he studied the law under
John Andreas and Cino of Pistoia, and probably from
the latter received a taste for Italian poetry. As Pe¬
trarch only studied the law out of complaisance to his
father, who on his visiting him at Bologna had thrown
m the fire all the Latin poets and orators except Virgil
and Cicero ; he, at 22 years of age, hearing that his fa¬
ther and mother were dead of the plague at Avignon,
leturned to that city to settle his domestic aflairs, and
purchased a country house in a very solitary but agree¬
able situation, called Vaucluse; where he first knew the
beautiful Laura, with whom he fell in love, and whom
he has immortalized in his poems. He at length travel¬
led into France, the Netherlands, and Germany j and
at his return to Avignon entered into the service of Pope
ohn XXII. who employed him in several important
atlairs. Petrarch was in hopes of being raised to some
considerable post: but being disappointed, he applied
himself entirely to poetry; in which he met with much
applause, that in one and the same day he received
letters from Rome and the chancellor of the univer-
Pans, by which they invited him to receive
Ine poetic crown. By the advice of his friends, he
preferred Rome to Paris, and received that crown from
35 ] PET
the senate and people on the 8th of April 1341. “The
ceremony of h,s coronation (says Gibbon) was perform¬
ed in the Capitol, by his friend and patron the supreme
magistrate of the republic. Twelve patrician youths
weie arrayed in scarlet; six representatives of the most
illustrious families, in green robes, with garlands of
flowers, accompanied the procession > in the midst of
the princes and nobles, the senator, count of Ammi!-
lara, a kinsman of the Colonna, assumed his throne:
and at the voice of a herald Petrarch arose. After dis¬
coursing on a text of Virgil, and thrice repeating his
vows for the prosperity of Rome, he knelt before the
throne, and received from the senator a laurel crown
with a more precious declaration, ‘ This is the reward
°f merit I he people shouted, ‘ Long life to the Ca¬
pitol and the poet !’ A sonnet in praise of Rome was
accepted as the effusion of genius and gratitude ; and
alter the whole procession had visited the Vatican the
profane wreath was suspended before the shrine of St
1 eter. Jn the act or diploma which was presented to
1 etrarch, the title and prerogatives of poet-laureat are
revived in the Capitol after the lapse of 1303 years-
and he receives the perpetual privilege of wearing, at
his choice, a crown of laurel, ivy, or myrtle ; of assum¬
ing the poetic habit; and of teaching, disputing, inter¬
preting, and composing, in all places whatsoever, and
on all subjects of literature. The grant was ratified by
the authority of the senate and people ; and the charac¬
ter ot citizen was the recompense of his affection for
the Roman name. They did him honour, but they did
him justice. In the familiar society of Cicero and
Livy, he had imbibed the ideas of an ancient patriot ;
and Ins ardent fancy kindled every idea to a sentiment
and every sentiment to a passion.” His love of soli¬
tude at length induced him to return to Vaucluse •
but, after the death of the beautiful Laura, Provence
became insupportable to him, and he returned to Italy
in 1352; when, being at Milan, Galeas Viceconti
made him counsellor of state. Petrarch spent almost
^e rest of his life in travelling to and from the
different cities in Italy. He was archdeacon of Par¬
ma, and canon of Padua ; but never received the order
of priesthood. All the princes and great men of his
time gave him public marks of their esteem ; and while
he lived at Arcqua, three miles from Padua, the Flo¬
rentines deputed Boccace to go to him with letters, by
which they invited him to Florence, and informed him,
that they restored to him all the estate of which his fa¬
ther and mother had been deprived during the dissen¬
sions between the Guelphs and Gibelines. He died a
few years after at Arcqua, in 1374. He wrote many
works that have rendered his memory immortal ; these
have been printed in four volumes folio. His life has
been written by several authors, Amongst these there
was one by Mrs Susanna Dobson, in 2 volumes 8vo,
collected and abridged from the French. In this work
we have the following elegant and just character of Pe¬
trarch.
“ Few characters, perhaps, have set in a stronger
light the advantages of well regulated dispositions than
that of Petrarch, from the contrast we behold in
one particular of his life, and the extreme misery
he suffered from the indulgence of an afieotion, which, '
though noble and delightful when justly placed, becomes
a reproach and a torment to its possessor when once di-
G g 2 reeled
Petrarch,
p £ f
fected to avi utipvoper object. ^00,
Selves Or others j though (from the character of
t *) they are acquitted of all guilt in their persona
intercourse,^et, as she was a married woman, it is not
possible, onV principles of
tn
+-C 6 1 linn of order and peace in civil society, and
which1 are stamped with the sacred mark of divine au-
Petrarcli
> /„' this particular of his character, therefore, rt
j, si„e Jly hoped ‘hat retravel, will serve as a warn¬
ing to those unhappy rramls, who, partaking ot
same feelings under the
6ffh? a gerS’rSd to't h'ononr of hnmln na¬
ture’ and by a view to the approbation of that all-seeing
Judge “ho penetrates the most secret recesses of the
^ ♦ r-uirk pverv unhappy inclination in its birth,
aS dest°roV while yTt in tS power, the seeds of those
uassions which may otherwise destroy them. _
V “ As to the cavils or censures of those who, incapa
hie of tenderness themselves, can neither enjoy the view
of it when presented in its most perfect form, nor p.ty
its sufferings when, as in this work, they appear unhap-
uilv indulged beyond the bounds of judgment an.
tranquillity ; to such minds I make no address, we
^ rl tliat as no callous heart can enjoy, neither
wl'int ever be in danger of being misled, by the example
of Petrarch in this tender but unfortunate circumstance
0f!^rfle and feeling minds alone Petrarch
will be ever dear. Such, while they regret Bis fading,,
■md consider them as warnings to themselve*, will lo^e
bis virtues •, and, touched by the glowing piety an
heart-felt contrition which often impressed Ins sou , w 11
•irdently desire to partake with him in those pathetic
:ul(l sublime reflections which are produced 111 grateful
and affectionate hearts, on reviewing their own lives,
51ml contemplating the works ot L»oa.
.. Petrarch had received from nature a vey danger-
..resent. His figure was so distinguished as to at¬
tractuniversal admiration. He appears, in his portraits
Avitli large and manly features, eyes full ol hie, a
blooming^complexion, and a countenance that bespoke
nil the genius and fancy which shone forth in his works
In the flower of his youth, the beauty of Ins person was
so very striking, that wherever he appealed, he was the
so very slum g,  on .mrWstanding ac-
l wiicicvti  7
object of attention. He possessed an understanding ac¬
tive and penetrating, a brilliant wit, and a fine im g
nation. His heart was candid and benevolent suscep¬
tible of the most lively affections, and inspired with t
noblest sentiments of liberty. xt;c
“ But his failings must not be concealed. _ ±lis tem¬
per was, on some occasions, violent and Ins passions
headstrong and unruly. A warmth of constitution hur¬
ried him into irregularities, winch were followed with
repentance and remorse.—No essential reproach, how¬
ever could be cast on his manners, till after the 23d
year of his age. The fear of God, the thoughts of
death, the love of virtue, and those principles ol reli¬
gion which were inculcated by his mother preserved
him from the surrounding temptations of his earlier
life.”
A resemblance has been traced, in several instances,
,et ue not Live Wemlthri ^ ge^.VnTno
fish man of York *, they both “ ran over France, with¬
out any business there.” If the bishop ot Lombesp-
troniscA and corresponded with the one, a prehate of *
the English church, now deceased, desired,, in a letter be^,Arcl
to shandyisc\ with the other. In their attachments to + His
Laura and Eliza, both married women, these two pie-Grace,s
hendaries were equally warm, and equally innocent. 0„n ex_
And even after death, a most remarkable circumstance presuoa.
has attended them both y some persons, we are told,
stole Petrarch’s bones,, in order to sell them y and, in
like manner, Yorick’s body it is confidently affirmed,
was also stolen, and his skull has been exhibited at Ox-
PETRE, or Saltpetre. See Nitre, Chemistry
and Mineralogy Index. c . . . . .
PETREA, in Botanyy a genus of plants belonging to
the didynamia class y and in the natural method rank¬
ing under the 40th order, Personates. See Botany-
I PETREL. See Procellaria, Ornithology
Index i
PETRIFACTION, in Natural History, denotes
tlie conversion of wood, bones, and other substances
principally animal or vegetable, mto stone. Ihese
bodies are more or less altered from their original state,
according to the different substances they have lain
buried among in the earth y some of them having suf¬
fered very little change, and others being so highly im¬
pregnated with crystalline, sparry, pyntical, or other
extraneous matter, as to appear mere masses of stone or
lumps of the matter of the common pyrites y but they
are generally of the external dimensions, and retain
moixfor less^f the internal figure,, of the bodies into
the pores of which this matter has made its way. 1 he
animal substances thus found petrified are chiefly sea-
shells y the teeth, bony palate*, and bones of fish, the
bones of land animals, &c. These are found variously
altered, by the insinuation of stony and mineral mat¬
ter into their pores y and the substance of some of them
is now wholly gone, there being only stony, «r
other mineral matter remaining m the shape and loim.
Respecting the manner m winch petrifaction is ac-
eompfished, le know hut little. It has been though,
by many philosophers, that tins was one of the rare
•' r . on .I nr.r.ordmeTv such places as
pLr/s of *nature y * and accordingly such places as
afforded a view of it, have been looked upon as grea
curiosities. However, it is now discovered, that pt
trifaction is exceedingly common : and that everj kin
of water carries in it some earthly particles, winch be
ing precipitated from it, become stone of a greater or
lesser degree of hardness : and this quality is most re-
markable in those waters whirl, are much
with selenitic matter. It has been found by obsena
tion, that iron contributes greatly to the process: and
this it may do by its precipitation of any alunun
earth which happens to be dissolved - f»J»“r.
means of an acid; for iron has the property of preap.
tatinP" this earth. Galcareous earth, liowevei, by being
.olubfe in water without any acid, must contribute xeiy
mlch to the process of petrifaction, as they are capa «
of a great degree of hardness by means only of be^g
FET [ 237
joined with fixed air, on which depends the solidity of
our common cement or mortar used in. building houses.
' The name petrifaction belongs only, as wre have seen,
to bodies of vegetable or animal origin j and in order to
determine their class and genus, or even species, it is
necessary that their texture, their primitive form, and
in some measure their organization, be still discernible.
Thus we ought not to place the stony kernels, moulded
in the cavity of some shell, or other organized body, in
the rank of petrifactions, properly so called.
Petrifactions of the vegetable kingdom are almost all
either gravelly or siliceous ; and are found in gullies,
trenches, &c. Those which strike fire with steel are
principally found in sandy fissures ; those which effer¬
vesce in acids are generally of animal origin, and are
found in the horizontal beds of calcareous earth, and
sometimes in beds of clay or gravel: in which case the
nature of the petrifaction is different. As to the sub¬
stances which are found in gypsum, they seldom under¬
go any alteration, either with respect to figure or com¬
position, and they are very rare.
Organized bodies, in a state of petrifaction, general¬
ly acquire a degree of solidity of which they were not
possessed before they were buried in the earth, and
some of them are often fully as hard as the stones or
matrices in which they are enveloped. When the stones
are broken, the fragments of petrifactions are easily
found, and easily distinguished. There are some or¬
ganized bodies, however, so changed by petrifaction, as
to render it impossible to discover their origin. That
there is a matter more or less agitated, and adapted for
penetrating bodies, which crumbles and separates their
parts, dravys them along with it, and disperses them here
and there in the fluid which surrounds them, is a fact
of which nobody seems to entertain any doubt. Indeed
we see almost every substance, whether solid or liquid,
insensibly consume, diminish in bulk, and at last, in the
lapse of time, vanish and disappear.
A petrified substance, strictly speaking, is nothing
more than the skeleton, or perhaps image, of a body
which has once had life, either animal or vegetable
combined with some mineral.. Thus petrified wood
is not in that state wood alone. One part of the com¬
pound or mass of wood having been destroyed by local
causes, has been compensated by earthy and sandy sub¬
stances, diluted and extremely minute, which the wa¬
ters surrounding them had deposited while they them¬
selves evaporated. These earthy substances, being then
moulded in the skeleton, will be more or less indurated
and will appear to have its figure, its structure, its size5
in a word, the same general characters, the same, spe¬
cific attributes, and the same individual differences.
Farther, in petrified wood, no vestige of ligneous mat¬
ter appears to exist. We know that common wood is
a body in which the volume of solid parts is greatly ex¬
ceeded by that of the pores. When wood is buried in
certain places, lapidiftc fluids, extremely divided and
sometimes coloured, insinuate themselves into its pores
and fill them up. These fluids are afterwards moulded,
and condensed. The solid part of the wood is decom¬
posed and redneed into powder, which is expelled with¬
out the mass by aqueous filtrations. In this manner,
the places which were formerly occupied by the wood
are now left empty in the form of pores. This opera¬
tion of nature produces no apparent difference either of
]
PET
the size or of the shape \ but it occasions, both at the Petfifac-
surtace and in the inside, .a change of substance, and tion.
the ligneous texture is inverted; that is to say, that-y—
which was pore in the natural wood, becomes solid in
that which is petrified; and that which rvas solid or
full in the first state, becomes porous in the second.
In this way, says M. Musard, petrified wood is much
less extended in pores than solid parts, and at the same
time forms a body much more dense and heavy than
the first. As the pores communicate from the circum¬
ference to the centre, the petrifaction ought to begin
at the centre, and end with the circumference of the
organic body subjected to the action of the lapidifio
fluids. Such is the origin of petrifactions. They are.
organized bodies which have undergone changes at the
bottom of the sea or the surface of the earth, and which
have been buried by various accidents at different depths
under the ground.
In order to understand properly the detail of the
formation of petrified bodies, it is necessary to be well
acquainted with all their constituent parts. Let us
take wood for an example. Wood is partly solid and
partly porous. The solid parts consist of a substance,
hard, ligneous, and compact, which forms the support
of the. vegetable ; the porous parts consist of vessels
or interstices which run vertically and horizontally
across the ligneous fibres, and which serve for conduc¬
ting air, lymph, and other fluids. Among these ves¬
sels, the trachite which rise in spiral forms, and which
contain only air, are easily distinguished. The cylin-
dric vessels, some of which contain lymph, and others
the succusproprius, are full only during the life of the
vegetable. After its death they become vacant by
the evaporation aud absence of the fluids with which
they were formerly filled. All these vessels, whether .
ascending or descending, unite with one another, and
form great cavities in the wood and in the bark. Ac¬
cording to Malpighi and Duhamel, the ligneous fibres
are themselves tubular, and afford a passage to certain
liquors 5 in short, the wood and bark are interspersed
with utriculi of different shapes and sizes. The aug¬
mentation of the trunk in thickness, according to
Malpighi is accomplished by the annual addition of
a new exterior covering of fibres and of trachiax Ci¬
thers think that a concentric layer of sap-wood is every
year hardened, whilst a new one is forming from the
bark. But it is on all sides agreed that the concentric
layers of wood are distinct from one another, because at
the point of contact betwixt any two of them, the new
vessels, as well as new fibres, are more apparent and
perceptible than they are in any other place. Having
made these preliminary remarks on the structure of ve¬
getables, we shall now proceed to give an abridged ac¬
count of the manner in which M. Mongez explains
their petrifaction.
In proportion to the tenderness and bad quality of
wood, it imbibes the greater quantity of water ; there¬
fore this sort will unquestionably petrify more easily
than that which is hard. It is thought that all the pe¬
trified wood so often found in Hungary has been origi¬
nally soft, such as firs or poplars. Suppose a piece of
wood buried in the earth 5 if it be very dry, it will suck
up the moisture which surrounds it like a sponge. This
moisture, by penetrating it, will dilate all the parts of
which it is composed. The trachis?, or air-vessels, will
pet L 238 ]
be filled first, and then the lymphatic vessels and those fluid
which contain the succus propnus, as they are likewise
' empty. The water which forms this moisture keeps in
dissolution a greater or a less quantity ot earth j and
this earth, detadied, and carried along 111 its couise, is
reduced to such an attenuated state, that it escapes our
eyes and keeps itself suspended, whether by the medium
of fixed air or by the motion of the water. Such is the
lapidific fluid. Upon evaporation, or the departure t
the menstruum, this earth, sand, or metal, again ap*
.pears in the form of precipitate or sediment m the cav -
ties of the vessels, which by degrees are fifled with it.
This earth is there moulded with exactness : I he lapse
of time, the simultaneous and partial attraction ot the
particles, makes them adhere to one another ; the lateial
suction of the surrounding fibres the obs ruction of the
moulds, and the hardening ot the mouuled earth, b
come general; and there consists nothing but an earthy
substance which prevents the sinking of the neighbour-
ino- parts. If the deposit is formed of a matter in ge¬
neral pretty pure, it preserves a whiter and clearer co¬
lour than the rest of the wood 5 and as the concentric
layers are only perceptible and distinct m the wood, be¬
cause the vessels are there more apparent on account ot
their size, the little earthy cylinders, in the state ot pe¬
trified wood, must be there a little larger, and conse-
quently must represent exactly the turnings and separa¬
tions of these layers. At the place of the utncu 1, g o-
bules are observed, of which the shapes are as various as
the moulds wherein they are formed. Ihe anastomoses
of the proper and lymphatic vessels, form besides points
of support or reunion for this stony substance.
With regard to holes formed by worms in any bits ot
wood before they had been buried in the earth, the la¬
pidific fluid, in penetrating these great cavities, deposits
there as easily the earthy sediment, which is exactly
moulded in them. These vermiform cylinders are some¬
what less in bulk than the holes in which they are found,
which is owing to the retreat of the more refined earth
and to its drying up. f
Let any one represent to himself this collection ot
little cylinders, vertical, horizontal, inclined in difler-
ent directions, the stony masses ot utricuh and of anas¬
tomoses, and he will have an idea of the stony substance
which forms the ground-work of petrifaction. Hither¬
to not a single ligneous part is destroyed ; they are all
existing, but surrounded on every side with earthy de¬
posits : and that body which, during life, was composed
-if solid and of empty parts, is now ent.rely solid : its
destruction and decomposition do not take place till
after the formation of these little deposits. In propor¬
tion as the water abandons them, it penetrates the ligne¬
ous substance, and destroys it by an insensible fermenta¬
tion. The woody fibres being decomposed, form in
their turn voids and interstices, and there remains in the
whole piece nothing but little stony cylinders. But in
proportion as these woody fibres disappear, the surround¬
ing moisture, loaded with earth in the stateof dissolution,
does not fail to penetrate the piece of wood, and to re¬
main in its new cavities. The new deposit assumes ex¬
actly the form of decomposed fibres j it envelopes in its
turn the little cylinders which were formed in their ca¬
vities, and ends by incorporating with them. V\ e may
suppose here, that in proportion as it decomposes, there
is a reaction of the ligneous part against the lapidific
PET
iiuiu : from this reaction a colour arises which s^ins
more or less the new deposit •, and this colour will make
it easily distinguishable from that which has been laid in
the inside of the vessels. In all petrified wood this
shade is generally perceptible. . ,
We have then, says M.Mongez, four distinct epochs
in the process by which nature converts a piece of wood
into stone, or, to speak more justly, bv winch she sub¬
stitutes a stony deposit in its place : 1. Per fee vegetable
Wood, that is to say, wood composed of solid and of
empty parts, ligneous fibres, and of vessels. 2. V\ ood
having its vessels obstructed and choked up by an
earthy deposit, while its solid parts remain unaltered.
O The solid parts attacked and decomposed, forming
new cavities betwixt the stony cylinder, which remain
in the same state, and which support the whole mass.
4 These new cavities filled with new deposits, which in¬
corporate with the cylinders, and compose nothing eke
but one general earthy mass representing exactly the
Among the petrifactions of vegetables called dendro-
lites. are found part of shrubs, stems, roots, portions of
the trunk, some fruits, &c. We must not, however,
confound the impressions of mosses, ferns, and leaves,
or incrustations, with petrifactions.
Among the petrifactions of animals, we find shells,
crustaceous animals, polyparii, some worms, the bony
parts of fishes and of amphibious animals, fiw or no real
insects, rarely birds and quadrupeds, together with the
bony portions of the human body. The cornu ammoms
are petrified shell-fish •, and with regard to figured and
accidental bodies, these are hisus nature. .
In order, says M. Bertrand, in his Dktionnaire des
Fossi/es, that a body should become petrified, it is ne¬
cessary that it be, 1. Capable of preservation under
ground : 2. That it be sheltered from the air and run¬
ning water (the ruins of Herculaneum prove that bodies
which have no connection with free air, preserve them¬
selves untouched and entire), 3. I hat it be secured
from corrosive exhalations. 4. That it be in a place
where there are vapours or liquids, loaded either with
metallic or stony particles in a state of dissolution, and
which, rvithout destroying the body, penetrate it, im¬
pregnate it, and unite with it in proportion as its parts
are dissipated by evaporation.
It is a question of great importance among naturalists,
to know the time which Nature employs in petrify¬
ing bodies of an ordinary size.—It was the wish of the
emperor, duke of Lorraine, that some means should
be taken for determining this question. M. le Cheva¬
lier de Baillu, director of the cabinet of natural history
of his imperial majesty, and some other naturalists, had,
several years ago, the idea of making a research which
might throw some light upon it. His imperial majesty
being informed by the unanimous observations of mo¬
dern historians and geographers, that certain pillars
which are actually seen in the Danube in Servia, near
Belgrade, are remains of the bridge which Irajan con¬
structed over that river, presumed that these pillars ba-
ving been preserved for so many ages behoved to be
petrified, and that they would furnish some information
with regard to the time which nature employs m
changing wood into stone. The emperor thinking this
hope well founded, and wishing to satisfy his curiosity,
ordered his ambassador at the court of Constantinople
P E T
Petrifac¬
tion.
to ask permission to take up from the Danube one of
the pillars of Trajan’s bridge. The petition was grant¬
ed, and one of the pillars was accordingly taken up 5
from which it appeared that the petrifaction had only
advanced three fourths of an inch in the space of 1500
years. There are, however, certain waters in which
this transmutation is more readily accomplished.—Pe¬
trifactions appear to be formed more slowly in earths
that are porous and in a slight degree moist than in wa¬
ter itself.
When the foundations of the city of Quebec in Ca¬
nada were dug up, a petrified savage was found among
the last beds to which they proceeded. Although there
no idea of the time at which this man had been
[ 239 ]
P E T
buried under the ruins, it is however true, that his quiver
and arrows were still well preserved. In digging a lead-
mine in Derbyshire, in 1744, a human skeleton was
found among stags horns. It is impossible to say how
many ages this carcase had lain there. In 169 £ the
entire skeleton of an elephant was dug up near Tonna
in Thuringia. Some time before this epoch the petri¬
fied skeleton of a crocodile was found in the mines of
that country. We might cite another fact equally cu¬
rious which happened at the beginning of the last cen¬
tury. John Munte, curate of Slaegarp in Scania, and
several of his parishioners, wishing to procure turf from
a drained marshy soil, found, some feet below ground
an entire cart with the skeletons of the horses and car¬
ter. It is presumed that there had formerly been a
Jake in that place, and that the carter attempting to
pass over on the ice, had by that means probably perish¬
ed. In fine, wood partly fossil and partly coaly, has
been found at a great depth, in the clay of which tile
was made for the abbey of Fontenay. It is but very
lately that fossil wood was discovered at the depth of 75
feetm a well betwixt Issi and Vauvres near Paris. This
wood w'as in sand betwixt a bed of clay and pyrites, and
water was found four feet lower than the pyrites. M.
de Laumont, inspector general of the mines, says
(Journal de Physique, Mai 1736), that in the lead-
mine at Pontpean near Rennes, is a fissure, perhaps the
only one of its kind. In that fissure, sea-shells, round¬
ed pebbles, and an entire beech, have been found 240
feet deep. This beech was laid horizontally in the
direction of the fissure. Its bark was converted into
pyrites, the sap-wood into jet, and the centre into
coal.
A great many pieces of petrified wood are found in
different counties of France and Savoy. In Cobourg
in Saxony, and in the mountains of Misnia* trees of a
considerable thickness have been taken from the earth,
which were entirely changed into a very fine agate, as
also their branches and their roots. In sawing them,
the annual circles of their growth have been distin¬
guished. Pieces have been taken up, on which it was
distinctly seen that they had been gnawed by worms 3
others bear visible marks of the hatchet. In fine, pie¬
ces have been found which were petrified at one end,
while the other still remained in the state of wood fit
for being burned. It appears then that petrified wood
is a great deal less rare in nature than is commonly ima¬
gined.
. Cronstedt has excluded petrifactions from any place
10 the body of his system of mineralogy, but takes
notice of them in his appendix. He distinguishes them
5*
by tlm name ^ Mincralm Larvata, and defines them pctri, c
to e mineral bodies in the form of animals or vege- tioiT
tables. i be most remarkable observations concernmir 1 '
them, according to Mr Kirwan, who differs in some
particulars from Mongez, are as follow. 1. Those of
shells are found on or near the surface of the earth •
those of fish deeper j and those of wood deeper still!
bheJs in substance are found in vast quantities, and at
considerable depths. 2. The substances most suscep¬
tible of petrifaction are those which most resist the pu¬
trefactive process ; of which kind are shells, the harder
Kinds of wood, &c. 3 while the softer parts of animals,
which easily putrefy, are seldom met with in a petri¬
fied state. 3. They are most commonly found in strata
of marl, chalk, limestone, or clay : seldom in sandstone
still more seldom in gypsum 3 and never in gneiss, gra¬
nite, basaltes, or schoerl. Sometimes they are found
in pyrites, and ores of iron, copper, and silver 3 con¬
sisting almost always of that kind of earth or other mi¬
neral which surrounds them ; sometimes of silex, a^ate
or cornelian. 4. They are found in climates where the
animals themselves could not have existed. 5. Those.,
found in slate or clay are compressed and flattened.
The different species of petrifactions, according to
Cronstedt, are, °
I. Tcrree Larvatce; extraneous bodies changed into
a limy substance, or calcareous changes. These are, 1
Loose or friable. 2. Indurated. The former are of a
chalky nature in form of vegetables or animals 3 the
second filled with solid limestone in the same forms.
Some are found entirely changed into a calcareous spar!
All of them are found in France, Sweden, and other
countries in great plenty.
On these petrifications Cronstedt observes, that shells
and corals are composed of limy matter even when still
inhabited by their animals, but they are classed among
the petrifactions as soon as the calcareous particles
have obtained a new arrangement 3 for example, when
they have become sparry ; filled with calcareous earth
either hardened or loose, or when they lie in the strata
of the earth. “ 1 hese, says he, form the greatest part
of the fossil collections which are so industriously made,
often without any regard to the principal and only use
they can be of, viz. that of enriching zoology. Minera¬
logists are satisfied with seeing the possibility of the
changes the limestone undergoes in regard to its parti¬
cles; and also with receiving some insight into the alter¬
ation with the earth has been subject to from the state
of the strata which are now found in it.” The calcined
shells, where the petrifactions are of a limy or chalky
nature, answer extremely well as a manure ; but the in¬
durated kind serve only for making grottoes. Gypseous
petrifactions are extremely rare 3 however, Chardin in¬
forms us that he had seen a lizard inclosed in a stone of
that kind in Persia.
II. Larvee, or bodies cltanged into a flinty substance.
These are all indurated, and are of the following spe¬
cies. 1. Cornelians in form of shells from the river-
Tomm in Siberia. 2. Agate in £prm of wood ; a piece
of which is said to be in the collection of the Count de
Tessin. 3. Coralloids of white flint {Millepord) found
in Sweden. 4. Wood of yellow flint found in Italy, in
Turkey near Adrianople, and produced by the waters
of Lough-neagh in Ireland.
III, Larva; Argillacea ; where the bodies appear to
ban
Petrifac¬
tion.
F T f 240 ] P E 1
These are found either loose and calx, which has assumed the place orshape of extraneous
be chanffcfl into chty.    , . , • • c
friable, or indurated. Of the former kind is a piece of
porcelain clay met with in a certain collection, with all
the marks of the root of a tree upon it. Of the latter
kind is the osteocolla ; which is said to he the roots ot
the ooplar-tree changed, and not to consist of any calca¬
reous substance. A sort of fossil ivory, with all the
properties of clay, is said likewise to be found in some
^ JV. Lai'vce insalilce j where the substances are im¬
pregnated with great quantities of salts. Human bodies
have been twice found impregnated with vitriol or iron
in the mine of Falun, in the province of Dalarne m
Sweden. One of them was kept for several years in a
glass case, but at last began to moulder and fall to pieces.
Turf and roots of trees are likewise found in water
strongly impregnated with vitriol. They do not flame,
hut look like a coal in a strong fire 5 neither do they
decay in the air. t , . „ ., ,
V. Bodies penetrated by mineral inflammable sub¬
stances. 1. By pit-coal, such as wood 5 whence some
have imagined coal to have been originally produced
from wood. Some of these substances are fully satu¬
rated with the coally matter 5 others not. Among the
former Cronstedt reckons jet •, among the latter the
substance called mumia vegetabilis, which is of a loose
texture, resembling amber, and may be used as such.
2. Those penetrated by asphaltum or rock-oil. Ihe
only example of these given by our author is a kind
of turf in the province of Skone in Sweden. Ike F-
.ryptian mummies, he observes, cannot have any place
among this species, as they are impregnated artificially
with asphaltum, in a manner similar to what happens
naturally with the wood and coally matter in the last
species. 3. Those impregnated with sulphur which has
dissolved iron, or with pyrites. Human bodies, bivalve
and univalve shells and insects, have been all found m
this state ; and the last are found in the alum slate at
Andrarum, in the province of Skone in Sweden.
VI. Larvae metalliferae; where the bodies are im¬
pregnated with metals. These are, I, Covered with
native silver j which is found on the surface of shells
in England. 2. Where the metal is mineralized with
topper and sulphur. Of this kind is the falhertz or
gray silver ore, in the shape of ears of corn, and sup¬
posed to be vegetables, found in argillaceous slate at
Frankenherg and Tahlitteren in Hesse. 3. Larvae cu-
priferce, where the bodies are impregnated with copper.
To this species principally belong the turquoise or liir-
key stones, improperly so called ; being ivory and bones
of the elephant or other animals impregnated with cop-
per. At Simore in Languedoc there are bones of am-
mals dug up, which, during calcination, assume a blue
colour-, hut according to Cronstedt-it is not probable
that these owe their colour to copper. 4. With mine¬
ralized copper. Of these our author gives two exam¬
ples. One is where the copper is mineralized with sul¬
phur and iron, forming a yellow marcasitical ore. With
this some shells are impregnated which lie upon a bed of
loadstone in Norway. Other petrifactions of this kind
are found in the form of. fish in different parts pf Ger¬
many. The other kind is where the copper is impn-gr
nated with sulphur and silver. Of this kind is the gray
silver ore, like ears of corn, found in the slate quarries
_ 34 Hesse. 5. Larva ferrifera, with iron in form of a
4
bodies. These are either loose or indurated. Of the
loose kind are some roots of trees found at the lake Lan-
gelma in Finland. The indurated kinds are exemplified 
in some wood found at Orbissan in Bohemia. 6. Where
the iron is mineralized, as in the pyritaceous larvse, al¬
ready described.
VII. Where the bodies are tending to decomposition,
or in a way of destruction. Among these, our author
enumerates Mould and Turf. See likewise the ar¬
ticle Fossil.
We shall add the following description of a very cu¬
rious animal petrifaction, the Abb<£ de Sauyages, ce¬
lebrated for his refined taste and kn6wledge in natural
history, in a tour through Languedoc, between Alais
and Uzes, met with a narrow vein of no more than two
toises wide, which crosses the road, and is bordered on
one side by a gray dirty soil, and on the other by a dry
sandy earth, each of a vast extent, and on a level viitk
the narrow vein which separates them. In this narrow
vein only are contained petrified shells, cemented toge¬
ther by a whitish marl. They are in prodigious plen¬
ty-, among which there is one species which the abbe
floes not remember to have known to have been anj-
•where described, and may probably be a new acquisition
to natural history.
This shell has the shape of a horn, somewhat incur-
vated towards the base. It seems composed of several
cups, let into each other, which are sometimes found
separate. They have all deep channels, which extend,
as in many other shells, from the base to the aperture j
the projecting ribs winch form these channels are most¬
ly worn away, being rarely to be found entire. Some¬
times several are grouped together j and as a proof that
they are not a fortuitous assemblage caused by the petri¬
faction, they are fixed together through their whole
length, in such sort, that their base and aperture are
regularly turned the same way. The abbe should have
referred this to the genus which Linnaeus and the mar¬
quis d’Argenville named dentalis, had they not been let
into each other. He found some of them whose aper¬
ture or hollow was not stopped up by the petrifaction,
and seemed as cones adapted to one another, forming a
row of narrow cells, separated by a very thin partition :
this row occupied not more than one half of the cavity
< of the shell. ,
Our article has already extended to such a length as
to preclude any further additions ; we cannot, however,
finish it without observing, that fossil hones are very
common in Dalmatia. They are of various kinds, and
in their nature apparently very extraordinary 5 hut we
have found no tolerable account or probable conjecture
of their origin. Vitaliano Donati of Fadua, in his Sag-
trio sopra la storie naturuk deir Adriatico, was the first
who took notice of them} and Fortis, in his Travels into
Dalmatia, has given a copious account ol them. They
are most common in the islands of Cher so and Oscro.
See Fortis’s Travels into Dalmatia j and those of our
readers who wish to prosecute this inquiry may consult
with advantage Parkinson’s Organic Remains of a For¬
mer World, two vols. 4to.
PETRIFIED city. The story of a petrified city
is Well known all over Africa, ami has been believed
by many considerable persons even in F.urope. Louis
XIV. was so fully persuaded of its reality, that he or¬
dered
f’etrifaoj
tion,
Petrified
City. !
PET
Petrified
City.
ilcreil his ambassador to procure the body of a man pe
trified from it at any price. Dr Shaw’s account of this
ailan is as follows : “ About 40 years ago (now more
than 70), when M. le Maire was the French consul at
I ripoli, he made great inquiries, by order of the French
court, into the truth of the report concerning a petri¬
fied city as lias Sem ; and amongst other very curious
accounts relating to this place, he told me a remarkable
circumstance, to the great discredit, and even confuta¬
tion, of all that had been so positively advanced with
regard to the petrified bodies of men, children, and
other animals.
“ Some of janizaries, who, in collecting tribute
traversed the district ot lias Sem, promised him, that,
»i an adult person would be too cumbersome, they
would undertake, for a certain number of dollars, to
bring him from thence the body of a little child. Af¬
ter a great many pretended difficulties, delays, and dis¬
appointments, they produced at length a little Cupid,
which they had found, as he learned afterwards, among
Hip rums nF   i .1 1 . , &
t 241 ]
PET
sums.
the ruujs of Lephs ; and, to conceal the deceit, they
broke off the quiver, and some other of the distinguish¬
ing characteristics of that deity. However, he paid
them for it, according to promise, 1000 dollars, which
is about 150I. sterling of our money, as a reward for
their faithful service and hazardous undertaking ; ha¬
ving run the risk, as they pretended, of being strangled
1. they should have been discovered in thus delivering
up to an infidel, one of those unfortunate Mahometans,
as they take them originally to have been.
j ^'Ilt n°twithstanding this cheat and imposition had
made the consul desist from searching after the petri¬
fied bodies of men and other animals $ yet there was
ene matter of fact, as he told me, which still very
s rangely embarrassed him, and even strongly engaged
him in favour of the current report ,and tradition. This
was some little loaves of bread, as he called them,
winch had been brought to him from that place. His
reasoning, indeed thereupon, provided the pretended
matter of fact had been clear and evident, was just and
satisfactory 5 for where we find loaves of bread, there
as he urged, some persons must have been employed in
making them, as well as others for whom they were pre¬
pared. One of these loaves he had, among other petri-
fications, very fortunately brought with him to Cairo,
where I saw it, and found it to be an echinites of the
tliscoid kind, of the same fashion with one I had lately
found and brought with me from the deserts of Marah.
We may therefore reasonably conclude, that there is
nothing to be found at Has Sem, unless it be the trunks
0 rees, echinites, and such petrifications as have been
discovered at other places.
, f le ^aire’8 inquiries, which we find were sup¬
ported by the promise and performance of great rewards,
have brought nothing further to light. He could never
Jearn that any traces of walls, or buildings, or animals,
01 utensils, were ever to be seen within the verge of
these pretended petrifications. The like account I bad
rom a icilian renegado, who was tlie janisary that at-
Si T jh;ls‘ 1 WaS '!' Egypt; and as in bis earlier
A , 1 le, been a soldier of Tripoli, he assured me
nat he had been several times at Has Sem. This I had
confirmed again in my return from the Levant by the
TvigprpiQ-te-r°^t ie ®ntls^ factory at Tunis, who was like-
V«r 1 vvnr r^lega^° i and being the libertus or freed-
» ol. AVi, Fart L 4
man of the bashaw of Tripoli, was preferred by him to Petmica
be the bey or viceroy of the province of Darna, where lion,
as kem was immediately under his jurisdiction. His Petrobras
account was likewise the same j neither had he ever
seen, in his frequent journeys over this district, any
other petrifications than what are above mentioned.
that the petrified city, with its walls, castles, streets,
shops, cattle, inhabitants, and utensils, were all of them
at first the mere inventions of the Arabs, and afterwards
propagated by such persons, who, like the Tripoli am-
bassador, and his friend above mentioned, were credu¬
lous enough to believe them.
“ However, there is one remarkable circumstance
relating to lias Sem that deserves well to be recorded.
When the winds have blown away the billows of sand,
which frequently cover and conceal these petrifications,
they discover, m some of the lower and more depressed
places of this district, several little pools of water,
which is usually of so ponderous a nature, that, upon
drinking ,t, it passes through the body like quicksilver.
1 ns perhaps may be that petrifying fluid which has
all along contributed to the conversion of the p dm trees
and the echmi into stone: for the formation not only
of these., but of petrifications of all kinds, may be en¬
tirely owing to their having first of all lodged in a bed
ot loam, clay, sand, or some other proper nidus or mu-
tnx, and afterwards gradually been acted upon and per-
to be’’ SUC * a 1>etnfyin& flu‘d as m‘ may suppose this
To this account it may not he amiss to subjoin the
memorial of Cassem Aga, the Tripoli ambassador at the
court ot Britain. The city, he says, is situated two days
journey south from Onguela, and 17 days journey from
Iripoli by caravan to the south-east. “ As one of my
friends (says the ambassador) desired me to give him iii
wilting an account of what 1 knew touching the petri¬
fied city, I told him what I had heard from dift'erent
persons, and particularly from the mouth of one man of
credit who had been on the spot : that is to say, that it
was a very spacious city, of a round form, having great
and small streets therein, furnished with shops, with a
vast castle magnificently built : that he had seen there
several sorts of trees, the most part olives and palms,
all of stone, and of a blue or rather lead colour : that he
saw also figures of men in a posture of exercising their
different employments.; some holding in their hands
stuffs, othei'S bread, every one doing something, even
women suckling their children, and in the embraces of
their husbands, all of stone : that he went into the castle
by three different gates, though there were many more,
where he saw a man lying upon a bed of stone : that
there were guards at the gates with pikes and javelins,
in their hands: in short, that he saw in this wonderful
city many sorts of animals, as camels, oxen, horses
asses, sheep, and birds, all of stone, and of the colour
above mentioned.
Me have subjoined this account, because it shows in
striking colours the amazing credulity of mankind, and
the ayiditv with which they swallow the marvellous, and
the difficulty of discovering the truth respecting places
or things at a distance from us.
PETROBRUSSIANS, a religious sect, which had
its rise in France and the Netherlands about the year
1 no. The name is derived from Peter Bruys, a Pro-
\en^a . who made the most laudable attempt to reform
H h the
PET [
„ , tliB abuses and remove the superstition that disgraced
ZZ^\ simplicity of the gospe, His o owers
I! were numerous; and for go years h,s labour m the mt
Pelronius. j t waS exemplary and unremitted. He was how
   everjburnt in the year xi3o by an enraged populace
^Vhe^hiefof Beuys’s followers was a monk named
Henry; from whom the Petrobrussians were also called
Hen,i tems. Peter the Venerable, abbot of Clugny, has
an express treatise against the Petrobrussians •, in the
preface to which he reduces their opinions to five heads.
\ They denied that children before the age of reason
can be justified by baptism, in regard it is our own faith
Sat saves by baptism. 2. They held that no churches
should be built, but that those that already are should
be pulled down •, an inn being as proper for prayers as a
temple, ami a stable as an altar. 3. I hat the cross ought
to be pulled down and burnt, because we ought to abhor
the instruments of our Saviour’s passion 4-That e
real body and blood of Christ are not exhibited in the
eucharistj but merely represented by their fi|ures a"d
symbols. 5. That sacrifices, alms, prayers &c. do not
avail the dead. F. Langlois objects Mamcheism to the
Petrobrussians 5 and says, they maintained two gods, the
one good, the other evil : but this we rather esteem an
effect of his zeal for the catholic cause, which deter¬
mined him to blacken the adversaries thereof, than any
real sentiment of the Petrobrussians.
PETROJOANNITES, were followers of Peter
John, or Peter Joannis, t.e. Peter the son of John, who
flourished in the 12th century. His doctrine was no
known till after his death, when his body was taken out
of his grave and burnt. His opinions were, that e
alone had the knowledge of the true sense wherein the
apostles preached the gospel j that the reasonable sou
is not the form of man •, that there is no grace infused
by baptism 5 and that Jesus Christ was pierced with a
lance on the cross before he expired.
PETROLEUM, or Rock Oil •, a thick oily sub-
stance exuding from the earth and “U“tei1 SU'‘
face of wells in many parts of the world. See Mini-
kalogy Index. c a ,
PETROMYZON, the Lamprey, a genus of fishes
belonging to the order Cartilaginei. See IcHTHYOLO-
C YpETRONIUS was a renowned Roman senator.
When governor of Egypt, he permitted Herod, king of
the Jews, to purchase in Alexandria any quantity of
corn which he should judge necessary for the supply of
his subjects, who were afflicted with a severe famine.
WhenTiberius died, Cams Caligula, who succeeded him,
took from Vitellius the government of Syria, and gave
it to Petronins, who discharged the duties oi his offic
with dignity and honour. From his inclination to favour
the .lews, he run the risk of losing the emperor s friend¬
ship and his own life 5 for when that prince gave orders
to have his statue deposited in the temple of Jerusalem,
Petronius, finding that the Jews would rather suffer
death than see that sacred place profaned, was unwilling
to have recourse to violent measures j and therefore pxe-
ferred a moderation, dictated by humanity to a cruel
obedience. Me must not conlound him with another
of the same name, viz. Petronius Gramus, who was a
centurion in the eighth legion, and served under C<esa
in the Gallic war. In his voyage to Africa, of which
3
242 ] PET
country he had been appointed q u^stor, the ship in which Petrcniu,
he sailed was taken by Scipio, who caused all tbe soidims
to he put to the sword, and promised to save the quae
stor’s life provided that he would renounce Caesars
party. To this proposal Petronius replied, that Caesar s
officers were accustomed to grant life t° others, and not
to receive itand, at the same time, he stabbed him¬
self with his own sword. ,
Petronjus Arbiter, Titus, a celebrated critic and
polite writer of antiquity, the favourite of Nero, sup¬
posed to be the same mentioned by lacitus |n the lfith
book of his Annals. He was proconsul of Bithjmia
and afterwards consul, and appeared capable of the
greatest employments. He was one of Nero s princi¬
pal confidants, and in a manner thesuperintendant of his
pleasures-, for that prince thought nothing agreeable or
delightful hut what was approved by Petronms. Ihe
great favours shown him drew upon him the envy of li-
gellinus, another of Nero’s favourites, who accused him
of being concerned in a conspiracy against the emperor j
on which Petronius was seized, and was sentenced to die.
He met death with a striking indifference, and seems to
have tasted it nearly as he had done his pleasures He
would sometimes open a vein, and sometimes close it, con¬
versing with his friends in the meanwhile, not on the im¬
mortality of the soul, which was no part of his creed,
hut on topics which pleased his fancy, as of love-verses,
agreeable and passionate airs 5 so that it has been said
Ais dying was barely ceasing to live.” Of this disciple
of Epicurus, Tacitus gives the following character .
“ He was (says he) neither a spendthrift nor a debau¬
chee, like the generality of those who ruin themselves 5
but a refined voluptuary, who devoted the day to sleep,
and the night to the duties of his office, and to pleasure.
This courtier is much distinguished by a satire which he
wrote, and secretly conveyed to Nero ; in which he in¬
geniously describes, under borrowed names, the character
of this prince. Voltaire is of opinion that we have no
more of this performance hut an extract made by some
obscure libertine, without either taste or
Peter Petit discovered at Traw in Dalmatia, in 1665,
a considerable fragment containing the sequel of In-
malcion’s Feast. This fragment, which was printed the
year after at Padua and at Paris, ,m)duced a paper wax
among the learned. While some affirmed that it was the
work of Petronius, and others denied it to be so. Petit
continued to assert his right to the discovery of the ma¬
nuscript, and sent it to Rome where it was aeknow-
ledo-ed to he a production of the 15th century. Ihe
French critics, who had attacked its authenticity, were
silent from the moment it was deposited in the roya
library. It is now generally attributed to Petronius,
and found in every subsequent edition of the wor s o
that refined voluptuary. The public did not form the
same favourable opinion of some ether fragments, winch
were extracted from a manuscript found at Bdgraje ir
1688, and printed at Pans by Nodot m 1694, though
they are ascribed by the editor Charpentier, and several
other learned men, to Petronius 5 yet, on account of the
Gallicisms, and other barbarous expressions with which
they abound, they have generally been considered as
unworthy of that author. His genuine works are 1. A
Poem on the civil war between Caesar and 1 °mpey,
Salted into prose by Abbe de Maples «d into
French verse by President Boulner; 1737, in
PET
Petronius tronlus, full of fire and enthusiasm, and disgusted with
0 Lucan’s flowery language, opposed Pharsalia to Phar-
. Petteia- , salia; but his work, though evidently superior to the
other in some respects, is by no means in the true style
of epic poetry. 2. A Poem on the Education of the
Homan Youth. 3. Two Ti’eatises ; one upon the Cor¬
ruption of Eloquence, and the other on the Causes of
the Decay of Arts and Sciences. 4. A Poem on the
Vanity of Dreams. 5. The Shipwreck of Licas. 6.
Reflections on the Inconstancy of Human Life. And
7. Trimalcion’s Banquet. To this last performance’
morality is not much indebted. It is a description of
the pleasures of a corrupted court 5 and the painter is
rather an ingenious courtier than a person whose aim is
to perform abuses. The best editions of Petronius are
those published at Venice, 1499, m 4to > at Amsterdam,
1669, in 8vo, cmn notis variorum; Ibid, with Boschius’s
notes, 1677, in 24to; and 1700, two vols. in 2410.
The edition of variorum was reprinted in 1743, in two
vols. 4to, with the learned Peter Burman’s commenta¬
ries. Petronius died in the year 65 or 66.
Petronius Maximus, was born in the year 395, of
an illustrious family, being at first a senator and consul
of Rome. He put on the imperial purple in 455, after
having effected the assassination of Valentinian III. In
order to establish himself upon the throne, he married
Eudoxia the widow of that unfortunate prince j and
as she was ignorant of his villany, he confessed to her,
in a transport of love, that the strong desire he had of
being her husband, had made him commit this atrocious
crime. Whereupon Eudoxia privately applied to Gen-
seric, king of the Vandals, who coming into Italy with
a very powerful army, entered Rome, where the usurper
then was. The unhappy wretch endeavoured to make
his escape j but the soldiers and people, enraged at his
cowardice, fell upon him, and overwhelmed him with a
shower of stones. His body was dragged through the
streets of the city for three days j and, after treating
it with every mark of disgrace, they threw it into the
Tiber the 12th of June the same year, 455. He reign¬
ed only 77 days. He had some good qualities. He loved
and cultivated the sciences. He was prudent in his
councils, circumspect in his actions, equitable in his
judgments ; a facetious companion, and steady friend.
He had the good fortune to win the affections of every
body, while he remained a private character; but as a
prince, he was so much the more detestable, in that, af¬
ter he had obtained the throne by villany, he kept pos¬
session of it only by violence. The crown was scarcely
on his head before it appeared to him an insupportable
burden. “ Happy Democles (exclaimed he in his de¬
spair), thou wert a king during a single entertainment.”
PETROSA, ossa, in Anatomy, a name given to the
fourth and fifth bones of the cranium, called also ossa
temporum and ossa squamosa; the substance whereof,
as their first and last names express, is squamose and
very hard. See Anatomy Index.
PETROSELINUM (apium petroselinum, Lin.)
Parsley, a plant which is commonly cultivated for culi¬
nary purposes. See Botany and Gardening Index.
PETTEIA, in the ancient music, a term to which
we have no one corresponding in our language.
The melopoeia, or the art of arranging sounds in suc¬
cession so as to make melody, is divided into three parts,
which the Greeks call lepsis, mixis, and chresis; the
[ 243 ]
PET
Latins Mimpl,,,, mixio, and mvs; and tlie Italians prcrn,
mescolamento, and uso. The last of these is called by the
Greeks nirluct, and by the Italians pettia; which there- 1
fore means the art of making a just discernment of all
the manners of ranging or combining sounds among
themselves, so as they may produce their effect, i. e.
may express the several passions intended to be raised.
Ihus it shows what sounds are to be used, and what
not 5 how often they are severally to be repeated 5 with
which to begin, and with which to end; whether with
a grave sound to rise, or an acute one to fall, &c. The
petteia constitutes the manners of the music; chooses
out this or that passion, this or that motion of the soul,
to be awakened ; and determines whether it be proper
to excite it on this or that occasion. The petteia, there¬
fore, is in music much what the manners are in poetry.
It is not easy to discover whence the denomination
should have been taken by the Greeks, unless from
-xiTlux, their game of chess, the musical petteia being
a sort of combination and arrangement of sounds, as
C1 T3Srr!lrpO,ieCeS callecl calculif or “ chess-men.”
"El 1Y, Sir Wieleam, son of Anthony Petty, a
clothier, was born at Rumsey, a small town in tlamp-
slnre, in 1623 i and while a boy took great delight
in spending his time among the artificers, whose trades
he could work at when but twelve years of age.
Then he went to the grammar school there: at fif¬
teen he was master of the Latin, Greek, and French
tongues, and of arithmetic and those parts of practical
geometry and astronomy useful to navigation. Soon
after he went to Caen in Normandy, and Paris, where
he studied anatomy, and read Vesalius with Mr Hobbes.
Upon his return to England, he was preferred in the
king’s navy. In 1643, when the war betweep the king
and parliament grew hot, he went into the Netherlands
and I ranee for three years ; and having vigorously pro¬
secuted his studies,'especially in physic, at Utrecht, Ley¬
den, Amsterdam, and Paris, he returned home to Rum¬
sey. In 1647, he obtained a patent to teach the art of
double writing for seventeen years. In 1648, he pub¬
lished at London “ Advice to Mr Samuel Hartlib, for
the advancement of some particular parts of learning.”
A.t this time he adhered to the prevailing partv of the
kingdom ; and went to Oxford, where he taught ana¬
tomy and chemistry, and was created a doctor of physic.
In 1650, he was made professor of anatomy there; and
soon after a member of the college of physicians in Lon¬
don. The same year he became physician to the army
in Ireland ; where he continued till 1659, and acquired
a great fortune. After the restoration, he was introdu¬
ced to King Charles II. who knighted him in 1661. In
1622, he published “ A Treatise of taxes and contribu¬
tions.” Next year he was greatly applauded in Ireland
lor Ins invention of a double-bottomed ship. He died
at London, in 1687, of a gangrene in the foot, occa¬
sioned by the swelling of the gout.
The character of his genius is sufficiently seen in his
writings, which were much more numerous than those
we have mentioned above. Among these, it is said, he
wrote the history of his own life, which unquestionably
contained a full account of his political and religious
principles, as may be conjectured from what he has left
us upon those subjects in his will. In that he has these
remarkable words : “ As for legacies to the poor, I am
at a stand ; and for beggars by trade and election, I give
H h 2 them
Felicia,
Petty.
PET
[ 244 3
P E Y
petly them nothing: as for impotents by the hand of God, the
1 public ought to maintain them : as for those tvho can get
Petworth j10 work, the magistrates should cause them to be em-
' V ’ loyed • which may he well done in Ireland, where are
fifteen acres of improveable land for every head : as for
prisoners for crimes by the king, or lor debt by their
prosecutors, those who compassionate the suftenngs of
uny object, let them relieve themselves by relieving such
suLeis / that is, give them alms (a), &c I am con¬
tented that I have assisted all my poor relations, and
put many into a way of getting them own bread, and
have laboured in public works and inventions, and have
sought out real objects of charity j and do hereby con¬
jure all who partake of my estate, from time to time to
do the same at their peril. Nevertheless, to answer cus¬
tom, and to take the sure side, I give twenty pounds to
the most wanting of the parish wherein I die.
his religion, he says, “ I die in the profession of that
faith, and in the practice of such worship, as I fi
established by the laws of my country ; not being able
to believe what I myself please, nor to worship God bet¬
ter than by doing as I would be done unto, and obseiv-
ina the laws of my country, and expressing my love and
honour to Almighty God, by such signs and tokens as
are understood to be such by the people with whom I
live.” He died possessed of a very large fortune, and
\ his family was afterwards ennobled.
The variety of pursuits in which Sir A\illiam Petty
was engaged, shows him to have had a genius capable
of any thing to which he chose to apply it j and it is
very extraordinary, that a man of so active and busy a
spirit could find time to write so many things as it ap¬
pears he did. ... ,
Petty, any thing little or diminutive, when compa¬
red with another. . ,
pETTY-Bag, an office in chancery j the three cleiks
of which record the return of all inquisitions out ol every
county, and make all patents of comptrollers, gaugers,
customers, &x.
PeTTY-Ckaps. See Motacilla, Ornithology
Index*
PETTY-Pogger, a little tricking solicitor or attorney,
without either skill or conscience.
Petty, or Petit, Larceny. See Larceny.
PETTY-Patees, among confectioners, a sort ot small
pies, made of a rich crust filled with sweetmeats
PsTTY-Singles, among falconers, are the toes ol a hawk.
Petty-Tally, in the sea language, a competent al¬
lowance of victuals, according to the number ot the ship s
° Petty, or Petit, Treason. See Treason.
PETUNSE, in Natural History, one of the two sub¬
stances of which porcelain or china-ware is made. Ihe.
petunse is a coarse kind of flint or pebble, the surface ol
which is not so smooth when broken as that ol our com¬
mon flint. See Porcelain. # „ .,
PETWORTH, in Sussex in England, live miles
from Midhurst and the Sussex Downs, and 49 fr?m
London, is a large and handsome town, with 2664 in¬
habitants. It is adorned with several seats of gentlemen,
particularly the magnificent seat of the Percies, earls of Pctwortli
Northumberland, many of whom lie buried in a sepa- 11^
rate vault of its church. In the duke of Somerset s ar-
mory, in this place, there is a sword which, by circum¬
stances, appears to have been the weapon of the famous
Henry Hotspur, though it is less unwieldy than other
ancient swords. ~
PEUCEDANUM, or Sulphur-wort, a genus ct
plants belonging to the pentandria class, and in the na¬
tural method ranking under the 45th order, Umbellate*.
See Botany Index. . a
PEUTEMAN, Peter, was born at Rotterdam in
16 co, and was a good painter of inanimate objects ; but
the^ most memorable particular relative to this artist was
the incident which occasioned his death. ...
He was requested to paint an emblematical picture 0j
of mortality, representing human skulls and bones, suv-Painters
rounded with rich gems and musical instruments, to ex¬
press the vanity of this world’s pleasures, amusements,
or possessions • and that he might imitate nature with
the greater exactness, he went into an anatomy room,
where several skeletons hung by wires from the ceiling,
and bones, skulls, &c. lay scattered about J and imme¬
diately prepared to make his designs.
While he was thus employed, either by fatigue, or
bv intense study, insensibly he fell asleep 5 but was sud¬
denly roused by a shock of an earthquake, which haF
pened at that instant, on the 18th of September 1692.
The moment he awoke, he observed the skeletons move
about as they were shaken in different directions, and
the loose skulls roll from one side of the room to the
other-, and being totally ignorant of the cause, he was
struck with such a horror, that he threw himself down
stairs, and tumbled into the street half dead. His
friends took all possible pains to efface the impression
made on his mind by that unlucky event, and acquaint¬
ed him with the real cause ol the agitation of the ske¬
letons ; yet the transaction still affected his spirits in so
violent a manner, that it brought on a disorder, which
in a short time ended his days. His general subjects
were either allegorical or emblematical allusions to the
shortness and misery oi human life. t achc
PEWIT, Sea-crow, or Mire-Crow. See Larus,
Ornithology Index. . . ,
PEWTER, a factitious metal used in making domes¬
tic utensils, as plates, dishes, &c.-The basis of the me¬
tal is tin, united to small portions of lead^mc, bismuth,
and antimony. “ We have (says Dr Watson) three
sorts of pewter in common use •, they are distinguished
by the name ot Plate, Trifle, or Ley. e l1 a e P
ter is used for plates and dishes •, the trifle, chiefly foi
pints and quarts 5 and the ley-metal for wine measures,
&c Our very best pewter is said to consist ot 100
parts tin, and 17 of antimony, though others allow on y
10 parts of the latter*.” Besides this composition,*^
there are other kinds, compounded of tin, antimony, bis-
ninth, and copper, in several proportions. '
PEYRERE, Isaac la, a remarkable charactei for
versatility in religious opinions, was born at Bourdeaux,
of Protestant parents, in 1594. He entered the service
(A) I„ the town of Rumsey .here ie a honee which was given hv him for .he maintenance of a parity-school.
tlie rent of which is still applied to that use.
P E Y [S
.. of the Piiuce of Conde, who was much pleased with
the singularity of his genius. From the perusal of St
Paul’s writings he took into his head to aver, that Adam
was not the first of the human race j and, in order to
prove this extravagant opinion, he published in 1655 a
book, which was printed in Holland in 4to and in
12mo, with this title: Prceadamitce, siveexercitatio super
versibus 12, 13, 14. cap. 15. Epistolce Pauli ad Roma¬
nos. This work was burnt at Paris, and the author im¬
prisoned at Brussels, through the influence of the arch¬
bishop of Malines’s grand vicar. The Prince of Conde
having obtained his liberty, he travelled to Rome in
1656, and there gave in to Pope Alexander VII. a so¬
lemn renunciation both of Calvinism and Preadamism.
His conversion was not thought to be sincere, at least
with regard to this last heresy. His desire to be the
head of a new sect is evident; and his book discovers
his ambition ; for he there pays many compliments to
the Jews, and invites them to attend his lectures. Upon
his return to Paris, notwithstanding the earnest solicita¬
tions of his holiness to remain at Rome, he went again
into the Prince of Conde’s service in the quality of
librarian. Some time after he retired to the seminary
des Vertus, where he died the 30th of January 1676, at
the age of 82, after the sacraments of the church had
been administered to him. Father Simon says, that when
he was importuned in his last moments to retract the
opinion which he had formed respecting the Preada-
mites, his answer was, Hiqueecunque ignorant blasphe-
man t. FI is having no fixed sentiments of religion is
supposed to proceed more from a peculiar turn of mind
than a corruption of the heart; for good nature, sim¬
plicity of manners, and humanity, seem to have formed
bis character. “ He was (says Niceron) a man of a
very equal temper, and most agreeable conversation.
He was a little too fond, however, of indulging his
wit, which sometimes bordered on raillery ; but he took
care never to hurt nor wound the feelings of his neigh¬
bour. His learning was extremely limited. He knew
nothing either of Greek or Hebrew ; and yet he ven¬
tured to give a new interpretation of several passages of
the sacred volume. He piqued himself on his know¬
ledge of the Latin ; but excepting a few poets which
he had read, he was by no means an adept in that lan¬
guage. His style is very unequal j sometimes swelling
and pompous, at other times low and grovelling.” Be¬
sides the work already mentioned, he has left behind
him, I. A treatise as singular as it is scarce, intitled,
Du rappel de Juifs, 1643, in 8vo. The recal of the Is¬
raelites, in the opinion of this writer, will be not only
°i a spiritual nature, but they will be reinstated in the
temporal blessings which they enjoyed before their re¬
jection. They will again take possession of the holy
land, which will resume its former fertility. God will
then raise up to them a king more just, and more victo¬
rious, than any of their former sovereigns had been.
Now, though all this is doubtless to be understood spi¬
ritually of Jesus Christ, yet our author is of opinion,
that it ought also to be understood of a temporal prince,
who shall arise for the purpose of effecting the temporal
deliverance of the Jews; and that this prince shall be
no other than the king of France, for the following rea¬
sons, which, it is believed, will carry conviction to few
m inds: 1. Because the two titles of Most Christian, and
of Eldest Son of the Church, are ascribed to him by way
k5 ] P E Y
of excellence. 2. Because it is presumable, if the kings
ot France possess the virtue of curing the evil or scrofu¬
la, which can only afflict the bodies of the Jews; that
they will likewise have the power of curing their obsti¬
nate incredulity, and the other inveterate diseases of
their souls. 3. Because the kings of France have for
their arms z. fleur de luce; and because the beauty of
the church is in scripture compared to the beauty of
lilies. 4. Because it is probable that France will be the
country whither the Jews shall first be invited to come
and embrace the Christian faith, and whither they shall
retreat from the persecution of the nations that have
dominion over them ; for France is a land of freedom,
it admits of no slavery, and whoever touches it is free.
Reyrere, after explaining his strange system, proposes it
method of converting the Jews to Christianity ; a me¬
thod, says Niceron, which will not be acceptible to ma¬
ny. Fie proposes to reduce the whole of religion to a
bare faith or belief in Jesus Christ; taking it for grant¬
ed, without any shadow of proof, that “ it is as difficult
to comprehend the articles of our faith, as to observe
the ceremonies of Moses.—From this scheme (says he)
there would result a double advantage to the church *
the reunion of the Jews, and of all those Christians who
are separated from the body of the church.” Peyrere,
when he wrote this book, w'as a Calvinist; but his Cal¬
vinism too nearly resembled the Deism of our age. He
confessed himself, that his reason for quitting the Prote¬
stants was on account of their being the first and princi¬
pal opposers of his book concerning the Preadamites.
If. A curious and entertaining account of Greenland,
printed in 8vo, 1647. When he was asked, on occasion
of this work, why there were so many witches' in the
north P he replied, “ It is because part of the property
of these pretended conjurers, when condemned to suffer
death, is declared to belong to their judges.” HI. An-
equally interesting account of Iceland, 1663, 8vo. IV.
A letter to Philotimus, 1658, in 8vo, in which he ex¬
plains the reasons of his recantation, &c. We find in
Moreri the following epitaph of him, written by a poet
of his own times.
La Peyrere ici git, ce bon Israelite,
Huguenot, Catholique, enfin Preadamite ;
Quatre religions lui plurent a la fois, 1
Pt son indifference etoit si peu commune,
Qu’apres quatre-vingts ans qu’il eut a faire uu
choix,
Le bon homme partit, & h’en choisit pas une.
PEYRONIUS, Francis de la, for a long time
practised surgery at Paris with such distinguished eclat,
that he obtained for himself the appointment of first sur¬
geon to Louis XV. He improved this favourable situ¬
ation with his majesty, and procured to his profession
those honours which had the effect to quicken its pro¬
gress, and those establishments which contributed to ex¬
tend its benefits. The Royal College of Surgery at
Paris was founded by his means in 1731* was enlight¬
ened by his knowledge, and encouraged by his munifi¬
cence. At his death, which happened at Versailles the
24th ot April 1747, he bequeathed to the society of
surgeons in Paris two thirds of his effects, his estate of
Marigui, which was sold to the king for 200,000 livres,
and his library. This useful citizen also left to the so¬
ciety of surgeons at Montpelier two houses, situated in
that
P E Y
[ 246 ] ^ ^ ^ 1. A
that to,™, wUh ,00,000 feres, for the purpose of ’T
Pcyrouse. erecting there a chirurgical amphitheatre. Heappai- unfortunately proved his last. Of this voyage, as , Pez1^-
'—Y—' ed the same society universal legatee for the third of h s which ^ed, full accounts have been al-
effects; and all these legacies contain c auses \v o rea(]v published from which it is manifest that Peyrouse
object is to promote tbe r11)?1'0 solicited was Admirably qualified to discharge such a trust. He
improvement of surgery j tor which ne always ^ spamen : a man of *T1Q-
the protection of the court. At the time of the famous
dispute between the physicians and s.“rgeons!he "nntr;aat'
ed the Chancellor d’Aguessan to build up a braxenwal
between the two bodies. “ I will do so, replied the mi¬
nister, but on what side of the wall shall we place the
sick:” Peyronius afterwards behaved with more mode-
ration. He w^as a philosopher without any ostentation j
but his philosophy was tempered by a long acquaintance
with the world and with the court. The acuteness and
delicacy of his understanding, joined to his natural vi¬
vacity, rendered his conversation agreeable j and all
these advantages were crowned with a quality still more
valuable, an uncommon degree of sympathy for those in
distress. He was no sooner known to be at his estate m
the country, than his house was filled with sick people,
who came to him from the distance of 7 or 8 leagues
round about. He had once a plan of establishing, on
tliis spot, an hospital, to which he intended to retire
that he might devote the remainder of his life to the
service of the poor.
PEYROUSE, or Perouse, John FrancisGaloup
DE la, the celebrated but unfortunate French naviga¬
tor, was born at Albi in the year 1741. His fa¬
ther intended to train him up to a maritime life, tor
which purpose he sent him, when very young, to the
marine school, where he became enthusiastically attach¬
ed to his profession, and ambitious to emulate the tame
of the most celebrated navigators. „ r tvt
He was appointed midshipman on the 19th ot JNo-
vember 1756, behaving with great bravery in that sta¬
tion; and was severely wounded in the engagement be¬
tween Hawke and Conflans, on the 20th of November
lyrn The Formidable, in which he served, was ta¬
ken after a vigorous resistance; and it is probable that
Peyu-ouse reaped some advantage from his acquaintance
with British officers. „ ^ , . .
He was promoted, on the 1st of October 1764, to
the rank of lieutenant; and as he abhorred a life of ease
and idleness, he contrived to be employed in six diitei-
ent ships of war during the peace that subsisted between
Great Britain and France. In 1716 he was promoted
to the rank of master and commander. In 1779 be
commanded the Amazone, belonging to the squadron
of Vice-admiral Count d’Estamg; and when that officer
engaged Admiral Byron, the post of La Peyrouse was
to carry the orders of the admiral to the whole ot the
line. He afterwards took the sloop Ariel, and contri¬
buted to the capture of the Experiment.
In the year 17S2, La Peyrouse was sent with the
Sceptre of 74 guns, and two frigates of 36 guns each,
with some troops and field-pieces on board, to destroy
the English settlements in Hudson’s Bay, which was
easily accomplished, as nothing was found on shore to
oppose the smallest force. Having destroyed the settle¬
ments, he learned that some of the English had fled at
his approach into the woods. He generously left them
provisions and arms to defend themselves against the
savages.
was admirably quaimeu
was an experienced and skilful seamen ; a man of ma¬
thematical and physical science, uncorrupted by that
false philosophy which disgraced many ot his attend¬
ants, and capable of the utmost perseverance in every
commendable pursuit. To these excellent qualities he
added caution and courage, with a disposition truly be¬
nevolent towards the savages whom he visited. Most
of the calamities attendant on the voyage, with the ex¬
ception of the last, were occasioned by the disobedience
of his officers, or their neglecting to follow his advice.
The last dispatches of this great and truly excellent
man were dated from Botany Bay, February 7. 1788 7
and since that period, no account of him has been re¬
ceived which is entitled to the smallest credit.
PEZAY,N. Masson, Marquis of, born at Pans,
very early applied himself to the study of letters, and
afterwards went into the army. He was made a captain
of dragoons; and had the honour of giving some les¬
sons on tactics to the ill-fated Louis X\ I. Being ap¬
pointed inspector general of some coasting vessels, he re¬
paired to the maritime towns, and executed his commis-
'sion with more care and attention than was to have been
expected from a votary of the muses. But as, at the
same time, he showed too much haughtiness, a complaint
was brought against him to the court, and he was ba¬
nished to his country seat, where he died soon after, in
the beginning of 1778- He was the intimate friend
and companion of Dorat. He had studied, and success¬
fully imitated, his manner of writing; but his poems
have more delicacy, and are less disfigured with trifling
conversations of gallantry. He has left behind him, I.
A translation of Catullus, which is not much esteemed.
2. Les Soirees Helvetiennes, Alsaciennes, et 1 ranc- Com-
toises, in 8vo, 1770; a work very agreeably diversified,
full of charming landscapes, but written with too little
accuracy. 3. Les Soirees Proven5ales, in manuscript,
which are said to be nowise inferior in merit to the fore¬
going ones. 4. La Rosiere de Salency ; a pastoral in
three acts, and which has been performed with success
on the Italian theatres. 5. Les campagnes de Maile-
bois, in 3 vols 4to, and a volume of maps.
PEZENAS, a place in France about 24 miles irom
Montpelier. The soil about it is sandy. The rock is
limestone. The fields are open, and produce corn, wine,
and oil. There are to be seen at this place the exten¬
sive ruins of a castle, which formerly belonged to the
Montmorency family. This strong fortress was hewn
out of the rock on which it stands, and appears to have
been complicated and full of art. The walls are lofty,
and above 8 feet in thickness. The rock, which is per¬
pendicular, is a mass of shells, such as turbimtes, oysters,
cockles, with a calcareous cement. From hence the
circumjacent plain, decked with luxuriant verdure, and
shut in by rugged mountains, aftords a most deligi 11
prospect. E. Long. 3. 35- N. Lat. 43. 18.
PEZIZA, Cup-mushroom, a genus oi plants ot tne
natural order of fungi, belonging to the cryptogamia
class. See Botany Index. phACA
P H A
Phaca
hredrus
PHACA, a genus of plants belonging to the tliadel
phia class j and in the natural method ranking under
the 22d order, Papilionacece. See Botany Index.
PHiEA, in 'Antiquity, a famous sow which infested
the neighbourhood of Cromyon. Theseus destroyed it
as he was travelling from Troexene to Athens to make
himself known to his father. Some imagine that the
boar of Calydon sprang from this sow. According to
some authors, Phaea was a woman who prostituted her¬
self to strangers, whom she murdered, and afterwards
plundered.
PHAEACIA, one of the ancient names of the island
Corcyra. Phceaces the people, who were noted for
their indolence and luxury.
PHiEDON, a disciple of Socrates, who had been
seized by pirates in his youth j and the philosopher, who
seemed to discover something uncommon in bis counte¬
nance, bought his liberty for a sum of money. Phae-
don, after Socrates’s death, returned to Elis his native
country, where he founded a sect of philosophers who com¬
posed what was called the Eiiac school. The name of
Phaedon is affixed to one of Plato’s dialogues.
PHAEDRA, in fabulous history, was a daughter of
Minos and Pasiphae j she married Theseus, by whom
she was the mother of Aoamas and Demophoon. They
had already lived for some time in conjugal felicity,
when Venus, who hated all the descendants of Apollo,
because he had discovered her amours with Mars, inspi¬
red Phaedra with the strongest passion for Plippolytus
the son of Theseus, by the amazon Hippolyte. This
passion she long attempted to stifle, but in vain $ and
therefore, in the absence of Theseus, she addressed Hip-
polytus with all the impatience of desponding love.
He rejected her with horror and disdain. She, how¬
ever, incensed by the reception she had met, resolved to
punish his coldness and refusal j and at the return of
Theseus she accused Hippolytus of attempts upon her
virtue. He listened to her accusation $ and without
hearing Hippolytus’s defence, he banished him from his
kingdom, and implored Neptune, who had promised to
grant three of his requests, to punish him in an exem¬
plary manner. As Hippolytus fled from Athens, his
horses were suddenly terrified by a sea monster, which
Neptune had sent on the shore ; and he was thus drag¬
ged through precipices and over rocks, trampled under
the feet of his horses, and crushed under the wheels of
his chariot. When his tragical end was known at A-
thens, Phaedra confessed her crime, and hung herself in
despair, unable to survive one whose death her extreme
guilt had occasioned. The death of Plippolytus, and the
infamous passion of Phaedra, is the subject of one of the
tragedies of Euripides and of Seneca. She was buried
at Trcezene, where her tomb was still to be seen in the
time of the geographer Pausanias, near the temple of
Venus, which she had built to render the goddess favour¬
able to her incestuous passion. Near her tomb was a
myrtle, whose leaves were full of small holes, which, it
was reported, Phaedra had done with a hair pin, when
the vehemence of her passion had rendered her melan¬
choly and almost desperate. She was represented in a
painting in Apollo’s temple at Delphi, as suspended in
the air, while her sister Ariadne stood near to her,
and fixed her eyes upon her.
PHAEDRUS, an ancient I^atin writer, who compo¬
sed five books of fables, in iambic verse. He was a
[ 247 ]
P H A
Thracian j and was born, as there is reason to conclude, phtcdru*
some years before Julius Caesar made himself master of ||
the Roman empire. How he came into the service of Phaeton.
Augustus is not known: but bis being called Augustus'1 s ' r—*
freedman in the title of the book, shews that he had
been that emperor’s slave. The fables of Phaedrus are
valued for their wit and good sense, expressed in very
pure and elegant language ; and it is remarkable that
they remained buried in libraries altogether unknown to
the public, until they were discovered and published by
Peter Pithou, or Pithceus, a learned French gentleman,
toward the close of the 16th century.
J *11AEN OMEN ON, in philosophy, denotes any
remarkable appearance, whether in the heavens or
earth, and whether discovered by observation or expe¬
riment.
PHAETON, in fabulous history, was the son of the
Sun, or Phoebus and Clymene, one of the Oceanides.
He was son of Cephalus and Aurora, according to He¬
siod and Pausanias j or of Tithonus and Aurora, ac¬
cording to Apollodorus. He is, howrever, more gene¬
rally acknowledged to be the son of Phoebus and Cly-
menc. He was naturally of a lively disposition, and a
handsome figure. Venus became enamoured of him,
and entrusted him with the care of one of her temples.
This distinguishing favour of the goddess rendered him
vain and aspiring; and when Epaphus, the son of lo,
had told him, to check his pride, that he was not the
son of Phoebus, Phaeton resolved to know his true ori¬
gin, and at the instigation of his mother he visited the
palace of the sun. He begged Phoebus, that if he real¬
ly were his father, he would give him incontestable
proofs of his paternal tenderness, and convince the world
of his legitimacy. Phoebus received him with great
tenderness, and swore by Styx to grant whatever he re¬
quested as a proof of his acknowledging him for his
son. The youth boldly asked the direction of the cha¬
riot of the sun for one day. His father, grieved and
surprised at this demand, used all his arguments to dis¬
suade him from the rash attempt; but all was in vain :
and being by his oath reduced to submit to his obstina¬
cy, entrusted him with the reins, after he had directed
him how to use them. The young adventurer was how¬
ever soon sensible of his madness. He was unable to
guide the fiery steeds ; and loosing the reins, Jupiter, to
prevent his consuming the heavens and the earth, struck
him with a thunderbolt, and hurled him from his seat
into the river Eridanus or Po. His sisters Phaethusa,
Lambetia, and Phoebe, lamenting his loss upon its banks,
were changed by the gods into black poplar trees;
and Cycnus king of Liguria, also grieving at his fate,
was transformed into a swan.
The poets say, that while Phaeton was driving the
chariot of his father, the blood of the Ethiopians was
dried up; and their skin became black ; a colour which
is still preserved among the greatest part of the inhabi¬
tants of the torrid zone. The territories of Libya
were also, they tell us, parched up, on account of their
too great vicinity to the sun ; and ever since, Africa,
unable to recover her original verdure and fruitfulness,
has exhibited a sandy country and uncultivated waste.
According to those who explain this poetical fable.
Phaeton was a Ligurian prince, who studied astronomy,
and in whose age the neighbourhood of the Po was vi¬
sited with uncommon heats.
Phaetok,
P H A
[ 248 ]
P H A
r'naetoii Phaeton, a genus of birds belonging to tlie order of
|| anseres. See Ornithology Index.
Plialaris. PHAGED/ENA, in Medicine, denotes a corroding
11 PHAGEDENIC medicines, those used to eat off
-proud or fungous flesh ; such as are all the caustics.
Phagedenic Water, in Chemistry, denotes a water
make from quicklime and sublimate ; and is very eitica*
eious in the cure of phagedenic ulcers. To prepare this
water, put two pounds of fresh quicklime in a Eige
earthen pan, and pour upon it about ten pounds ot
rain-water ; let them stand together for two days, stir¬
ring them frequently: at last leave the lime to settle
well, then pour off the water by inclination, filtrate it,
and put it up in a glass bottle, adding to it an ounce ot
corrosive sublimate in powder j which from white be¬
comes yellow, and sinks to the bottoni of the vessel.
The water being settled, is fit for use in the cleansing
of wounds and ulcers, and to eat off superfluous flesh,
and especially in gangrenes j in which case may be ad¬
ded to it a third or fourth part of spirit of wine.
PHALiENA, the Moth, a genus of iusects be¬
longing to the order of lepidoptera. See Entomolo¬
gy Index.
PHALANGIUM, a genus of insects belonging to
the order of aptera. See Entomology Index.
PHALANGOSIS, in Surgery, is a tumour and re¬
laxation of the eyelids, often so great as to deform the
eye, and considerably to impede vision. Sometimes the
evelid when in this state subsides or sinks down, occa¬
sioned perhaps either by a palsy of the muscle which
sustains and elevates the eyelid, -or else from a relaxa¬
tion of the cutis above, from various causes. Butin the
paralytic or relaxed case, the use of cordial and nervous
medicines must be proposed internally and outward y,
balsam of Peru and Hungary water are to be employ¬
ed. If all these fail, the reoiaining method of cure is
to extirpate a sufficient quantity of the relaxed cutis.
PHALANX, in Grecian antiquity, a square batta¬
lion of soldiers, with their shields joined and pikes cros¬
sing each other j so that it was next to impossible to
break it.
The*-Macedonian phalanx is supposed by some to
have had the advantage in valour and strength, over
the Roman legion. Its number was 8000 men. But
the word 'phalanx is used for a party ot 28, and several
other numbers j and even sometimes for the whole body
of foot. See Legion.
Phalanx is applied, by anatomists, to the three
rows of small.bones which form the fingers. See Ana¬
tomy Index.
PHALARTS, a remarkable tyrant, born at Crete,
where his ambitious designs occasioned his banishment:
he took refuge in Agrigentum, a free city of Sicily, and
there obtained the supreme power by stratagem. The
circumstance which has chiefly contributed to preserve
his name in history is his cruelty; in one act of which
he gave, however, an example ot strict justice. It is
thus related : Perillus, a brass-founder at Athens, know¬
ing the cruel disposition of Phalaris, contrived a new
species of punishment for him to inflict on his subjects.
He cast a brazen bull, bigger than the life, with an
opening in the side to admit the victim; who being
shut up in the body, a fire was kindled under it to roast
them to death; and the throat was so contrived, that
2
their dying groans resembled the roaring ol a bull. The Phalanr
artist brought it to the tyrant, expecting a great re-
ward. Phalaris admired the invention and workman-
ship, but ordered the inventor to be put into it to make
the first trial. In allusion to which, Ovid says,
-Neque enim lex ecquior ulla.
Quam necis artifices arte per ire sua.
The end of this detestable tyrant is differently relat¬
ed *, but it is very generally believed, with Cicero, that
he fell by the hands of the Agri gen tines •, and, as some
suppose, at the instigation ot Pythagoras. Ovid tells
us that his tongue was cut out', and that he was then
put into the bull to perish by the same slow fire by which
means he had murdered so many before. Others say
that he was stoned to death j and all agree that his end
was violent. He reigned, Eusebius says, 28 years j
others say 16. After all, there is great uncertainty
both as to his life, death, and history. , Many of the
circumstances related of him, as they are collected by
Mr Boyle, depend upon the authenticity of those epis¬
tles which go under the name of the tyrant 5 and which
have been justly questioned, and with great probability
rejected, as the spurious production of some modern so¬
phist. See Bentley, p. 177. col. 2. i
Phalaris, or Canary-grass, a genus ot plants be¬
longing to the triandria class. See Botany Index. .
PHALERiE, among the ancient Romans, were mi¬
litary rewards bestowed for some signal act of bravery.
Authors do not agree whether the Phalene were a suit
of rich trappings for a horse, or golden chains some¬
thing like the torques, but so formed as to hang down
to the breast and display a greater profusion ot orna¬
ment. The last opinion appears to have the greater
prevalence, but perhaps both are true.
PHALEREUS (Nepos), a village and port of A-
thens j this last neither large nor commodious, for which
reason Themistocles put the Athenians on building the
Pirceus •, both joined to Athens by long walls The
Phalereus lay nearer the city (Pausamas). Deme¬
trius Phalereus, the celebrated scholar of Theophrastus,
was of this place *, to whom the Athenians erected above
300 statues ; which were afterwards destroyed by his
enemies, on his flight to Ptolemy king of Egypt (Stra¬
bo). Here Demosthenes was wont to declaim, to ac¬
custom his voice to surmount the noise and roaring of
the sea a just and lively emblem of popular assemblies.
PHALEUCIAN verse, in ancient poetry, a kind
of verse consisting of five feet', the first of which is a
spondee, the second a dactyl, and the three last trochees.
PHALLUS, the Morel, a genus of plants of the
order of fungi, and belonging to the cryptogamia class.
See Botany Index. _ .
Phallus, among the Egyptians, was the emblem 0
fecundity. It was very fervently worshipped by women,
especially by those who were barren. This custom was
introduced among the Greeks', and festivals in honour
of it were called pha/uca. See Mysteries, - 3 ’
&c. Among the Hindoos, a similar emblem called
lingam is used, and for similar purposes. See Hin¬
doos, N° 4. _ . - tj-
PHALTI, or Phaltiel, son of Laish. lie mar¬
ried Michal, after Saul had taken her from David j but
David afterwards took her away from Phalti (1 Sam.
xxv. 44. 2 Sam. iii. 15-)' S°me interpreters are of opi-
^ nion
P H A ' [ 5
Phalli nion Phalti did not meddle with Michal all the time she
Ph!ri ?on,;inuet, in his ,10use> fear that both of them should
—.incur the penalty of death, to be inflicted on adulterers
(Levit. xx. 10.), because Michal had not been legally
divorced ; but these reasons are frivolous. Saul looked
upon David as a rebel to his king, and an outlaw,
whose goods and wives belonged to him, and which he
could absolutely dispose of. He would not have given
Michal to Phalti, nor would he have received her, if he
had not thought he might use her as his wife. If Mi¬
chal had no children by Phalti, by whom then were
those children that the scripture says she had, since it is
known she had none by David P see 2 Sara. xxi. 8. and
vi. 23.
PHANATIC, or Fanatic, a visionary; one who
fancies he sees spectres, spirits, apparitions, or other
imaginary objects, even when awake; and takes them
to be real. See Phantasy and Fanatic.
Such are phrenetics, necromancers, hypochondriac
persons, lycanthropi, &c. See Phrenetic, Hypo¬
chondriac, Lycantiiropi.
Hence the word is also applied to enthusiasts, pre¬
tenders to revelation, new lights, prophecies, &c. See
Enthusiast, and Second Sight.
PHANTASIA was the daughter of Nicarchus of
Memphis in Egypt. It has been supposed that she
wrote a poem on the Trojan war, and another on the
return of Ulysses to Ithaca, from which compositions
Homer copied the greatest part of his Iliad and Odys¬
sey, when he visited Memphis, where they were depo¬
sited.
PHANTASM, a term sometimes used in a synony¬
mous sense with idea, or notion retained in the mind, of
an external object.
PHANTASMAGORIA, an optical deception. See
Science, Amusements of.
PH A NT A S\, or Fancy, the Imagination; one of
the powers of the mind, by which the species of objects
received by the external organs of sense are retained,
recalled, further examined, and either compounded,
or divided: See Imagination ; and Metaphysics,
Part I. Chap. ii. Or it is that internal sense whereby
the ideas of absent things are formed, and represented
to the mind as if they were present. In melancholics
and madmen this faculty is very strong, representing
many extravagant and monstrous things, anil framing
its images as lively as those of sensation : whence the
visions and deceptions those persons are liable to.
PHANUEL, of the tribe of Asher, the father of a
holy widow and prophetess called Anna, who was in the
temple when our Saviour was presented there by his pa¬
rents (Luke ii, 36, 37, 38.).
PHAON, a young man of Mytilene, in the island of
Lesbos, received from Venus, as fable reports, an ala¬
baster vase filled with an essence which had the virtue
of conferring beauty. He had no sooner anointed his
body with it than he became the most beautiful of men.
The ladies of Mytilene fell desperately in love with
him ; and the celebrated Sappho threw herself down a
precipice because he would not encourage her passion.
He is said to have been killed by a husband who sur¬
prised him with his wife. We have in Ovid a letter
from Sappho to Phaon, which Mr Pope has translated
into English verse.
PHARA, in Ancient Geographtn a village between
VOL. XVI. Part I. ‘
;49 ] P H A
Egypt and Arabia Pelrsea ; or, according to Ptolemy, Phara
at a promontory situated between the Sinus Heroopo- ||
Jites and Elaniticus of the Red sea; where Ismael is said Pharaoh,
to have dwelt. In Hebrew it is Paran, and in most ' vr~~J
interpreters; IVio/wi, Septuagint and Vulgate. Pha-
ramtte, the people (Ptolemy). Paran ov Pharan, the
name ol the wilderness in its neighbourhood, adjoining
to Cadesh. 13
. ^HAR^E, in Ancient Geography, a town of Achaia
in I eloponnesus, on the river Pierus, 70 stadia from the
sea, and to the south of Patrse 150 stadia. Another, of
Crete (Pliny) ; a colony from the Pharcc of Messenia
(Stephanus). A third Pharce, or Pherct (Strabo, Pto¬
lemy) ; Phara, -<t, (Polybius) ; a town of Messenia,
on the river Nedo (Strabo) ; on the north side of the
Sinus Messenius, and to the north-west of Abea. An
ciently read Pharis in Homer (Pausanias, Statius),
though now read Phare. Pharilce is the name of the
people.
HARAMOND is the name which is given byr the
generality of historians to the first king of France. He
is said to have reigned at Treves, and over a part of
Trance, about the year 420 ; and to have been suc¬
ceeded by his son Clodion : but the account which is
given of these two princes is very uncertain. It is pro¬
bable Pharamond was properly no more than a general
of an army, the head of a military society of Franks,
who were masters of their persons and their fortunes!
Gregory of Tours seems to have been of this opinion.
“.It 1S not generally known (says he) who was the first
king of the French, hulpitius Severus, who mentions
several things respecting that nation, takes no notice of
its first monarch ; he only says that it had generals.
Re that as it may, the institution of the famous Salique
law (so^ named from the Salians the most illustrious
of the Franks) is generally attributed to Pharamond.
Phis law fixed the punishment of crimes, and various
points of police. I here is no just ground for believing
that it expressly settled the right of succession to the
crown; it only says, that, with relation to the Salic
land, women have no share of heritage, without restrict¬
ing it to the royal family in particular; for all those
were generally called Salic lands, which were held by
right of conquest ; and it is easy to conceive that a na¬
tion of soldiers, whose general was their king, would
not submit to be governed by a woman. A long
custom, supported by the principles of the nation,
came in time to be the established law of the king¬
dom.” (See M. Abbe Mil lot, Elem. de PHistoirc cle
France, tom. i.).
PHARAOH, a common name of the kings of E-
gypt. Josephus says, that all the kings of Egypt, from
Minaeus the founder of Memphis, who lived several ages
before Abraham, have always had the name of Pha¬
raoh, down to the times of Solomon, for more than
3300 years. He adds, that in the Egyptian language
the word Pharoah signifies a king; and that those princes
did not assume this name but when they ascended the
throne, at which time they quitted also their former
name. From hence it comes to pass, says Josephus,
that Herodotus names none of the kings of Egypt after
Minaeus the builder of Memphis, though he had 330
kings for his successors, because they had all the name
of I haraoh ; but because this name did not pass to wo¬
men also, he names an Egyptian queen Nicaule who
f I i succeeded
p H A [ 250 ] ^ ^ ^ ,
Lastly, I find, adds Josephns, sStndand S tast
J • r« a ai.    ue oppressed them,
Pharaoh, ceeded them,  ,-- *
'    cient records of our nation, that from the age ot Solomon
no king of Egypt had any longer the name of Eharaoh.
But Josephus is not very accurate in tins passage.
True it is, Herodotus says, that Mines, or Mimeus, was
the first king of Egypt, and founder of Memphis ; that
there were 330 kings after him in Egypt; that after
them there was a queen called Nicotris, and not IN 1-
caule, as Josephus writes it; but it is not true that these
kings had no other name hut Pharaoh. Herodotus says
expressly, that in the books of the Egyptian priests were
read the names and the catalogue of 330 kings ; that m
this number of 330 there were 18 Ethiopians, and a
woman that was a foreigner called Nicotris, and that all
the others were Egyptians. These princes therefore had
every one his proper name mentioned in the catalogue
of the Egyptian kings. So likewise we see in the irag-
ments of Manetho, that every king of Egypt had a
name peculiar to him ; and we hud the name 1 haraoli
only in Scripture. . ,
\yiiat Josephus adds concerning Queen Nicaule, or
Nicotris, whom he pretends to be the same as the queen
of Sheba, of whom mention is made in Scripture
(1 Kings x. I, 2, &c.J) is entirely fabulous; and as to
what he says, that since the time of Solomon the kings
of Egypt have no longer had the name of Pharaoh, is
manifestly false, since we still find his name in the se¬
cond book of Kings, under Hezekiah (2 Kings xviu.
21.) ; under Josiah (xxiii. 29, 30, 33, &c.), where tins
name is joined to Necho, which was the proper name
of this prince ; under Jehoiakim (xxiii. 35) ; and in the
prophets Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel, who are much
later than Solomon. It is very probable that the Egyp¬
tians gave the name of Pharaoh to their kings as long
as the Egyptian language was in common use, and as long
as their kings were of their own nation : but alter the
conquest of°Egypt by Alexander the Great, and that
the Grecians introduced their language with their go¬
vernment, the name of Pharaoh was known no longer
among them. The first prince known to us by the name
of Pharaoh was he in whose time Abraham went down
to Egypt, when Sarah, who passed only for Abraham’s
sister, was by the command of Pharaoh brought to his
palace in order to become his wife. See Abraham.
But the Lord smote Pharaoh and his family with great
infirmities, and gave him to know that she was Abra¬
ham’s wife ; whereupon Pharaoh sent for Abraham, re¬
stored him his wife, and at the same time gave orders
that he should be conducted out of Egypt, with every
thing that belonged to him. See Sarah.
The second Pharaoh spoken of in the Scripture is he
who reigned when Joseph arrived there. 1 his prince or
Ids successor had the mysterious dream of the fat and
lean kine, and the seven full and barren ears of corn,
which Joseph explained so much to his satisfaction, that
he made him governor of his house and of all Egypt,
reserving only to himself the name of a king. T his is
the same Pharaoh who sent lor and entertained the pa¬
triarch Jacob and his family in Egypt, and gave them
the land of Goshen for their habitation. See Joseph
and Jacob.
The third Pharaoh know n in holy writ is he who per¬
secuted the Israelites. Moses tells us that he was a new
king, and had no knowledge of Joseph (Exod. i. 8.).
This prince, observing that the Israelites had become
masters over them. But the more
the faster they multiplied ; insomuch that he gave orders
to the Egvptian midwives, w'ho assisted the Hebrew'
women in their labour, to put all the ma c chddren to
death, and to save alive the females only. But this
command was not strictly executed. 1 he midwives
feared the Lord, and preserved alive not only the ie-
male children, hut the males also.
Pharaoh, seeing this project did not succeed to his
wishes, published a decree (Exod. 1. 22.) that all the
male children born of Hebrew women should be thrown
into the Nile, and that only the females should he spa¬
red. This order was rigorously executed ; yet by the
providence of God Moses was preserved, and even
brought up in Pharaoh’s own court, by his own daugh¬
ter, who by chance had found the child, as he w as ex¬
posed upon the Nile. , , ^
Moses being grown up, and having killed an Egyp¬
tian who had abused an Hebrew, was obliged to fly from
Egypt to avoid that death that Pharaoh had threatened
him with. . ,
Several years after, being about 80 years old, he re¬
turned again by an order from God, and performed
mighty miracles before Pharaoh. See Moses. Ihere
is a good deal of probability that this Pharaoh before
whom Moses appeared, and in whose sight he smote
Egypt with so many plagues, was a different person
from him who would have laid hands on him after he
had slain the Egyptian. This same Pharaoh having at
last been compelled to send away the Hebrews, and to
suffer them to go out of Egypt, soon repented of the
leave he had given, and pursued them at the head of
his army with his chariots. But he was drowned m the
Red sea, wherein he had rashly entered in the eager¬
ness of his pursuit. Some historians pretend to give us
the name of this Pharaoh ; some, as Apion, call him
Amosis or Amasis ; Eusebius calls him Chenchns;
Usher calls him Amenophis ; but we may assure our¬
selves that there can be nothing certain in all this.
The fifth Pharaoh known to us is he who gave pro¬
tection to Hadad son of the king of Edom, who gave
him to wife the sister of his own queen, enriched him
with lands, and brought up his son Genubah in his
own court. Hadad returned to Idumea alter the death
of David. . , , •
The sixth Pharaoh is he who gave his daughter ia
marriage to Solomon king of the Hebrews (1 Kings
iii. x.)f and having taken Gezer, he set it on fire,
drove the Canaanites out of it, and gave it for a present
to Solomon, in lieu of a dowry for his daughter, whom
he had married to this prince (1 Kings ix. 16.).
The seventh is Shishak, who entertained Jeroboam m
his dominions, a rebellious subject of Solomon, and of¬
fered him a refuge in opposition to the king his master.
The same Shishak declared war against Rehoboam the
son and successor of Solomon, besieged and took Jerusa¬
lem, carried away all the king’s treasures, and those ot
the house of God, and particularly the golden buckleis
that Solomon had made. See Shishak.
The eighth is that Pharaoh with whom Hezekiah
made a league against Sennacherib king of Assyria, m
the year of the world 3290. See Sennacherib. Ihis
Pharaoh is probably the same whom Herodotus names
betnon,
' Maraoh,
i^haiaon.
P H A [ 25I
Setlion, priest of Vulcan, who came to meet Senna-
, c!ierib hefore Pelusium, and to whose assistance Vulcan
sent an army of rats, which gnawed the bowstrings
and the thongs of the bucklers of Sennacherib’s sol¬
diers.
I he ninth is Pharaoh Necho, or Nechos, son of
Psammiticus, who made war with Josiah, and subdued
him. Herodotus also mentions this prince. See Ne¬
cho and Egypt, N° ir.
The tenth is Pharaoh Hophrah, who entered into an
P H A
gain is
3^
p supposingy—\. In the
Pharaon
2Xn—i ' nxn—i -- „
tourth case, the gain of the banker, or the loss of the ,1>W'iiees-
—5 2«—5 ' 1
:y’" s"pp»s!"g
ponte, is
n—1 X n—3 2 x n—\ x n—3
y^T^’ . 1)6 Moiyre has calculated a table, exhibiting
this gain or loss for any particular circumstance of the
play; and he observes, that at this play the least dis-
VI -z , , • , , r-'1""”"’,  ‘"■•u an advantage of the ponte, under the same circumsfanre*
al lance with Zedekiah king of Judah, and attempted to of cards remaining in the stock, is when the card of the
comedo his assistance againstNebuchadnezzar king of ponte is but twice in it, the next greater when three
Chaldea. It was againstthis Pharaoh that Ezekiel pro¬
nounced se veral of his prophecies (see Ezekiel xxix. xxx.
xxxi. xxxii.).. He is called Apries in Herodotus, lib. ii.
c. 161. He is also mentioned 111 Habakkuk ii. 13, 16.
See also Isaiah xix. xx. and Jeremiah xlvi. 16, &c. ’ See
Apries, and Egypt, N° 13, &c.
PHARAON is the name of a game of chance, the
Principal rules of which are : the hanker holds a pack
consisting of 52 cards j he draws all the cards one after
the other, and lays them down alternately at his right
and left hand j then the ponte may at his pleasure set
one or more stakes upon one or more cards, either
before the banker has begun to draw the cards, or
after be has drawn any number oi' couples. The
oanker wins the stake of the ponte when the card of
the ponte comes out in an odd place on his right hand,
but loses as much to the ponte when it comes out in
an even place on his left hand. The banker wins half
the ponte’s stake when it happens to be twice in one
couple. When the card of the ponte being but once
in the stock happens to he the last, the ponte neither
wins nor loses ; and the card of the ponte being but
twice in the stock, and the last couple containing his
card twice, he then loses his whole stake. JDe Moivre
has shown how to find the gain of the banker in any
circumstance of cards remaining in the stock, and of
the number o{ times that the ponte’s cards is contained
in it. Of this problem he enumerates four cases, viz.
when the ponte’s card is once, twice, three, or four
times in the stock. In the first case, the gain of the
banker is -, n being the number of cards in the stock.
In the second case, his gain is -—1 . 2
nxn—1 r nXn—1’
Tj-irc-f-l
01 i’ suPPosing 111 the third case, his
times, the next when once, and the greatest when four
times. He has also demonstrated, that the whole gain
pei cent, of the banker, upon all the money that is ad¬
ventured at this game, is 21. 19s. rod. See De Moivre’s
-Doctrine of Chances, p. 77, Sec. p. 103, &c.
QUARTZ, son aii(j Tamar (Gen. xxxviii.
27, 28, &c.). Tamar being just ready to lie in, found
herself with child of twins. One of them appeared first,
and putting his arm out, he immediately drew it back
again. The midwife tied a scarlet thread upon his arm,
to distinguish him for the first-born 5 but having with¬
drawn his hand, his brother got before him into the
world: whereupon he was called by his mother Ptiarex,
i. e. one breaking forth ; as the other, with the thread
on Ins hand, was called Zarah. The sons of Pharez
were Hezron and Hamul (Numb. xxvi. 20, 21.). F.
Cal met, upon tins article, explains the text as if Pha-
lez, and not Zarah, had put out his hand, and drew it
in again.
PHARISEES, a fiimous sect of the Jews, who di¬
stinguished themselves by their zeal for the traditions of
the elders, which they derived from the same fountain
with the written word itself j pretending that both were
delivered to Moses from Mount Sinai, and were there-
foie both of equal authority. From their rigorous ob¬
servance of these traditions, they looked upon them¬
selves as more holy than other men ; and therefore se¬
parated themselves from those whom they thought sin¬
ners or profane, so as not to eat or drink with them ;
and hence, from the Hebrew word pharic, which sig¬
nifies “ to separate,” they had the name of Pharisees or
Separatists.
This sect was one of the most ancient and consider¬
able among the Jews; but its original is not very well
known (a) ; however, it was in great repute in the
time of our Saviour ; and must have had its original at
the same time with the traditions, and they grew up to-
I i 2 gether,
(a) e Jesuit Serrarius places their first rise about the time of Esdras; because it was then that the Jews first
egan to iave interpreters of their tradition. Maldonat, on the other hand, will not have this sect to have arisen
ong e Jews till a little before the time of Christ. Others, perhaps, with more probabilitv, refer the origin of
the Pharisees to the time of the Maccabees. , S
nf 1 think:s’ t*,at Pharisaism rose up gradually, from a period which he does not assign, to the maturity
? ce.rtain’ tbe account given by Josephus, that in the time of John Hyrcanus, the high priest
der M T ° 116 ^snionean hne, about 108 years before Christ, the sect was not only formed, but made a consi-
r a ’ ••• t*‘at ^ *ia(* advanced to a high degree of popularity and power about 80 years before Christ.
1, '[/•n ’ ’ * Xl"• caP‘ I0, § 6. cap. 13. § 3. and cap 16. \ 1. According to Basnage, Hist, of the Jews,
lie '' K2,’ ?ne Arjstobulus» an Alexandrian Jew, and a Peripatetic philosopher, who flourished about
ih'mu. ' i HI S b ,Le Umst> and wrote some allegorical commentaries on the scripture, was the author of those tradi-
-j y an adherence to which the Pharisees were principally distinguished from other sects.
p H A [ 25
„ „etlier till at length they had gained ground so far,
fhat the traditional law swallowed up the wrftten and
tse who were the propagators of it the whole bulk of
<'rhe'extraordinary pretences of the Pharisees to right-
eoosness drew after them the com,™., people, who W J
fl.em in the highest esteem and veneration. Urn Oavi
our frequently, however, charges them with hypocrisy,
and making the law of God of no effect throng i heir
traditions (Matth. ix, 2. xv. I—6. xxn . 13—33* and
T uke x 20~?2.). Several ofthese traditions are par-
Se4'nSSJ the go8pe, t b„t thev ha a vas
number more, which may he seen m the Talmud, the
whole .object whereof is to dictate and explain those
tradriions which this sect imposed to be believed and oh-
SCThtPharisees, contrary to the opinion of the Sad-
docees, held a resurrection from the dead, ^ thc cx* -
ence of ansels and spirits (Acts xxm. 8.). But accortt
"g to Josephus, this i-esurrection of theirs was no moi.
than a Pythagorean resurrection, that isrof the soul on y,
by its transmigration into another body and being Wn
nLw with it. From this resurrection they excluded alh
that were notoriously wicked, being of opinion that the
soul of such persons were transmitted -to a state ot
everlasting woe. As to lesser crimes, they held they
AVere punished in the bodies which the souls of tnose
who committed them were next sent into.
Josephus, however, either mistook he faith ot his
countrymen, or, which is more probable, wilfully mis¬
represented it, to render their opinions more respect¬
ed bv the Roman philosophers, whom he appears to
have on every occasion been desirous to please. Ti e
Pharisees had many pagan notions respecting ic sou ,
but Bishop Bull, in his Harmonia Apostdica, has clearly
proved, that tlmy held a resurrection of the body, mid
•h it they supposed a certain hone to remain un^or-
rupted, to furnish the matter of which the resurrection
body was to he formed. They did not however be-
Ueve that all mankind were to be raised from the dead.
\ resurrection was the privilege of the children of
Abraham alone, who were all to rise on Mount Zion r
their incorruptible bones, wherever they might be bu¬
ried being carried to that mountain below the surface
of the earth. The state of future felicity, in which the
Pharisees^ believed, was very gross: They imagined
^t men in the next world, as well as m the present,
were to eat and drink, and enjoy the P!^»res «f Jove
each being reunited to his former wife. Hence the
Sadducee who believed in no resurrection, and suppo-
sed ourSaviour to teach it as a Pharisee, very shrewdly
urged the difficulty of disposing of the woman who had
in this world been the wife of seven husbanus. Had
the resurrection of Christianity been the Pharisaical re¬
surrection* this difficulty would have been insurmount¬
able *, and accordingly we find the people, and even
some of the Pharisees themselves, struck with the man¬
ner in which our Saviour removed it.
Tliis sect seems to have had some confused notions,
urobahly derived from the Chaldeans and Persians, re¬
specting the pre-existence of souls j and hence it was
that Glmst’s disciples asked him concerning the blind
man (John ix. 2.), ‘ Who did sin, this man or las pa¬
rents, that he was born blind And when the disciples
told Christ, that some said he was Elias, Jeiemias, oi
4
]
P H A
one of the prophets (Matt. xvi. 14.), the meamog ea,r M.,™,,
only he, that they tl,might he was come into the world
with the soul of Elias, Jerem.as, or some oilier of the , 
old prophets, transmigrated into him. With ^ E*-
senes, they held absolute predestination; and with the
Saddncees free-will : but how they reconciled these
seemingly incompatible doctrines is nowhere sufficiently
explained. The sect of the Pharisees was not extin¬
guished by the ruin of the Jewish commonwealth, i be
greatest part of the modern Jews are still of this sect *,
being as much devoted to traditions or the oral law as
their ancestors were. See the articles CabbalisTS,
CaRAITES, ESSEN.ES, SaDDUCEES, &c. j.
PHARMAfcA, among the ancients, meant medi¬
cated or enchanted compositions of herbs, minerals, &c.
some of which, when taken inwardly, were supposed to
cause blindness, madness, love, &c. : others infected by
touch ; such was the garment sent by Medea to Creusa,
prepared secundum artem: and others operated upon
persons at a distance. Pharmaca sotena were employ¬
ed as antidotes against these mischievous compositions :
Thus the herb »io/y preserved Ulysses from the magical
influence of Circe. The laurel, the rhamnus, the flea-
bane, the jasper-stone, were used for similar purposes.
See Potter's Grcec. Ant. , .
PHARMACI, were two persons who were employed
in the lustration or purification of cities. Some say
they were both men 5 but others maintain, that a man
to represent the males, and a woman to represent the
females, performed this office. They performed sacri¬
fice, and wore figs about their necks called «We? *,
those of the men were blackish, and those of the woman
white. Figs were an emblem of fertility, which they
doubtless prayed for on these solemn, occasions.
PHARMACEUTICAL, any thing connected with
pharmacy, or the operations or processes employed in the
preparation ot medicines. . v .
PHARMACOCHEMIA, an old term denoting that*
part of the chemical art which treats of the preparation
of medicines ; by way of distinction from that chemistry,
which is wholly employed about the transmutation ot
metals by means of the philosopher’s stone 5 this being-
called spas-irico-chemia. . .
PHARMACOLOGY, is a treatise of medicines, or
the art of preparing, judging of them, &c.
PHARMACOPOEIA (from (pet^uxov, remedy, ami
™£(y, to make), means a dispensatory, or a treatise de¬
scribing the preparations of the several kinds of medi¬
cines, with their uses, manner of application, 6cc.
We have various pharmacopoeias, as those of Ba -
deron, Quercetan, Zwelfer, Charas, Bates, Salmon,
Lems,y, Lewis, &c. But the Edinburgh, London
and Dublin pharmacopoeias, are chiefly consulted ant
followed in Britain in the present day.
PHARMAGOPOLA, or Phahmacopeius, an apo¬
thecary, or a person who prepares and sells medicines;
but thfs word is rarely used but m the way of ruheuk-
It is composed of medicine, and *•«*», ^ sell.
Hor. Sat. ii. lib. i. ver. I. .
PHARMACUM, (pxiti****, a medicine or medica¬
ment, either of a salutary or deleterious quality.
PHARMACY, the art of preparing, preserving, an
compounding medicines. See Materia Medica. See
also Prescriptions, Extemporaneous.
PHAROS, (Plomer, Strabo, &«.), a small oblo g
P H A [ 253 J P H A
IPharos island, adjoining to the continent of Egypt, over-against
|| Alexandria. On this island stood a cognominal light-
iharsalia. tower, of four sides, each side a stadium in length j and
' ^ the tower so high as to be seen 100 miles off. Some af¬
firm, each of its four corners rested on a large sea-crab
of glass or of hard transparent stone of Ethiopia or Mem¬
phis. Others imagine the crabs were only added ex¬
ternally to the base by way of ornament, or as emble¬
matical of its situation and use. The architect was So-
strates the Cnidian, as appears by an inscription on the
tower, under Ptolemy Philadelphus, who laid out 800
talents upon it. On account of the port of Alexandria,
the entrance to which was difficult and dangerous, the
Pharos was called the key of the Egyptian sea, or even
of Egypt itself (Lucan) : and Pharos, from being a pro¬
per name, became an appellative to denote all light¬
houses.
Pharos, or Phare, a light-house $ a pile raised near
a port, where fire is kept burning in the night, to
guide and direct vessels near at hand. The pharos of
Alexandria, built in the island of Pharos, at the mouth
of the Nile, was anciently very famous, insomuch as to
communicate its name to all the rest. This most mag¬
nificent torver consisted of several stories and galleries,
with a lantern at top, in which a light being conti¬
nually burning, might be seen for many leagues at sea,
and along the coast. It was accounted one of the seven
wonders of the world. It was built by the famed archi¬
tect Sostrates, a native of Cnidos, or, according to some,
by Deiphanes, the father of Sostrates j and cost Ptolemy
Philadelphus 800 talents. The several stories were
adorned with columns, ballustrades, galleries of the finest
marble and workmanship *, to which some add, that the
architect had contrived to fasten some looking-glasses so
artificially against the highest galleries, that one could
see in them all the ships that sailed on the sea for a
great way. Instead of which noble structure, one sees
now only a kind of irregular castle, without ditches or
outworks of any strength, the whole being accommodat¬
ed to the inequality of the ground on which it stands,
and which it seems is no higher than that which it
should command. Out of the midst of this clumsy
building rises a tower, which serves for a light-house,
but which has nothing of the beauty and grandeur of the
the old one. The Colossus of Rhodes also served as a
pharos.
PHARPAR, or Pharphar, is one of the rivers of
Damascus, or rather it is an arm of the Barrady or Chry-
sorrhoas, which waters the city of Damascus and the
country about it (2 Kings v. 12.). »“ Are not xibana
and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all r the
waters of Israel ?” The river of Damascus has its foun¬
tain in the mountains of Libanus. At its approach to
the city it is divided into three arms, one of which
passes through Damascus. The other two water the
gardens round about, and then reuniting, they lose
themselves at four or five leagues from the city, to¬
wards the north. ^ See MaundrelPs Travels from Alep¬
po to Jerusalem; see also the articles Abana and Da¬
mascus.
PHARSALIA, Pharsalium, Pharsalus, or Phar-
salos, in Ancient Geography, a town of the Phthiotes, a
district of Thessaly, near Pherse and Larissa, to which
last place Pompey fled from the plains of Pharsalus ;
watered by the river Enijpeus, which falls into the Api-
danus, and both together into the Peneus. Between Pharsalia.
Pharsalus and Enipeus, Pompey drew up his men at the —y——'
fatal battle of Pharsalia.
In this battle, the advantage with respect to num¬
bers was greatly on the side of Pompey. That general
himself was on the left with the two legions which Cae¬
sar had returned to him at the beginning of the Avar.
Scipio, Pompey’s father-in-larv, Avas in the centre, Avith
the legions he had brought from Syria, and the rein¬
forcements sent by several kings and states of Asia. The
Crlician legion, and some cohorts Avhich had served in-
Spain, Avere in the right, under the command of Afra-
nius. As Pompey’s i-ight Aving was covered by the Eni¬
peus, he strengthened the left Avith his slingers, archers,
and the 7000 Roman horse, on Avhom chiefly his party
founded their hopes of victory. The Avhole army was
draAvn up in three lines, Avith very little spaces betAA'een
them. In conformity to this disposition, Cresar’s army
Avas draAvn up in the following order : The tenth le¬
gion, which had on all occasions signalized itself
above all the rest, Avas placed in the right Aving, and
the ninth in the left j hut as the latter had been con¬
siderably Aveakened in the action at Dyrrhachium, tire
eighth legion Avas posted so near as to be able to sup¬
port and reinforce it upon occasion. The rest of Cae¬
sar's forces filled up the space betAveen the two AvingS.
Mark Antony commanded the left Aving, Sylla the
right, and Cneius Domitius Calvinus the main body.
As for Caesar, he posted himself in the right over-
against Pompey, that he might have him always in his
si gilt.
Thus was the Avhole plain coA'ered, from Pharsalia to
the Enipeus, with t\vo armies, dressed and armed after
the same manner, and bearing the same ensigns, the Ro¬
man eagles. Pompey observing how well the enemy
kept their ranks, expecting quietly the signal of battle,
and on the contrary hoAV impatient and unsteady his oavia
men Avere, running up and down in great disorder for
want ol experience, he began to be afraid lest his ranks
should be broken upon the first onset ; and therefore
commanded the foot in the front to keep their ground,
and quietly Avait for the enemy. The tAvo armies, though
Avithin reach of each other, kept a mournful silence j
hut at length the trumpets sounded the charge, and Cae¬
sar’s army advanced in good order to begin the attack,
being encouraged by the example of one Cains Crasti-
nus, a centurion, who at the head of 120 men, threw
himself upon the enemy’s first line Avith incredible fury. .
This he did to acquit himself of a promise he had so¬
lemnly made to Cassar, who, meeting him as he Avas go¬
ing out of his tent in the morning, asked him, after some
discourse, What his opinion nvas touching the event of the
battle? To Avhich he, stretching out his hand, replied
aloud, Thine is the victory, Ctcsar; thou shall gloriously
conquer, ajul I myself this clay will be the subject of thy*
praise cither dead or alive. In pursuance of this promise
he broke out of his rank as soon as the trumpet sound¬
ed j and, at the head of his company, ran in upon the
enemy, and made great slaughter of them. But while
he Avas still pressing forward, forcing his Avay through,
the first line, one of Pompey’s men ran him in at the
mouth Avith such violence, that the point of his SAvord
came out at the hind part of his neck. Upon his death
Pompey’s soldiers took courage, and with great bravery
stood the enemy’s onset. While the foot were thus
sharply
P H A
sharplv engaged in the centre, .
left wing marched up confidently ; and having first wi¬
dened their ranks, with a design to surround tsesar s
right-wing, charged his cavalry, and forced them to
give ground. Hereupon Caesar ordered Ins horse to re¬
treat a little, and give way to the six cohorts which he
had posted in the rear as a body of reserve. 1 hese, up-
on a signal given, coming up, charged the enemy s horse
with that resolution and good order which is peculiar to
men who have spent all their lives in camps. 1 hey
remembered their instructions, not striking at the legs
or thighs of the enemy, but aiming only at their laces.
This unexpected and new manner of fighting lai t ic
desired effect. Tor the young patricians, whom Cae¬
sar contemptuously calls the pretty young dancers, not
being able to bea'i the thoughts of having their laces
deformed with scars, turned their backs, and, covering
their faces with their hands, fled in the utmost con¬
fusion, leaving the foot at the mercy of the enemy.
Caesar’- men did not pursue the fugitives.-, but char¬
ging the foot of that wing, now naked and un¬
guarded, surrounded them, and cut most of them m
pieces. . . ,
Pompey was so transported with rage, in seeing the
flower of his forces thus put to flight or cut in pieces,
that he left his army, and retired slowly towards his
camp, looking more like a man distracted and beside
bimself than one who bv his exploits had acquired the
name of the Great. When he had reached the camp,
he retired to his tent without speaking a word to any,
and continued there, like one distracted and out ot his
senses, till his whole army was defeated. Ciesar no soon¬
er saw himself master of the field than he marched to
attack the enemy’s entrenchments, that Pompey might
not have time to recollect himself. When Pompey was
informed that his rival was advancing to attack his en¬
trenchments, he then first seemed to have recovered his
senses, and cried out, What, into my camp too. He
said no more -, but immediately laying aside the marks
qf his dignity, and putting on such a garment as might
best favour his flight, he stole out at the decuman gate,
and took the road to Larissa, which city had hitherto
shown great attachment to him. In the mean time
Caesar began the attack on the enemy’s camp, which
was vigorously defended by the cohorts Pompey had
left to guard it-, but they were at length forced to
vield. Caesar was not a little surprised, when, after
having forced the entrenchments, he found the enemy’s
tents and pavilions richly adorned with carpets and
hangings, their couches strewed with flowers, then-
tables ready spread, and sideboards set out with abun¬
dance of plate, bowls, and glasses, and some of them
even filled with wine. So great was the confidence of
Pompey’s party, that they made preparations before¬
hand for pleasures to be enjoyed after the victory, which
they thought certain. In Pompey’s tent, Caesar found
the box in which he kept his letters: but, with a mo¬
deration and magnanimity worthy of himself, he burnt
them all, without reading one ; saying, that he had
rather be ignorant of crimes, than obliged to punish
them.
The next day, when the dead were numbered, it
appeared that Caesar had scarce lost 200 men } among
whom were about 30 centurions, whom Caesar caused
to be buried with great solemnity. He did particular
[ 254 ] P H A
Pompey’s horse in the honours to the body of Crastinus, who had begun the Plmrsalia,
- - • ~ • battle -, and ordered his ashes to be deposited 111 a tomb, r—
which he erected to his memory. On 1 ompey s side,
the number of the dead amounted to 15,000 accord¬
ing to some, and to 25,000 according to others, t re-
sar took 24,000 prisoners, eight eagles, and 180 en-
signs.
Pharsalia, an epic poem, composed by .Lucan on
the civil war between Pompey and Caesar, and paiU-
cularly on the victory of the latter over the former,
of which we have given an account in the preceding
article. It is a poem universally acknowledged to have
great beauties and great defects 5 but we are the less
capable of estimating its merit as a whole, that either
time has deprived us of the last books, or its author
lias left it incomplete. “ The subject ot the Pharsalia
(says an excellent critic) carries undoubtedly all theLcdun
epic grandeur and dignity : neither does it want umty
of object, viz. the triumph of Caesar over the Roman
liberty. In the choice of that subject, he thinks, how¬
ever, that the author was not happy. The civil wars
were too recent to admit in the description of them the
embellishments of fiction and machinery. The fables
of the gods mixed with the exploits ol Caesar and I om-
pey, instead ot raising, would have diminished, the dig¬
nity of such well known facts.” Another objection to
the subject, perhaps more forcible than this, arises fiom
the success of the war and the abilities of the generals.
Lucan was a friend to liberty, and wished to laise the
character of Pompey and Cato ; but in spite of his ut¬
most efforts, they are always eclipsed by the superior ta¬
lents and consequent success of Caesar. All his charac¬
ters, however, are drawn with spirit, and with uncom¬
mon regard to truth ; and some of the speeches which
he puts into the mouths of his heroes are equal for mo¬
ral sublimity to any thing that is to be found in all an¬
tiquity. . • • 1
“ There are in the Pharsalia (continues the critic al¬
ready quoted) several very poetical and spirited de¬
scriptions. But the author’s chief strength does not
lie either in narration or description. His narration
is often dry and harsh ; his descriptions are often over¬
wrought, and employed too upon disagreeable objects.
His principal merit consists in his sentiments, which aie
generally noble and striking, and expressed in that glow¬
ing and ardent manner which peculiarly distinguishes
him. Lucan is the most philosophical and the most
public-spirited poet of all antiquity. He was the ne¬
phew of the famous Seneca the philosopher} was him¬
self a Stoic j and the spirit of that philosophy breathes
throughout his poem. We must observe, too, that he is
the only ancient epic poet whom the subject ol his poem
really and deeply interested. Lucan recounted no fic¬
tion. He was a Roman, and had felt all the direful ef¬
fects of the Roman civil wars, and of that severe despo¬
tism which succeeded the loss ol liberty. His high
and bold spirit made him enter deeply into this sub¬
ject, and kindle, on many occasions, into the most real
warmth. Hence, he abounds in exclamations and
apostrophes, which are almost always well-timed, and
supported with a vivacity and fire that do Inm no small
honour.
“ But it is the fate of this poet, that his beauties can
never be mentioned, without their suggesting his ble¬
mishes also. As his principal excellency is a lively and
p H A [
jl'ltarsalia glowing genius, which appears sometimes in his descrip-
11 tions, and very often in his sentiments, his great defect
in both is want of moderation. He carries every thing
to an extreme. He knows not where to stop. From
an effort to aggrandize his objects, he becomes tumid
and unnatural: and it frequently happens, that w here
the second line of one of his descriptions is sublime, the
third, in which he meant to rise still higher, is per¬
fectly bombast. Lucan lived in an age when the
schools of the declaimers had begun to corrupt the
eloquence and taste of Rome. He was not free from
the infection j and too often, instead of showing the
genius of the poet, (betrays the spirit of the declaimerj
but he is, on the whole, an author of lively and orio-inal
genius.” °
PHARUS, a genus of plants belonging to the mo-
noecia class ; and in the natural method ranking under
the fourth order, Gramma. See Botany Index.
PHARINX. See Anatomy, N° 92.
PHASCUM, a genus of plants of the order of musci,
belonging to the cryptogamia cla,s. See Botany
Index.
PHASEOLUS, the Kidney-bean ; a genus of
plants, belonging to the diadelphia class. See Botany
Index.
PHASES, in Astronomy, from the Greek word
(pcti'tw, ‘‘to appear j” the several appearances or quanti¬
ties of illumination of the moon, Venus, Mercury, and
the other planets. See Astronomy.
PHASGA, or Pisgah, (Moses), a mountain on the
other side Jordan, joined to Abarim and Nebo, and
running south to the mouth of the Arnon : from which
Moses had a view of the promised land, and where he
died, having before appointed Joshua his successor.
Veils takes Pisgah and Nebo to be different names of
one and the same mountain, a part or branch of the
mountains Abarim (Dent, xxxii. 49. compared with
I)eut. xxxiv. I.). Or that the top of Nebo was pecu¬
liarly called Pisgah ; or some other part of it,, cut out
in steps, as the primitive word denotes: and thus it is
rendered by Aquila, by a Greek word signifying cut out
(Jerome). There was also a city of this name, id.;
and the adjoining country was in like manner called
Pisgah, id.
a genus of birds belonging to the
order of gallinm. See Ornithology Index.
PHASIS, a river which falls into the Euxine sea
l 'One and miles ft'om Constantinople. “ From the
1 of the Iberian Caucasus (says Gibbon), the most lofty and
JJ,™ craggy mountains of 'Asia, that river descends with
lre- sucl1 oblique vehemence, that in a short space it is tra¬
versed bj 120 bridges. Nor does the stream become
placid and navigable till it reaches the town of Sara-
pana, five days journey from the Cyrus, which flows
rom the same hills, but in a contrary direction, to
the Caspian lake. The proximity of these rivers has
suggested the practice, or at least the idea, of waft¬
ing the precious merchandise of India down the Oxus,
over the Caspian, up the Cyrus, and with the current
0 the Phasis into the Euxine and Mediterranean
seas. As it successively collects the streams of the plain
of Colchos, the Phasis moves with diminished speed,
though accumulated weight. At the mouth it is 60 fa¬
thoms deep, and half a league broad; but a small woody
island is interposed in the midst of the channel: the
255 ] PH E
water, so soon as it has deposited an earthy or metallic
sediment, floats on the surface of the waves, and is no (I
longer susceptible of corruption. In a course of 100 ^hegor.
miles, 40 of which are navigable for large vessels, ' ^—
the Phasis divides the celebrated region of Colehos or
Mingrelia, which, on three sides, is fortified by the
Iberian and Armenian mountains, and whose maritime
coast extends about 200 miles, from the neighbourhood
of Irebizond to Dioscurias and the confines of Circassia,
Both the soil and climate are relaxed by excessive mois¬
ture : 28 rivers, besides the Phasis and his dependent
streams, convey their waters to the sea; and the hollow¬
ness of the ground appears to indicate the subterraneous
channels between the Euxine and the Caspian.”
PHASMA1A, in Physiology, certain appearances
arising from the various shades of colour in the clouds
by the light from the heavenly bodies, especially the sun
and moon. These are infinitely diversified by the dif¬
ferent figures and situations of the clouds, and the ap-
pulses of the rays of light; and, together with the oc¬
casional flashings and shootings of different meteors,
they have, no doubt, occasioned those jirodigies of
armies fighting in the air, &c. of which we have
such frequent accounts in many writers. See 2 Mac-
cab. xi. 8. Melancth. Meteor. 2. Shel. de Comet, ann.
1618.
Kircher and Schottus have erroneously attempted to
explain the phenomenon from the reflection of terrestrial
objects made on opaque and congealed clouds in the
middle region of the air, which, according to them,
have the effect of a mirror. Thus, according to those
authors, the armies pretended by several historians to
have been seen in the skies, were no other than the
reflection of the like armies placed on some part of the
earth. See Hist. Acad. Poy. Scienc. ann. 1726, p. 405
et se<j. ’
PHEASANT. See Phasianus, Ornithology
Index.
Pheasant's Eye, or Bird's Eye. See Adonis
Botany Index.
PHEBE, a deaconess of the port of Corinth, call¬
ed Cenchrea. St Paul had a particular esteem for this
holy woman ; and Theodoret thinks the apostle lodged
at her house for some time, while be continued in or
near Corinth. It is thought she brought to Rome
the epistle he wrote to the Romans, wherein she is
commended and recommended in so advantageous a
manner. He says (Rom. xvi. 1, 2.), “ I commend un¬
to you Phebe our sister, which is a servant of the church
which is at Cenchrea: that ye receive her in the Lord,
as becometh saints, and that ye assist her in whatsoever
business she hath need of you ; for she hath been a suc-
courer of many, and of myself also.” Some moderns
have advanced a notion, that Phebe was wife to St
Paul; but none of the ancients have said any thing like
it. It is thought, in quality of deaconess, she was em¬
ployed by the church in some ministrations suitable
to her sex and condition; as to visit and instruct the
Christian women, to attend them in their sickness, and
distribute alms to them.
PHEGOR, or Peor, a deity worshipped at a very
early period by the Midianites and Moabites, and pro¬
bably by all the other tribes which then inhabited Sy¬
ria. Much has been said concerning the functions of
this god, and the rank which he held among the Pa¬
gan
Hill’s Hist
\jf Fossils,
p. 490.
p H E t
„„ aivinitiM (see (BjJt- P*r>; anJ many emjectores
Kbeen formed concerning the «-B"'»f, "?
Most of these scent to have no better ToondationAan
the senseless dreams of the Jew,si, tahb «. I moon,
or Peor, is undoubtedly the same with the Hebret
word peefor, which signifies apermt, and F°b^> J
fers to the prophetic influence always attributed to the
solar deity by which he opened or discovered thing
come. ^Accordingly we find Phecor or Peor gene¬
rally ioined to Baal, which was the Syrian and Chal¬
dean name of the sun after he became an object of
worship • hence Baal-PHEGOR most have been the sun
worshipped by some particular rites, or under some par-
cSar character. What these were, a resolution of
Prfort" its component parts may P^aps tnform
„s As this word, wherever it occurs in ^cllPture’
has some relation to distending or opening the mouth
wide k is probablv compounded of PHAH the mouth or
* 1 * ’ j rJ Tn those countries we know
fehtw^ottiU bnt lt would appear, that
"rltiug the rites of this deity « ey were unveU.
ed. It seems even not improbable, t ,at on 1 , •
casions the sexes danced promiscuously without their
clothes ; a practice which would naturally give „
the licentious amours mentioned in the 25th ^ap er of
the hook of Numbers. If this he admitted it w 1 1 fo -
low that Phcgor was the sun presiding over the my
tCSpHELLANDKIUM, Water-hemlock *, a genus
of plants belonging to the pentandna class, bee Uo-
TApHENGiTES, among the ancients, the name of a
beautiful species of alabaster. It is a rude irregular
mass very shattcry and friable, but of a bnghtnes.
nerior to that of most other marbles, and excelling
[hem all in transparence. The colour is an agreeable
ir yellowish white, or honey colour ; the yellowish
[s moJe intense in some places than in others ami
sometimes makes an obscure resemblance ol v ci .
is veTweak and brittle in the mass ; am when redu¬
ced to small pieces, may he easily crumbled between
the finders into loose, but considerably large angular
pieces,^some perfect, others complex irregular, or mu-
tilated and all approaching to a flat shape.
cients were very fond of this species in public build-
ino-s - and the temple of Fortune, built entirely of it,
hal long been celebrated. Its great beauty is its trans-
narence5 from which alone this temple was perfectly
Lht when the doors were shut, though it was built
without a window, and had no other light hut what
was transmitted through the stone of which the walls
were built. It was anciently found in Cappadocia, and
is still plentiful there : we have it also m Germany and
France, and in our own kingdom in Derbyshire, and
some other counties. It takes an excellent polish, and
is very fit for ornamental works, where no great strength
lb PHENICE, a port of the island of Crete to the
west of the island. St Paul having anchored at 1 he-
nice, when he was carried to Rome (Acts xxvn. 12.)
advised the ship’s crew to spend the winter there, be¬
cause the season was too far advanced.
PHENICIA. See Phoenicia.
PHEONS, in Heraldryt the barbed heads of darts,
arrows, or other weapons.
Plieos
] P H E
TVPHE dS,’ imuS gn"7o7;S uSJfoS „
SlTe7fog’.heir dotfilfaud uf which .here were .wu»
kinds, a smaller called simply pfcos, and a arger call¬
ed hippopheos. This plant is sometimes cal ed p deos
and if thus confounded with a kind of marsh cudweed
or gnaphalium, called also by that name; but it may al¬
ways be discovered which of the two p ants an author
means, by observing the sense m which the ^disused
and the use to which the plant was put. Ihe pA/m.
properly so called, that is, the cudweed was used to stufi
beds and other such things, and to pack up with earthen
vessels to prevent their breaking ; but the pheos, impio-
perly called pMeos, only about cktbs:-this was, how
ever, also called steebe and cnaphon. _
PHERECRATES, a Greek comic poet, was con¬
temporary with Plato and Aristophanes. After the
example of the ancient comedians, who never introdu¬
ced upon the theatre imaginary but living characters,
he ac[ed his contemporaries. But he did not abuse the
liberty which at that time prevailed upon the stage ,
and laid it down as a rule to himself never to destroy
the reputation of nny person. Twenty-one comedies
are attributed to him, of which there now only rema n
some fragments collected by Hertehus and Grotius.
From these fragments, however, it is easy to discern,
that Pherecrates wrote the purest Greek, and possessed
♦that ingenious and delicate raillery which is called « -
tic urbanity. He was author of a kind of verse callec,
from his own name, Pherecratick. The three last feet
were in hexameter verse, and the first of those three
feet was always a spondee. The verse of Horace (for
example, Qjiamvis pontica pinus) is a Pherecratick
verse^ We find in Plutarch a fragment of this poet
upon the music of the Greeks, which has been critical¬
ly examined by M. Burette of the academy of inscrip¬
tions. See the 15th volume of the collection published
by that learned society.
PH ERECY D E S , a native of Scyros, flourishet
about the year 560 before the Christian era, and was
disciple of Pittacus, one of the seven wise men of Greece
fsee Pittacus). He is said to have been the first of all
the philosophers who has written on natural subjects
and the essence of the gods. He was also the first, it
is said, who held the ridiculous opinion, that animals
are mere machines.” He was Pythagoras s master, who
loved him as his own father. Tins grateful scholar ha-
vinp- heard that Pherecydes lay dangerously ill m the
island of Delos, immediately repaired thither, in order
to give every necessary assistance to the old man, and t
take care that no means should be left untried for he
recovery of his health. His great age, however, and the
violence of his disease, having rendered every prescrip¬
tion ineffectual, his next care was to see him decently
buried; and when he had paid the last duty to his re¬
mains, and erected a monument to his memory, he set
out again for Italy. Other causes have been assigned
for the death of Pherecydes: some say he was eat p
by lice, and others that he fell headlong from the top of
Mount Corycius in his way to Delphos. He
the age of 85 years, and was one of the first prose
casfiRve Weo
which only deserve to be mentioned, in order to show ^
that what has been deemed supernatural by ignorant
snectators
P H I ■ 257 J
[’bcrecydcs spectators may be easily conceived to have happened Marathon
li fmm nnfnra! r'ono£»o A r,,11    ^ i• ,
Phidias.
from natural causes. A ship in full sail was at a distance
, approaching its harbour j Pherecydes predicted that it
would never come into the haven, and it happened ac¬
cordingly; for a storm arose which sunk the vessel. Af¬
ter drinking water from a well, he predicted an earth¬
quake, which happened three days afterwards. It is
easy to suppose that these predictions might have been
the lesult of a careful observation of those phenomena
which commonly precede storms or earthquakes in a
climate where they frequently happen.
“ It is difficult to give in any degree an accurate ac¬
count of the doctrines of Pherecydes ; both because be
deln ered them, after the manner of the times, under
the concealment of symbols ; and because very few me¬
moirs of this philosopher remain. It is most probable
that he taught those opinions concerning the gods and
the origin ol the world which the ancient Grecian the-
ogonists borrowed from Egypt and of which the
reader will find accounts in different articles of this
work. See Egypt, Metaphysics, Mysteries, My¬
thology, and Polytheism.
PHERETIMA, was the wife of Battus king of
Cyrene, and the mother of Arcesilaus. After his son’s
death, she recovered the kingdom by means of Amasis
king of Egypt, and to avenge the murder of Arce¬
silaus, she caused all his assassins to be crucified round
the walls of Cyrene, and she cut off the breasts of their
wives, and hung them up near the bodies of their
husbands. It is said that she was devoured alive by
worms ; a punishment which, according to some of the
ancients, was inflicted by Providence for her unparal¬
leled cruelties.
PHIAL, a well-known vessel made of glass, used for
various purposes.
Leyden Phial, is a phial of glass coated on both sides
with tin-foil for a considerable way up the sides, of
gieat use in electrical experiments. Ehe discovery that
electricity may be accumulated in an apparatus of this
kind, was originally made in the year 1745 by Mr Von
Kleist, dean of the cathedral in Comin. But tin's re¬
markable property was first satisfactorily observed at
Leyden, with a bottle containing some water which
served for the inside coating, and the accidental appli¬
cation of the hands on the outside served for another
coating. Hence a bottle coated on both sides for the
purpose of being charged with electricity, has received
the name of Leyden phial, or otherwise electric jar. See
Electricity, passim.
PHIDIAS, the most famous sculptor of antiquity,
ivas an Athenian, and a contemporary of the celebra¬
ted Pericles, who flourished in the 83d Olympiad. This
wonderful artist was not only consummate in the use
of his tools, but accomplished in those sciences and
branches of knowledge which belong to bis profession,
as history, poetry, fable, geometry, optics, &c. He
nrst taught the Greeks to imitate nature perfectly in
this way ; and all his works were received with admi-
lation. 1 hey were also incredibly numerous j for it
was almost peculiar to Phidias, that be united the great¬
est facility with the greatest perfection. His Nemesis
was ranked among bis first pieces: it was carved out
of a block of marble, which was found in the camp of
the Persians after they were defeated in the plains of
Vol. XVI. Part I.
P H I
f ti , Ke nmle an excellent statue of Minerva
for the I lateans j but the statue of this goddess in her
magnificent temple at Athens, of which there are still
some ruined remains, was an astonishing production of
human art. Pericles, who had the care of this pom-
pous edifice, gave orders to Phidias, whose prodigious
ril-r Wei kncw’ t.° make a statue of the goddess •
and 1 hiclias formed a figure of ivory and gold 39 feet
of^sk'll il^?1S ”ever spoak of this illustrious monument
of skill without raptures j yet what has rendered the
ruiTlI I' ftlSt 1Tm°rtal’ pr°ved at tIiat time his
1 mn. He had carved upon the shield of the goddess his
wn pm trait and that of Pericles; and this was, by
those that envied him, made a crime in Phidias. He
was also charged with embezzling part of the materials
which were designed for the statue. Upon this he with-
diew to Elis, and revenged himself upon the ungrateful
Athenians, by making for the Elians the Olympic Ju¬
piter: a prodigy of art, and which was afterwards rank-
ed among the seven wonders of the world. It was of
ivory and gold ; 60 feet high, and every way propor¬
tioned. The majesty ot the work did equal the ma-
jesty of the god (says Quintilian), and its beauty seems
to have added lustre to the religion of the country.”
Phidias concluded Ins labours with this masterpiece:
and the Lhans, to do honour to his memory, erected
and appropriated to his descendants, an office, which
cons.sted in keepmg clean this magnificent image.
1 MIDI 11 A, in Grecian antiquity, feasts celebrated
with great frugality at Sparta. They were held in the
public places and in the open air. Rich and poor assist¬
ed at them equally, and on the same footing ; their de¬
sign being to keep up peace, friendship, good under¬
standing, and equality among the citizens great and
■small. It is said that those who attended this feast
brought each a bushel of flour, eight measures of wine-
named chorus, five pounds of cheese, and two pounds
and a half of figs, with some money.
1 HIE A, in Mythology, one of the attributes of Ve¬
nus, which distinguishes her as the mother of love, from
qnhuv, to love.
. HILADELPHIA, in antiquity, were games in¬
stituted at Sardis to celebrate the union of Caracalla
and Geta, the sons of Septimius Severus.
Philadelphia, the capital of the state of Pensyl-
vania in North America, situated in W. Long. 75. 8.
Is. Lat. 39. 57. It is one of the most beautiful and
regular cities in the world, being of an oblong form,
situated on the west bank of the river Delaware, on an
extensive plain, about 118 miles (some say more) from
the sea. The length of the city east and west, that is,
from the Delaware to the Schuylkill, upon the original
plan of Mr Penn, is about three miles, and the breadth,
north and south, rather less than one mile. Rut a great
part of the plot covered by the city charter is yet unbuilt.
I he inhabitants, however, have not confined themselves
within the original limits of the city, but have built
north and south along the Delaware two miles in
length. The longest street is Second-street, about 700
feet from Delaware river, and parallel to it. The cir¬
cumference of that part of the city which is built, if we
include Kensington on the north and Southwark on the
south, may be about five miles. Market-street is joo
feet wide, and runs the whole length of the e.'ty from
+ K k '
Philadel¬
phia.
PHI [ 258 3 P fiH, I
river t0 r;vcr. Near the middle, it U Intersected at right Chesnut-street, tvluch was ftmshed m
angles by Broad-street, ..3 feet wide, running nearly
itrtvdi and south quite across the city.
The Delaware river at Philadelphia is 1362 yards
Vide with sufficient depth of water to admit a 64 gun-
ffiin ’ The tide rises six feet, and flows at the rate o
four miles an hour. Between Delaware river and
Broad-street are 14 streets, nearly equidistant, run¬
ning parallel with Broad-street across the city j and be-
twee 11 Broad-street and the Schuylkill there arejne
streets equidistant from each other. Parallel to JMa
ket-street are eight other streets, running east and west
from river to river, and Intersecting the cross streets a
right angles •, all these streets are 50 feet wide, except
Arch-street, which is 65 feet wide. All the streets
which run north and south, except Broad-street men¬
tioned above, are 50 feet wide. There were four
squares of eight acres each, one at each corner of the
ffitv, originally reserved for public and common uses
And in the centre of the city, where. Broad-street and
Market-street intersect each other, is a square of ten
acres, reserved in like manner, to be planted with rows
of trees for public walks. This city was founded m
1682 by the celebrated William Penn, who m October
lyoi granted a charter incorporating the town with
city privileges. The houses are of brick, but generally
handsome. The streets are clean and regular, but the
foot-paths are often obstructed by the entrances to the
cellars The population in 18x0 was 98,866, and in
1818 it was estimated at 120,000. Bents are 25 per
cent, lower than at New York, but they are still high,
compared with house-rents in Britain.
Their places for religious worship are as follows:
The Friends or Quakers have five, the Presbyterians
six the Episcopalians three, the German Lutherans
two the German Calvinists one, the Catholics three,
the Swedish Lutherans one, the Moravians one, the
Baptists one, the Universal Baptists one, the Metho¬
dists two, the Jews one. _ . , .
The other public buildings in the city, besides the
university, academies, &c. are the following, viz. a state-
house and offices, a carpenter’s hall, a philosophical so¬
ciety’s hall, a dispensary, an hospital and offices, an
alms-house, a house of correction, a public factory of
linen, cotton, and woollen, a public observatory, three
brick inarket-house$, a fish-market, a public gao .
The poor-laws are administered by 16 citizens, chosen
annually by the corporation. They are empowered, with
the approbation of four aldermen and two justices, to
levy an assessment not exceeding one per cent, nor more
than three dollars per head on every free man not other¬
wise rated. The annual average number of paupers
supported in alms-houses of this city is 1600 (1818) j
the expence of supporting them 70,000 dollars a-year.
The produce of the poor-tax for the city and county of
Philadelphia 140,000 dollars.
In Philadelphia there are, besides several squares,
about 34 streets, many of which are very broad, and all
of them neat and elegant, lighted by lamps of two
branches each. The expence of lighting and watching
Philadelphia was 25,000 dollars per annum in 1818.
Here is a library which owed its origin to Dr Frank¬
lin, was incorporated in 1742, and now contains up¬
wards of 30,000 volumes, besides a museum and a va¬
luable philosophical apparatus. There is a theatre in
3
PLikdci.
phia.
1793. The uni¬
versity stands on the west side of Fourth-street, and
Was incorporated in the year 179L ^ie ^un^s which
produce annually a revenue of about 2365I. and the
students on an average amount to 510. In the city and
suburbs are 10 rope-walks, 13 breweries, 6 sugar-houses,
7 hair-powder manufactories, 2 rum-distilleries, 15 ma¬
nufactories of earthen ware, and the public mint for the
whole United States, _ .
The university of Phikidelphici was founded during
the war. Its funds were partly given by the state, and
partly taken from the old college of Philadelphia. A
medical school, which was founded in 1765, is attached
to the university j and has professors in all the branches
of medicine, who prepare the students for degrees in
that science. Besides the university and medical
school, there is the Protestant Episcopal academy, a
very flourishing institution } the academy for young
ladies ; another for the Friends or Quakers, and one for
the Germans, besides five free schools.
In Market-street, between Front and Fourth-streets,
is the principal market, built of brick, and is feet
in length. This market, in respect to the quantity, the
variety, and neatness of the provisions, is not equalled
in America, and perhaps not exceeded in the world.
There are various literary and philosophical institu¬
tions in Philadelphia. The American Philosophical
Society was incorporated in 1780, and has published
five volumes of Transactions. The Philadelphia Medi¬
cal Society established in 1790 ; the College of Physi¬
cians in 17895 the Medical Lyceum in 18045 the
Academy of Fine Arts in 1805 5 the Linnean Society
in 18065 the Agricultural Society in 18095 and the
Academy of Natural Sciences, which commenced a
a Journal in 1817. Peale’s Museum, founded in 1784,
contains an extensive collection of objects connected
with natural history.
The style of living in Philadelphia is substantial, and
among the richer classes splendid, though not very re¬
fined. Many of the houses are richly furnished, and a
considerable number of carriages are kept. All classes
live well, and apparently there is less economy and Jess
exertion than in England. The dress of the gentlemen
is taken from England, that of the ladies from France.
The distinction between the blacks and whites is jea¬
lously kept up here. The former are not allowed to go
into the same church with the latter.
The wages of labour and prices of commodities in
Philadelphia may serve as a specimen of those of the
large towns of America generally. In October 1817,
according to Mr Fearon, labourers were paid from 4s.
6d. to 5s. 7d. per day 5 female servants 4s. 6d. to 9s.
per week, with board 5 men servants 54s. to 67s. 6d.
per month 5 carpenters from 31s. 6d. to 40s. 6d. per
week 5 shoemakers 31s. 6d. to 40s. 6d. 5—they work
more hours than in London. Fish from 2d. to 6^d. per
pound 5 beef y^d. 5 bacon 7d. to 8d. 5 butter i7d. to
2od. 5 fowls i6d. to 2s. 3d. 5 turkeys 5s. 6d. 5 flour 10
dollars per barrel of 196 pounds 5 lump sugar is. to is.
yd. 5 tea 4s. 6d. to 9s. 5 Liverpool salt 3s. 4d. per
bushel 5 Shoes 13s. 6d. to lys. 9d. per pair 5 best hats
40s. 6d. 5 superfine coats 81. is. 6d. _ #
The philanthropic and useful institutions in Phila¬
delphia are very numerous and extremely well con¬
ducted. In the Alms House and House of Employ¬
ment,
PHI
Philadel¬
phia.
raent, the average number of persons maintained in 1810
.was 735 > and the average weekly expence for each
was 1 dollar 21 cents per week. The poor are employ¬
ed here in the fabrication of coarse manufactures. The
Friends Alms House was established by the Quakers
tor the infirm and indigent members of their own com¬
munity. The Abolition Society for promoting the abo-
htmn of slavery, and for the relief of free negroes un¬
lawfully held in slavery, was established in 1774. The
Washington Bermvnlpnl  i _T’
C 259 ]
P H I
Washington Benevolent Society has nearly 2000 mem! abontibliT PfIS°n®rS Iie °n the floor» on a blanket, and
bers. The asylum for the relief ofluuatlcfwas plan bited frf7 V T •r0°,n 5 ^e strictly prohi-
hxr • .o.- rn, . „ wab Plan hlted irom keeping- their rWl^c „i- • l/ 1 rr„
bers. 1 he asylum for the relief of lunatics was plan¬
ned by the Quakers in 1813. The society for alleviat¬
ing the misery of public prisons, instituted in 1787, has
been the means of introducing great improvements into
these establishments. The Pensylvania hospital, found¬
ed m 1756, allords relief to poor persons afflicted with
diseases. The Dispensary affords medical advice and
assistance to the indigent sick who are unable to pay
for a physician. r J
The Penitentiary of this city has been justly celebra¬
ted, as having set the first example of the efficacy of
labour, and a system of moral discipline, in reforming
the fives of criminals, and in diminishing the expence
ox prisons by rendering the labour of the prisoners the
source of their own support. The prison instead of be¬
ing a scene of idleness, debauchery, and profanity, has
the appearance of a large manufactory, in which all are
tiseiuHy employed, and none seem extremely unhappy.
The leading features of the system of discipline esta¬
blished here, will fie understood from the following ac-
count of the regulations given in “ Mease’s Picture of
Philadelphia
‘ I. Cleanliness, so intimately connected with mora-
itj, is the first thing attended to, previously to any at¬
tempts at that internal purification, which it is the ob¬
ject of the discipline to effect. The criminal is washed.
Ins clothes effectually purified and laid aside, and he is
clothed in the peculiar habit of the jail, which consists
ot grey cloth, made by the prisoners, adapted to the sea-
s°h. he attention to this important point is unremit¬
ted, during their confinement. Their faces and hands
are daily washed ; they are shaved, and change their
linen once a-week ; their hair is kept short; and, du-
nng the summer, they bathe in a large tub. Their
apartments are swept and washed once or twice a-
week, as required, throughout the year.
“ 2. Work, suitable to the age and capacity of the
convicts, is assigned, and an account is opened with
tliem. I hey are charged with their board, clothes, the
fine imposed by the state, and expence of prosecution,
and credited for their work j at the expiration of the
une of servitude, half the amount of the sum, if any,
left after deducting the charges, is required by law to
he paid to them. As the board is low, the labour con-
s ant, and the working hours greater than among me-
c lames, it is easy for the convicts to earn more than
the amount of their expences; so that, when they go
on , they receive a sum of money sufficient to enable
them to pursue a trade, if so disposed, or, at least, that
will keep them from want until they find employ, and
prevent the necessity of stealing. On several occa¬
sions, the balance paid to a convict has amounted to
more t lan one hundred dollaj-s; in one instance it was
one hundred and fifty dollars ; and from ten to forty
0 ars are commonly paid.—When, from the nature of
his weakness^his^h ,the c®nvict has been employed, or Philadel-
Z !T ’ • , ?ur does not amount to more than phia.
the charges against him, and his place of residence is '-Lv—
monP 1TG Z P,nlade]Phfa> bo is furnished with
money to bear his expences home. The price of board-
rl£l!S Sl? CentS ?er da7’ and the general cost of
!ents f°r a yea1’ 18 nineteeu dol]ai-s thirty-three
3. The prisoners lie on the floor, on a blanket, and
, . J —r — iuey are smctlv
uted from keeping their clothes on at night. ' The
hours for rising and retiring are announced by a bell:
and at those times they go out and come in with the
gieatest regularity. For their own comfort, they have
established a set of rules respecting cleanliness, on
breach of which a fine is exacted. No one is per¬
mitted even to spit on the floor. A large lamp is
mng up, out of the reach of the prisoners, in every
room, which enables the keeper or watch to see every
man 5 and for this purpose a small aperture is made in
every door. The end of the cord by which the lamps
are suspended is outside of the rooms j the solitary cells
is the punishment for extinguishing these lamps.
4. Iheir diet is wholesome, plain, and invigorating,
and their meals are served up with the greatest regula¬
rity and order ; a bell announces when they are ready,
and all collect at the door leading to the passage where
they eat, before any one is allowed to enter. They
then take their seats without hurry or confusion, and
all begin to eat at the same time. While eating, si-
fence is strictly enjoined by the presence of the keepers,
wio give notice of the time for rising from table.
P or breakfast, they have about three-fourths of a pound
of good bread, with molasses and water. At dinner,
half a pound of bread and beef, a bowl of soup and po¬
tatoes. Sometimes herrings in the spring. At supper
corn meal mush (mash ?) and molasses, and sometimes
boiled rice.
“ The black seat at a separate table. There is also
a table set apart for those who have committed offences
or the first time, but not of sufficient enormity to merit
the solitary cells 5 such as indolence, slighting work
impudence, &c. ; and to such no meat is given. Every
one finds his allowance ready on his trencher. The
drink is molasses and water, which has been found to
be highly useful, as a refreshing draught, and as a
medicine. Spirituous liquors or beer never enter the
walls of the prison. The cooks and bakers, who are
convicts, are allowed thirty cents per day by the in¬
spectors. The decency of deportment, and the expres¬
sion of content, exhibited by the convicts at their meals
renders a view of them, while eating, highly interest¬
ing. . No provisions are permitted to be sent to the
convicts from without.
“ 5. The regularity of their lives almost secures them
against disease.. A physician, however, is appointed
to attend the prison ; a room is appropriated for the re¬
ception of the sick or hurt, and nurses to attend them.
1 he effect of the new system has been seen in no par¬
ticular more evidently than in the diminution of dis¬
ease among the convicts.
“ 6. Religious instruction was one of the original
remedies prescribed for the great moral disease, which
the present penal system is calculated to cure. Divine
service is generally peformed every Sunday, in a large
K k 2 room
t hiiadel-
phia.
PHI
room appropriated solely for the purpose
rryman or pious layman volunteers Ins services, and dis¬
courses are delivered, suited to the situation and capa¬
cities of the audience. The prisoners m the cells are
denied this indulgence j good books are likewise
stributed among them. . . : ,
“ 7. Corporal punishments are strictly prohibited,
whatever offence may have been committed. 1 he keep¬
ers carry no weapons, not even a stick. The sohtaiy
cells and low diet have on all occasions been iound
amply sufficient to bring down the most determined
spirit, to tame the most hardened villain that ever en¬
tered them. Of the truth of this there are striking
cases on record. Some veterans in vice, with whom it
was necessary to be severe, have declared their prefer¬
ence of death by the gallows to a further continuance
in that place of torment. In the cells, the construc¬
tion of which renders conversation among those con¬
fined in them difficult, the miserable man is left to the
greatest of all possible punishments, his own reflections.
His food, which consists of only half a pound ot bread
per day, is given him in the morning 5 m the course of
a few days or weeks, the very nature ot the being is
changed ; and there is no instance of any one having
given occasion for the infliction of the punishment a
second time. Such is the impression which the reports
of its effects have left among the convicts, that the very
dread of it is sufficient to prevent the frequent com¬
mission of those crimes for which it is the known pun¬
ishment, as swearing, impudence, rudeness, quarrelling,
indolence repeated, or wilful injury to the tools, or to
articles of manufacture.
“ There are fourteen inspectors, three of whom are
elected by the select and common councils in joint meet¬
ing, in May and November *, two by the commissioners
of the Northern Liberties, and two by the commission¬
ers of Southwark, at the same time.”
We extract the following account of the malignant
fever which prevailed in Philadelphia in 1793
1797> from a pamphlet written by Mr Carey. ^iie
symptoms which characterized the first stage of the
fever were, in the greatest number of eases, after a
chilly fit of some duration, a quick tense pulse •, hot
skin ; pain in the head, baek, and limbs; flushed
countenance^ inflamed eyes; moist tongue ; oppression
and sense of soreness at the stomach, especially upon
pressure ; frequent sick qualms, and retchings to vomit,
without discharging any thing, except the contents last
taken into the stomach ; costiveness, &.c.
“ These symptoms generally continued with more or
less violence from one to three, four, or even five days;
and then gradually abating, left the patient free ho*11
every complaint, except general debility. On the fe¬
brile symptoms suddenly subsiding, they were immedi¬
ately succeeded by a yellow tinge in the opaque cornea,
or whites of the eyes ; an increased oppression at the
praecordia, a constant puking of every thing taken into
the stomach, with much straining, accompanied with a
hoarse hallow noise.
“ If these symptoms were not soon relieved, a vomit¬
ing of matter resembling coffee-grounds in colour and
consistence, commonly called the black vomit, sometimes
accompanied with or succeeded by hemorrhagies from
the nose, fauces, gums, and other parts of the body ; a
yellowish purple colour, and putrescent appearance of
r 260 1 p H 1
See tier- tl,e whole Wy, hiccup
the whole hooy, nice-up, 7 *
sighing, comatose delimm,, and finally death a e the
consequence. When the disease proved tatal,
generally between the fifth and eighth days.
L “ This was the most usual progress of this formidable
disease through its several stages. Ihere were, how¬
ever very considerable variations in the symptoms as
well’as in the duration of its different stages, according,
to the constitution and temperament ot the patien ,
the state of the weather, the manner of treatment,
In some cases, signs of putrescency appeared at the
beginning or before the end of the third day. In these,
the black vomiting, which was generally a moital symp¬
tom, and universal yellowness, appeared early. In
these cases, also, a low delirium, and great prostration
of strength, were constant symptoms, and coma came
on very speedily. In other, the symptoms inclined
more to the nervous than the inflammatory type.
Philadelphia, an ancient town of iurk^y111
Asia, in Natolia. It is seated at the foot of Mount
Tmolus, by the river Cogamus, from whence there is
an exceeding fine view over an extensive plain, ih^
place was founded by Attains Philadelphus, brother of
Eumenes. . . ,
It was very liable to earthquakes, PerhaP ’
arose from its vicinity to the region called Catakckau-
... „  that even the
PhiladA
phia.
im its vicinity to uic  
So severe were those -rthquakes tha even he-S,^
wtw so severe weie uiusc ~ the htnu
city walls were not secure ; and so frequent were tiey
that these experienced daily concussions, ihe inhabi¬
tants, therefore, who were not numerous, lived in perpe¬
tual apprehension, and their constant employment was
in repairs. In fact, so great were their fears, that then-
chief residence was in the country, the soil ol which
was very fertile. Such is Strabo’s account of this
place. In the year 1,097, was taken by assault by
John Ducas the Greek general. It was without di
culty reduced also in the year 1106, under the same
emperor. The Turks marched from the East with a
design to plunder it and the maritime towns. Ihe
emperor Manuel, in 1175, retired tor protection from
the Turks to this place. In 1300 it fell by lot to
Karaman. In 1306, it was besieged by Ahfaras, and
considerably harassed; hut was not taken. I» J39L
this place alone refused to admit Bajazet *, but it w
at length forced to capitulate for want ot provis.ons.
It has been matter of surprise that this town was not
totally abandoned; and yet it has survived many cities
less liable to inconveniences, and is still an extensive
place, though in its appearance it is poor and mean.
Some remnants of its walls are still standing, but with
large gaps. The materials of the wall are small stones
strongly cemented. It is thick, lofty, and has roun
towers. Near this place, between the mountains, there
is a spring of a purgative quality ; it is much esteemed
and many people resort to it in the hot months It
tastes like ink, is clear, but tinges the earth w.th the
colour of ochre. The famous wall, which credulity has
asserted to be made of human bones, stands beyond th
and beyond the town. See the next artic e. ^
When Dr Chandler was there, he tells us, heT ^
bishop of Philadelphia was absent; hut t'^ proto-PaP^
or chief priest, his substitute, whom we went to y 1st re
ceived us at his palace, a title given to a very ind.ff r-
ent house or rather a cottage of clay. We fopmkffim
PHI [ 261 ] PHI
^’liilade!' ignorant of the Greek tongue, and were forced to dis- ting their souls to the care of the internal guide, to be Phiiade!
idel C°UrSe With him by an interPreter in t,le Turkish lan- instructed, governed, and formed, by his divine impulse phian So-
InianSo- f?uage- .H.e no ulea that Philadelphia existed be- and suggestions. But she went farther than this: she ciety
i ciety. fore Christianity, but told us it had become a city in even pretended a divine commission to proclaim the ap- .,l
|—V-—> consequence of the many religious foundations. The proach of this glorious communion of saints; and was ■ FlllIaenl•,
number of churches he reckoned at 24, mostly in ruins, convinced that the society established by herself was the ^
and mere masses of wall decorated with painted saints, true kingdom of Christ. One of her leading doctrines
Only six are in a better condition, and have their was that of the final restoration of all intelligent beings
priests. The episcopal church is large, and ornament- to perfection and happiness.
ed with gilding, carving, and holy portraits. The PHILADELPHUS, in antiquity, was a title or sur-
Greeks are about 300 families, and live in a friendly name borne by several ancient kings ; formed from the
intercourse with the Turks, of whom they speak well. Greek “friend, lover,” and^sAipuj, “brother-”
We were assured that the clergy and laity in gene- q. d. one who loves his brother or brethren. See
ral knew as little of Greek as the proto-papas; and Ptolemy and Egypt.
yet the liturgies and offices of the church are read as Philadelphia, the Pipe-tree, or Mock-orange; a
elsewhere, and have undergone no alteration on that ac- genus of plants belonging to the icosandria class.^ See
count. Botany Index.
“ The Philadelphians are a civil people. One of the Tire coronarius, white syringa, or mock-orange, has
Greeks sent us a small earthen vessel full of choice wine, been long cultivated in the gardens of this country as a
Some families beneath the trees, by a rill of water, in- flowering shrub; it is not well known in what, country
vited us to alight, and partake of their refreshments, it is to be found native. It rises seven or eight feet
They saluted us when we met and the aga or gover- high ; sending up a great number of slender stalks from
nor, on hearing that we were Franks, bade us welcome the root. These have a grey bark,, branch out from
by a messenger. their sides, and are garnished with oval spear-shaped
“ Philadelphia possessing waters excellent in dyeing, leaves. This shrub by its flowers makes a fine figure in
and being situated on one of the most capital roads to May and June ; for they are produced in clusters both
Smyrna, is much frequented, especially by Armenian at the end and from the sides of the branches. They
merchants. Ihe Greeks still call this place by its are of a fine white colour, and exceedingly fragrant,
ancient name, but the Turks call it Allali jur. The PHIL^ENI, were two brothers, citizens of Carthage,
number of inhabitants is about 7000 or 8000; of who,sacrificed their lives for the good of their country,
whom 2000 are supposed to be Christians. It is about At the time when the Carthaginians ruled over the
40 miles E. S. E. of Smyrna. E. Long. 28. 15. N. greatest part of Africa, the Cyrenians were also a great
Lat. 38. 28.” and wealthy people. The country in the middle betwixt
PHiLADELPHiA-Stones, a name which some authors them was all sandy, and of an uniform appearance,
have given to what is otherwise called Christian bones. There was neither river nor mountain to distinguish
iound in the walls of that city. It is a vulgar error their limits ; a circumstance which engaged them in a
that these walls are built of bones ; and the tradition terrible and tedious war with one another. After their
of the country is, that when the Turks took the place, armies and fleets had been often routed and put to flight
they fortified it for themselves, and built their walls of on both sides, and they had weakened one another pret-
the bones of the Christians whom they had killed there, ty much; and fearing lest, by and by, some third people
Dr Smyth in one of his epistles, mentions this wall as should fall upon the conquered and conquerors together,
an instance of Turkish barbarity. This idle opinion has equally weakened, upon a cessation of arms they made
gained credit merely from a loose and porous stone of an agreement, “ that upon a day appointed deputies
the sparry kind, found in an old aqueduct, which is still should set out from their respective homes, and the place
in the wall. Sir Paul Rycaut brought home pieces of where they met one another should be accounted the
these stones, which even he supposed to have been bones, common boundary of both nations.” Accordingly, the
but they proved on examination to be various bodies, two brothers called Philceni, sent from Carthage, made
chiefly vegetable, incrusted over and preserved in a all dispatch to perform their journey. The Cyrenians
spar of the nature of that which forms incrustations in proceeded more slowly. These last, perceiving them-
Knaresborough spring, and other places with us. These selves a little behind, and becoming apprehensive of pu-
hodies are often cemented together in considerable num- nishraent at home for mismanaging the affair, charged
bers by this matter, and their true shape lost in the con- the Carthaginians with setting out before the time ;
genes, till a diligent and judicious eye traces them re- made a mighty bustle upon it; and, in short, would
gularly. rather choose any thing than go away outdone. Rut
Philadelphian Society, in ecclesiastical history, an whereas the Carthaginians desired any other terms, pro-
obscure and inconsiderable society of mystics. They vided only they were fair, the Cyrenians made this pro-
were formed about the end of the last century by an posal to the Carthaginians, “ either to be buried alive in
English female fanatic, whose name was Jane Leudley, the place which they claimed as the boundary to their
This woman seduced, by her visions, predictions, and nation, or that they would advance forward to what
doctrines, several disciples, among whom were persons place they inclined upon the same condition.” The
of learning. She believed that all dissensions among Philaeni accepting the offer, made a sacrifice of them-
Christians would cease, and the kingdom of the Re- selves and their lives to their country, and so were buried
deemer become a scene of charity and felicity, if Chri- alive. The Carthaginians dedicated altars in that place
stians, disregarding the forms of doctrine or discipline to the memory of the two brothers. These altars, cal-
of their several communions, would all join in commit- led Ara Phticenorwn, served as a boundary to the em¬
pire
PHI [262
]>ire of the Carthaginians, which extended from this
Philaiuhro- monument ^o'llercules’s Pillars, which is »!>oat 20°°
py- miles, or, according to the accurate observations of Ac
 ' moderns, only 1420 geographical mlles-, ^ jM
who gives this account m his history oi the Jugurthine
WapHILANTHROPY is compounded of two Greek
words which signify the love of mankind. It is there¬
fore of nearly the same import with benevolence ( ) ,
and differs from friendship, as tins latter affection -
sists only between a few individuals, whilst philan-
thropi! comprehends the whole species.
Whether man has an instinctive propensity to love Ins
species, which makes him incapable of happiness but in
the midst of society, and impels him to do all the good
that he can to others, feeling their felicity au addition
to his own, is a question that has been warmly debated
amono- philosophers ever since metaphysics was studied
as a science. With the opinions of the ancients we shal
not, in this detached article, trouble our readers j but it
would be unpardonable to pass without notice the dii-
ferent theories which on so interesting a subject have
divided the moderns. ,. _,
Hobbes, who believed, or pretended to believe, that
right results from power, and that in society there is no
other standard of justice than the law of the land, or
the will of the supreme magistrate, built his opinions
upon a theory of human nature, in which philanthropy
has no place. According to him, mankind, in the ori¬
ginal state of nature, were wholly selfish. Each en¬
deavoured to seize, by fraud or force, whatever he
thought would contribute to his comfort*, and as all had
nearly the same wants, the inevitable consequence ot
this selfishness was universal war. W e are taught in¬
deed by the same philosopher, that, in a series ol ages,
mankind discovered the miseries of tins state ol nature 5
and therefore, upon the same basis of universal selhsh-
ness, formed societies, over which they placed supreme
governors for the’purpose of protecting the weak against
the violence of the strong. He does not, however, ex¬
plain how men, whose angry and selfish passions were
thus excited to the utmost against each other, could en¬
ter upon this friendly treaty *, or, supposing it formed,
how the ignorant multitude were induced to pay obedi¬
ence to the more enlightened few. Clogged with tins
and other insurmountable difficulties, his philosophy ot
human nature soon fell into merited contempt *, but
about the origin of philanthropy those who united m
opposition to him still thought very differently from one
The elegant Shaftesbury, who had imbibed much of
the spirit of Plato, endeavoured, like his master, to de¬
duce all the duties of man, and almost all his actions,
from a number of internal feelings or instincts which he
] PHI
founder of a school which has produced philosophers Phihnthoj
4 _    .. ...,1 t-vf iDY.
whose works do honour to the age and country in which
they flourished. Among these we must reckon Bishop
Butler, Hutchison, Lord Karnes, Dr Beattie, and per-
^ According to the system of these writers, the whole
duty of man results from an intuitive principle, to which
they have given the name of the moral sense j and with
this sense they conceive philanthropy to be inseparably
united or rather perhaps to make an essential pait ot
it. (See Moral Philosophy). If this theory be car¬
ried to its utmost extent, as it has been by some of
its patrons, it seems to follow, that peace and harmony
should reign among savages j and that a man who had
from his infancy grown up in solitude, would be delight¬
ed with the first sight of a fellow-creature, and run to
him with eagerness as to a new source of enjoyment.
This conclusion, however, is contrary to acknowledged
facts Savages are generally divided into small tribes
or hordes ; and though the attachment of individuals to
their own tribe appears indeed to be abundantly strong,
the tribes themselves are frequently at W'ar, and entertain
aconstant jealousy of each other. Savages, too, arealmost
universally afraid of strangers j and the few solitary in¬
dividuals, who have been caught in parts where they
had run wild from their infancy, instead of being flight¬
ed with the appearance of fellow-men, have either fled
from them with their utmost speed, or been fixed to the
spot in terror and astonishment. These are no indica¬
tions of that instinctive philanthropy for which some
writers so strenuously plead. They have indeed induced
others to deny, that in human nature there is any in¬
stinctive principles at all; and to endeavour to account
for our several propensities by the influence ot education
producing early and deep-rooted habits.
At the head of this school stood Locke and Hartley.
The former, employing himself almost wholly on the in¬
tellectual poivers of man, and combating the absurd,
though then generally received, belief, that there aiein
the human mind innate principles of speculative truth,
has touched but incidentally on our principles of action.
It seems, however, to be evident that he did not consi¬
der any one of these principles as innate ; and Ins opi¬
nion was adopted by Hartley, who studied the sensitive
part of human nature with greater industry and success
pari ui numa-11 urtLiAn, & “ iii* • 4.
than perhaps any writer who had preceded him in that
department of science. This philosopher refuses all
kind of instinct to man, even the vogyu of a mother to
her new-born infant, and that which has been genera -
ly supposed innate—the propensity of the infant to suck
the breast. It is therefore needless to say that in Ins
theory of human nature innate philanthropy can have
no place. . , , ,
The reader, however, must not suppose that the the-
from a number of internal feelings or instincts wincn ^ Hartley is the theory of Hobbes. Though he
supposed to be interwoven with his constitution by the Y ^ ^ • • ks ot- action in the human mind,
immediate hand of God. This system appeared so 10- ^ .g from cll|aming that the original state of man
nourable to human nature, and at the same time was so selfishness, or that the acquisition
easily comprehended, that the noble lord had so n ^“fX-lcsentiments i, no. natural. He consider
many followers, and may indeed be considered as the ol ptiuantmopic c guch
(a) We say nearly of the same import; because benevolence ‘cannot’ comprehend more than the ho-
and is of course susceptible of pain and pleasure; whereas philanthropy cannot coal.
man race.
P H I
•o-Siicli acquisitions as even necessary and unavoidable
and founds them on the great law of association, which
we have elsevdiere endeavoured to explain. (See Me¬
taphysics, Part I. cliap. v.). Hartley was a Christian,
and appears to have been a man of great piety. Con¬
ceiving with Locke that men are born without any
ideas, or any principles either of knowledge or of ac¬
tion, but that they are subject to the law of association
as much as to the impressions of sense, he seems to have
thought, that the important purpose for which they are
sent into this world is, that they may acquire habits of
piety and virtue, which, operating like instincts, will fit
them for the purer society of a future state. That this
theory is unfriendly to morals, no man who understands
it will presume to affirm. It appears, indeed, to be
more consistent with the necessity of a revelation from
God than that of Shaftesbury, which has so many fol¬
lowers : but notwithstanding this, we cannot help think¬
ing that the excellent author has carried his antipathy
to instincts by much too far (see Instinct), and that
the truth lies in the middle between him and his oppo¬
nents.
Without some instincts to influence before the dawn
of reason, it is not easy to be conceived how children
could be induced to that exercise which is absolutely ne¬
cessary to life and health j nor does it appear with suf¬
ficient^ evidence that the human race are deserted by
every instinct as soon as their rational powers are evol¬
ved. It seems to be a matter of fact which cannot be
controverted, that women have an instinctive attachment
to their new-born infants ; but that these, when they
become capable of distinguishing objects, are instinctive¬
ly attached to their parents, their brothers, and sisters,
is a position which, though it may be true, seems inca¬
pable of proof. That they soon appear to be so attach¬
ed, is a fact which we believe no man will deny, but
the attachment may be accounted for by the associating
principle operating upon that desire of happiness which
is necessarily formed as soon as happiness is experienced.
(See Passion). An infant becomes earlier attached
to its nurse than to any other person 5 because, feeling
wants which she supplies, the idea of enjoyment be¬
comes soon associated in its mind with the perception of
the woman. If this woman be its mother, a hasty ob-
servei immediately attributes this attachment to instinct
directing the infant to love its parent; but that instinct
has here no place, is evident from the well-known facts,
that a child is as fond of a tender nurse, though no re¬
lation, as of the most affectionate mother ; and as re¬
gardless of a mother who seldom sees it, or sees it with
indifference, as of any other person. Nay, we have
seen children of the sweetest dispositions as fond of the
maid with whom they slept, as of a very affectionate
parent by whom they had been tenderly nursed : and
sure no man will say that this could be instinct; it was
evidently a new association of the idea of the maid with
the greatest happiness which they enjoyed after the pe¬
riod of their suckling was at an end.
It is much in the same way that children acquire an
attachment to their brothers and sisters. Brothers and
sisters being constantly together, contribute to each
other’s amusement: hence arises that pleasure which
they have in each other’s company, and the uneasiness
which they feel when separated. This generates mu¬
tual love in their minds, which is strengthened by the
perpetual injunctions of their parents ; for if these have
[ 263 ]
P H I
any virtue themselves, they cannot fail to inculcate the Phikinbo.
cuty of loving each other on their tender offspring. py,
enevolence, thus generated, soon extends to their daily Philemon,
companions; and takes a wider and a wider range as » ’
these companions are multiplied, and as children advance
towards the state of manhood. New objects then pre¬
sent themselves to the mind. A man soon discovers,
that, as be is a member of a community, his happiness
as an individual depends in a great measure on the pro¬
sperity of the whole. Hence arises patriotism, and that
pleasure which we all take in the eminence of our
countrymen. But the principle of benevolence stops
not here. He whose mind is enlarged by a liberal
education, considers all particular countries as provinces
of one great country extended over the whole globe;
and all mankind, of course, as not only sharing the same
nature with himself, but as being in reality his fellow-
citizens and brethren. The principles of religion, if
he be actuated bv them, must aid these reflections, and
make him wish the happiness of all who stand in the
same relation^ with himself to the Great Governor of
the world. This is philanthropy; and we see how it
may spring, by the great law of association, from desires
which, in their original state, cannot be considered as
other than selfish. It is a calm sentiment, which we
believe hardly ever rises to the warmth of affection,
and certainly not to the heat of passion.
Should any of our readers be disposed to controvert
this opinion, or to lancy it degrading to human nature,
we will not enter into controversy with them ; we only
beg leave to ask, whether they have ever rejoiced in the
good fortune of a stranger or a foreigner, or regretted
his loss, with any portion of those feelings which they
have frequently experienced on hearing of the prosperity
or the death of a friend or a neighbour ? We answer
candidly for ourselves, that we feel no interest which
can be called passion or affection in the fortunes of a na¬
tive of China ; and yet we should be sorry to think that
our philanthropy is less than that of other men. A com¬
mon clown, we are inclined to believe, seldom extends
his affection beyond his friends and neighbours ; and
though, from having often heard his country praised,
and knowing that he belongs to his country, he would
probably be offended at the man who should prefer
another to it; yet if no misfortune befal him, or his
friends and neighbours, we imagine that his grief for
public calamities may be borne with patience. In his
mind no such associations have been formed as comprise
the good of a country, far less of all countries ; and
therefore his philanthropy must be confined to a very
limited range. We doubt not, however, but that as op¬
portunity offers, and as circumstances permit, such a man
is ready to feed the hungry and clothe the naked of all
countries ; not indeed from sentiments of affection either
innate or acquired, but from the obvious reflection that
he is not exempted from those calamities which have be¬
fallen them, and from a still higher principle—a sense
ol duty to that God who has made of one blood all na¬
tions upon earth, and commanded them to be mutually
aiding to each other.
PHILEMON, a Greek comic poet, was son to Da¬
mon, and cotemporary with Menander. Any advantage
he had over this poet, was owing less to his own merit
than to the intrigues of his friends. Plautus has imitat¬
ed his comedy du Marchand. He is reported to have
died laughing on seeing his ass eat figs. He was then -*
about
PHI [
H,w» about „ yea-fag.
Phil'L. S e^nt' iT-^rable f,agn»n,S collected by
—v—e S “u„s. These clearly prove that he was "»t > P* »
the first rank. He flourished about the year 274 he
“"pmllMON, was a rich citizen of Colossse in Phrygia.
He^rva^converted to the Christian ^ "P-
x- w:fe bv Epaphras the disciple ot bt ram , i
St.9Paul'himsell^tUd not preach at Colossse Colloss. .
, Perhaps we should have known nothing ol St 1 h
lemon, hadP it not been on the account of b.s slave &-
neshnus, who having robbed him, -d ruu away f on
1 • in Ttnnie where he iounn bt raul, ami
very serviceable to him. St Paul converted him, baptized
lim and sent bin, back to his master Philemon- to whom
he wrote a letter still extant, and which passes lor a ma¬
sterpiece of that kind ol eloquence, natural, "'fc ' ^ «
os: hL;^ ai. ^ do.
tn all tlml were In digress. The Apostolical Constitutions
say that St Paul made him bishop ol Colosste ; hut the
Menma insinuate, that he went .0 Gaza m Patetine of
which he was the apostle ami first bishop, iiom hence
he returned to Colossse where he ^ffered martyrdom
with Appia his wife, in the time of Nero. 1 hey relate
several particulars of his martyrdom, and say, that his
body remained at Colossse, where it performed seve
^ PHILETAS, a Greek poet and grammarian, of the
island of Cos, flourished under Philip and Alexander the
Great, and was preceptor of Ptolemv Phfladelphus. H
was the author of some Elegies, Epigrams and other
works which have not come down to us. He is ccie
brated in the poems of Ovid and Propertius, as one of
the best poets of his age. Elian reports a veiy impi oha-
ble storv^of him, namely, “ that his body was so slender
and feeble, that he was obliged to have some lead in his
pockets, to prevent him from being carried away by the
V PHILETUS. St Paul, writing to Timothy (2Tim.
ii. 16 17, 18.) in the 65th year of Christ, and a httle
while before his own martyrdom, speaks thus .. 11
shun profane and vain babblings, for they will increase
unto more ungodliness. And their word 1. eat as do h
a canker •, of whom is Hymenmus and 1 1 ^
concerning the truth have erred saying, that the »e
past already, anfl overthrow the faith of some.
rection is past aireauy, aim i<v - iTinutne- for
We have nothing very certain concerning 1 h - ,
we make hut small account of what is read m the false
Abdias in the life of St James major, even supposing
this author had not put the name of Philetus instead 0
Phveellus. This is the substance of what is found in
Ibdias. St James the son of Zebedee, passing through
the synagogues of Judea and Samar,a, preached every¬
where the faith of Jesus Christ. Hermogenes and 1 ln-
letus strenuously opposed him, affirming, that Jesus Christ
was not the Messiah. Hermogenes was a notable magi¬
cian, and Philetus was his d,sciple, who being converted,
was desirous to bring his master to St James , but He -
mogenes bound him up so by his magic art, that he could
not come at the apostle. Philetus found means to make
Bt James acquainted with what had happened to him,
264 1 PHI
upon which St James unbound him, and Philetus came
to him. Hermogenes perceiving how ineffectual his a
was against the saint, became himself a convert as well as
PlpHILIBEG, is a little plaid, called also and
is a sort of short petticoat reaching nearly to the knees,
worn by the Scotch Highlanders. It is a modern sub¬
stitute for the lower part of the plaid, being found to
be less cumbersome, especially in time ^ actT’
the Highlanders used to tuck their brechdan into then
eirdle. Almost all of them have a great pouch of bad¬
ger and other skins, with tassels dangling before, in which
they keep their tobacco and money.
PHILIP, foster-brother of Antiocbus Epiphanes
(1 Mace. vi. 14, & 55- 2 Macc._ix.29_.), was a Phry¬
gian by birth, and very much m Ant.ochus s fa our.
This prince made him governor of Jerusalem (2 Mace,
viii 8. v. 2 2.) where he committed many outrages upon
the Jews, to force them to forsake their religion. See¬
ing that Apollonius and Seron were defeated by Judas
Maccabaeus, he sent for new succours to Ptolemy ^over
nor of Coelo-Syria, who sent him Gorgias and Nicanoi
with a powerful army. Some time after, AnUochus
going beyond the Euphrates, to extort money from the
people, Philip went along with him •, and Antiocbus
finding himself near his end (1 Mace vi. 14.) made him
regent of that kingdom, put Ins diadem into his hands,
his royal cloak, and his ring, that he might render them
to his son the young Antiochus Eupator. But Lysias
having taken possession of the government in the name
of young Eupator, who was but a child, Philip not be-
in J able to cope with him, durst not return into Syria:
but he went into Egypt, carrying the body of Epipha¬
nes along with him, there to implore assistance irom
Ptolemy Philometor against Lysias the usurper of the
government of Syria. The year following, while Lysias
was busy in the war carrying on against the Jews, Phi¬
lip got into Syria, and took possession of Antioch : but
Lysias returning into the country, with great diligence,
retook Antioch, and put Philip to death, who was taken
111 Philip the apostle was a native of Bethsaula in Gali¬
lee. Jesus Christ having seen him, said to him, “ hol¬
low me,” John i. 43, 44, &c.. Plnhp followed him ^
and soon after finding Nathanael, Philip said to him,
a We i)ave found the Messiah, of whom Moses and the
prophets have spoken, Jesus of Nazareth, the son 0. Jo¬
seph.” Nathanael asked him, “Can any thing good
come out of Nazareth?” To which Philip replied,. Come
and see.” Then he brought Nathanael to Jesus and they
ana see. men uc uiuugw-~ n 04
went with him to the marriage of Cana in Galilee, bt
Philip was called at the very beginning of our baviour s
mission •, and when Jesus Christ was about to feed the
rooo that followed him (Luke yi. 13. Mat x. 2. John
ii c_7.), he asked St Philip, only to prove him, whence
bread might be bought for such a multitude of people
Philip answered, that 200 pennyworth of bread would
not he sufficient for every one to taste a little. Some
Gentiles, having a curiosity to see Jesus Christ a lit e
before his passion, they addressed themsel ves to St PI .1 P
(John xii. 21, 22T who mentioned it to St Andrew,
and these two to Christ. At the last supper, Philip ae-
sired our Saviour, that he would be pleased to show them
the Father, being all that they desired (John xiv. 8-1 a)
But Jesus told them, that seeing the Son they saw the
Philip
phi [ 265 ] phi
This is all we find concerning Philip i„ and wenl ;nto tbe „atc,. whete ph|]; , ;iei]
thp Plinnr*li    r ji . .1 ^ . .
Fatlier also,
the gospel.
The upper Asia fell to this apostle’s lot, where he
took great pains in planting the gospel, and by his
preaching and miracles made many converts. In the
latter part of his life, he came to Hierapolis in Phry¬
gia, a city very much addicted to idolatry, and particu-
lailv to the worship of a serpent of a prodigious bigness.
St Philip by his prayers procured the death, or at least
the disappearing, of this monster, and convinced its wor¬
shippers of the absurdity of paying divine honours to
such.odious creatures. Put the magistrates, enraged at
Philip’s success, imprisoned him, and ordered him to be
severely scourged, and then put to death, which some
say. was by crucifixion j others, by hanging him up
against a pillar. St Philip is generally reckoned amon<r
the man ted apostles j and it is said he had three daugh¬
ters, two whereof preserved their virginity, and dieif at
Hieiapolis . the third, having led a very spiritual life,
died at Ephesus. He left behind him no writings. The
gospel under his name was forged by the Gnostics, to
countenance their bad principles and worse practices.
The Christian church observes the festival of this saint,
together with that of St James, on the first day of May!
Euseb. lih. iii. c. 30.
Philip, the second of the seven deacons, was chosen
by the apostles after our Saviour’sresurrection. (Actsvi.
5.).. This deacon, they say, was of Caesarea in Palestine.
It is certain that his daughters lived in this city (Acts
xxi. 8, 9.). After the death of St Stephen, all the
Christians, excepting the apostles, having left Jerusalem,
and being dispersed in several places, St Philip went to
pieach at Samaria (if/, viii. 1, 2, &c.), ivhere he per-
formed several miracles, and converted many persons.
He baptized them j but being only a deacon, he could
not confer on them the Holy Ghost. Wherefore hav¬
ing made known to the apostles at Jerusalem, that Sa¬
maria had received the word of God, Peter and John
came thither, and the Samaritans that were converted
received the Holy Ghost. St Philip was probably at
Samaria when the angel of the Lord ordered him to go
to the south part of the country, in the road that leads
from Jerusalem to old Gaza. Philip obeyed, and there
met with an Ethiopian eunuch belonging to Queen Can-
dace, who had the care of her revenues, and had been at
'"^;rusfdern worship God there (iV/. viii. 26, 27, &c.).
He was then returning into his own country, and ivas
reading the. prophet Isaiah as he went along in his cha¬
riot. I hilip, hearing the eunuch reading the prophet
Isaiah, said to him, Ho you understand what you read ?
The eunuch replied, How should I understand, except
somebody explain it to me? He desired Philip therefore
to come and sit down by him in the chariot. The pas¬
sage the eunuch was reading is this: “ He was led as a
s ieep to the slaughter, and like a lamb dumb before his
shearer, so he opened not his mouth.” The eunuch then
says to Philip, Pray, whom does the prophet speak of
m this place ? Is it ol himself, or of some other? Then
bilip began to instruct him concerning Jesus Christ.
And having gone on together, they came to a fountain;
when the eunuch said to Philip, Here is water, what
hinders me from being baptized ? Philip told him that
he might be so, if he believed with all his heart. He re-
P led, I believe that Jesus Christ is the son of God. He
f ien ordered the chariot to stop, and they both alighted
VOL. XVI. Part I. ' f
Philip
tlie eunuch. Being come out of the water, the Spirit ofl-—
tf.e. f0°h away Philip, and the eunuch saw no more
of him. But Philip was found again at Azotus, and he
preached the gospel in all the cities he passed through,
till he arrived at Caesarea in Palestine. After this, tlie
scripture does not inform us of any particulars relatino-
to Philip. The modern Greeks say that' he went to
Iralles m Asia, where he founded a church, of which
he was the apostle and bishop; and where he rested in
peace, after performing many miracles. The Latins
on the contrary, say that he died at Caesarea, and that
three.of his daughters were there buried with him.
It is thought, that the eunuch converted by St Phi-
bp was the first apostle of the Ethiopians ; and that the
Abyssines boast of having received the Christian faith
from him.
Phijup H was the fourth son ofAmyntas, king of ^
Macedonia. He was sent to Thebes as an hostage by ere's £ Mi¬
nis father, where he learnt the art of war under Epa- olhcca
imnondas, and studied with the greatest care the man- ^^ass‘ca-
ners and the pursuits of the Greeks. He discovered, from
his earliest years, that quickness of genius and greatness
of courage which afterwards procured him so great a
name and such powerful enemies. He was recalled to
Macedonia; and at the death of his brother Perdiccas
he ascended the throne as guardian and protector of the
youthful years of his nephew. His ambition, however,
soon discovered itself, and he made himself independent
about the year 360 before Christ. The valour of a pru¬
dent genera], and the policy of an experienced states¬
man, seemed requisite to ensure his power. The nemh-
houring nations, ridiculing the youth and inexperience
of the new king of Macedonia, appeared in arms ; but
Philip soon convinced them of their error. Unable to
meet them as yet in the field of battle, he suspended
their fury by presents, and soon turned his arms against
Amphipolis, a colony tributary to the Athenians. & Am-
phipolis was conquered, and added to the kingdom of
Macedonia ; and Philip meditated no less than the de¬
struction of a republic which had rendered itself so for¬
midable to the rest of Greece, and had even claimed
submission from the princes of Macedonia. His designs,
however, were as yet immature ; and before he could
make Athens an object of conquest, the Thracians and
the Illyrians demanded his attention. He made himself
master of a Thracian colony, to which he gave the name
of Philippi, and from which he received the greatest ad¬
vantages on account of the gold mines in the neigh¬
bourhood. These made it a very important capture.
He settled in it a number of workmen, and was the first
who caused gold to be coined in his own name. He em¬
ployed 1ns wealth in procuring spies and partisans in all
the great cities of Greece, and in making conquests
without the aid of arms. It was at the siege of Methoue
in Thrace that Philip had the misfortune to receive a
wound in his right eye from the stroke of an arrow. In
the midst of his political prosperity, Philip did not ne¬
glect the honour of his family. He married Olympias
the daughter of Neoptolemus, king of the Molossi; and
.when, some time after, he became father of Alexander,
the monarch, conscious of the inestimable advantages
which arise from the lessons, the example, and conver¬
sation of a learned and virtuous preceptor, wrote a let¬
ter with his own hand to the philosopher Aristotle, and
L1 begged
PHI
[
Weed him to retire from his usual pursuits, ami to de-
icie his whole time to the instruct,on of the young
'Zee Every thing seemed now to consp.re to h,s
aggrandizement; and historians have ohserved thnm,-
Hp received in one day the mtel igence of three thmgs
udiieh could gratify the most unbounded atnb.tm , and
(latter the hopes of the most nsp.rmg mona.eh. tl e
birth of a son, an honourable crown 1 e
names, and a victory over the barbanm s of lllyricum.
RnTall these rather increased than sat.ated h,s ambi¬
tion : he declared his inimical sentnnents against the
power of Athens, and the independence of all Oreece,
by laying siege to Olynthus, a place winch, on a -
count" of its situation and consequence, would prove
most injurious to the interests of the Athenians, and
•most advantageous to the intr.gues and mditary ope-
rations of every Macedonian prince. Ihe Athenian
roused by the elotinence of Demosthenes sent . 7 ves-
sels and 2000 men to ^.stance Of01y"«h“ 1 h“
•pts 11 n(l 2000 men 1.11c » rv* ,
the money of Philip prevailed over all their efforts.
The greatest part of the citizens suffered themselves
to be bribed by the Macedonian gold, and Olynthus
surrendered to the enemy, and was instantly reduced
to ruins. Philip soon after defeated the Athenians
and made a greater number of them prisoners, whom he
dismissed without ransom. Of this victory, the fruit
of that excellent discipline which he had established
in his army, the Macedonian phalanx bad the princi¬
pal honour: This was a body of infantry heavily arm¬
ed, consisting commonly of 16,000 men, who had each
of them a shield six feet high and a pike 21 feet long,
f See Phalanx). The success of his arms, and espe¬
cially his generosity after victory, made his^ alliance
and a peace a desirable object to the people of Athens j
and as both parties were inclined to this measure, it
was concluded without delay. His successes were as
great in every part of Greece: he was declared head
of the Amphictyonic council, and was entrusted wi 1
ihe care of the sacred temple of Apollo at Delphi,
he was recalled to Macedonia, it was only to add^ fresh
laurels to his crown, by victories over his enemies in
illyricum and Thessaly. By assuming the mask of
* moderator and peace-maker, he gained conhdence j -
and in attempting to protect the Peloponnesians against
the encroaching power of Sparta he rendered his
cause popular «, and by ridiculing the insults that were
offered to his person as he passed through Corinth, he
displayed to the world his moderation and philosophic
virtues. In his attempts to make himself master of
Euboea, Philip was unsuccessful 5 and Phocion, who
despised his gold as well as his meanness, obliged him
to evacuate an island whose inhabitants were as insen¬
sible to the charms of money as they were unmoved
the horrors of war, and the bold efforts of a vi¬
gilant enemy. From Euboea he turned his arms against
the Scythians ; but the advantages he obtained over
this indigent nation were inconsiderable, and he again
made Greece an object of plunder and rapine. He
advanced far in Boeotia, and a general engagement was
fought at Chseronea. The fight was long and bloody,
but Philip obtained the victory. His behaviour alter
the battle reflects great disgrace upon him as a man and
as a monarch. In the hour of festivity, and during the
entertainment which he had given to celebrate the tro¬
phies he had won, Philip sallied from his camp, and
266 ] PHI
with the inhumanity of a brute, he insulted the bodies
of the slain, and exulted over the calamities of the pri¬
soners of war. His insolence, however, was checked
when Demades, one of the Athenian capUves, reminded
him of his meanness, by exclaiming, y • ’
king, act the part of a Thersites, when you can repre¬
sent with so much dignity the elevated character of an
Agamemnon ?” The reproof was felt j Demades re¬
ceived his liberty, and Philip learned how to gain po¬
pularity even among his fallen enemies j y 1L,eJ‘n8.
their wants and easing their distresses. At the battle ol
Chaeronea the independence of Greece was extinguished,
and Philip, unable to find new enemies in Europe, ioim-
ed new enterprises, and meditated new conquests. He
was nominated general of the Greeks against the I er-
sians, and was called upon, as well from inclination as
duty, to revenge those injuries which Greece had suffer¬
ed from the invasions of Darius and Xerxes. But he
Philip.
beinjrstabbed b, Pausanias a, he entered the theatre
at the celebration of the nuptials of his daughter Cleo¬
patra. This murder has given rise to many reflections
upon the causes which produced it; and many who
consider the recent repudiation of Olympias and the
resentment of Alexander, are apt to investigate the
causes of his death in the bosom of his family. Ihe
ridiculous honours which Olympias paid to her hus¬
band’s murderer strengthened the suspicion ; yet ex-
ander declared that he invaded the kingdom ot Persia
to revenge his father’s death upon the Persian satraps
and princes, by whose immediate intrigues the assassi-
tion had been committed. The character of Philip
that of a sagacious, artful, prudent, and intriguing
monarch : he was brave in the field ot battle, eloquent
and dissimulating at home, and he possessed the wonder¬
ful art of changing his conduct according to the disposi¬
tion and caprice of mankind, without ever altering his
purpose, or losing sight of his ambitious aims. He pos¬
sessed much perseverance, and in the execution ot Ins
plans he was always vigorous. He had that eioquence
which is inspired by strong passions. The hand of an
assassin prevented him from achieving the boldest and
the most extensive of his undertakings •, and he might
have acquired as many laurels, and conquered as many
nations, as his son Alexander did m the succeeding
reign; and the kingdom of Persia might have been
added to the Macedonian empire, perhaps with greater
moderation, with more glory, and ^th more lasting
advantages. The private character of Philip lies open
to censure, and raises indignation. The admirer of his
virtues is disgusted to find him among the most abandon¬
ed prostitutes, and disgracing himself by the most unna¬
tural crimes and lascivious indulgencies yvlnch can make
even the most debauched and the most profligate to
blush. He was murdered in the 47th year of Ins age,
and the 24th of his reign, about 336 years before the
Christian era. His reign is become uncommonly in¬
teresting, and his administration a matter of instruction.
He is the first monarch whose life and actions are de¬
scribed with peculiar accuracy and hlstor;ca^“t ^
ness. Philip was the father of Alexander the Great and
of Cleopatra, by Olympias *, he had atso by Audaea an
Illyrian, Cyna, who married Amyntas the son of l er
diccas, Philip’s elder brother ; by Nicasipohs a Thessa
lian, Niccea, who married Cassander *,
Philip.
'bid.
PHI [267
Larissaean dancer, Aridaeus, who reigned some time af-
^ ter Alexander’s death j by Cleopatra, the niece of At¬
tains, Caranus and Europa, who were both murdered
by Olympias ; and Ptolemy the first king of Egypt, by
Arsinoe, who in the first month of her pregnancy was
married to Lagus. Of the many memorable actions
and sayings reported by Plutarch of this prince, the fol¬
lowing are the most remarkable. Being present at the
sale of some captives, in an indecent posture, one of
them informed him of it j “ Set this man at liberty (says
Philip), I did not know that he was my friend.” Being
solicited to favour a lord of his court, who was like to
lose his character by a just but severe sentence, Philip
refused to hearken to the solicitation, and added, “ I
had rather that he be disgraced than myself.” A poor
woman was importuning him to do her justice; and as
he sent her away from day to day, under the pretence
that he had no time to attend to her petition, she said
to him with some warmth, “ Cease then to be a king.”
Philip felt all the force of this reproof, and immediate¬
ly gave her satisfaction.—Another woman came to ask
justice ot him as he was going out from a great enter¬
tainment, and was condemned. “ [ appeal (exclaimed
she) !” “ And to whom do you appeal (said the king
to her) ?” “ To Philip fasting.” This answer open¬
ed the eyes of the monarch, who retracted his sen¬
tence. If he possessed any virtue, it was principally
that of suffering injuries with patience. Democharus,
to whom the Greeks gave the surname of Parrhesiastes,
on account of his excessive petulance of tongue, was one
of the deputies whom the Athenians sent to this mo¬
narch. Philip, at the conclusion of the audience, beg¬
ged the ambassadors to tell him, “ if he could be of any
service to the Athenians 3” to which Democharus gave
an insolent return, which he forgave. Having learned
that some Athenian ambassadors charged him, in full as¬
sembly, with atrocious calumnies : “ I am under great
obligations (said he) to those gentlemen, for I shall
henceforwards be so circumspect in my w’ords and
actions, that I shall convict them of falsehood.” One
saying of Philip, which does him less honour than those
we have before mentioned, was, “ Let us amuse child¬
ren with playthings, and men with oaths.” This abo¬
minable maxim, which was the soul and spring of his
politics, gave rise to the observation, “ That he was in
full length, what Louis XI. afterwards was in minia¬
ture.” It is well known that Philip had a person about
him, who called out at times, “ Philip, remember that
thou art mortal ; ” but whether we should place this to
the account of his pride or his humility, it is difficult to
say.
Philip V. was king of Macedonia, and son of De¬
metrius. His infancy, at the death of his father, was
protected by Antigonus, one of bis friends, who ascen¬
ded the throne, and reigned for 12 years, with the title
of Independent monarch. When Antigonus died, Phi¬
lip recovered his father’s throne, though only 15 years
ot age, and he early distinguished himself by his bold¬
ness and his ambitious views. He came to the throne
in the year 220 before our Saviour, and the beginning
of his reign was rendered glorious by the conquests of
Aratus 3 a general who was as eminent for his love of
justice as his skill in war. But so virtuous a character
could hardly fail to be disagreeable to a prince who
]
PHI
wanted to indulge himself in every species of dissipation
and vice : and indeed his cruelty to him soon displayed
his character in its true light; for to the gratification
of every vice, and every extravagant propensity he had
the meanness to sacrifice this faithful and virtuous Athe-
niam Not satisfied with the kingdom of Macedonia,
I lulip aspired to become the friend of Hannibal, and
wished to share with him the spoils which the distresses
and continual loss of the Romans seemed soon to pro¬
mise. But his expectations were frustrated 3 the Ro¬
mans discovered his intrigues 3 and though weakened by
the valour and artifice of the Carthaginian, yet they
were soon enabled to meet him in the field of battle,
.he consul Laevinus entered without delay his territo¬
ries of Macedonia ; and after he had obtained a victory
over him near Apollonia, and reduced his fleet to ashes,
he compelled him to sue for peace. This peaceful dis¬
position was not permanent 3 and when the Romans dis¬
covered that he had assisted theirformidableenemyHan¬
nibal with men and money, they appointed T» Q. Eia-
minius to punish his perfidy, and the violation of the trea¬
ty. I he Roman consul, with his usual expedition, invad¬
ed Macedonia 3 and in a general engagement, which was
fought near Cynocephale, the hostile army was totally
defeated, and the monarch saved his life with difficulty
by flying from the field of battle. Destitute of resour¬
ces, without friends either at home or abroad, Philip
was obliged to submit to the mercy of the conqueror,
and to demand peace by his ambassadors. It was grant¬
ed with difficulty 5 the terms were humiliating; but
the poverty of Philip obliged him to accept the condi¬
tions, however disadvantageous and degrading to his dig-
mty* In the midst of these public calamities, the peace
of his family was disturbed ; and Perses, the eldest of his
sons by a concubine, raised seditions against his brother
Demetrius, whose condescension and humanity had gain¬
ed popularity among the Macedonians, and who from
his residence at Rome, as an hostage, had gained the
good graces of the senate, and by the modesty and in¬
nocence of his manners had obtained forgiveness from
that venerable body for the hostilities of his father.
Philip listened with too much avidity to the false accu¬
sations of Perses 3 and when he heard it asserted that
Demetrius wished to rob him of his crown, he no long¬
er hesitated to punish with death so unworthy and so
ungrateful a son. No sooner was Demetrius sacrificed
to credulity, than Philip became convinced of his cruel¬
ty and rashness 3 and to punish the perfidy of Perses, he
attempted to make Antigonus, another son, his succes¬
sor on the Macedonian throne. But he was prevented
from executing his purpose by death, in the 42d year of
his reign, 178 years before the Christian era. The as¬
sassin of Demetrius succeeded his father, and with the
same ambition, with the same rashness and oppression,
renewed the war against the Romans, till his empire was
destroyed, and Macedonia became a Roman province.
Philip has been compared with his great ancestor of the
same name 3 but though they possessed the same vix-tues,
the same ambition, and were tainted with the same
vices, yet the father of Alexander was more sagacious
and more intriguing, and the son of Demetrius was
more suspicious, more cruel, and more implacable ; and,
according to the pretended prophecy of one of the
Sybils, Macedonia was indebted to one Philip for her
E 1 2 rise/
Philip.
Ibid.
Ibid.
PHI [ 268 ]
rise and consequence among nations, and under another usurpation
1 Philip she lamented the loss of her power, her empire,
and her dignity.
Philip, M. Julius, a Roman emperor, of an obscure
family in Arabia, from whence he was surnamed Am-
bian. From the lowest rank in the army he gradually
rose to the highest offices 5 and when he was made gene¬
ral of the praetorian guards, he assassinated Gordian, to
make himself emperor. To secure himself on the impe¬
rial throne, he left Mesopotamia a prey to the continual
invasions of the Persians, and hurried to Rome, where
his election was universally approved by the senate and
the Roman people. Philip rendered his cause popular
by his liberality and profusion •, and it added much to
his splendour and dignity, that the Romans during his
reign commemorated the foundation of their city j aso
lemnity which was observed but once every 100 years,
and which was celebrated with more pomp and more
magnificence than under the preceding reigns. ie
people were entertained witli games and spectacles $ the
theatre of Pompey was successively crowded during
three days and three nights ; and 2000 gladiators bled
in the circus at once, for the amusement and pleasure
of a gazing populace. His usurpation, however, was
short. Philip was defeated by Decius, who had pro¬
claimed himself emperor in Pannonia j and he was as¬
sassinated by his own soldiers near Verona, in the 45th
year of his age, and the 5th of his reign. His son, who
bore the same name, and who had shared with him the
imperial dignity, was also massacred in the arms of his
mother. Young Philip was then in the 12th year of
his age, and the Romans lamented in him the loss of
rising talents, of natural humanity, and endearing vir-
Philip, a native of Acarnania, physician to Alexan¬
der the Great. When that monarch had been suddenly
taken ill, after bathing in the Cydnus, Philip under¬
took to remove the complaint, when the rest of the
physicians believed that all medical assistance would be
ineffectual. But as he was preparing his medicine,
Alexander received a letter from Parmenio, in which
he was advised to beware of his physician Philip, as he
had conspired against his life. rI he monarch was alarm¬
ed 5 and when Philip presented him the medicine, he
gave him Parmenio’s letter to peruse, and began to
drink the potion. The serenity and composure of Phi¬
lip’s countenance, as he read the letter, removed every
suspicion from Alexander’s breast, and he pursued the
directions of his physician, and in a few days reco¬
vered.
There were, besides, a vast number of persons of this
name in antiquity, and many of them were very emi¬
nent.
Philip I. king of France, succeeded his father Henry
I. in 1060, when hut eight years of age, under the re¬
gency and guardianship of Baudouin V. count of Flan¬
ders, who discharged his trust with zeal and fidelity.
He defeated the Gascons who were inclined to revolt,
and died, leaving his pupil 15 years of age. This young
prince made war in Flanders against Robert, Baudouin’s
younger son, who had invaded Flanders, which belong¬
ed to°the children of his elder brother. Philip marched
against him with a numerous army, which was cut to
pieces near Mount Cassel. Peace was the consequence
of the victory, and the conqueror quietly enjoyed his
3
PHI
u=u, Philip, after the fatigues of the war, by Philip,
way of relaxation gave himself up entirely to pleasure ' r-
and dissipation. Tired of his wife Bertha, and fond 0
Bertrade, spouse of Foulques count of Anjou, he carried
her off from her husband. Having, in 1093, legally
annulled his own marriage under the pretext ot barren¬
ness, and Belgrade’s marriage with the count of Anjou
having been set aside under the same pretext, Philip and
she were afterwards solemnly married by the bishop of
Beauvais. This union was declared void by Pope Ur¬
ban II. a Frenchman by birth, vyho pronounced the sen¬
tence in the king’s own dominions, to which he had
come for an asylum. Philip, fearing that the anathe¬
mas of the Roman pontiff might be the means of exciting
his subjects to rebellion, sent deputies to the pope, who
obtained a delay, during which time he was permitted
to use the crown. To know what is meant by this per¬
mission, it is necessary to recollect, that at that period
kings appeared on public solemnities in royal habit,
with the crown on their heads, which they received
from the hand of a bishop. This delay was not of long
duration. Philip was excommunicated anew in a coun¬
cil held at Poictiers in 1100; but in the year 1104,
Lambert bishop of Arras, legate of Pope Pascal II. at
last brought him his absolution to Paris, after having
made him promise never to see Bertrade more ; a pro¬
mise which he did not keep. It would appear that the
pope afterwards approved their marriage 5 for Suger in¬
forms us, that their sons were declared capable of suc¬
ceeding to the crown. Philip died at Melun the 29th
of July 1108, aged 57 years, after having witnessed the
first crusade, in which he declined taking any part. His
reign, which comprehends a period of 48 years, was the
longest of any of his predecessors, excepting that of Clo-
tarius, and of all who came after him, except those of
Louis XIV. and Louis XV. It was distinguished by
several great events j but Philip though brave in battle,r
and wise in counsels, was no very excellent character..
He appeared so much the more contemptible to his sub¬
jects, as that age abounded with heroes. Philip is not
the first of the French monarchs (as is commonly re¬
ported), who, in order to give the greater authority to
his charters, caused them to be subscribed by the officers
of the crown ; for Henry I. had sometimes done the
same before him.
Philip II. surnamed Augustus, the conqueror afid
given of God, son of Louis \ II. (called the younger),
king of France, and of Alix, his third wife, daughter
of Thibault, count of Champagne, was born the 22d of
Aim-ust 1165. He came to the crown, after his father’s
death in 1180, at the age of 15 years. His youth was
not spent like that of the generality of other princes y
for, by avoiding the rock of pleasure on which so many
are apt to split, his courage thereby became the more
lively and intrepid. The king of England seemed wil¬
ling to take advantage of his minority, and to seize upon
a part of his dominions. But Philip marched against
him, and compelled him, sword in hand, to confirm the
ancient treaties between the two kingdoms. As soon as
the war was ended, he made his people enjoy the bles¬
sings of peace. He gave a check to the oppressions of
the great lords, banished the comedians, punished blas¬
phemies, caused the streets and public places of Paris to
be paved, and annexed to that capital a part of the adja¬
cent villages. It was enclosed by walls with towers •,
and
Pllilip
PHI [ 269
and the inhabitants of other cities were equally proud
"J to fortify and embellish theirs. The Jews having for a
long time practised the most shameful frauds in France,
Philip expelled them from his kingdom, and declared
his subjects quit with them ; an action unjust, contrary
to the laws of nature, and consequently to religion.
The tranquillity of France was somewhat disturbed by
a difference with the count of Flanders, which was how¬
ever happily terminated in 1184. Some time after he
declared war against Henry II. king of England, and
took from him the towns of Issoudun, Tours, Mans, and
other places. The epidemical madness of the crusades
then agitated all Europe; and Philip, as well as other
princes, caught the infection. He embarked in the
year 1190, with Richard I. king of England, for the
relief ol the Ohnstians in Palestine, who were oppressed
by Saladin. Those two monarchs sat down before
Acre, which is the ancient Ptolemais; as did almost all
the Christians of the east, while Saladin was engaged in
a civil war on the banks of the Euphrates. When the
two European monarchs had joined their forces to those
of the Asiatic Christians, they counted above 300,000
fighting men, Acre surrendered the 13th of July 1191 >
but the unhappy disagreement which took place between
Philip and Richard, rivals of glory and of interest, did
more mischief than could be compensated by the suc¬
cessful exertions of those 300,000 men. Philip, tired of
these divisions, and displeased with the behaviour of Ri¬
chard his vassal, returned to his own country, which,
perhaps, he should never have left, or at least have seen
again with more glory. Besides, he was attacked (say
historians) with a languishing disorder, the effects of
which were attributed to poison 5 but which might have
been occasioned merely by the scorching heat of a cli¬
mate so different from that of France. He lost his hair,
his beard, and his nails 5 nay, his very flesh came off.
The physicians urged him to return home; and he soon
determined to follow their advice. The year after, he
obliged Baudouin VIII. count of Flanders to leave him
the county of Artois. He next turned his arms against
Richard king of England, from whom he took Evreux
and Vexin j though he had promised upon the holy gos¬
pels never to take any advantage of his rival during his
.absence} so that the consequences of this war were very
unfortunate. The French monarch, repulsed from
Rouen with loss, made a truce for six months} during
which time he married Ingelburge, princess of Den¬
mark, whose beauty could only be equalled by her virtue.
Jhe divorcing of this lady, whom he quitted in order
to marry Agnes daughter of the duke of Merania, em¬
broiled him with the court of Rome. The pope issued
a sentence of excommunication against him } but it was
taken off upon his promising to take back his former
wife. John Sans-terre succeeded to the crown of Eng¬
land in 1199, to the prejudice of his nephew Arthur,
to whom of right it belonged. The nephew, supported
by Philip, took up arms against the uncle, but was de¬
feated in Poictou, where he was taken prisoner, and af¬
terwards murdered. The murderer, being summoned
before the court of the peers of France, not having
appeared, was declared guilty of his nephew’s death,
and condemned to lose his life in 1203. His lands,
Situated in France, were forfeited to the crown. Phi¬
lip soon set about gathering the fruit of his vassal’s
wime. He seized upon Normandy, then carried his
] PHI
victorious arms into Maine, Anjou, Touraine, Poictou,
and brought those provinces, as they anciently were, 1
under the immediate authority of his crown. The Eng¬
lish had no other part left them in France, but the pro¬
vince of Guienne. To crown his good fortune, John his
enemy was embroiled with the court of Rome, which
had lately excommunicated him. The ecclesiastical
thunder was very favourable for Philip. Innocent II.
put into his hands, and transferred to him, a perpetual
right to the kingdom of England. This king of France,
when formerly excommunicated by the pope, had de¬
clared his censures void and abusive } he thought very
differently, however, when he found himself the execu¬
tor of a bull investing him with the English crown. To
give the greater force to the sentence pronounced by his
holiness, he employed a whole year in building 1700
ships, and in preparing the finest army that was ever
seen in France. Europe was in expectation of a deci¬
sive battle between the two kings, when the pope laugh¬
ed at both, and artfully took to himself what he had
bestowed upon Philip. A legate of the holy see per¬
suaded John Sans terre to give his crown to the court of
Rome, which received it with enthusiasm. Then Philip
was expressly forbid by the pope to make any attempt
upon England, noiv become a see of the Roman church,
or against John who was under her protection. Mean¬
while, the great preparations which Philip had made,
alarmed all Europe} Germany, England, and the Low
Countries, were united against him in the same manner
as we have seen them united against Louis XIV. Fer-
rand, count of Flanders, joined the emperor Otho IV.
He was Philip’s vassal} which was the strongest reason
for declaring against him. The French king was no¬
wise disconcerted} his fortune and his courage dis¬
sipated all his enemies. His valour was particularly
conspicuous at the battle of Bouvines, which was
fought on the 27th of July 1214, and lasted from
noon till night. Before the engagement, he knew
■well that some of his nobles followed him with re¬
luctance. He assembled them together } and placing
himself in the midst of them, he took a large golden
cup, which he filled with wine, and into which he
put several slices of bread. He ate one of them him¬
self, and offering the cup to the rest, he said, “ My
companions, let those who would live and die with
me follow my example.” The cup was emptied in a
moment, and those who were the least attached to
him fought with all the bravery that could be expect¬
ed from his warmest friends. It is also reported, that
after showing the army the crown that was worn by
sovereigns upon these occasions, he said, “ If any one
thought himself more worthy than he was to wear
it, he had only to explain himself} that he should be
content it were the prize of that man who should dis¬
play the greatest valour in battle.” The enemy had
an army of 150,000 fighting men } that of Philip was
not half so numerous} but it was composed of the
flower of his nobility. The king run great hazard of,
his life } for he was thrown down under the horses feet,
and wounded in the neck. It is said 30,000 Germans
were killed ; but the number is probably much exag¬
gerated. The counts of, Flanders and Boulogne were
led to Paris with irons upon their feet and hands} a
barbarous custom which prevailed at that time. The
French king made no conquest on the side of Germany-
after
Philip.
PHI
[ 27° 3
P H I
Philip.
after this ever memorable action; bu .t gamed Inm an
‘ additional power over his vassals. Philip, conqueror of
Germany, and possessor of almost all the EngM. W
jilons in France, was invited to the crown oi Engl an
by the subjects of King John, who were grown weary
of his tyranny. The king of France, upon tins occa¬
sion, conducted himself like an able politician. He
persuaded the English to ask his son Louis lor their
king ; but as he wished at the same time to manage the
pope, and not lose the crown of England, he chose to
assist the prince his son, without appearing to act him¬
self. Louis made a descent upon England, was clown¬
ed at London, and excommunicated at Rome m 121O j
hut that excommunication made no change upon
John’s situation, who died of grief. His death extin¬
guished the resentment of the English, who having de¬
clared themselves for his son Henry III forced Louis
to leave England. Philip-Augustus died a little time
.after, at Mantes, the 14th of July 1223, aged 59 alter
a reign of 43 y^rs‘ 0f a1.1 the ^ ot thf 3^ raCe’
he made the greatest accession to the crown-lands, and
transmitted the greatest power to his successors. He re¬
united to his dominions Normandy, Anjou, Maine, 1011-
raine, Poitou, &c. After having subdued John bans-
terre, he humbled the great lords, and by the overthrow
of foreign and domestic enemies, took away the counter¬
poise which balanced his authority in the kingdom. He
was more than a conqueror *, he was a great king and
an excellent politician *, fond of splendour on public
occasions, but frugal in private hie ; exact m the ad¬
ministration of justice j skilful in employing alternately
flattery and threatenings, rewards and punishments j
he was zealous in the defence of religion, and always
disposed to defend the church •, but he knew well how
to procure from her succours for supplying the exigen¬
cies of the state. The lords of Coucy, Rhetel, Ko-
-sey and several others, seized upon the property ot
the clergy. A great many of the prelates applied for
protection to the king, who promised them his good
offices with the depredators. But, notwithstanding
his recommendations, the pillages continued. Ihe
bishops redoubled their complaints, and in treated I hi-
lip to march against their enemies. “ With all my
heart (said he) *, but in order to fight them, it is neces¬
sary to have troops, and troops cannot be raised without
money.” The clergy understood his meaning ; they
furnished subsidies, and the pillages ceased. The en¬
terprises of Philip-Augustus were almost always suc¬
cessful ; because he formed his projects with delibera¬
tion, and executed them without delay. He began by
rendering the French happy, and in the end rendered
ttiem formidable ; though he was more inclined to
anger than to gentleness, to punish than to pardon, he
was regretted by his subjects as a powerful genius and
as the father of his country. It was in his reign that
the marshal of France was seen, for the first time, at
the head of the army. It was then, also, that families
began to have fixed and hereditary surnames : the lords
took them from the lauds which they possessed ; men
of letters from the place of their birth ; the converted
Jews and rich merchants from that of their residence.
Two very cruel evils, viz. leprosy and usury, were pre¬
valent at that time; the one infected the body, the
other proved the ruin of the fortunes of (Vm-Mes. The
number of lepers was so great, that the smallest villages
5
were obliged to have an hospital for the cure of that di- pm
stemper. It is remarkable, that when Philip was on the  
pointPof engaging Richard, the English, who were lying
in ambush near the Loire, run away with h.s equipage,
in which he caused to be carried all the deeds 01 wnt-
ings respecting the rights of the crown; a custom
which is used at this day by the grand seignior. 1 hilip
Caused copies of his charters to be collected wherever
they could be found ; but after all his endeavours, some
of them were never recovered. The surname oi Augus¬
tus was given to Philip by his cotemporaries. Mezerai
is mistaken, when he asserts that Paulus Em.lius was
the first who rendered the name of conqueror by that ot
Augustus ; a leanied critic has proved the contrary by
undoubted authorities.
Philip of Valois, first king of France of the collate¬
ral branch of the Valois, was son to Charles count of
Valois, brother of Philip the Fair. He mounted the
throne in 1328, on the death of his cousin Charles the
Fair, after having held for some time the regency oi the
kingdom. France was much divided m the beginning
of his reign, by disputes about the succession to the
crown. Edward III. king of England laid claim to it
as grandson of Philip the Fair, by his mother ; but Phi¬
lip of Valois took possession of it as first prince of the
blood. The people gave him, upon his accession to the
throne, the title oi fortunate ; to which might have been
added, for some time, those of victorious and7^. He
marched to the relief of his vassal the count ot I landers,
whose subjects, on account of bad usage, had taken up
arms against him. He engaged the rebels at Cassel,
performed prodigies of valour, and gained a signal vic¬
tory, the 24th of August 1328. Having made all
quiet, he went home, after saying to the count ot I lan¬
ders “ Be more prudent and more humane, and you
will have fewer disloyal subjects.” The victorious Phi¬
lip devoted the time of peace to the internal regulations
of his kingdom. The financiers were called to an ac¬
count, and some of them condemned to death ; among
others Peter Remi, general of the finances, who lett be¬
hind him near 20 millions. He afterwards enacted the
law respecting freeholds, imposing a tax upon churches,
and commoners who had acquired the lands ol the nobi¬
lity. Then, also, began to be introduced the iorm ot
angel comme d'abus, the principles of which are more
ancient than the name. The year 1329 was distinguish¬
ed by a solemn homage paid to Philip, by Edward king
of England, for the duchy of Guienne, upon his knees,
and with his head uncovered. The interior peace ot
the kingdom was disturbed by disputes about the distinc¬
tion of the church and state. An assembly was sum¬
moned for hearing the two parties, in the presence ot
the king : and in this assembly Peter de Cugmeres, his
majesty’s advocate,defended the secular jurisdiction with
great ability, as a man well-informed, and an enhghten-
ed philosopher. Bertrand bishop of Autun, and Roger
archbishop of Sens, pled the cause of the clergy with
less ingenuity and judgment.^ This did not, however,
prevent the king from showing them favours, thong
the controversy itself laid the foundation of alt the dis¬
putes which were afterwards agitated about the autho¬
rity of the two powers ; disputes which contributed not
a little to confine the ecclesiastical jurisdiction withm
narrower limits. While Philip was employing himsel
in some useful regulations, he was unhappily interrupted
vy
Philip.
PH! [2
by Edward III. declaring war against Prance. This
, prince immediately recovered those parts of Guienne of
which Philip was in possession. The Flemish having
again revolted from France in spite of oaths and treaties,
joined the standard of Edward ; and required that he
would assume the title of king of France, in consequence
of his pretensions to the crown j because, then, agree¬
ably to the letter of their treaty, they only followed the
king of France. From this period is dated the union of
the flower-de luce and leopards in the arms of England.
Edward, in order to justify the change of his arms,
caused the following manifesto to be published in the
verse of the times.
Hex sum regnorum, hina ratione, duorum :
Ang/orum in regno sum rex ego jure patcrno ;
Matrisjure quidem Francorum nuncupor idem :
Hinc est armorum variatio facta ineorvm.
In the way of a parody to these lines, Philip made
the following reply:
Prcedo regnorum qui diceris esse duorum,
Francorum regno privaberis, atque pulerno,
Succedunt mares huic regno, non mulieres:
Hinc est armorum variatio stulta tuorum.
In the mean time Philip put himself in a posture of
defence. His arms were at first attended with some suc¬
cess *, but those advantages were far from compensating
the loss of the battle of Ecluse, in which the French
fleet, consisting of 120 large ships, and manned by
40,000 seamen, was beat by that of England in the
year 134°* This defeat is to be attributed, in part, to
the little attention which had been paid to the navy of
France, notwithstanding her favourable situation, by be¬
ing washed by two seas. She was obliged to make use
of foreign ships, which obeyed but slowly, and even
with some reluctance. This war, which had been al¬
ternately discontinued and renewed, began again with
more heat than ever in 1345* The two armies having
come to an engagement the 26th of August 1346, near
Cressy, a village in the county of Ponthieu, the English
there gained a signal victory. Edward had only 40,000
men, while Philip had nearly twice that number ; but
the army of the former was inured to war, and that of
thelatterwas ill-disciplined and overcome with fatiguing
marches. France lost from 25,000 to 30,000 men; of
which numbers were John king of Bohemia (who,
though blind, fought gallantly), and about 1500 gen¬
tlemen, the flower of the French nobility. The loss of
Calais, and several other places, was the sad fruit of this
defeat. Some time before Edward had challenged Philip
of Valois to a single combat j which he refused, not
on the score of cowardice, but from the idea that it was
improper for a sovereign prince to accept a challenge
from a king who was his vassal. At length, in 1347, a
truce for six months was concluded between France and
England, and afterwards prolonged at different times.
Philip died a short time after, the 23d of August 1350,
aSed 57 yearS and far from bearing on his monument
the title of Fortunate. He had, however, reunited Dau-
phiny to France. Humbert, the last prince of that
country, having lost all his children, and wearied with
the wars which he had held out against Savoy, turned
a Dominican, and gave his province to Philip, in 1349,
«n condition that the eldest son of the kings of France
71 ] PHI
should bear the title of Dauphin. Philip likewise added
to his domain Rousillon and a part of Cerdague, by lend¬
ing some money to the king of Majorca, who gave
him those provinces as a security; provinces which
Charles VIII. afterwards restored without any reim¬
bursement. It is surprising that in so unfortunate a
reign he should have been able to purchase those pro¬
vinces after having paid a great deal for Dauphiny ; but
the duty on salt, the rise on the other taxes, and espe¬
cially the frauds committed in the coinage of money,
are supposed to have enabled him to make those acqui¬
sitions. The fictitious and ideal value of the coin was not
only raised, but a great deal of bad money was issued
from the mint. The officers of the mint were sworn
upon the gospels to keep the secret: but how could Phi¬
lip flatter •himself that so gross a fraud would not be
discovered ?
Philip II. son of Charles V. and of Isabella of Por¬
tugal, who was born at Valladolid on the 21st of Mav-
1527, became king of Naples and Sicily by his father’s
abdication in 1554. He ascended the throne of Spain
onthe i7thof January 1556 by the same means. Charles
had made a truce with the French, but his son broke it;
and having formed an alliance with England, poured
into Picardy an army of 40,000 men. The French were
cut to pieces at the battle of St Quintin, which was
fought on the 20th of August 1557. That town was
taken by assault, and the day on which the breach was
mounted Philip appeared armed cap-a-pee, in order
to animate the soldiers. It was the first and last time
that he was observed to wear this military dress. It is well
known, indeed, that his terror was so great during the
action that he made two vows; one, that he should ne¬
ver again be present in a battle ; and the other, to build
a magnificent monastery dedicated to St Lawrence, to
whom he attributed the success of his arms, which he
executed at Escurial, a village about seven leagues from
Madrid. After the engagement, his general, the duke
of Savoy, wanted to kiss his hand ; but Philip prevent¬
ed him, saying, “ It is rather my duty to kiss your’s,
who have the merit of so glorious a victory; and im¬
mediately presented him with the colours taken during
the action. The taking of Catelet, Ham, and Noyon,
were the only advantages which were derived from a bat¬
tle which might have proved the ruin of France. Wheir-
Charles V. was informed of this victory, it is said he
asked the person who brought him the intelligence, “if
his son was at Paris ?” and being answered in the nega¬
tive, he went away without uttering a single word. The
duke of Guise having had time to assemble an army, re¬
paired the disgrace of his country by the taking of Ca¬
lais and Thionville. While he was animating the
French, Philip gaineda pretty considerable battleagainst
Marshal de Thermes near Gravelines. His army was,
on this occasion, commanded by Count Egmont, whom
he afterwards caused to be beheaded. The conqueror
made no better use of the victory of Gravelines than he
had done of that of St Quintin ; but he reaped consider¬
able advantage from the glorious peace of Cateau-Cam-
bresis, the masterpiece of his politics. By that treaty,
concluded the 13th of April 1559, he gained possession
of the strong places of Thionville, Marienbourg, Mont-
medi, Hesdin, and the county of Charollois. This war,
so terrible, and attended with so much cruelty, -was ter¬
minated, like many others, by a marriage. Philip took
fere
Philip.
P H I
Philip.
for Ills third wife ^UzaUeth, ciaugbter of Henry H. wlw^^ther^^bdla^^This three^weelcsj'in'the
' had been promised to Don Carlos. - •— -c ko,™ «rnplaimed
k f*. .1 onl-iiPVPniPl
Philip.
1 After*1these0glorious achievements, Philip returned in
triumph to Spain, tvithout having drawn a sword H.s
S,t caie upon his arrival at Valladolid was to demand
of the grand inquisitor the spectacle of an auto-da-fe.
This was immediately granted him j 40 wretches, some
of whom were priests or monks were strangled and
burnt, and one of them was burnt alive. Don Caila
de Seza, one of these unfortunate victims, jentme
draw near to the king, and said to him, How, b r
can vou suffer so many wretches to be committed to the
flames > Can you be witness of such barbarity without
weeping?” To this Philip coolly replied, If my own
son were suspected of heresy, I would myself give him
up to the severity of the inquisition. Such is the horroi
which I feel when I think of you and your companions,
that if an executioner were wanting, I would supp y
iilace myself.” On other occasions he conducted himself
agreeably to the spirit which had dictated this answer.
In a valley of Piedmont, bordering on the country of
the Milanese, there were some heretics ; and ^ go¬
vernor of Milan had orders to put them all to death by
the gibbet. The new opinions having found their
waymto some of the districts of Calabria he gave or-
ders that the innovators should be put to the swoi ,
with the reservation of 60 of them, of whom 3o were
afterwards strangled, and the rest committed to the
flaThis spirit of cruelty,and shameful abuse of his power,
fiad the effect to weaken that power itself. Ibe Fle¬
mish, no longer able to bear so hard a yoke, revolted.
The revolution began with the fine and large pi ovine -
•of the continent j but the maritime provinces only ob¬
tained their liberty. In 1579 they formed themselves
into a republic, under the title of the United Provinces.
Philip sent the duke of Alva to reduce them , but t
cruelty of that general only served to exasperate the
spirit of the rebels. Never did either party fight with
more courage, or with more fury. The Spaniards at
the seige of Haerlem, having thrown into the town the
head of a Dutch officer who had been killed in a skir¬
mish, the inhabitants threw to them the heads of eleven
Spaniards, with this inscription : “ Ten heads for the
payment of the tenth penny, and the eleventh for inte¬
rest ” Haerlem having surrendered at discretion, the
conquerors caused all the magistrates, all the pastors,
and above -1500 citizens, to be hanged.
The duke of Alva being at length reca led the
grand commander of the Requesnes was sent m his place,
and after his death Don John of Austria *, but neither
of those generals could restore tranquillity in the Cow
Countries. To this son of Charles V. succeeded a grand¬
son no less illustrious, namely, Alexander 1 ai r.ese duke
of Parma, the greatest man of his time •, but he could
neither prevent the independence of the United 1 ro-
vinces, nor the progress of that republic which arose un¬
der his own eye. It was then that Philip, always at ms
ease in Spain, instead of coming to reduce the rebels in
Flanders, proscribed the prince of Orange, and set
2 C 000 crowns upon his head. William, superior to
Philip, disdained to make use of that kind of vengeance,
and trusted to his sword for his preservation.
In the mean time the king of Spain succeeded to the
crown of Portugal, to which he had a right by his mo-
dva, m luc — — * . - . ,
year 1580. Antony, prior of Crato, being proclaimed
king by tlte populace of Lisbon, bad the reaobKum to
come io an engagement; but he was vanquished, pur-
sued, and obliged to fly for his bio-
A cowardly assassin, Balthazar Gerard, iy a pi -
shot killed the prince of Orange, and thereby delivered
Philip from his most implacable enemy. Philip was
charged with this crime, it is believed without reason^
though, when the news was communicated to him, he
was imprudent enough to exclaim, “ If this blow had
been given two years ago, the Catholic religion and 1
would have gained a great deal by it.
This murder had not the effect to restore to Philip the
Seven United Provinces. That republic, already power¬
ful by sea, assisted England against him. Philip having
resolved to distress Elizabeth, fitted out, in 1588, a
fleet called the Invincible. It consisted of 150 large
ships, on which were mounted 2650 pieces of cannon,
8000 seamen, 20,000 soldiers, and all the flower of the
Spanish nobility. This fleet, commanded by the duke
of Medina Sidonia, sailed from Lisbon when the season
was too far advanced j and, being overtaken bv a vio¬
lent storm, a great part of it was dispersed. Iwelve
ships, driven upon the coast of England, were captured
bv the English fleet, which consisted of 100 ships; 50
were wrecked on the coasts of France, Scotland, Ire¬
land, Holland, and Denmark. Such was the success 0l
the Invincible. See Armada. .
This enterprise, which cost Spain 40 millions of du¬
cats, 20,000 men, and 100 ships, was productive only
of disgrace. Philip supported this misfortune with a
heroic resolution. When one of his courtiers told him,
with an air of consternation, what had happened, he
coolly replied, “ I sent to fight the English, and not the
winds. God’s will be done.” Ihe day after Philip
ordered the bishops to return thanks to God lor having
preserved some remains of his fleet; and he wrote thus
to the pope: “ Holy father, as long as I remain master
of the fountain head, I shall not much regard the loss of
a rivulet. I will thank the Supreme Disposer of em¬
pires, who has given me the power of easily repairing a
disaster which my enemies most attribute solely to the
elements which have fought for them.
At the same time that Philip attacked England, he
was encouraging in France the Holy League ; the ob-
iect of which was to overturn the throne and divide the
state. The leaguers conferred upon him the title oi
Protector of their association; which he eagerly accept¬
ed, from a persuasion that their exertions would soon
conduct him, or one of his family, to the throne ot
France. He thought himself so sure of his prey, that
when speaking cf^the principal cities m 1 ranee, he
used to say, “ My fine city of Paris, my fine cty of
Orleans, in the same manner as he would have spoken
of Madrid and Seville. What was the result of all
those intrigues ? Henry IE. embraced t ic at 10 ic ic
Hgion, and by bis abjuration of Protestantism made his
rival lose France in a quarter of an hour ,
Philip, at length, worn out by the debaucheries
his youth, and by the toils of government drew near
his last hour. A slow fever, the most painful gout, and
a complication of other disorders, could not disengage
him from business, or draw from lam the least con
P ^ I [ 273 ] PHI
“ ?Th!!.^i<1 he i°}\ie phvlclans who hesi- the support of his own household.
I'hHip. plaint  
>—V— tated about letting blood of him
What
...... . °   - , ......... are you
alraid ot drawing a tew drops of blood from the veins of
a king who has made whole rivers of it flow from here¬
tics ? At last, exhausted by a complication of distem¬
pers, which he bore with a heroic patience, and being
eaten up ot lice, he expired the 13th of September
1589, aged 72 years, after a reign of 43 years and
eight months. During the last 50 days of his illness he
showed a great sense of religion, and had his eyes almost
always fixed towards heaven.
No character was ever drawn by different historians
in more opposite colours than that of Philip j and yet,
considering the length and activity of his reign, there is
none which it should seem would be more easy to ascer¬
tain. Prom the facts recorded in history, we cannot
doubt that he possessed, m an eminent degree, penetra¬
tion, vigilance, and a capacity for government. His
eyes were continually open upon every part of his exten¬
sive dominions. He entered into every branch of admi-
nistiation , watched over the conduct of his ministers
with unwearied attention ; and in his choice both of
them and of his generals, discovered a considerable share
of sagacity. lie had at all times a composed and settled
countenance, and never appeared to be either elated or
depressed. His temper was the most imperious, and his
looks and demeanor were haughty and severe; yet among
his Spanish subjects he was of easy access; listened pa¬
tiently to their representations and complaints; and
where his ambition and bigotry did not interfere, was
generally willing to redress their grievances. When we
have said thus much in his praise, we have said all that
truth requires or truth permits. It is indeed imposible
to suppose that he was insincere in his zeal for religion.
But as his religion was of the most corrupt kind, it ser¬
ved to increase the natural depravity of his disposition ;
and not only allowed, but even prompted, him to com¬
mit the most odious and shocking crimes. Although a
prince in the bigotted age of Philip might be persuaded
that the interest of religion would be advanced by false¬
hood and persecution ; yet it might he expected, that,
in a virtuous prince, the sentiments of honour and hu¬
manity would on some occasions triumph over the dic¬
tates of superstition : but of this triumph there occurs
not a single instance in the reign of Philip ; who with¬
out hesitation violated his most sacred obligations as often
as religion afforded him a pretence, and under that pre¬
tence exercised for many years the most unrelenting
cruelty without reluctance or remorse. His ambition,
which was exorbitant; his resentment, which was im¬
placable ; his ai'bitrary temper, which would submit to
no controul—concurred with his bigotted zeal for the
Catholic religion, and carried the sanguinary spirit,
which that religion was calculated to inspire, to a great¬
er height in Philip than it ever attained in any other
pnnce of that or of any former or succeeding age.
Though of a small size, he had an agreeable person.
His countenance was grave, his air tranquil, and one
could not discover from his looks either joy in pros¬
perity or chagrin in adversity. The wars against Hol¬
land, France, and England, cost Philip 564 millions of
ducats; but America furnished him with more than
the half ot that sum. His revenues, after the junc¬
tion of Portugal, are said to have amounted to 25 mil¬
lions of ducats, of which he only laid out 100,000 for
Vol. XVI. Part I. f
Watson's
Ph ilip II.
• , - - —Philip was very
jealous ot outward respect; he was unwilling that any
should speak to him but upon their knees. The duke
ot Alva having one day entered this prince’s cabinet
without being introduced, he received the following
harsh salutation, accompanied with a stormy counted
nance : “ An impudence like this of yours would de-
serve the hatchet.” If he thought only how to make
lumselt be feared, he succeeded in doing so; for few
princes have been more dreaded, more abhorred, or
have caused more blood to flow, than Philip II. 0f
Spam.. lie had successively, if not all at once, war
to maintain against Turkey, France, England, Hol¬
land, and almost all the Protestants of tfie empire, with¬
out having a single ally, not even the branch of his
own house in Germany. Notwithstanding so many
millions employed against the enemies of Spain, Philip
found in his economy and his resources wherewith to
build 30 citadels, 64 fortified places, 9 sea ports, 25
arsenals, and as many palaces, without including the
Escunal. His debts amounted to 140 millions of du¬
cats, of which after having paid seven millions of in¬
terest, the greatest part was due to the Genoese. More¬
over, he had sold or alienated a capital stock of ico
millions of ducats in Italy. He made a law, fixing the
majority of the kings of Spain at 14 years of age. He
aflected to be more than commonly devout; he ate
often at the refectory with the monks ; he never enter¬
ed their churches without kissing all the relics ; he
caused knead his bread with the water of a fountain
which was thought to possess a miraculous virtue ; he
boasted of never having danced, and of never wearing
bi eecheo after the Grecian fashion. Grave, and solemn
in all his actions, he drove from his presence a woman
who had smiled while he was blowing his nose. One
great event of his domestic life is the death of his son
Don Carlos. The manner of this prince’s death is not
certainly known. His body, which lies in the monu¬
ment of the Escurial, is there separated from his Ifead;
but it is pretended that the head is separated only be¬
cause the leaden coffin which contains the body is too
small. The particulars of his crime are as little known
as the manner in which it was committed. There is no
evidence, nor is there any probability, that Philip would
have caused him to be condemned by the inquisition.
All that we know of the matter is, that in 1568 his fa¬
ther, having discovered that he had some correspondence
with the Hollanders his enemies, arrested him himself
in his own room. He wrote at the same time to Pope
Pius V. in order to give him an account of his son’s
imprisonment; and in his letter to this pontiff, the 20th
of January 1568, he says, “ that from his earliest years
the strength of a wicked nature has stifled in Don Carlos
every paternal instruction.” It was Philip II. who
caused to be printed at Anvers, between 1569 and
I572) i*1 ^ vols folio, the fine Polyglot Bible, which
bears his name ; and it was he who subjected the islands
afterwards called the Philippines. He married succes¬
sively, 1st, Mary daughter of John HI. king of Portu¬
gal ; 2dly, Mary daughter of Henry VIII. and queen
of England ; 3dly, Elizabeth of France, daughter of
Henry II. ; 4thly, Anne daughter of the emperor Maxi¬
milian II. Don Carles was the son of his first wife
and Philip III. of the last.
PHILIPPI, in Ancient Geography, a town of Mace-
M m doriiaa
Pl.ilip.
Philippi,
PHI
[ 274 ]
PHI
Philippi d°nia, in the territory of the Edones, 6n the confines of
31^1- Thrace (Pliny, Ptolemy), situated on the side of a steep
eminence-, anciently called and (Ap-
pian), though Strabo-seems to distinguish them. Ihis
town was famous on several accounts *, not only as ta¬
king its name from the celebrated Philip of Macedon
father to Alexander the Great, who considered ,t as a
fit place for carrying on the war against the I hracians,
but also on account of two battles fought in its neig -
bourhood between Augustus and the repnbhcan par y.
In the first of these battles, Brutus and Cassius had the
command of the republican armywhlle
afterwards Augustus, and Mark Antony, had the com¬
mand of their adversaries. The army of Brutus and
Cassius, consisted of 19 legions and 20,000 horse ,
imperial forces of an equal number oi legions, but
more complete, and 13,000 horse j so that the number
on both sides were pretty equal. T he troops ot B?at"
were very richly dressed, most of them having their ar¬
mour adorned with gold and silver j for, Brutus, thong
very frugal in other respects, was thus extravagant with
respect lo his men, thinking that the riches that they
had about them would make them exert themselves the
more, to prevent these from falling into the enemy s
hands. Both the republican generals appear to ha\e
been inferior in skill to Mark Antony 01 as 0 c .
vianus, he is allowed never to have conquered but by
the valour of others. A little before the first engage¬
ment, Octavianus, who had been indisposed, was carried
out of the camp, at the persuasion of Artor.us his phy¬
sician, who had dreamed that he saw a vision directing
him to be removed. Brutus’s men, who opposed the
wing commanded by Octavianus, charged without
orders, which caused great confusion. However, t ley
were successful 5 for part of them, taking a compass
about, fell upon the enemy’s rear : after which they
took and plundered the camp, making a great slaughter
of such as were in it, and among the rest putting 2000
Lacedaemonians to the sword who were newly come to
the assistance of Octavianus. The emperor himself was
sought for, but in vain, having been conveyed away tor
the reason above mentioned j and as the soldiers pierce
the litter in which he was usually carried, it was thence
reported that he had been killed. Ihis threw tha
whole part of the army into such consternation, that when
Brutus attacked them in front, they were most com¬
pletely routed j three whole legions being cut in pieces,
and a prodigious slaughter made among the fugitives.
But by the "imprudence of the general in pursuing too
far, the wing of the republican army commanded by
Cassius was left naked and separated from the rest of the
army ; on which they were attacked at once in front
and in flank, and thus they were defeated and then-
camp taken, while Brutus imagined that he had gain¬
ed a complete victory. Cassius himself retired to an
eminence at a small distance from 1 hihppi j whence
he sent one of his greatest intimates to procure intelli¬
gence concerning the fate of Brutus. That general
was on his way, and already in view, when the mes¬
senger set out. He soon met his friends -, but they
surrounding him to inquire the news, Cassius, who be¬
held what passed, imagined that he was taken prisoner
by the enemv, retired to his tent, and in despair caused
one of his freedmen cut off his head, I hus far at least
is certain, that he went into the tent with that freed-
2
man and that bis bead was found separated from bis Philippi
body when Brutus entered. However, the freedman Ptalw»
was never afterwards seen. . .. .1
The second engagement was pretty similar to the
first. Brutus again opposed Octavianus, and met with
the same succes's-, but in the mean time Antony, to
Whom he ought undoubtedly to have opposed himself,
having to do only with the lieutenants 0 Cassius, gam¬
ed a complete victory over them. M hat was worst,
the fugitives, instead of leaving the field of battle al¬
together, fled for protection to Brutus’s army, where
crowding in among the ranks, they carried despair
and confusion wherever they went, so that a total de¬
feat ensued, and the republican army was almost entire¬
ly cut in pieces. After the battle, Brutus put an end
to his own life, as is related more fully under the article
The city of Philippi is likewise remarkable on ac¬
count of an epistle written by St Paul to the church m
that place. It was a Roman colony (Luke, Plmy,
Coin, Inscription). It is also remarkable for be,ng the
birth-place of Adrastus, the Peripatetic philosopher,
and disciple of Aristotle.—The town is still m being,
and is an archbishop’s see -, but greatly decayed and
badly peopled. However, there is an old amphitheatre,
and several other monuments of its ancient grandeur.
E. Long. 44* 55- Eat. 41- . .
PHILIPPICS, QiXiTrmttot in literature, is a
name which is given to the orations of Demosthenes
against Philip king of Macedon. The Philippics al;e
reckoned the master-pieces of that great orator : Longi¬
nus quotes many instances of the sublime from them ,
and points out a thousand latent beauties. Indeed that
pathetic in which Demosthenes excelled the frequent
interrogations and apostrophes wherewith he a tacked
the indolence of the Athenians, where could they be
better employed ? Whatever delicacy there be m the
oration against Leptines, the Philippics hJve the advan¬
tage over it, were it only on account of the subject,
whicb gives Demosthenes so fair a field to display his
Chief talent, we mean, with Longinus, that of moving
and astonishing.
Dionysius Halicarnasseus ranks the oration on the
Halonese among the Philippics, and places it the eight 1
in order: but though his authority be great, yet that
force and majesty wherein Cicero characterizes the
lippics of Demosthenes, seem to exclude the oration
on the Halonese out of the number -, and authorize the
almost universal opinion of the learnet, w 10 iejcc 1
as spurious. Lihanus, Photius, and others, but above all
the languidness of the style, and the lowness of the ex¬
pressions, which reign throughout the whole, father it on
H Philippics is likewise applied to the fourteen ora¬
tions of Cicero against Mark Antony. Cicero him-
self gave them tbi? title in bis epistle to Brutas; anl
posterity have found it so just, that it has been Conti-
S to our times. Juvenal, Rat. X. calls the second
the divine Philippic, and witnesses it lol» of great
fame, concpicum dicina Phlhppicafamx. That or ato
intitl’ing bis last and most valued orat.ons after the PI. -
ilppLof Demosthenes shews the high op,mot. he had
of them. Cicero’s PI,ilipp.es cost him us I-1' >
Antony having been so irritated with them, that whe
ho arrived at the triumvirate, he procuied Cicero ^
P H 1
iPiiilippics,
1 Philippine
Islands.
Meatson's
blil, Mem.
der, cut oft ins head, and stuck it up in the Very place
whence the orator had delivered the Philippics.
PHILIPPINE Islands, are certain islands of Asia,
which lie between 114 and 126 degrees of east longi¬
tude, and between 6 and 20 degrees of north latitude j
about 300 miles south-east of China. They are said to
be about 1200 in number, of which there are 400 very
considerable. They form a principal division of that
immense Indian Archipelago, which consists of so many
thousand islands, some of which are the largest, and
many of them the richest, in the world. The Philip¬
pines form the northernmost cluster of these islands, and
were discovered in the year 1521 by the famous naviga¬
tor Ferdinand Magellan, a Portuguese gentleman, who
had served his native country both in the wars of Africa
and in the East Indies ; particularly under Albuquerque,
the famous Portuguese general, who reduced Goa and
Malacca to the obedience of that crown. Magellan
having had a considerable share in those actions, and
finding himself neglected by the government of Portu¬
gal, and even denied, as it is said, the small advance of
a ducat a month on his pay, left the court of Portugal
in disgust, and offered his services to Charles V. then
emperor of Germany and king of Spain, whom he con¬
vinced of the probability of discovering a way to the
Spice islands, in the East Indies, by the west: where¬
upon the command of five small ships being given him,
he set sail from Seville, on the 10th of August 15x9,
and standing over to the coast of South America, pro¬
ceeded southward to 520, where he fortunately hit up¬
on a strait, since called the Strait of Magellan, which
carried him into the Pacific ocean or South sea j and
then steering northward, repassed the equator: after
which, he stretched away to the west, across that vast
ocean, till he arrived at Guam, one of the Ladrones,
on the 10th of March 1521 ; and soon after sailed to
the westward, and discovered the Philippines, which
he did on St Lazarus’s day j and, in honour of that
saint, he (Tailed them the Archipelago of St Lazarus.
He took possession of them in the name of the king
of Spain, but happened to be killed in a skirmish
he had with the natives of one of them. His people,
however, arrived afterwards at the Moluccas, or Clove
islands, where they left a colony, and returned to
Spain by the way of the Cape of Good Hope } being
the first persons that ever sailed round the globe.—But
there was no attempt made by the Spaniards to subdue
or plant the Philippine islands until the year 1564, in
the reign of Philip II. son of Charles V. when Hon
Louis de Velasco, viceroy of Mexico, sent Michael
Lopez Helagaspes thither with a fleet, and a force suf¬
ficient to make a conquest of these islands, which he
named the Philippines, in honour of Philip II. then up¬
on the throne of Spain : and they have remained under
the dominion of that crown till taken by Sir William
Draper. I he Philippines are scarce inferior to any
other islands of Asia in all the natural productions of
that happy climate y and they are by far the best situ¬
ated for an extensive and advantageous commerce. By
their position, they form the centre of intercourse with
China, Japan, and the Spice islands ; and whilst they
are under the dominion of Spain, they connect the Asi¬
atic and American commerce, and become a general
magazine for the rich manufactures of the one and for
the treasures of the other. Besides, they are well situa-
t 275 ]
P H I
ted for a supply of European goods, both from the side Philippine
ot Acapulco and by the way of the Cape of Good Hope. Islands.
In fact, they formerly enjoyed a traffic in some decree 1v
proportioned to the peculiar felicity of their situatfon ;
but the Spanish dominion is too vast and unconnected
to be improved to the best advantage.—The spirit of
commerce is not powerful in that people. The trade of
the Philippines is thought to have declined; its great
branch is now reduced to two ships, which annually pass
etween these islands and Acapulco in America, and to
a single port of Manilla in the island of Luconia. /
Indeed the Spaniards appear by no means to be ac¬
tuated by the spirit of industry; for, so far from im-
pioving the fine situation of these islands to the ut¬
most, it happens, on the contrary, that the trade is
hurtful to the mother-country; for (to confine ourselves
to Manilla, with which they have most to do), instead
of taking Spanish manufactures, they trade with the
Chinese for spices, silks, stockings, Indian stufts, callicoes,
chintz, and many other articles; and with the Japanese
for cabinets, and all sorts of lacquered ware ; for all
which they pay in gold or silver. All these commodi¬
ties, together with what the islands produce, and great
quantities of wrought plate by the Chinese artisans, are
collected at Manilla, and transported annually in two
ships to Acapulco in Mexico. Each of these ships is
esteemed worth 6oo,oool. sterling; and in the war
which began in I739> and which was not distinguished
by such a series of wonderful successes as that which
ended in 1763, the taking ot one of the galleons which
carry on the trade between Manilla and America, was
considered as one of the most brilliant advantages which
we gained. This trade is not laid open to all the inha¬
bitants of Manilla, but is confined by very particular
regulations, somewhat analogous to those by which the
trade of the register ships from Cadiz to the West Indies
is restrained. The ships employed are all king’s ships,
commissioned and paid by him ; and the tonnage is di¬
vided into a certain number of bales, all of the same
size. I hese are divided among the convents at Manil¬
la, but before the suppression of the Jesuits principally
among them, as a donation to support their missions, for
the propagation of the Bomau Catholic faith. Most of
the religious are concerned in this trade, and sell to the
merchants at a great price what room in the ship they
are not to occupy. This trade is by a royal edict limit¬
ed to a certain value, but it always exceeds it, each ship
being generally worth 3,000,000 of dollars. The re¬
turns made from America are in silver, cochineal, sweet¬
meats, together with some European millinery ware for
the women, and some strong Spanish wine. It is obvi¬
ous, that the greatest part of the treasure remitted does
not remain at Manilla, but is dispersed over India for
goods. Many strong remonstrances against this Indian
trade to Mexico have been made to the court of Spain,
wherein they urge, that the silk manufactories of Va-
lentia and other parts of Spain, the linens from Cadiz,
and their other manufactories, are hurt in their sale in
Mexico and Peru, by the Chinese being able to afford
them goods of the same sort cheaper than they are able ;
that were this trade laid open, the whole treasure of the
New World would centre in Spain, or with European
merchants ; but now it enriches only some religious or¬
ders and a few private persons. Wise as these argu¬
ments are, the Jesuits and priests, versant in intrigue,
Mm2 and
P H I
t
Philippine ami the most selfish set of men on earth, had interest
Islands, enough at court to stop the efiect.
v   At Cavite in this bay are a fort, a town, and a fine
dock-yard, where these large galleons are built and re¬
paired, and where they load and unload, together with
all the other large ships that trade to this bay.
The principal of the Philippine islands are JLucoma
or Manilla, Tandago or Samar, Masbate, Mindora,
Luban, Paragoa, Panay, Leyte, Bohel, Sibu, Sogbu,
Negros, St John, Xolo, and Mindanao. In most ot
these, the Spanish power prevails, and all are under
the governor of Luconia j but there are some in which
that nation has little authority, or even influence, such
as Mindanao. . .
The inhabitants of these islands consist ot Chinese,
Ethiopians, Malays, Spaniards, Portuguese, Pintados or
Painted People, and Mestees, a mixture ot all these.
Their persons and habits resemble those of the several
nations whence they derive their original j only, it is
observable, that the features of the blacks of these islands
are as agreeable as those of the white people. Ihere is
not a soil in the world that produces greater plenty ot
all things for life; as appears by the multitude of inha¬
bitants to be found in the woods and mountains, who
subsist almost entirely by the fruits of the earth, and the
venison they take. Nor can any country appear more
beautiful 5 for there is a perpetual verdure, and buds,
blossoms, and fruit, are found upon the trees all the
year round, as well on the mountains as in the cultivat-
ed gardens. Vast quantities of gold are washed down
from the hills by the rains, and found mixed with the
sand of their rivers. There are also mines ol other me¬
tals, and excellent loadstones, found here j and such
numbers of wild buffaloes, that a good huntsman on
horseback, armed with a spear, may kill 10 or 20 in a
day. The Spaniards take them lor their hides, which
they sell to the Chinese ; and their carcases serve the
mountaineers for food. Their woods also abound with
deer, wild hogs, and goats. 01 the last, there is such
plenty in one of these islands, that the Spaniards gave it
the name of Cabras. Horses and cows have been like¬
wise imported into these islands, from New Spain, China,
and Japan, which have multiplied considerably j but the
sheep that were brought over came to nothing. Hie
trees produce a great variety of gums ; one kind, which
is the commonest, by the Spaniards called brea, is used
instead of pitch j of the others some are medicinal,
, others odoriferous.
In these islands are monkeys and baboons of such a
size, as to defend themselves il attacked by men.
\Vlien they can find no fruit in the mountains, they
go down to the sea to catch crabs and oysters j and
that the oysters may not close and catch their paws,
they first put in a stone to prevent their shutting
close: they take crabs by putting their tail in the
holes where they lie, and when the crab lays hold of
it, they draw him out. There are also great numbers
of civet-cats in some^of the islands. The bird called
tavan, is a black sea-fowl, something less than a hen,
and has a long neck •, it lays its eggs on the sand by the
sea side, 40 or 50 in a trench, and then covers them,
and they are hatched by the heat of the sun. They
have likewise the bird saligan, which builds her nest on
the sides of rocks. This is a species of swallow the nests
276 ] PHI
ol which are so much esteemed in the east, being a kind Pliilippins
of ielly that dissolves in warm water. s
The Spaniards have intioduced several ot the Arne-
rlcan fruits, which thrive here as well as in America j   
the cocoa or chocolate-nut particularly, which increa¬
ses so that they have no occasion now to import it trom
Mexico. Here is also the FouNTAiN-Tree, from which
the natives draw water 5 and there is likewise a kind
of cane, by the Spaniards called vaxuco, which, 1. cut,
yields fair water enough for a draught, of which there
is plenty in the mountains, where water is most want-
These islands being hot and moist, produce abundance
of venomous creatures, as the soil does poisonous herbs
and flowers, which do not kill those who touch or taste
them, hut so infect the air, that many people die m the
time of their blossoming.
The orange, lemon, and several other trees, hear
twice a-year. A sprig, when planted, becomes a tree
and bears fruit in a year’s time J so that without any
hyperbole it may be affirmed, that a more luxuriant
verdant soil can scarcely be conceived. Hie woods are
filled with old, large, and lofty trees, and such as yield
more sustenance to man than is to be found in aimost
any other part of the world. These islands, however,
besides their other inconveniences, of which they have
many, are very subject to earthquakes, which often
prove very fatal. See Manilla.
Philippines, a religious society of young women at
Rome, so called from their taking St Philip de Neri
for their protector. The society consists of 100 poor
girls, who are brought up till they are of age to be
married, or become nuns, under the direction of some
religious women, who teach them to read, write,, and
work, and instruct them in the duties of Christianity.
They wear a white veil, and a black cross on their
breasts. See Macedonia.
PHIL1PPISTS, a sect or party among the Luthe¬
rans j the followers of Philip Melancthon. He had
strenuously opposed the Ubiquists, who arose in his
time; and the dispute growing still hotter after his
death; the university of Wirtemberg, who espoused
Melancthon’s opinion, -were called by the Ilacians,
who attacked it, Philippists.
PHILIPS, Fabian, was author of several books re¬
lating to ancient customs and privileges in Lngland.
He was horn at Presthury in Gloucestershire, Sep¬
tember 28. 1601. When very young, he spent some
time in one of the Inns of Chancery ; and went trom
thence to the Middle-Temple, where he became learned
in the law. In the civil wars, he was a bold assertor oi
the king’s prerogative ; and was so strongly attached to
Charles I. tfiat, two days before that monarch was be¬
headed, he wrote a protestation against the intende
murder, and caused it to be printed, and affixed to posts
in all public places. He likewise published, in 1649,
Ato, a pamphlet entitled, “ Ventas Inconcmsa; or Ring
Charles I. no Man of Blood, hut a Martyr tor Ins
People:” which was reprinted in 1660, 8vo. in 1663,
when the courts of justice at Westminster, especially the
chancery, were voted down by Oliver’s parliament, he
published, “ Considerations against the dissolving and
taking them away :” for which he received the thanks
of parliament. He was for some time filazer for Lon-
P H I [ 2
don, Middlesex, Cambridgeshire, and Huntingdonshire;
and spent much money in searching records, and writing
in favour of the royal prerogative. The only advan¬
tage he received for this attachment to the royal cause
was, the place of one of the commissioners for regulat¬
ing the law, worth 200I. per annum, which only lasted
two years. After the restoration of Charles II. when
the bill for taking away the tenures was depending in
parliament, he wrote and published a book to show the
necessity of preserving them, entitled, “ Tentnda non
tollenda; or, the Necessity of preserving Tenures in ca-
pite, and by Knight’s service, which, according to their
first institution, were, and are yet, a great part of the
salus populi, &c. 1660,” 410. In 1663 ,le published,
“ The Antiquity, Legality, Reason, Duty, and Neces¬
sity of Pre-emption and Pourveyance for the King,”
4to; and afterwards many other pieces upon subjects
of a similar kind. He assisted Dr Bates in his “ Elen-
chm Motuum ; especially in searching the records and
offices for that work. He died, November 17th, 1690,
in his 89th year. He was a man well acquainted with
records and antiquities ; but his manner of writing is
neither close nor well digested. He published a politi¬
cal pamphet in 1681, entitled, “ Ursa Major et Minor ;
showing that there is no such Fear, as is fictitiously
pretended, of Popery and arbitrary Power.”
Philips, Ambrose, an English poet, was descended
from a very ancient and considerable family of that
name in Leicestershire. He received his education at
St John’s college, Cambridge ; during his stay at which
university, he wrote his pastorals, which acquired him
at that time so high a reputation. His next perform¬
ance was, The Life of Archbishop Williams, written,
according to Mr Cibber, to make known his political
principles, which in the course of it he had a free op¬
portunity of doing, as the archbishop, who is the hero
of his work, was a strong opponent to the high-church
measures.
When he quitted the university, and came to Lon¬
don, he became a constant attendant at, and one of
the wits of, Button’s coffee-house, where he obtained
the friendship and intimacy of many of the celebrated
geniuses of that age, more particularly of Sir Richard
Steele, who, in the first volume of his Tatler, has in¬
serted a little poem of Mr Philips’s, which he calls a
Winter Piece, dated from Copenhagen, and addressed to
the earl of Dorset, on which he bestows the highest en¬
comiums; and, indeed, so much justice is there in these
his commendations, that even Mr Pope himself, who
had a fixed aversion to the author, while he affected to
despise his other works, used always to except this from
the number.
The first dislike Mr Pope conceived against Mr Phi¬
lips, proceeded from that jealousy of fame which was
so conspicuous in the character of that great poet; for
Sir Richard Steele had taken so strong a liking to the
pastorals of the latter, as to have formed a design for
a critical comparison of them with those of Pope, in the
conclusion of which the preference was to have been
given to Philips. This design, however, coming to Mr
Pope’s knowledge, that gentleman, who could not bear
a rival near the throne, determined to ward off this
stroke by a stratagem of the most artful kind ; which
was no other than taking the same task on himself; and,
in a paper in the Guardian, by drawing the like com-
77 ] PHI
panson, and giving a like preference, lut on principles
oi criticism apparently fallacious, to point out the ab-
surdity of such a judgment; However, notwithstanding
the ridicule that was drawn on him in consequence ot'
his standing as it were in competition with so powerful
a~ it is allowed, that there are, in some parts
or I hi bps’s pastorals, certain strokes of nature, and a
degree of simplicity, that are much better suited to the
purposes oi pastoral, than the more correctly turned pe-
nods of Mr Pope’s versification. Mr Philips and Mr
Pope being of different political principles, was another
cause of enmity between them; which arose at length
to so great a height, that the former, finding his antago¬
nist too hard for him at the weapon of wit, had even
determined on making use of a rougher kind of argu¬
ment ; for which purpose he even went so far as to hano-
up a rod at Button’s for the chastisement of his adver¬
sary whenever he should come thither; which, however,
Mr Pope declining to do, avoided the argumentum ba-
cuhnum, in which he would, no doubt, have found him¬
self on the weakest side of the question. Our author
also wrote several dramatical pieces; The Briton, Di¬
stressed Mother, and Humphrey Duke of Gloucester;
all of which met with success, and one of them is at
this time a standard of entertainment at the theatres,
being generally repeated several times in every season.
Mr Philips’s circumstances were in general, through his
life, not only easy, but rather affluent, in consequence of
his being connected, by his political principles, with
persons of great rank and consequence. He was con¬
cerned with Dr Hugh Boulter, afterwards archbishop
of Armagh, the right honourable Richard West, Esq.
lord chancellor of Ireland, the reverend Mr Gilbert
Burnet, and the reverend Mr Henry Stevens, in writing
a series of papers called the Free Thinker, which were
all published together by Mr Philips, in three volumes
in 121110.
In the latter part of Queen Anne’s reign, he was
secretary to the Hanover club, who were a set of noble¬
men and gentlemen who had formed an association in
honour of that succession, and for the support of its in¬
terests, and who used particularly to distinguish in their
toasts such of the fair sex as were most zealously attach¬
ed to the illustrious House of Brunswic. Mr Philip’s
station in this club, together with the zeal shown in his
writings, recommended him to the notice and favour of
the new government. He was, soon after the accession
of King George I. put into the commission of the peace,
and appointed one of the commissioners of the lottery,
And, on his friend Dr Boulter’s being made primate of
Ireland, he accompanied that prelate across St George’s
Channel, where he got considerable preferments bestow¬
ed on him, and was elected a member of the House of
Commons there, as representative for the county of Ar¬
magh. At length, having purchased an annuity for
life of 400I. per annum, he came over to England
some time in the year 1748 ; but having a very bad
state of health, and being moreover of an advanced
age, he died soon after, at his lodgings near Vauxhall,
in Surrey.
“ Of his personal character (says Dr Johnson) all I
have heard is, that he was eminent for bravery, and skill
in the sword, and that in conversation he was solemn
and pompous.” He is somewhere called Quaker Phi¬
lips, but, however, appears to have been a man of inte¬
grity ;
p H I
t
Philips.
,. i* r .Up iftte Paul Whitehead relates, that when
gnty •, tor the late ram ^ tQ
Mr Addison was secretary ot siait,, A l ft1
him for some preferment, tat tvas eoolly answered
!> that it was thought that he was already f» >
hv being made a justice for Westminster, lo tins ob
Jrvation our author, with some indignation, replied,
“ Though poetry was a trade he could no ive y’ >
he scorned to owe subsistence to another winch he ought
^The'following anecdote is told of our author by Dr
John ou : “ At? coffeehouse, he (Philips) was d.seour-
°pon pictures, and pitying the painters, who, m
their historical pieces, always draw ‘le“rth
” “ They should travel (said he), and then they
would see tha?there is a different
in E»^”^ra„r ^. ata forth.^ J i
have taefa1 tSle^d c^n testify what you otaer.e
is true; but the greatest variety of skies that I toun„
was in Poland.” “ In Poland, Sw? (says
« Yes in Poland; for there is Sobie%, and Sabrun-
sky, and Jablon%, and Podebrasiy, and many more
^Philips, Catharine, a very ingenious lady, the daugh¬
ter of Mr John Fowler merchant, was born at London
in January 1631, and educated at a school at Hackn y.
She married James Philips of the priory ot Cardigan,
Esq and went with the viscountess of Dungannon into
Ireland, where she translated Corneille’s tragedy of Pom-
pey into English, which was several times acted there
^SheCnSedlo the four first acts of Horace ano-
ther tragedy of Corneille, the fifth being done by Sir
John Denham. This excellent and amiable lady, foi
such it seems she was, died of the small po^ m London
the 22d of June 1664, much and justly regretted, ha¬
ving not left (says Langbaine) any ot her sex her equ
in poetry.r-r-She not only equalled (adds he) all that 1
reiJorted of the poetesses of antiquity, the Lesbian
Sappho and the Roman Sulpitia, but justly found her
admirers among the greatest poets of our age. “
ley wrote an ode upon her death. Dr Jeremy Taylor
iJd addressed to her his “ Measures and Offices of
Friendship the second edition of which was printed
in i6c*7 i2mo. She assumed the name of Qtinda. In
1667 were'printed, ,in foiiu, “ P-ems by the most de-
servedly adored Mrs Catharine Philips, the matchless
Orindaf To which is added, Monsieur Corneille s Pom-
; pey and Horace, tragedies. With several other transla¬
tions from the French;” and her picture before them
engraven by Faithorne. There was likewise another
edition in 1678, folio; in the preface of which we are
told that “ she wrote her familiar letters with great fa¬
cility in a very fair hand, and perfect orthography; and
if they were collected with those excellent discourses
she wrote on several subjects, they would make a volume
much larger than that of her poems. In 1705, a
small volume of her letters to Sir Charles Cottrel was
printed, under the title of “ Letters from Orinda to Po-
liarchus ” The editor of these letters lells us, that
“ they were the effect of an happy intimacy between
herself and the late famous Poliarchus, and are an
admirable pattern for the pleasing correspondence ot a
virtuous friendship. They will sufficiently instruct us,
how an intercourse of writing between persons ot
S?8
] PHI
different sexes ought to be managed with delight and Philip?,
innocence; and teach the world not to bad such a'
commerce with censure and detraction, when it is re¬
moved at such a distance from even the appearance ot
SUPm lips, John, an eminent English poet, was born in
1676 Up was educated at Winchester and Oxiordf
where he became acquainted with Milton, whom he stu¬
died with great application, and traced in all his success¬
ful translations from the ancients. The first poem which
distinguished our author, was his Splendid Shilling,
which is in the Tatler styled the “ finest burlesque poem
in the English language.” His next was entitled Blen¬
heim, which he wrote at the request of the earl of Ox¬
ford, and Mr Henry St John, afterwards Lord Rohng-
broke, on the victory obtained there by the duke of
Marlborough in 1704. It was published m 1705; and
the year after he finished another poem upon cyder, the
first book of which had been written at Oxford. It is
on the model of Virgil’s Georgies, and is a very excel¬
lent piece. We have no more of Mr Philips but a
Latin ode to Henry St John, Esq. which is esteemed a
masterpiece. He was contriving greater things; but
illness coming on, he was obliged to drop every thing
but the care of his health. This care, however, did not
save him: for, after lingering a long time, he died at
Hereford, Feb. 15. 1708, of a consumption and asthma,
before he had reached his 33d year. He was interred
in the cathedral of that city, with an inscription over
his grave; and had a monument erected to his memory
in Westminster-abbey by Sir Simon Harcourt, aiter-
wards lord-chancellor, with an epitaph upon it written
by Dr Atterbury, though commonly ascribed to Dr
Freind. He was one of those few poets whose muse
and manners were equally excellent and amiable; and
both were so in a very eminent degree.
Dr Johnson observes, that “ Philips has been always
praised, without contradiction, as a man modest, blame¬
less, and pious ; who bore a narrow fortune without dis¬
content, and tedious and painful maladies without im¬
patience ; beloved by those that knew him, but not am¬
bitious to be known. He was probably not formed tor
a wide circle. His conversation is commended tor its
innocent gaiety, which seems to have flowed only among
his intimates; for I have been told, that he was in com¬
pany silent and barren, and employed only upon the
pleasures of his pipe. His addiction to tobacco is men¬
tioned by one of his biographers, who remarks, that in
all his writings except Blenheim he has found an oppor¬
tunity of celebrating the fragrant fume. In common
life, he was probably one of those who please by not ot-
fending, and whose person was loved, because his wri¬
tings were admired. He died honoured and lamented
before any part of his reputation had withered, and be¬
fore his patron St John had disgraced him. His works
are few. The Splendid Shilling has the uncommon
merit of an original design, unless it may be thought
precluded by the ancient Centos^ To degrade the sound¬
ing works and stately construction of Milton, by an ap-
lication to the lowest and most trivial things, gratihes
the mind with a momentary triumph over that grandeur
which hitherto held its captives in admiration; the
words and things are presented with a new appearance,
and novelty is always grateful where it gives no pain.
But the merit of such performances begins and ends
; philips, with the first author.
HI [ 27!)
He that should again adapt Mil
lilipsburg. ton’s phrase to the gross incidents of common life, and
even adapt it with more art, which would not be diffi¬
cult, must yet expect but a small part of the praise
which Philips has obtained : he can only hope to be
Considered as the repeater of a jest.
“ There is a Latin ode written to his patron St
John, in return for a present of wine and tobacco
which cannot be passed without notice. It is gay and
elegant, and exhibits several artful accommodations of
classic expressions to new purposes. It seems better
turned than the odes of Hannes. Fo the poem on
cyder, written in imitation ol the Georgies, may be
given this peculiar praise, that it is grounded in truth ;
that the precepts which it contains are exact and just }
and that it is therefore at once a book of entertainment
and of science This 1 was told by Miller, the great
gardener and botanist, whose expression was, that ‘ there
were many books written on the same subject in prose,
which do not contain so much truth as that poem., In
the disposition ol his matter, so as to intersperse pre¬
cept, relating to the culture of trees, with sentiments
more generally pleasing, and in easy and graceful transi¬
tions from one subject to another, he has very diligent¬
ly imitated his master j but he unhappily pleased him¬
self with biank verse, and supposed that the numbers of
Milton, which impress the mind with veneration, com¬
bined as they are with subjects of inconceivable gran¬
deur, could be sustained by images which at most can
rise only to elegance. Contending angels may shake
the regions of heaven in blank verse; but the flow of
equal measures and the embellishment of rhime, must
recommend to our attention the art of engrafting, and
decide the merit of the redstreak and pearmain. What
study could confer, Philips had obtained j but natural
deficiency cannot be supplied. He seems not born to
greatness and elevation. He is never lofty, nor does he
often surprise with unexpected excellence: but perhaps
to bis last poem may be applied what Tully said ef the
work of Lucretius, that ‘ it is written with much art,
though with few blazes of genius.”
It deserves to be remarked, that there were two poets
of both the names of our author, and who flourished in
Ins time. One ot them was Milton’s nephew, and
wrote several things, particularly some memoirs of his
uncle, and part of Virgil Travestied. The other was
the author of two political farces, which were both
printed in 1716; 1. The Earl of Marr married, with
the Humours of Jocky the Highlander. 2. The pre¬
tender’s I light; or a Mock Coronation, with the Hu¬
mours of the facetious Harry St John.
PHILIPSPURG, is an imperial town of Germany,
in the circle of the Upper Rhine. It is very strong,
and looked upon as one of the bulwarks of the empire,
It is seated in a morass, and fortified with seven bastions
and several advanced works. The town belongs to the
bishop ol Spire, but all the works and the fortifications
to the empire. It has been several times taken and re¬
taken, particularly by the French in 1734, when the
duke of Berwick was killed at the siege j but it was
rendered back the year following, in consequence of the
treaty ot \ ienna. It is seated on the river Rhine, over
which there is a bridge, seven miles south of Spire, 22
south-east ot Worms, and 40 north-east of Strasburg.
E. Long. 8. 33. N. Lat. 49. 12.
1 PHI
f li Ancient Geography, the country pliilutsea,
01 the I lulistines (Bible) ; which lay along the Medi- Philistines-
teiranean, from Joppa to the boundary of Egypt, and Vl" v ' '
extending to inland places not far from the coast. Pa-
Icestini) the people; Palasstma, the country (Josephus):
Aftei wards applied to the whole of the Holy Land and
in.^a^5an^s* Philista: 1, the people (Septuagint) :
1 fuliHtim (\ ulgate); the Caphtorim and Philistim, ori¬
ginally from Egypt, and descendants of Cham (Moses).
Expelled and destroyed the Hivites the ancient inhabit
tants, and occupied their country ; that is, the region
which retained the name ot Phihstim^ in which that of
Caphtorim was swallowed up.
PHILISTINES, were the ancient inhabitants of
1 alestine, well known in sacred history. These people
are sometimes called in Scripture Chercthitcs ami Caph-
torims. The earlier part of their history is, like that of
most other nations, very obscure and uncertain. The
authors of the Universal History tell us, that they were
descended from the Casluhim partly, and partly from
the Caphtorim, both from the loins of Mizraim the son
of Ham, the son of Noah. Moses tells us (Dent xi.
23.), that they drove out the Avim or Avites even to
Azzah or Gazah, where they settled ; but when this
happened cannot be determined. On the whole, how¬
ever, our learned authors are clearly of opinion, that the
Caslnhim and Caphtorim, from whom the Philistines are
descended, came originally from Egypt, and called the
country which they had conquered by their own name
(See Palestine). Many interpreters, however, think,
that Caphtor was but another name for Cappadocia,
which they imagine to have been the original country
of the Philistines. But Father Calmet, in a particular
dissertation prefixed to the first book of Samuel, en¬
deavours to show that they were originally of the
isle oi Crete. The reasons which led him to think
that Caphtor is the isle of Crete are as follow : The
Philistines were strangers in Palestine, as appears in
various parts of Scripture; such as Gen. x. 14.
Deut. ii. 23. Jer. xlvii. 4. and Amos ix. 7. whence
the Septuagint always translate this name Strangers,
Their proper name was Cheretbims, for Ezekiel
(xxv. 16.), speaking against the Philistines, has these
words, “ I will stretch out mine hand upon the Phi¬
listines, and I will cut off the Cherethiras, and de¬
stroy the remnant of the sea coast.” Zephaniah (ii. v.),
inveighing against the same people, says, “ Woe unto
the inhabitants of the sea-coasts, the nation of the Che-
rethites.” And Samuel (Book I. xxx. 14.) says, that
the Amalekites made an irruption into the country of
the Cherethites, that is to say, of the Philistines, as the
sequel of the discourse proves. And afterwards the
kings of Judah had foreign guards called the Cherethites
and Pelethitesy who were of the number of the Phili¬
stines (2 Sam. xv. 18.). The Septuagint, under the
name Cherethites, understood the Cretans ; and by Che-
rith they understood Crete. Besides the Scripture says,
that the Philistines came from the isle of Caphtor.
Now we see no island in the Mediterranean wherein
the marks whereby the Scripture describes Capbtoi and
Cherethim agree better than in the isle of Crete. The
name Cretim or Cherethim, is the same w’ith that of Cre-
tenses. The Cretans are one of the most ancient and
celebrated people which inhabited the islands of the
Mediterranean. They pretended to have been pro¬
duced
PHI. [
Philistines, duced originally out of their own soil. This island was
well peopled in the time of the Trojan war. Homer
calls it the island wTith a hundred cities. The city of
Gaza in Palestine went by the name of Minoa (Siep/i.
in Ga^a), because Minos king ot Crete coming
into that country, called this ancient city by his own
name.
Herodotus acknowledges that the Cretans were origi¬
nally all barbarians, and did not come from Greece.
Homer says, that a different language was spoken in
the isle of Crete 5 that there were Greeks there, true
or ancient Cretans, Pelagians, &c. The ancient Cre¬
tans are the same as the Cherethites, the Pelasgians as
the Philistines or Pelethites of the Scripture : their
language was the same with that of the Canaanites or
Phoenicians, that is, Hebrew : they were descended, as
well as Canaan, from Ham, by Mizraim (Gen. x. 6, 13,
14.). The manners, arms, religion, and gods of the
Cretans and Philistines were the same. The arms of the
one and the other were bows and arrows. Dagon the
god of the Philistines was the same as the Dictynna of
the Cretans. ....
Whether these arguments are convincing, it is not for
us to determine \ but "Wells does not think they aie, as
lie is of the same opinion with the authors of the Uni¬
versal History, who say, that Coptus, the name of an old
city of Egypt, is a corruption of the ancient Caphtor.
It is not, however, of great importance to determine
Anc. part,
vol. i. p.
408, &c.
whether they came from Crete, from Cappadocia, or
from Egypt : they had certainly been a considerable
time in the land of Canaan, when Abraham arrived
there in the year of the world 2083. They were then
a very powerful people, were governed by kings, and
in possession of several considerable cities. The race of
kings then in power were honoured with the title of
Abimelech. This race, however, was but of short du¬
ration j for their monarchy became an aristocracy of five
lords, who were, as far as we can discover, partly inde¬
pendent of each other, though they acted in concert for
the common cause. This form of government was again
succeeded by another race of kings, distinguished by the
title of Achish, though they also bore that of Abimelech*
The kings were always under great limitations. The
Philistines appear to have been a very warlike people,
industrious, and lovers of freedom j they did not circum¬
cise, and in the early periods of their history held adul¬
tery in the greatest abhorrence. “ Their character (say
the authors of the Universal History) must be consider¬
ed at different periods •, for we may say they were not
always the same people. In the days of Abraham and
Isaac, they were without all doubt a righteous and hos¬
pitable nation : but afterwards a revolution in govern¬
ment, religion, and morals, may have ensued. From
thenceforward they became like other idolatrous nations ^
the same enormities crept in and prevailed among them.
280 ] PHI
They are constantly mentioned mScripture as strangers ,
and, though possessed of a very considerable part ot the ^
Land of Promise, yet God would never suffer them to
be driven out, they being Egyptians by descent, and not
original natives, whose land only was promised to Abra¬
ham and his seed. Their arrogance and ambition were
great ; and so irreconcileable was their enmity (a) to
the Israelites, that one would be almost tempted to
think they were created on purpose to be a thorn m
their sides 5 for though the hand of God was evidently
against them several times, and particularly when they
detained the ark, yet they hardened their hearts, and
closed their eyes against conviction. 1 hey seem to have
entertained a'very fond veneration for their deities, in
which they persisted, though they were eye witnesses ot
the shame and ignominy which befel them in the pre¬
sence of the captive ark 5 nay, they were so biassed in
their favour, as to imagine that their gods might prevail
against Him who had in so glaring a manner put them
to shame and disgrace. They were much engaged in
trade ; which, considering their situation, they may have
exercised from the beginning j but, by the accession ot
the fugitive Edomites in David’s time, they rose to so
great a reputation as merchants, that the Greeks, it
seems, preferred them to all other nations in that respect,
and from them called all the country bordering on theirs
Palestine. Their language was not so different Irom
that spoken by the Hebrews as to cause any diiiiculty
for them to converse together, as will be perceived by
their intercourse with Abraham and Isaac 5 so that, in
all this region, the several nations spoke one and the
same tongue, perhaps with some variation ot dialect.
They had doubtless the arts and sciences in common
with the most learned and ingenious among their con¬
temporaries, and perhaps some ol them in gieatei pei
fection. They had giants among them 5 but whether
they were originally of the breed of the Anakims, who
retired hither when they were expelled from Hebron, or
were sprung from accidental births, is not easily deter¬
mined. We must not forget, that the invention ol the
bow and arrow is ascribed to this people.
“ Their religion was different at different times \ un¬
der their first race of kings, they used the same rites with
the Hebrews. Abimelech, in the sin he hac like to
have committed with Sarah, through Abraham’s timi¬
dity was favoured with a divine admonition Irom God;
and,? by his speech and behaviour at that time, it seems
as if he had been used to converse with the Deity. In
after-times, they fell into endless superstitions, and dit-
ferent kinds of idolatry ; each of the principal or hve ci¬
ties seemed to have an idol ol its own. Marna, Marnas,
or Marnash, was worshipped at Gaza, and is said to
have migrated into Crete, and to have become the Cre¬
tan Jupiter. Dagon was worshipped at Azotus ; he
seems to have been the greatest, the most ancient, and
most
(a) “ From a passage in Chronicles, it is guessed to have been of very ancient date , w i^ . ’nt Js no_
men of Gath slew the children of Ephraim, who would have taken their cattle from lem- ke thig aSSa„e.
where else to be found; and there are various notions concerning the sense m which we m soiouPrnersSin
As to the time of the transaction, most people allow it to have been while the children of L ad we e ^mirneis^i
Egypt. It plainly appears, by the next verse, that Ephraim himself was living at that pen > • - .
poses his children miscomputed the time they were to serve in Egypt, and began too eai y an a emp p
Promised Land.” I
PHI , [28
'fiilistiites. rnos^ favourite god they had ; to which may be added,
•"—v ^ial; l,e perhaps subsisted the longest of any that did not
straggle out of the country. To him they ascribed the
invention of bread-corn, or of agriculture, as his name
imports. We cannot enter into the common notion of
his being represented as a monster, half man half fish ;
nor consequently into another, almost as common, that
he is the same with the Syrian goddess Derceto, who,
we are told, was represented under some such mixed
form. Our opinion is, that this idol was in shape whol¬
ly like a man ; for we read of his head, his hands, and
his feet. He stood in a temple at Azotus, and had
priests of his own who paid him a very constant attend¬
ance. Next to Hagon was Baalzebub the god of J\k-
ron. In the text of the New Testament he is called
Bee/zebub, and the prince oj devils. His name is ren-
dered lord of flies ; which by some is held to be a mock
appellation bestowed on him by the Jews ; but others
think him so styled by his worshippers, as Hercules
Apomyios and others were, from his driving those in¬
sects away •, and urge, that Ahaziah, in his sickness,
would scarcely have applied to him, if his name had
earned in it any reproach. But it must be remembered,
it is the sacred historian that makes use of that con¬
temptuous term in derison ; whereas the idolatrous mo¬
narch, who was one of his votaries, might call him by his
common name, supposed to have been BaaUzeboatk,
‘ the lord of armies,’ or Baal-shamin, ‘ lord of heaven,’
or some other bordering cn Baal-zebub. How, or under
what form he was represented is uncertain : some place
him on a throne, and attire him like a king j others
paint him as a fly. Not to dwell on this obscurity, it
appears that he became an oracle of the highest repute
for omniscience and veracity ; that he had priests of his
own ; and that he, in the middle times at least, was
much sought after by those who were anxious about fu-
4urity. Derceto we take certainly to have been the
goddess of Ascalon ; but we are supported by profane
authority, without the least countenance from Scripture
Oath is seemingly the only city of all the five unprovid¬
ed with a deity; wherefore, as the Scripture declares,
that Ashtaroth, or Astarte, was worshipped by this peo¬
ple we are ready to place her at Gath, and the rather,
as this of all their cities may have had most communica-
'tion with Sidon. To speak in general concerning their
religious rites and ceremonies, which is all we can do
they seem to have erected very large and spacious tem¬
ples, or very wide halls, for the ceiebration of their so¬
lemn seasons and festivals (for such they surely had) •
their religious offices were attended with much pomp’
and a great concourse from all parts ; and they present¬
ed their gods with the chief part of their spoil, and car¬
ried them about with them when they went to war.
We do not find in Scripture that they sacrificed their
elnldren j and yet the Curetes (b) are said to be their
descendants.”
With respect to the history of this extraordinary peo¬
ple, we find from the above extract, that they were not
1 ] PHI
compielieniUJ m (lie number of nations devoted to ox- i;,:
termination, and whose territory the Lord had abandon- ’ 'll ”
ed to the Hebrews ; nor were they of the cursed seed of I hilo.
Canaan. However, Joshua did not forbear to give their’   
lands to the Hebrews, and to set upon them by com¬
mand from the Lord, because they possessed a country
which was promised to the people of God (Josh. xv. 4 r.
’ 47* and xiii. 2, 3.). But these conquests of Joshua
must have been ill maintained, since under the Judges
under San!, and at the beginning of the reign of David’
the Ihihstines oppressed the Israelites. True it is,
ohamgar, Samson, Samuel, and Saul, made head against
them, but did not reduce their power 5 and they conti¬
nued independent down to the reign of David, who
subjected them to his government.
They continued in subjection to the kings of Judah
down to the reign of Jehoram, son of Jehoshaphat: that
is, for about 246 years. However, Jehoram made war
against them, and probably reduced them to his obedi¬
ence again ; because it is observed in Scripture, that they
revolted again from Uzziah ; and that this prince kept
them to their duty during the time of his reign (2 Chron.
Xf A1! 6‘ aIJd 6? 7*')’ I)uring the unfortunate reign
of Ahaz, the Philistines made great havock in the terri-
ones of Judah ; but his son and successor Hezekiah
subdued them (2 Chron. xxviii. ,8. and 2. Kings xviii.s
»•)• Lastly, they regained their full liberty under the
latter kings of Judah j and we may see by the menaces
denounced against them by the prophets Isaiah, Amos,
Aephamah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel, that they brought
a thousand hardships and calamities upon the children of
Israel: for which cruelties God threatened to punish
them.. Esarhaddon besieged Aslidod or Azoth, and
took it (Isa. xx. I.). And according to Herodotus,
irsammetfeus king of Egypt took the same city, after a
siege of 29 years. There is great probability, that Ne¬
buchadnezzar, when he subdued theAmmonites, Moab¬
ites, Egyptians, and other nations bordering upon the
Jews, reduced also the Philistines. After this, they fell
under the dominion of the Persians ; then under that of
Alexander the Great, who destroyed the city of Gaza,
the only city of Phoenicia that durst oppose him. After
the persecution of Antiochus Epiphanes, the Asmonje-
ans subjected under their obedience several cities of the
Philistines; and Tryphon gave to Jonathan Maccabeus
the government of the whole coast of the Mediterranean,
from lyre as far as Egypt, which included all the
country of the Philistines.
PHILLYREA, Mock-privet > a genus of plants
belonging to the diandria class. See Botany Index.
PHILO, an ancient Greek writer, was of a noble
family among the Jews, and flourished at Alexandria
during the reign of Caligula. He was the chief of an em-
bassy sent to Rome about the year 42, to plead the cause
of the Jews against Apion, who was sent by the Alexan¬
drians to charge them with neglecting the honours due
to Caesar. Caligula, however, would not allow him to
speak, and behaved to him in such a manner that Philo
was
«r PI,mslh.e.C!I,T\SaCr!firi ,hT fhild,ren t0 Sa:mn 5 from the tins name bear, to Cberethites
Pl.ilistini ’ !• hA ber ?dvanced tliey are thc sa^ people ; but as we have no warrant for saying the
from them, Cwmi^dkeheXe”""""1'1"1 “ Cmt°m’ "" Ve“t“re ^ Pronoon<;e' learned it not
V0L.XVI.ratU. . ’ + Nn
P H I
was 111 considerable danger of losing bis life. Others
;r<r:un tell us that he was heard j but that his demands
'were refused. He afterwards went to Rome in the reign
Phiiocle*
.11
I'hilokus.
were reiuseu. nc
of Claudius J and there, Eusebius and Jerome inform
us, he became acquainted with St Peter with whom he
was on terms of friendship. Phot.us adds, that he be¬
came a Christian, and afterwards, from some motive of
resentment, renounced it. Great part ol tins, however,
is uncertain, for few believe that St Peter was at Rome
so early as the reign of Claudius, if he ever was there
lt Philo was educated at Alexandria, and made very
great progress in eloquence and philosophy. After the
fashion of the time, he cultivated, like many of his na¬
tion and faitli, the philosophy of Plato, whose principles
lie so thoroughly imbibed, and whose manner he so well
imitated, that it became a common saying, Ant i lato
philonizat, aut Philo platonizat” Josephus says, he
was a man “ eminent on all accounts : and Eusebius
describes him, “ copious in speech, rich m ^sentiments,
and sublime in the knowledge of holy writ. He was,
however, so much immersed in philosophy, particularly
the Platonic, that he neglected the Hebrew language,
and the rites and customs of his own people, bcaliger
saYs, that Philo “ knew no more of Hebrew and Syriac
than a Gaul or a Scythian.” Grotius is of opinion,
that “ he is not fully to be depended on, in what relates
to the manners of the Hebrews:” and Cudworth goes
further ; for “ though a Jew by nation (says he), he was
yet very ignorant of Jewish customs.” Fabncius thinks
differently •, for though he allows some inadvertencies
and errors of Philo with regard to these matters, yet he
does not see a sufficient foundation on which to charge
so illustrious a doctor of the law with ignorance. He
allows, however, that Philo’s passion for philosophy had
made him more than half a Pagan j for it led him to in¬
terpret the whole law and the prophets upon 1 lato"lc
ideas •, and to admit nothing as truly interpreted which
was not agreeable to the principles of the academy. Re¬
sides, this led him farther 5 he turned every thing into
allegory, and deduced the darkest meanings from the
plainest words. This most pernicious practice Origen,
it is known, imitated, and exposed himself by it to the
scoffs of Celsus and of Porphyry. Philo’s writings
abound with high and mystical, new and subtile, far¬
fetched and abstn»ted, notions; and indeed the doc¬
trines of Plato and Moses are so promiscuously blended,
that it is not an easy matter to assign to each his princi¬
ples. There are certainly, however, in his works many
excellent things. Though he is continually Platomsing
and allegorising the Scriptures, he abounds with fine
sentiments and lessons of morality ; and his morals are
rather the morals of a Christian than of a Jew. Histo¬
ry together with his own writings, give us every reason
to believe that he was a man of great prudence, con-
tancy. and virtue.
2S2 ] PHI
whole century ; which made Cotelenus say, that “ Phi¬
lo was an author that deserved to have abetter text ami
a better version.” In 1742, a handsome edition of his (
work was published at London by Dr Mangey m two
volumes folio ; which is certainly preferable it it were
only for the paper and print, but it is not so good a one
as Philo deserves.
Many of our readers may be desirous of further de¬
tails respecting this celebrated man; we refer such there¬
fore to Josephus’s Antiquities, Eusebius’s Ecclesiasti¬
cal History, St Jerome’s work De Scriptoribus Eccle-
siasticis, Fabricius Bib/. Grcec. Cave Hist. Liter, and
vol. ii. of Monuments of the Greek Church.
PHILOCLES, an admiral of the Athenian fleet du¬
ring the Peloponnesian war. He recommended to his
countrymen to cut oft the right hand of such of the ene¬
mies as were taken, that they might be rendered unfit for
service. His plan was adopted by all the ten admirals
except one ; but their expectations were frustrated, and
instead of being conquerors they were totally defeated
at iEgospotamus by Lysander, and Pbilocles was put
to death with the rest of bis colleagues.
PHILOCTETES, in fabulous history, the son of
Piean, was the faithful companion of Hercules ; who at
his death obliged him to swear not to discover the place
where his ashes were interred, and presented him with
his arrows dipped in the Hydra’s blood. The Greeks
at the siege of Troy being informed by an oracle that
they could never take that city without those fatal ar¬
rows, went to Philoctetes, and insisted upon his disco¬
vering where he had left his friend ; when Philoctetes,
to evade the guilt of perjury, let them know where Her¬
cules was intombed, by stamping upon the place: but
he was punished for the violation of his oath, by drop¬
ping an arrow upon that foot; which, after giving him
great agony, was at length cuied by Machahon. He was
afterwards taken by Ulysses to the siege of Troy, where
he killed Paris with one of his arrows.
PHILOLAUS, of Crotona, was a celebrated philo¬
sopher of antiquity, of the school of Pythagoras,to whom
that philosopher’s have been ascribed. He
made the heavens his principal object oi contemplation;
and has been idly (a) supposed t@ have been the author
of that true system of the world which Copernicus after¬
wards revived. This made Bullialdus place the name
of Philolaus at the head of two works, written to illus¬
trate and confirm that system.
“ He was (says Dr Enfield) a disciple of Archytas,
and flourished in the time of Plato. It was from
that Plato purchased the written records of the Pytha¬
gorean system, contrary to an express oath taken by the
society of Pythagoreans, pledging themselves to keep
secret the mysteries of their sect. It is probable, that
among these books were the writings of Timaeus, up¬
on which Plato formed the dialogue that bore his name.
Plutarch relates, that Philolaus was one of the persons
■ ■» /• a- 1 1 -..L! V. 11 •»ri zi ri 1 ,V-
stancy, and virtue. ...... hv Tnrnehus who escaped from the house which was burned by Cy-
His works were first published m Greek by I ™us P Pythagoras ; but this, account
at Paris 1552. A Latin traslatmn made by Gelemus was ’contemporary with
was afterwards added, and prmted seveia ime 1 • therefore certainly not with Pythagoras. In-
The Paris edition of 1640 in folio was the best for a ruto, ana cue ; j & terfering
(A) We say idly, because there is undoubted evidence that Pythagoras learned that system in Egypt.
Philosophy..
See.
P H I
ilolms. terfei-ing in affairs of state, he fell a sacrifice to politi-
.ry—**■/ cal jealousy.
1 hilolaus treated the doctrine of nature with great
subtlety, but at the same time with great obscurity j re¬
ferring every thingthat exists to mathematical principles.
He taught, that reason, improved by mathematical
learning, is alone capable of judging concerning the na¬
ture of things 5 that the whole world consists of infinite
and finite ; that number subsists by itself, and is the
chain which by its power sustains the eternal frame of
things j that the Monad is not the sole principle of all
things, but that the Binary is necessary to furnish mate¬
rials from which all subsequent numbers may be pro¬
duced ; that the world is one whole, which has a fiery
t 283 ]
P H I
centie, about which the ten celestial spheres revolve
heaven, the sun, the planets, the earth, and the moon • P1;i!oIau*
that the sun has a vltrsops surface, whence the fire dif¬
fused through the World is reflected, rendering the mir¬
ror from which it is reflected visible; that all things are
preserved in harmony by the law of necessity; and that
the world is liable to destruction both by fire and by
water. From this summary of the doctrine of Philo-
luus it appears probable, that, following Timaeus, whose
writings he possessed, he so far departed from the Py¬
thagorean system as to conceive two independent prin¬
ciples in nature, God and Matter, and that it w^as from
the same source that Plato derived his dcctrine upon
this subject.” 1
PHILOLOGY.
f
Wuition. pHILOLOGY is compounded of the two Greek
words Qifas and Aoy«f, and imports “ the desire of
investigating the properties and affections of words."”
The sages of Greece were, in the most ancient times,
denominated 'Zotpot, that is, ivise men. Pythagoras re¬
nounced this pompous appellation, and assumed the mote
humble title of (piXorotpog, that is, a lover of ivise men.
The learned Greeks were afterwards called philoso¬
phers; and in process of time, in imitation of this epi¬
thet, the word philologer was adopted, to import “ a
man deeply versed in languages, etymology, antiquities,
&c. Hence the term philology, which denotes the
science that we propose briefly to discuss in the follow¬
ing article.
Though philology, in its original import, denoted on¬
ly the study of words and language, it gradually acqui*
red a much more extensive, and at the same time a much
j more useful, as well as more exalted, signification. It
iLts comprehended the study of grammar, criticism, etymo-
J| sesof logy, the interpretation of ancient authors, antiquities ;
“pi- and, in a word, every thing relating to ancient manners,
laws, religion, government, language, &c. In this en-
larged sense of the word, philology becomes a science of
the greatest utility; opens a wide field of intellectual in-
j vestigation; and indeed calls for a more intense exertion
of industry, and multifarious erudition, than most of
those departments of literature which custom hath digni¬
fied with more high-sounding names. It is indeed appa¬
rent, that, without the aid ot philological studies, it is
impossible upon many occasions, to develope the origin
of nations ; to trace their primary frame and constitu¬
tion; to discover their manners, customs, laws, religion,
government, language, progress in arts and arms; or to
learn by what men and what measures the most celebra¬
te states of antiquity rose into grandeur and considera-
^ tion. The study of history, so eminently useful to the
legislator, the divine, the military man, the lawyer, the
p ilosopher, and the private gentleman who wishes to
employ his learned leisure in a manner honourable and
improving to himself, and useful to his country, will
Contribute very little towards enlightening the mind
without the aid of philological researches. For these
reasons we shall endeavour to explain the various
ranches of that useful science as fully and as intelli¬
gibly as the nature of the present undertaking will per-
Most of the branches of philology have been already Object of
canvassed under the various heads of Criticism, ETY-this article.
mology, Grammar, Language, &c. There still
remains one part, which has either been slioflitly touch¬
ed upon, or totally omitted, under the foregoing topics;
we mean, the nature and complexion of most of the ori¬
ental tongues; as also some of the radical dialects of the
languages of the west. As we would willino-ly gratify
our readers of every description to the utmost of em¬
power, we shall endeavour in this place to communicate
to them as much information upon that subject as the
extent of our reading, and the limits prescribed one
single article, will permit*
Before we enter upon this subject, we must observe,
that it is. not our intention to fill our pages with a te¬
dious, uninteresting, catalogue of barbarous languages,
spoken by savage and inconsiderable tribes, of which lit¬
tle, or perhaps nothing, more is known than barely
their names. Such an enumeration would swell the ar¬
ticle without communicating one single new idea to the
reader’s antecedent stock, We shall therefore confine
our inquiries to such languages as have been used by
considerable states and societies, and which of conse¬
quence have acquired a high degree of celebrity in the
regions of the east.
What was the antediluvian language, or whether it Variety <jf
was divided into a variety of dialects as at this day, can^*alects be-
only be determined by the rules of analogy; and thesefore the
will lead us to believe, that whatever might have beendeIUSe*
the primitive language of mankind, if human nature was
then constituted as it is at present, a great variety of dia¬
lects must of necessity have sprung up in the space of
near 2000 years. If we adopt the Mosaic account r.f
the antediluvian events, we must admit that the de¬
scendants of Cain for some ages lived separated from
those of Seth. "I heir manner of life, their religious ce¬
remonies, their laws, their form of government, were
probably different, and these circumstances would of
course produce a variety in their language. The poste¬
rity of Cain were an inventive race. They found out
the art of metallurgy, music, and some think of weav-
ing ; and in all probability many other articles condu-
N n a- cive
lib. vii.
cap. 56.
6
Origin of
writing.
284 PHILOLOGY.
History of cive to the ease and accommodation of life were the pro-
- dnce of their ingenuity. A people of this character must
have paid no small regard to their words and m-ics of
CSDC<iu., repression. Wherever music is cultivated, language
among the will naturally be improved and refined. When new in-
children of ventions are introduced, a new race ol words ami phrases
Cail1, of necessity spring up, corresponding to the recent stock
of ideas to be intimated. Besides, among an inventive
race of people, new vocables would be continually fabri¬
cated, in order to supply the deficiencies of the primi¬
tive language, which was probably scanty in words, and
its phraseology unpolished. The Caimtes, then, among
their other improvements, cannot well be supposed to
have neglected the cultivation of language.
Many conjectures have been hazarded both by an¬
cient and modern authors with respect to the origin ot
writing ; an art nearly connected with that of speaking.
* Nat Hist. According to Pliny*, “ the Assyrian letters ha a-
ways existed •, some imagined that letters had been in¬
vented by the Egyptian Mercury •, others ascribed the
honour of the invention to the Syrians. _ The truth
seems to he, that letters were an antediluvian invention,
preserved among the Chaldeans or Assyrians, who were
the immediate descendants of Noah, and inhabited those
very regions in the neighbourhood of which the ark
rested, and where that patriarch afterwards hxed his re¬
sidence. This circumstance, we think, aftords a strong
presumption that the use of letters was known before
the deluge, and transmitted to the Assyrians and Chal¬
deans by Noah their progenitor, or at least by their im¬
mediate ancestors of his family. If, then, the art ot
writing was an antediluvian invention, we think that
in all probability it originated among the posterity ot
CaThe descendants of Seth, according to the oriental
tradition, were chiefly addicted to agriculture and tend¬
ing of cattle. They devoted a great part ot their time
to the exercises of piety and devotion. From this cir¬
cumstance they came to be distinguished by the title ot
the (a) of God. According to this description, the
Sethites were a simple (b), unimproved race ot people
till they mingled with the race of Cain 5 after which
period they at once adopted the improvements and the
vices of that wicked family.
It is not, however, probable, that all the descendants
of Seth, without exception, mingled with the Caimtes.
That family of which Noah was descended had not in¬
corporated with the race of Cain : it was, according to
the sacred historian, lineally descended from Seth, and
had preserved the worship of the true God, when, it is
probable, the greatest paj*t of mankind had apostatised
and beocme idolaters (c). Along with the true re 1-
tiion, the progenitors of Noah had preserved that simph- ^
city of manners and equability ot character which had
distinguished their remote ancestors. Agriculture and
rearing cattle had been their favourite occupations. Ac¬
cordingly we find, that the patriarch Noah, immediate¬
ly “ alter the deluge,” became a husbandman, and
- planted a vineyard.” The chosen patriarchs who
doubtless imitated their pious ancestors, were shepherds
and employed in rearing and tending cattle. Indeed
there are strong presumptions that the Chaldeans, Assy-
CanaaniL, and Arabians, In the earhes,
ages followed the same profession. _
From this deduction, we imagine it is at least pro¬
bable, that the ancestors of Noah persisted in the ooser-
vance of the same simplicity of manners which had been
handed down from Adam to Seth and from him to E-
noch, Methuselah, Lamech, and from this last to Noah.
According both to scripture and tradition, innovations
were the province of the Cainites, while the descendants
of Seth adhered to the primitive and truly patnarehal
"'If the°seSpreniises are allowed the merit of probability,^ Lgi
we may justly infer that the language of Noah, what-mdlan ^
ever it was, differed very little from that of Adam
and that if it is possible to ascertain the language ot the the family
former, that of the latter will of course be discovered. from^ich
We shall then proceed to throw together a few observa- Noah
OoL relaling to the language of Noah, and leave nunn**.
readers to judge for themselves. . We believe it will be
superfluous to suggest, that our intention in the coiuse
of this deduction is, if possible, to trace the origin and
antiquity of the Hebrew tongue *, and to try to discover
whether that language, or any of its sister dialects, may
claim the honour of being the original language ot man-
klWhatever may have been the dialect of Noah and Ins
family, that same dialect, according to the Mosaic ac¬
count, must have obtained without any alteration, till
the era of the building of the tower of Babel.—Upon
this occasion a dreadful convulsion took place : the lan-
jruage of mankind was confounded, and men were scat¬
tered abroad upon the face of all the earth. 8
How far this catastrophe (e) extended, is not the hu- Confusion
siness of the present inquiry to determine. j^^erof
is certain beyond all controversy, namely, that the Ian-Babelt
guaves of all the nations which settled near the centre ot
population were but slightly aflected by its influence.
A very judicious writer has observed?, that 3COO years ^ 5^
after,'the inhabitants of those countries exhibited a very
strong resemblance of cognation, “ m their language,
° manner
See also Philo-Jud. p. 198. edit.
between angeis anu ~ -- 2 ... -
fathers of the church, almost without exception, adopted this foolish notio .
TU(B) The^ie^als, however, affirn,, that Seth, whom they ca,, Wm, T toTTetufe almost
(C) We think it highly probable that idolatry was established before the flood , because it pi.
^Srclmuotatla^Z'r-see the article o„ LaKOttao,; also SU.^VsConn"'.
‘josephas and" Uie^fathers of the chard, tell us, that the number of languages produced by the confusion of
tongues was 72 j but this is a mere rabbinical legend.
PHILO
sioryof manner of living, and the lineaments of their bodies.
[—'TmmJ At the same time lie observes, that the resemblance in
all those particulars was most remarkable among the in¬
habitants of Mesopotamia.” This observation, with re¬
spect to language, will, we doubt not, be vouched by
every one of our readers who has acquired even a su¬
perficial knowledge of the languages current in those
quarters at a very early period.
It appears, then, that the languages of the Armeni¬
ans, Syrians, Assyrians, Arabians, and probably of the
Chanaanim, did not suft'er materially by the confusion of
tongues. This observation may, we imagine, be ex¬
tended to many of the dialects (f) spoken by the people
who settled in those countries not far distant from the
region where the sacred historian has fixed the original
seat of mankind after the deluge. The inference then
is, that if Noah and his family spoke the original lan¬
guage of Adam, as they most probably did, the judge¬
ment which effected the confusion of tongues did not
produce any considerable alteration in the language of
such of the descendants of Noah as settled near the re¬
gion where that patriarch had fixed his residence after
he quitted the ark.
9 But supposing the changes of language produced by
* Unkind t1ie catastr°plle at t,ie building of the tower as consider-
( aged in ab,e as ^ias.ever 1)6611 imagined, it does not, after all, ap-
ll ding the pear certain, that all mankind, without exception, were
engaged in this impious project. If this assertion should
be well founded, the consequence will be, that there
was a chosen race who did not engage in that enter¬
prise. If there was such a family, society, or body of
men, it will follow, that this family, society, &c. re¬
tained the language of its great ancestor without change
or variation. That such a family did actually exist, is
highly probable, for the following reasons.
X. We think there is reason to believe that Ham,
upon the heavy curse denounced upon him by his fa¬
ther *, retired from his brethren, and fixed his residence
elsewhere. Accordingly we find his descendants scat¬
tered far and wide, at a very great distance from the
Gordyoean mountains, where the ark is generally sup¬
posed to have rested immediately after the flood. Some
of them we find in Chaldaea, others in Arabia Felix,
others in Ethiopia (g), others in Canaan, and others in
Egypt •, and, finally, multitudes scattered over all the
coast of Africa. Between these countries were planted
many colonies of Sbemites, in Elam, Assyria, Syria,
Arabia, &c. We find, at the same time, the descend¬
ants of Shem and Japhet settled, in a great degree, con¬
tiguous to each other. This dispersion of the Hamites,
irregular as it is, can scarce, we think, have been acci-
t).'er,
LOGY. 285
dental ; it must have been owing to some uncommon Language,
cause, and none seems more probable than that assign- L —^ *
ed above. If, then, the descendants of Ham separat¬
ed early, and took different routes, as from their po¬
sterior situations it appears they did, they could not all
be present at the building of the tower. ro
2. It is not probable that the descendants of Shem an^ those
were engaged in this undertaking, since we find that not Vle ^c‘
they were not scattered abroad upon the face of all the (Ys'liem^
earth. The children of Shem were f Elam, Ashur, f Chap. x.
Arphaxad, Lud, and Aram. Elam settled near theverse*2*
mouth of the river Tigris, in the country which, by
the Gentile writers, was called Elymais. Above him,
on the same river, lay the demesne of Ashur, on the
western side. In like manner, upon the same river,
above him, was situated Aram, who possessed the coun¬
try of Aramea; and opposite to him was Arphaxad, or
Arbaces, or Arbaches, and his country was denominat¬
ed Arphachites. Lud, as some think, settled in Lydia,
among the sons of Japhet; but this opinion seems to be
without foundation (h). Here, then, there is a disper¬
sion, but such as must have originated from the nature
of the thing. The four, or rather the five brothers, all
settled contiguous, without being scattered abroad up¬
on the face of the whole earth. Besides, there was no
confusion of language among these tribes : they conti¬
nued to use one and the same lip through many suc¬
ceeding generations. Ir
From these circumstances it appears, that the pos- The lan-
terity of Shem were not involved in the guilt of the^ua»eef
builders of the tower, and of consequence did not un-
dergo their punishment. If then the language of the the family
Shemites was not confounded upon the erection of the of Shem.
tower, the presumption is, that they retained the lan¬
guage of Noah, which, in all probability, was that of
Adam. Some dialectical differences would in process
of time creep in, but the radical fabric of the language
would remain unaltered.
3. The posterity of Shem appear in general to have
cultivated the pastoral life. They imitated the style of
living adopted by the antediluvian posterity of Seth.
No sooner had Noah descended from the ark, than he
became Ish ha Adamah, a man of the earth ; that is, a
husbandman, and planted a vineyard. We find that
some ages after, Laban the Syrian had flocks and herds j
and that the chief wealth of the patriarch Abraham apd
his children consisted in their flocks and herds. Even
his Gentile descendants, the Ishmaelites and Midianites,
seem to have followed the same occupation. But people
of this profession are seldom given to changes : their
wants are few, and of consequence they are under few
or
(f) The language of the Medes, Persians, Phoenicians, and Egyptians, very much resembled each other in their
original complexion ; and all had a strong affinity to the Hebrew, Chaldean, Syriac, &c. See Walton’s Proleg.;
Gale’s Court of the Gent. vol. i. lib. i. ch. 11. p. 70. et seq.; Boch. Phalec and Chanaan, pass. To these we may
add the Greek language, as will appear more fully below.
(g) Josephus informs us, that all the nations of Asia called the Ethiopians Cushim, lib. i. cap. 7.
(h) The ancient name of Lydia was Mceania. See Strabo Casaab, lib. xiii. p. 586. chap. 7. Rhod. 577- The
Lydians were celebrated for inventing games; on which account they were nicknamed by the .ALolian Greeks
AvJ«(, lydior Ludi, from the Hebrew word /wfe, ludere, illudere, deridere. We find (Ezek. chap, xxvii. ver. 10.)
the men of Elam and the men of Lud joined in the defence of Tyre ; which seems to intimate, that the
Elamites and Ludim were neighbours. If this was actually the case, then Lud settled in the same quarter with
his brothers.
286
History of
ia
down to
or no temptations to deviate from the beaten track.
This circumstance renders it probable that the language
of Noah, the same with that ol Adam, was preserved
with little variation among the descendants ol Arphaxad
down to Abrahain.
o„wn u. We have observed above, that Ham, upon the curse
Abraham, denounced against him by his father, very probably lett
the society of his other brothers, and emigrated else¬
where, as Cain had done in the antediluvian world.
There is a tradition still current in the Last, and which
Was adopted by many of the Christian fathers (i), that
Noah, in the 930th year of his life, by divine appoint¬
ment, did, in the most formal manner, divide the whole
terraqueous globe among his three sons, obliging tnem
that they Would take an oath to stand by the decision.
Upon this happened a migration at the birth 01 re leg,
that is, about three centuries after the Hood. ^ it is af¬
firmed that Nimrod the arch-rebel disregarded this par¬
tition, and encroached upon the- territory of Ashur,
which occasioned the first war alter the fiood. _ _
The Greeks had acquired some idea of this partition.
innllimach which they supposed to have been between Jupiter
ISm Neptune, and Pluto. Plato seems to have heard of
Horn Iliad. It (k) : “ For (says he) the gods of old obtained the
lib. xv. dominion of the whole earth, according to their dil.er-
ent allotments. This was effected without any conten¬
tion, for they took possession of their several provinces
in a'fair and amicable way, by lot.” Josephus §, in his
5 Ant. Jud unt 0f dispersion of mankind, plainly insinuates
^ C> 5- a divine destinathm*, and Philo-Judams (l) was of the
same opinion before him.
In consequence of this arrangement, tne sons ot bhem
/possessed themselves of the countries mentioned in the
preceding pages : the posterity of Japhet had spread
themselves towards the north and west j but the Ham-
ites, who had separated from their brethren 111 conse¬
quence of the curse, not choosing to retire to their quar¬
ters, which were indeed very distant from the place where
the ark rested, seized upon the land ol Canaan (m).
Perhaps, too, it might be suggested by some malicious
spirits, that the aged patriarch was dealing partially when
he assigned Ham and his posteiity a quarter of the world
to inhabit not only remote from the centre of population,
but likewise sequestered from the rest of mankind (n).
Be that as it may, the children of Ham removed east¬
ward, and at length descending from the Carduchean
philology.
or Gordyrean mountains, directed llieir course westward, Lsapaip.
or Vjioruvieaii    
and arrived at the plains of Slunar, which had been
possessed by the Ashurim ever since the era ot the first
migration at the birth of Peleg. The sacred historian
informs us, that the whole earth “ was ot one language
and of one speech that in journeying from the east,
they lighted upon the plain ot Shinar, and dwelt there.
In this passage avc find no particular people specified;
but as we find Nimrod, one of the descendants of Ham,
settled in that country, we are sure that they were the
offspring of that patriarch. It would not, we think, be
easy to assign a reason how one branch of the family ot
Ham came to plant itself in the midst of the sons of
Shem by any other means but by violence. ^
It is indeed generally supposed, that Nimrod, at the tower
head of a body of the children of Ham, made war upon of Babel
Ashur, and drove him out of the country of Shinar •, tuilt by
and there laid the foundation of that kingdom, the be- dr®ncotu'
pinning of which was Babel : that this chief, supported pjanu
by all the Cushites, and a great number of apostates
from the families of Shem and Japhet who had joined
him, refused to submit to the divine ordinance by the
mouth of Noah, with respect to the partition of the
earth 5 and that he and his adherents were the people
who erected the celebrated tower, in consequence of a
resolution which they had formed to keep together,
without repairing to the quarters assigned them by the
determination of heaven. This was the crime which
brought down the judgment of the Almighty upon
them, by which they were scattei'ed abroad upon the face
of all the earth. The main body of the children of
Shem and Japhet were not engaged in this impious un¬
dertaking •, their language, therefore, was not confound¬
ed nor were they themselves scattered abroad. Their
habitations were contiguous j those of the Shemites to¬
wards the centre of Asia; the dwellings of Japhet were
extended towards the north and north-west 5 and the
languages of both these families continued for many ages
without the least variation, except what time, climate,
laws, religion, new inventions, arts, sciences, and com¬
merce, &c. will produce in every tongue in a succes¬
sion of years.
The general opinion then was, that none but the pro¬
geny of^Ham and their associates were present at the
building of the tower, and that they only suffered by the
judgment (o) consequent upon that attempt. Ihere
are
(1) Epiph. vol. i. p. 5. ibid. p. ,09. where om learned readers will observe some palpable errors about Rhine
^ "spectlvel, — -
“VtHwS552^ Wet.v"ea.lu^n'.orthis LTbutlon (Dent, cl™ ver 7 ).
« ^hen the most High divided to the nations their inheritance, when he separated the sons ol Adam, he set the
face of the earth j and determined the bounds of their habitation.
(m) The ark, according to the most probable accounts, rested upon Mount Ararat in A • d
(N) We think it by no means improbable that Noah, well knowing the wickedness of the fom ly of H^ a ^
especially their inclination to the idolatry of the antediluvians, might actually intend to separate them Irom
?e3(o°) Some learned men have imagined that this confusion of language, which the Hebrew calls of Lf, was only
s
I History of
» F.web
Vhron.
■ Euseb
Prep. Ev.
A. 9.
Epiph.
ms,
PHILO
are even among the Pagans some allusions to the divi¬
sion of the world among the three sons of Noah. Many
of the learned have imagined that this patriarch was
Saturn; and that his three sons were Jupiter, Neptune
and Pluto, as has been observed above.
Berosus *, in his history of the Babylonians, informs
us, that Noah, at the foot of Mount Baris or Luban
where the ark rested, gave his children their last instruc¬
tions, and then vanished out of sight. It is now o-ene-
rally believed that the Xisuthrus of Berosus was Noah.
Eupolemust, another heathen writer, tells us, “ that
the city Babel was first founded, and afterwards the ce¬
lebrated tower ; both which were built by some of those
people who escaped the deluge. They were the same
with those who in after times were exhibited under the
name of giants. The tower was at length ruined by the
hand of the Almighty, and those giants were scattered
over the whole earth.” This quotation plainly intimates,
that according to the opinion of the author, only the ras¬
cally mob of the Hamites, and their apostate associates,
were engaged in this daring enterprise.
Indeed it can never be supposed that Shem, if he was
alive at that period, as he certainly was, would co-operate
in such an absurd and impious undertaking. That devout
patriarch, we think, would rather employ his influence
and authority to divert his descendants from an attempt
which he knew was undertaken in contradiction to an
express ordinance of Heaven: and it is surely very little
probable that Elam, Ashur, Arphaxad, and Aram, would
join that impious confederacy, in opposition to the re¬
monstrances of their father.
The building of the tower, according to the most
probable chronology, was undertaken at a period so
late, that all mankind could not possibly have concur¬
red in the enterprise.
Many of the fathers were of opinion, that Noah set¬
tled in Armenia, the country where the ark rested; and
that his descendants did not leave that region for five o-e-
nerations }, during the space of 659 years. By this pe¬
riod the human race must have been so amazingly mul¬
tiplied, that the plains of Shinar could not have contain¬
ed them. According to the Samaritan Pentateuch, and
the Septuagint version, Peleg was born in the 134th
year of his father Eber. Even admitting the vulgar
opinion, that the tower was begun to be built, and the
dispersion consequent upon that event to have taken
place at this era, the human race would have been by
much too numerous to have universally concurred in one
design.
From these circumstances, we hope it appears that
the whole mass of mankind was not engaged in building
the tower; that the language of all the human race was
LOGY.
not confounded upon that occasion ; and that the disper¬
sion reached only to a combination of Hamites, and of
tne most profligate part of the two other families, who
Jicul joined their wicked confederacy.
W e have pursued this argument to considerable length,
because some have inferred, from the difference in Lt-thc orij^al
g c ges exis ing at this day, that mankind cannot have *anSuage
sprung from two individuals ; because from the connec-preserved
tion stM existing among languages, some have been bold!" thre 0t.her
sacreH ^ !'ACt’ thouSh recorded in £ fana~
ed history, and lastly, because we imagine that some
ot our readers, who do not pretend to peruse the writings
of the learned, may be gratified by seeing the various
opinions respecting the confusion of tongues, and the
dispersion ot mankind, collected into one mass, equally
brief, we hope, and intelligible ; and this view of these
opinions, with the foundations on which they respective-
ly rest we think may suffice to prove, that the language
of Xoah was for some ages preserved unmixed among the
descendants of both Shem and Japhet.
1 o gratify still farther such of our curious readers as
may not have access to more ample information, we shall
m this place exhibit a brief detail of the circumstances
which attended this fatal attempt. The people engaged
in it have been held up as a profligate race. The Al-
mightyfnmself denominates them “the children of men”
which is the very appellation by which the antediluvian
sinners were characterised; the sons of God saw the
daughters of men, &c. Their design in raising this
edifice vvas to make them a name, and to prevent
earth* ”g SCattered ahr0ad uPon thc face of the whole
thJMr,r re?oluJti'm mankind might take, chap! xb .
they had determined to maintain themselves on that spot
Ihe tower was intended as a centre of union, and per¬
haps as a fortress of defence. Such a stupendous fabric,
they imagined, would immortalize their memory and
transmit the name of their confederacy with eclat (v) to
future ages. This design plainly intimates, that there
was only a party concerned in the;iundertaking, since,
had a 1 mankind been engaged in it, the purpose would
have been foolish and futile. Again, they intended, by
making themselves « name, to prevent their being scat¬
tered abroad upon the face of the earth. This was an
act of rebellion in direct contradiction to the divine ap¬
pointment, which constituted their crime, and brought
down the judgment of Heaven upon their guilty heads
The consequence of the confusion of languages was that
the projectors left off to build (qJ, and were actually
scattered abroad, contrary to their intention. J
00
Abydenus, in his Assyrian Annals, records, that the Paean tra
) 4 tower was carried on to ^
T5
tower was carried up to heaven; but’that thediUonVo^
gods ccminS' the ■
tower of
Babel.
This they are led to conclude, from th<
a temporary failure of pronunciation, which was afterwards removed,
agreement of the languages of these people in after times.
(r) Many foolish and absurd notions have been entertained concerning this structure. Some have imacrlnprl iL f
otherTh 1 > H tei’ t ere;U CaSe f a SeC°nd t1UgeJ oHierS’ that itTVaS iuten<]ed for idolatrous purposes-
others, that ,t was to be employed as an observatory. Its dimensions have likewise been most extrava^ml?! ’
mfied Indeed Strabo, lib. 16. mentions a tower of immense size remaining at BabylonTn hfs S“
“°Be“ Were a S,aclium evw? TUs’bave Ln the re lias of the Lj'e ofSt
(q,) For a description of the tower, see the article Babel.
(b.) See the Greek original of this quotation, Euseb. Chron. lib. 1. page 73.
*' Philip*
lib. 18.
cap. 3.
288 PHILO
«• , f gods ruined it by storms and whirlwinds, and overthrew
Jy—[ ft upon the heads of those who were employed in the
work, and that the ruins of it were called
Before this there was but one language subsist.ng a-
nmng men: but now there arose
fold ^speech ; and he adds, that a war soon alter hioke
{ut between (s) Titan and Cl'0"US'” ’hU &eariy
line oracles give much the same account ol this eaily
^ Sr"i "^hat the Phoenicians who built
Tyre were driven from Assyria by arfearthquake. 1 hese
Phoenicians were the descendants of Mizraim the young¬
est son of Ham-, and were, we think, confederate
building the tower, and were driven away by the ca¬
tastrophe that ensued. Many other allusions to the dis¬
persion of this branch of the family occur in Pagan au¬
thors which the limits to be observed in an inquiry of
this nature oblige us to omit. Upon the whole, we
think it probable that the country of Shinar lay desolate
for some time after this revolution ; for the dread ol the
Ldgment inflicted upon the original inhabitants would
• deter men from settling in that inauspicious region. At
last however, a new colony arrived, and Babel, or
Babylon, became the capital of a flourishing kingdom.
Our readers, we believe, will expect that we should
say something of Nimrod the mighty hunter, who is ge¬
nerally thought to have been deeply concerned in the
transactions of this period. According to most authors
both ancient and modern, this patriarch was the leader
of the confederates who erected the tower, and the chi
instigator to that enterprise. But it the tower was built
at the birth of Pheleg, according to the Hebrew com¬
putation, that chief was f either a child, or rather not
born at that period (u). The Seventy have Pounced
him a giant, as well as a huntsman. . They have trans
lated the Hebrew word gebur, which generally signifies
strong, mighty, by the word y<y*s, giant ; an idea whic 1
we imagine those translators borrowed from the Greeks.
The antediluvian giants are called Nephehm znd Re-
phaim, but never Geburim. The Rabbinical writer^, who
justly hated the Babylonians, readily adopted this idea
('x') \ and the fathers of the church, and the Byzantine
historians, have universally followed them. He has been
called Nimrod, Nebrod, Nymbroth Nebroth, and Ne-
bris. Not a few have made him the first Bacchus, and
compounded his, name oi Bar, a son, and that
is the son of Cush. Some have imagined that he was
-J Odys. 1. 1. the Orion of the Pagans, whose shade is ^ “0% de-
verse 57 u bribed by Homer %. But the etymology oi this last
Languag
logy.
name implies something (O honourable, and very un¬
suitable to the idea of the tyrant Nmrod. It must be
observed, however, that ue find nothing m Scripture
to warrant the supposition of his having been a tyrant ;
so far from it, that (z) some have deemed him a bene¬
factor to mankind. See Nimrod. „ . .
The beginning of this prince’s kingdom was Babel. ^
Eusebius gives us first * a catalogue ot six kings ot the
Chaldeans, and then another of five kings ot Arabian ^ ^
extraction, who reigned in Chaldosa alter them. 1 his
might naturally enough happen, since it appears that
the inhabitants of those parts of Arabia which are ad¬
jacent to Chaldea were actually Cushites, oi the f same t Gen. e
family with the Babylonians.
The Cushites, however, were at last subdued, perhaps
partly expelled Chaldea by the Chasidim, who probably
claimed that territory as the patrimony of their progeni¬
tors. That the Chasidim were neither Cushites, nor in¬
deed Hamites, is obvious from the name, The Hebrews,
and indeed all the Orientals J, denominated both the ^ )J .
■ • «•. 1.1 a    a. A ■»»«» i «» / .•, / Ai -j 11 j
| Bochar.
Phaleg.
lib. 1.
cap. 10.
and indeed all tne v^rienutis+, AntAh.i
people who inhabited the eastern coast ol Arabia Lushim, cap< 6
and also the Ethiopians who sprung from the last-men¬
tioned people. Had the later inhabitants ol Chaldea
been the descendants of Cush, the Jewish writers would
have called them Cushim. We find they called the
Phoenicians Chanaanim, the Syrians Aramim, the Egyp¬
tians Mi%raim, the Greeks /onwra, &c. The Chasidim,
therefore, or modern inhabitants oi Chaldea, were posi¬
tively descended oi one Chesed or Chased j but who
this family-chief was, it is not easy to determine. Ihe
only person of that name whom we meet with in early Gen
times is the fourth son of Nalior the brothei ofAbia-cjiap xxjj
ham • and some have been of opinion that the Chaldeans ^erse «,
were the progeny of this same Chesed. This appears
to us highly probable, because both Abram and Nahor ^
» were j| natives of Ur of the Chasidim. The former, we xj_
know, in consequence of the divine command, removed verse 2s.
to Haran, afterwards Charrec; but the latter remained
in Ur, where his family multiplied, and, in process oi
time, became masters of the country which they called
the land of the Chasidim, from Chesed or Chased, the
name of their ancestor. This account is the more pro¬
bable, as we find the other branches of Nahor’s lamily ^
settled in the same neighbourhood (a).
How the Greeks came to denominate these people ^ame
XccfZctici, Chaldcci, is a question rather difficult to be re- cjiaw»i.
solved -, but we know that they always affected to distin¬
guish people and places by names derived from their
own language. They knew a rugged, erratic nation (b)
(S) ThU war was probably carried on between .he leaders of the Hamites and Ashnr upon .heir invasion.
$ Srcb^ "8,Thls’man a T“ the “1'th = >“ ^ gia0t hU"‘Cr 1’e'
fore the Lord God—As Nymbrod the giant hunter hetore the Lord.
$ “O ll-e — »f ‘he s"“ ’ ’ “nd Ori0"
was probably one of the names oi that luminary. ^ ^ of ^ Unlveri Hi8t yol> j.
(Z) See Shucklord s Connect, vol. 1. lib. 3. Page 179* 8 * ^ th g ;te of the kindred of Ram
.< — w,—-as
Justin,]
d. i. cap. i
PHILO
listory of on the banks of the river Thermodoon, iu the territory of
Pontus, bordering on Armenia the Less. These, in an¬
cient times, were called Ahjbes or Chalybes, because they
were much employed in forging and polishing iron. Their
neighbours, at length, gave them the name of Ctiuld or
Caled, which imports, in the Armenian dialect, fierce,
hardy, robust. Ibis title the Greeks adopted, and out
of it formed the word XxX^xtoi, “ Chaldeans.”
The Mosaic history informs us (c), that Ashur went
out ol that land (Shinar, and built Nineveh and several
other considerable cities. One of the successors of Ashur
was the celebrated Ninus, who first broke the peace of
the world f, made war upon his neighbours, and oblig¬
ed them by force of arms to become his subjects, and
pay tribute. Some authors make him the immediate
successor of Ashur, and the builder of Nineveh. This
we think is not probable 5 Eusebius as we have observ¬
ed above, gives a list of six Arabian princes who reign¬
ed in Babylon. These we take to have been the imme¬
diate successors of Nimrod, called Arabians ; because
these people were Cushites. Ninus might be reputed
the first king of the Assyrians, because he figured be¬
yond bis predecessors ; and he might pass for the build¬
er of Nineveh, because he greatly enlarged and beauti¬
fied that city. We therefore imagine, that Ninus was
the fifth or sixth in succession after Ashur.
Ninus, according to Diodorus Siculus %, made an al¬
liance with Arigeus king of the Arabians, and conquer¬
ed the Babylonians. This event, in our opinion, put an
end to the empire of the Hamites or Cushim in Shinar or
Babylonia. The author observes, that the Babylon which
figured afterwards did not then exist. This fact is con¬
firmed by the prophet Isaiah || : “ Behold the land of
the Chasidim ; this people was not till Ashur founded it
for them that dwell in the wilderness. They set up the
towers thereof, &c.” After Babylonia ivas subdued by
the Assyrians under Ninus, the capital was either de¬
stroyed by that conqueror or deserted by the inhabitants.
At length it was re-edified by some one or other of the
Assyrian monarchs, who collected the roving Chasidim,
and obliged them to settle in the new city. These were
subject to the Assyrian empire till the reign of Sardana-
palus, when both the Medes and Babylonians rebelled
against that effeminate prince.
The Chasidim were celebrated by all antiquity for
their proficiency in astronomy, astrology, magic, and
Lib. if.
’h xxiii
-sc 13.
L O G 289
curious sciences. Ur or Orchoe (d) was a kind of uni- Language,
versity for those branches of learning. Such was their ' v-^
reputation in those studies, that over a great part of Asia
and Europe a Chaldean and an astrologer were synony¬
mous terms. These sciences, according to the tradition
ol the Orientals, had been invented by Seth, whom they
called Edns; and had been cultivated by bis descendants
downward to Noah, by whom they were transmitted to
Shem, who conveyed them to Arphaxad and his poste-
rity.
To us it appears probable, that the religious senti¬
ments transmitted from Noah through the fine of Shem,
were kept alive in the family of Arphaxad, and so hand¬
ed down to the families of Serug,* Nahor, Terah, Abram,
Nalior II. and Haran, &c. The Jewish rabbis, and all
the Persian and Mahomedan writers, make Abraham
.contemporary with Nimrod ; who, say they, persecuted
him most cruelly for adhering to the true religion. That
these two patriarchs were contemporary is very improba¬
ble, since Nimrod was the third generation after Noah,
and Abram the tenth. Abram has been invested by the
rabbinical writers with every department of learning.
According to them, he transported from Charrse into
Chanaan and Egypt, astronomy, astrology, mathematics,
geography, magic, alphabetical writing, &c. Sic.
After the Babylonish captivity, when the Jews were Legendary
dispersed over all the east, and began to make proselytesv&\cs con-
of the gate vimongthe Pagans, wonderful things were re-'
ported of Abram with respect to his acquirements in hu¬
man erudition, as well as his supereminence in virtue and
piety. These legendary tales were believed by the pro¬
selytes, and by them retailed to their connections and
acquaintances. But certainly the holy man either was
not deeply versed in human sciences, or did not deem
them of importance enough to be communicated to his
posterity j since the Jews are, on all hands, acknowledg¬
ed to have made little progress in these improvements.
To think of raising the fame of Abraham, by classing
him with the philosophers, betrays an extreme defect in
judgment. He is entitled to praise of a higher kind ;
tor he excelled in piety, was the father of the faithful,
the root of the Messiah, and the friend of God. Before
these, all other titles vanish away. Such of our readers,
however, as have leisure enough, and at the same time
learning enough to enable them to consult the rabbini¬
cal legends, will be furnished with a full and ample de¬
tail
.cerning
Abraham.
KX&oum, or coats of mail, or brigandines used by the bravest of the Persian horsemen. Bochart Phaleg. lib. iii.
cap. 12. and 13. has proved that the word Cheliba signifies “ scales of brass or steel.” From the word Cheliba,
the Greeks iormed their Xjs/vSss, Chalybes. Xenoph. Cyrop. fib. iii. p. 43. Steph. represents the Chaldeans, who
inhabited a mountainous country bordering upon Armenia, as a very fierce warlike people. Ib. page 107. we
have an example of their rapacious character. Id. ib. fib. iv. p. 192. Hen. Steph. we have an account of their
bravery and of their arms. Another instance ol their rapacity occurs in their plundering the cattle of Job.
(c) A dispute lias arisen about tiie sense of verse 10. chap. x. Out of that land went forth Ashur, and builded
Nineveh. Some approve our translation, which we think is just; others, considering that the inspired writer had
been speaking of Nimrod and the beginning of bis kingdom, are of opinion that it should be translated, And out
of this land lie (that is Nimrod) went into Ashur and builded Nineveh. This they make a military expedition,
and a violent irruption into the territory of Ashur.
(d) Ur or Orchoe was situated between Nisibis and Corduena. See Ammianus Marcel. Expeditio Juliana,
fib. xv. It lay not far from the river Tigris. Strabo, fib. xvi. p. 739, tells us that the Chaldean philosophers
were divided into different sects, the Orcheni, the Borsippeni, and several others. Diod Sicul likewise, lib.
n. p. 82. Steph. gives an exact detail of the functions, profession, and establishment of the Chaldeans, to which
we must refer our curious readers.
Vol. XVI. Part I. f Q e
PHILO
hL’ of tail Of his imaginary exploits and adventures. Others,
3!^—' who are either not willing or not qualified to peruse the
* chap. ii. writings of the rabbins, may consult Dr Hyde de
Hello-, vet. Pers. and the authors of the Universal Hi¬
story+, where they will find materials sufficient to gra¬
tify their curiosity. We shall only observe, in addition
to what we have already said, that the Persians, Chal¬
deans, and Arabians, pretended that their religion was
that of Abraham 5 that honourable mention is made ot
him in the Koran j and that the name ot Abraham or
Ibrahim was celebrated over all the east, bee Abra¬
ham,
2 go
t Vol I.
18
The He¬
brew and
Chaldean
originally
the same,
and the
first lan¬
guage spo
ken on
earth.
In the progress of this disquisition, we have seen that
the language of Noah was, in all probability, the same
or nearly the same with that of Adam. Additions and
improvements might be introduced, but still the radical
stamina of the language remained unchanged. It has
likewise, we hope, appeared, that the confusion ot lan-
miage at the building of the tower of Babel was only
partial, and affected none but the rebellious crew of the
race of Ham, and the apostate part ot the families ot
Shem and Japhet. We have concluded, that the main
body of the race of Shem, at least, were neither dispers¬
ed nor their language confounded 5 and that consequent¬
ly the descendants of that patriarch continued to speak
their paternal dialect or the uncorrupted language ot
Noah. To these arguments we may take the liberty to
add another, which is, that in all probability the worship
of the true God was preserved in the line ot Arphaxad,
after the generality of the other sects had lapsed into
idolatry. " Out of this family Abraham was t:^-en, in
whose line the true religion was to be preserved. Whe¬
ther Abraham was an idolater when he dwelt m Chal¬
dea, the Scripture does not inform us, though it seems
to be evident that his father was. One thing, however,
is certain, namely, that Jehovah (e) appeared to him,
and pronounced a blessing upon him before he lett Ur
of the Chaldees, This circumstance no doubt indicates,
that this patriarch had made uncommon advances m
piety and virtue, even prior to his emigration. The pro¬
genitors of his family had been distinguished by adhering
to the true religion. About this time, however, they
began to degenerate, and to adopt the Zabiism of then
apostate neighbours. It was then that Abraham was
commanded by Heaven to “ leave his kindred and Ins
father’s house, and to travel into a land which was to be
shown him.” The Almighty intended that the true re¬
ligion should be preserved in his line, and theretore re¬
moved him from a country and kindred, by the mfiu-
ence of whose bad example his religious principles
might be endangered. His family had only ot late
apostatized ; till that period they had preserved both
the language and religion ot their venerable ancestors.
But however much Abraham might difler from the
other branches of his family in his religious sentiments,
his language was certainly in unison with theirs, i he
consequence of this unquestionable position is, that the
language which he carried with him into Chanaan was
exactly the same with that of his family which he relin-
1- quished when he began his peregrinations. But if tins
L 0 G Y* e A A
be true, it will follow, that the language afterwards de- Lang^e.
nominated Hebrew, and that of the Chasidim or CbalA ^
deans, were originally one and the same Ibis position
we think, will not be controverted. There is then an
end of the dispute concerning the original language of
mankind. We have advanced some presumptive proofs
in the preceding pages, that the language of Adam was
transmitted to Noah, and that the dialect of the latter
was preserved in the line of Arphaxad downwards to the
family of Abraham : and it now appears that the He¬
brew and Chaldean were originally spoken by the same
family, and of course were the same between themselves,
and were actually the first language upon earth, accord¬
ing to the Mosaic history. Numberless additions, alte¬
rations, improvements, we acknowledge, were introdu¬
ced in the course of 2000 years 5 but still the original
stamina of the language were unchanged. Our readers
will please to observe that the Orientals are not a people
(riven to change; and that this character, 111 the earliest
ages, was still more prevalent than at present. Ibis as¬
sertion, we presume, needs no proof..
In confirmation of these presumptive arguments, we
may add the popular one which is commonly urged upon
this occasion, viz. that the names of antediluvian persons
and places mentioned by the sacred historian, are gene¬
rally of Hebrew original, and significant m that lan¬
guage. Some of them, we acknowledge, are not so;
but in this case it ought to be remembered, that a very
small part of that language now exists and that proba¬
bly the radicals from which these words are descended
are among the number of those which have long been lost.
Sect. I. The Hebrew Language.
'9
Having thus proved the priority of the Hebrew
to every other language that has been spoken by nieu,Hebrew
we shall now proceed to consider its nature and genius j langliagei
from which it will appear still more evidently to be an
original language, neither improved nor debased by lo-
reifm idioms. The words of which it is composed are
short, and admit of very little flexion. The names of
places are descriptive of their nature, situation, acciden¬
tal circumstances, &c. Its compounds are few, and in-
artificially joined together. In it we find few of those
artificial affixes which distinguish the other cognate dia¬
lects 1 such as the Chaldean, Syrian, Arabian, 1 hcem-
cian &c. We find in it no traces of improvement
from the age of Moses to the era of the Babylonish cap¬
tivity The age of David and Solomon was the goluen
period of the Hebrew tongue 5 and yet, in our opinion,
it would puzzle a critic of the nicest acumen to discover
much improvement even during that happy era. n
fact the Jews were by no means an inventive people.
We’hear nothing of their progress in literary pursuits j
nor do they seem to have been industrious in borrowing
from their neighbours. The laws and statutes commu¬
nicated by Moses were the principal objects of their stu¬
dies. These they were commanded to contemplate day
and night -, and in them they were to place their c ue
delight. The consequence of this command was, tna
little or no regard could be paid to taste, or any
° subject
(e) Compare Gen. chap. xii. ver. 2. with Acts, chap. vn. ver. 4,.
set. I. PHILO
lebrew subject of philosophical investigation. Every unimpro-
aguage. ved language abounds in figurative expressions borrow-
ed fiom sensible objects. I his is m a peculiar manner
the characteristic of the language in question ; of which
it would be superfluous to produce instances, as the fact
must be obvious even to the attentive reader of the Enn--
lish Bible.
In the course of this argument, we think it ought to
be oberved, and we deem it an observation of the great¬
est importance, that if wre compare the other languages
which have claimed the prize of originality from the
Hebrew with that dialect, we shall quickly be convinced
that the latter has a just title to the preference. The
writers who have treated this subject, generally bring
into competition the Hebrew, Chaldean, Syrian, and
Arabian. Some one or other of these has commonly
been thought the original language of mankind. The
arguments for the Syrian and Arabian are altogether
futile. The numerous improvements superinduced up¬
on these languages, evidently prove that they could not
have been the original language. In all cognate dia¬
lects, etymologists hold it as a maxim, that the least
improved is likely to be the most ancient.
We have observed above, that the language of Abra¬
ham and that ol the Chesedim or Chaldeans were origi¬
nally the same $ and we are persuaded, that if an able
critic should take the pains to examine strictly these two
languages, and to take from each what may reasonably
be supposed to have been improvements or additions
since the age of Abraham, he will find intrinsic evidence
sufficient to convince him of the truth of this position.
I here appear still in the Chaldean tongue great num¬
bers of (f) words the same with the Hebrew, perhaps
as many as mankind had occasion for in the most early
ages 5 and much greater numbers would probably be
0 found if both languages had come down to us entire.
[, , it The construction of the two languages is indeed somewhat
e hang-different; but this difference arises chiefly from the su-
f? perior improvement of the Chaldean. While the He-
. i/the brew language was in a manner stationary, the Chaldean
h ean. underwent progressive improvements ; was mellowed by
antitheses, rendered sonorous by the disposition of vocal
sounds, acquired a copiousness by compounds, and a ma¬
jesty by affixes and prefixes, &c. In process of time,
however, the difference became so great, that the Israe¬
lites did not understand the Chaldean language at the
era of the Babylonish captivity. This much the pro-
ali, phet* intimates, when he promises the pious Jews pro-
ffotui. lection “ from a fierce people ; a people of a deeper
l9' speech than they could perceive ; of a stammering
tongue, that they could not understand.”
Ihe priority of the Chaldean tongue is indeed con¬
tended for by very learned writers. Camden f calls
it the mother of all languages j and most of the fathers
n/gacl were °f the same opinion. Amira | has made a col-
L O G Y.
291
Eb.
lection of arguments, not inconsiderable, in favour of Hebrew
it; and Myriceus § after him, did the same. Erpe- Language,
mus ||, in his Oration for the Hebrew tongue, thought1^ '
the argument for it and the Chaldean so equal, that hef,Pr^ ad
did not choose to take upon him to determine the ques-cAa&L
tl0!?' . || Oratio
Many circumstances, however, concur to make us ^ lingua
assign the priority to the Hebrew, or rather to makeHtbr- xii’
us believe that it has suffered fewest of those changes
to which every living tongue is more or less liable. If
we strip this language of every thing obviously adven¬
titious, we shall find it extremely simple and primitive.
1. Every thing masoretical, supposing the vowels and
points (g) essential, was certainly unknown in its ori-Reas20nS
gmal character. 2. All the prefixed and affixed letters for main-
were added time after time, to give more compass and twining
precision to the language. 3. The various voices,the P1?01'*'
moods, tenses, numbers, and persons of verbs, were Hebrew
posterior improvements j for in that tongue, nothing
at first appeared but the indeclinable radix. 4. In the
same manner, the few adjectives that occur in the lan-
guage, and the numbers and regimen of nouns, were not
from the beginning. 5. Most of the Hebrew nouns are
derived from verbs j indeed many of them are written
with the very same letters. This rule, however, is not
general ; for often verbs are derived from nouns, and
even some from prepositions. 6. All the verbs of that
language, at least all that originally belonged to it, uni¬
formly consist of three letters, and seem to have been at
first pronounced as monosyllables. If we anatomize
the Hebrew language in this manner, we shall reduce
it to very great simplicity j we shall confine it to a few
names of things, persons, and actions j we shall make
all its words monosyllables, and give it the true charae-
ters of an original language. If at the same time we
reflect on the small number of (h) radical words in that
dialect, ive shall be more and more convinced of its ori¬
ginality.
It will not be expected that we should enter into a
minute discussion of the grammatical peculiarities of this
ancient language. For these we must refer our readers
to the numerous and elaborate grammars of that tongue,
which are everywhere easily to be found. We shall on¬
ly make a few strictures, which naturally present them¬
selves, before we dismiss the subject.
The generality of writers who have maintained the
superior antiquity of the Hebrew language, have at the
same time contended that all other languages of Asia,
and most of those of Europe, have been derived from
that tongue as their source and matrix. We, for our ah im¬
part, are of opinion, that perhaps all the languages in guages in
the eastern part of the globe were coeval with it, and1*16 east
were originally one and the same ; and that the differ-”flginally
ences which afterwards distinguished them sprung from he Same>
climate, caprice, inventions, religions, commerce, con¬
quests,
(f) Most of the Chaldean names mentioned in Scripture are pure Hebrew words compounded 5 such as Nebu-
chadtiebzar, Ncbuxdradan, Rnbs/ukeh, Rabmag, Belshazzar, Rabsaris, Na/iar, Malahtha, Phrat or P/iarad,
Harosvs, Carchemish, Ur, Cutha, Keb. Cush, &c. All these words, and a multitude of others which we could’
mention, approach so near the Hebrew dialect, that their original is discernible at first sight. Most of these are
compounds, which the limits prescribed us will not allow us to decompound and explain.
(g) I be futility of these points will be proved in the following part of this section.
(h) The radical words in the Hebrew language, as it now stands, are about 300.
0 0 2
, . PHIL O
^Hebrew ,ue5t, and
Z2ZZ “ •“■' m;CKce£ pa^, that all n.aaUnd were
Hit tliat^ puiiishment
rVa. ' fefporaty j XXXl
Hamites or Cushim, wl0.^"av^ recover the former
fectedbyit, didcertamya ^ j‘tyerecl not more from
^eorigmal’standaiTthan the descendants of Japhet and
her ot the pio^eny Eovnt. Others
trtarch aad h» fam.ly went ^ nd.
attriluite Its origiato the aumber ot the sons an ^
“ The totei"of XJT^tke tbe languages at
aX the confusion to atnountjo ^ ^^ing'To
Strom. complete by adding cs . d in the Hebrew
Vuseb. tlie Septuagint, who are not mentioned m uie
efiron. lib. "This opinion, they thintc, is suppo L.
i. EpiphanX^- J whe’n he saith, that t “ when the Most
Ilceres. words of Moses wiyen ns’their inhelitance, when
August.&c. High divided *1 he set the bounds of
f Deut. he separated the sons 0 * ‘ . <• ti „ tribes of
chap, xaxii. i'c ‘ according to the number ot the trUaes o.
«™s- Israel” That Is, say they, he divided diem 7
milns, which was the number of the cUdren of Israel
Uzziel^phtitdy'favours^lhhMnterprttation^ but the Je-
7“ !, y This passage, however, seems to refer t„ the
Iract ofland as he knew would make a suffic.ent .nherl-
t PMomm *«•« f«r ^ ''““""al^^the dl^sL'ioV^rhui
S' «-■«
rtSS. veaders need scar^be^puHn 0..^^ ^
:r»=1 ami Absurd ^neither founded In Scripture, pro-
S0By‘“' f»"' ilistor>'' 0hCt7X"tSaccmdintttotllloS,aapollo,§'’the
emblem of the
rid, because that in tbe space ol 72 days that amma
23 I-1"” ZXl made a question, whether tbe Hebrew
Origin of U „ ®vas denominated from Heber the progenitor
the name or from a word which in that tongue im-
Hcbreic. 0t Abraham, Christian fathers, prior
I0 Sl oSeKve^at both the Gentile name He-
A ‘ r the name of the language were domed
f” the name of tbe patriarch ; but that learned man
§ 14 page
25 Iloesch
1 O Cr Y* ‘Act. I,
1 ihit Abraham was called the Hebrew, not Hebrew
■rr'be -
raus “The rued llocbart*' has strained barf • P-,
t'o'tnove the former position , but to us Ins argumen s
to pi os e decisive We are rather inclined to
believe Xt Altaham was called C/ubn (Hebrew),
from the situatmn of the country irom which he enn-
orated when he came to the country of Chanaan, and
that in process of time that word became a Gentile
aonel ation, and was afterwards applied to lus poste-
often bv way of reproach, much m the same
manner as we say a Northlander, a Norman, a Tramon-
^Hefewe maybe indulged an observation, namely,
that Abraham, a Hebrew, lived among the Chalde¬
ans travelled among the Chanaamtes, sojourned among
the’Philistines, lived some time in Egypt, and in all
appearance conversed with all those nations without
anv apparent difficulty. This circumstance plain y
nrlves that all these nations at that time spoke nearly
The same language. The nations had not yet begun
Jo improve their respective dialects, nor to deviate m
oi mGacnre from the monosyllabhc tongue of
Jim Hebrews.C With respect to the language of Cha-
nam afterwards the Phoenician, its similarity to the
Hebkw is obvious fron^tbe^ames^ go^men^c-
i^boffi tongues, as might be shown in numberless
cases, werehbis a propel- place lor etymological
S° More we dismiss this part of our subject, we would
•gi. t0 gratify our unlearned readers with a brief
count of the Hebrew letters, and of the Masoretical
oints which have in a manner been ingrafted on the
fetters In the course of this deduction, we shall en-
deavovir to follow such authors as are allowed to have
handled that matter with the greatest acuteness, lea
ing and perspicuity. If upon any occasion, we
Should he tempted to hazard a conjecture of our own,
it is cheerfully submitted to the candour of the pu-
bUMuch has been written, and numberless hypotheses
nronosed with a view to investigate the origin of al-
IhZbetical writing. To give even an aWge^count
of all these, would fill many volumes. The most plan
sible in our opinion, is that which supposes that the p
-rnaiw characters employed by men were the figures of
material objects, analogous to those ol *c Mcxmans, jo
nfrpn mentioned by the authors who have wntten in
Sty ol that people at the e,a of the Span.sb mvas.oa -4
. 4-u!o xwsis too much circum
history of that people at tne e a ui ^ cirCum-Origin01:
of their country. As this p an was too m“tb circa <w
scribed to be generally nsetul, hiemglyp ncal ^gu
rverein process of time invented as subsidiaries to tins
contracted orthography. In this scheme we .mag«,
the process was somewhat more exten. •
might be sketched, >
ox, to denote strength , a. slag, g j
hnrp to intimate timorousness, ckc. ,
7 The next step in this process would naturally exte^
” " 7 1 • 1 - Hebrews for that is an abomination to the Egyptians.
call1 the Israelites by way of reproacb.
The
Beet. I. P II 1 L O L O G Y.
!Hebrew to the inventing and appropriating of a few arbitrary
language, characters, for representing abstract ideas, and other
-y—re]ations, which could not be well ascertained by the
methods above mentioned. These arbitrary signs
might readily acquire a currency by compact, as money
and medals do over a great part of the world.—Upon
this plan we imagine the ancient Chinese formed their
language.
But neither the picture nor the hieroglyphic, nor the
method of denoting ideas by arbitrary characters appro¬
priated by compact, could ever have arrived at such
perfection as to answer all the purposes of ideal com¬
munication. The grand desideratum then would be to
fabricate characters to represent simple sounds, and to
reduce these characters to so small a number as to be
easily learned and preserved in the memory. In this at¬
tempt the Chinese have notoriously failed ; their letters,
or rather their characters, are so numerous, that few,
if any, of their most learned and industrious authors,
have been able to learn and retain the whole cata¬
logue. Indeed those people are not able to conceive
how any combinations of 20 or 30 characters should be
competent to answers all the purposes of written lan¬
guage.
Many different nations have claimed the honour of
this invention. The Greeks ascribed it to the Phoe-
( Eesych. nicians; and consequently used the word (poinxigw *,
to act the Phoenician, in the same sense with
Lucan, to read; and consequently the poet f ascribes the in¬
vention to the same ingenious people. The Greeks
borrowed their letters from the Phoenicians, and of
course looked up to them as the inventors.
Others have attributed the invention to the Egyp¬
tians. That people ascribed every useful and ingenious
invention to their Thyoth, or Mercury Trismegistus.
Plato seems to have believed this tradition (k), and
pretends to record a dispute between the king of Egypt
that then reigned and this personage, with respect to the
influence that, the art of alphabetic writing might possi¬
bly have upon the improvements of mankind in science
tiW.libJ.and liberal arts. Diodorus the Sicilian J gives a simi-
?e i°- lar history of the same invention, but carries it back to
Vat Jfiit *‘le re'Sn Osiris.
.viP ’ Pliny informs us §, that Gellius attributed letters to
wS. the same Egyptian Mercury, and others to the Sy¬
rians j but that for “ his part, he thought that the As¬
syrian letters were eternal.” That learned Roman then
imagined, that the Assyrian letters had existed at a pe¬
riod prior to all the records of history ; which was in fact
the case. By the Assyrian letters, he must mean the
Chaldaic, and by the Syrian probably the Hebrew.
The earliest Greek historians generally confound the
Jews with the Syrians. Herodotus, enumerating the
Lib. ii, pe0pie w]10 jiat} |j ]earnet] circumcision from the Egyp-
I'bid. tians, mentions the Syrians of Palestine •, and elsewhere
f 1159. he tells us, that Necho * beat the Syrians, and took Ca-
dytis, a large and populous city belonging to that people.
Hence it is evident that the Syrian alphabet, or the Sy¬
rian letters, were the same with the Hebrew. That the
Assyrian or Chaldaic and Hebrew languages were the
same, has, we hope, been fully proved already: that
their letters were the same, in the original structure, can
scarce he controverted. These letters, we think, were
antediluvian ; whether, to use the expression of Plato,
they were dictated by some god, or fabricated by some
man divinely inspired. As this opinion may admit
some dispute, we shall take the liberty to subjoin our
reasons.
1. It appears that the era of this invention is buried
in impenetrable obscurity. Plad an invention of such
capital importance to mankind been made in the post¬
diluvian ages, we imagine the author would have been
commemorated in the historical annals of the country
where he lived (l).
2. rl. he art of writing in alphabetical characters, ac¬
cording to the sacred records, was practised at so early
a period, that thei'e was not a long enough interval be¬
tween that and the deluge to give birth to that noble
invention. If we consider the state of the world du¬
ring some ages alter that disastrous event, we shall
quickly he convinced that little respite could be found
from the labour and industry indispensably requisite to
provide the necessaries, and only a few of the conve¬
niences, of life. Such a state of things was certainly
most unfavourable to the invention of those arts and
improvements which contribute nothing towards pro¬
curing the accommodations of life. The consequence
is obvious.
Moses has recorded the history of the creation, of
a few of the capital transactions of the antediluvian
world, the birth, the age, the death, of the lineal de¬
scendants of Seth. Pie has preserved the dimensions of
the ark, the duration of the universal deluge, its effects
upon man and all terrestrial animals, the population of
the world by the posterity of Noah, the age, &c. of the
patriarchs of the line of Shem, from which his own an¬
cestors had sprung. To this he has subjoined the petty
occurrences which diversified the lives of Abraham,
Isaac, and Jacob, and their descendants. Whence did
the historian derive his information ? We believe few of
our readers will be so enthusiastic as to imagine that the
author received it from divine inspiration. Tradition is
a fallible guide $ and in many cases the accounts are so
minutely precise, as to defy the power of that species of
conveyance. The inspired author must certainly have
extracted his abridgement from written memoirs, or hi¬
stories of the transactions of Ins ancestors regularly
transmitted from the most early periods. These annals
lie probably abridged, as Ezra did afterwards the his¬
tory of the kings of Israel. If this was the case, as
it most dertainly was, the art of writing in alphabetical
letters must have been known and practised many ages
before Moses. It has indeed been pretended, that the
Jewish decalogue, inscribed upon two tables of stone, was
the very first specimen of alphabetical writing. The ar¬
guments adduced in proof of this fact are lame and incon¬
clusive
(k) See Phcedrus, page 1240. See also page 374. Phil.
(l) It is true, the Egyptians attribute the invention to their Thotb, and the Phoenicians to their Hercules, or
Melicerta or Baal 3 but these were only imaginary personages.
29+ PHILO
Hebrew elusive (m). Had that been the case, some notice must
Language, have been taken of so palpable a circumstance. Mo-
"V—^ ses wrote out his history, his laws, and his memoirs •,
and it appears plainly from the text, that all the
learned among his countrymen could read them. vVn-
LOGY. Se<L !•
tins; was then no novel invention in the age of the Hebrew
Jewish legislator, but current and generally known at Language,
that era. • j t
The patriarch Job lived at an earlier period. In
that book we find many allusions to the art of writing,
and
W The ingenious ami p^ausiWe^)! those
they are at present. After endeavouring op :nvention this excelfent scholar attemots to show, that
of Moses, and expat.at.ng upon tl,e difficulty of at the sa^e time with the
the original Hebrew alphabet was f St cle whXlwTuld beaten % Got/, or by
two tables of the law. “ I know not (says he) any just cause wt.yj^ form th|s pa,.t/ Tllis c0„)d
an angel at his command, except it were or wa.n . j ^ ^ published in that astonishing and mint-
give no addition of authority to t e aw nspe-al y rfectly adjusted, ai^d precisely
culous manner at Mount Sinai. The true writing ot the or^i ^ ^ ^ ^ this> i conceive, had
jr d^ to ^ “t'Tt r f "Curtp
S±Z £ -r ’ hi;“ -Mi1,:
toItTs aTwlllh if not something worse, to conceive reasons not assigned by God himself, for any particular
wmmmssmmm
during his first stay in the mount, he would have heen detained longer i and it is not eo-e-hle, ^Uong a
Lidir;1:? trMi" hy .nPri,ion,supp ^
fa^MMa-lroM taUeslwrir Ln written by the finger of God, and not by himwho
wrote the second?” Ve pretend not to say why they were written by God rather than man, but we think there
is sufficient evidence, thatby whomsoever they were written, the characters employed were of human invention.
The Hebrew alphabet, without the Masoretic points, is confessedly detective j and every man who is in any de-
3 ee acauaffited with the language, and is not under the influence of inveterate prejudice, will readily admit hat
those points are no improvenfentf But we cannot, without impiety, suppose an art invented by infinite wisdom,
to fall short of the utmost perfection of which it is capable : an alphabet communicate to man y of, won
undoubtedly have been free both from defects and from redundancies j it would have had a distinct character f
every simple sound, and been at least as perfect as the Gieek 01 t ie oman. Johnson
But we need not fill our pages with reasonings of this kind against the hypothesis maintained by Mr Johnson.
We know that “ Moses wrote all the words of the Lord,” i. e. the substance oi a that had been delivered m
■Exod xx xxi xxii, xxiii. before he was called up into the mount to receive the tables of stone J nay, that he had
lono- before been commanded by God himself to “ write in a book” an account ot the victory obtained over Ama-
lek’cExod xvii 14.). All this, indeed, the learned writer was aware of j and to reconcile it with his hy pothesi ,
he frames another, mere improbable than even that which it is meant to support. ‘‘It ,s not unreasonable (says
he") to believe that God had written these tables of stone, and put them in Mount Horeb, from the time tna y
Ms^ngelt had the^e first appeared to Moses •, and that, therefore, all the time after, while he
sheep thereabouts, he had free access to those tables, and perused them at discretion. Bnt it belief should r
upon evidence, we beg leave to reply, that to believe all tins would be in the highest degree umeasonable , for
there is not a single hint in the Scripture of the tables having been written at so early a period, or upon such an
occasion, as God^s first appearance to Moses in the burning bush. We know how reluctant Moses was to go
-unon the embassy to which he was then appointed j and it is strange, we think passing strange, that when
cords so faithfully his own backwardness, and the means made use of by God to reconcile him to the an uous un¬
dertaking, he should make no mention of these important tables, if at that period he had known any thing 01 then
existence.* Besides all this, is it not wonderful, if Moses had been practising the art of writing, as our author .-nip-
noses from the time of the burning hush to the giving of the law, he should then have stood in need of for tydaj.
teaching from God, to enable him to read with ease the first tables ; and cf other forty, to enable him to wu
the second ? This gives such a mean view of the natural capacity ot the Hebrew legislator, as ien eis ie yp
thesis which implies it wholly incredible. See a Collection of Discourses, &c. rn two tolumes, by the reverend
John Johnson, A. M. vicar of Cranbrook in Kent.
3
5!ect. I.
i iGen xxii.
|c>, See.
Antiq.
: . i. c. 3.
26
iraditions
this pur-
27
ongi-
alpha-
preser-
v in the
f ily of
I Ji.
and some passages which plainly prove its existence.
This shows that alphabetical characters were not con¬
fined to the chosen seed, since Job was in all probabili¬
ty a descendant of Huz, the eldest son of Nahor * the
brother of Abraham. From this circumstance, we
think we may fairly conclude, that this art was known
and practised in the family ofTerah the father of Abra¬
ham.
3. There was certainly a tradition among the Jews
m the age of Josephus, that writing was an antediluvi¬
an invention t. That historian pretends, that the de¬
scendants of Seth erected two pillars, the one of stone
and the other of brick, and inscribed upon them their
astronomical observations and other improvements. 
This legend shows that there did exist such an opinion
of the antiquity of the art of writing.
4. There must have been a tradition to the same
purpose among the Chaldeans, since the writers who
have copied from Berosus, the celebrated Chaldean hi¬
storian (o), speak of alphabetical writing as an art well
known among the antediluvians. According to them,
Cannes the Chaldean legislator gave his disciples “ an
insight into letters and science. This person also wrote
concerning the generation of mankind, of their diffe¬
rent pursuits, of civil polity, &c. Immediately before
the deluge (say they) the god Cronus appeared to Si-
suthrus or Xisuthrus, and commanded him to commit to
writing the beginning, improvement, and conclusion
of all things down to the present term, and to bury
these accounts securely in the temple of the Sun at Sep-
para.” All these traditions may be deemed fabulous
in the main ; but still they evince that such an opinion
was current, and that though the use of letters was not
indeed eternal (p), it was, however, prior to all the re¬
cords ol history j and of course, we think, an antedilu¬
vian discovery.
This original alphabet, whatever it was, and however
constructed, was, we think, preserved in the family of
Noah, and from it conveyed down to succeeding gene¬
rations. If we can then discover the original Hebrew
alphabet, we shall be able to investigate the primary
species of letters expressive of those articulate sounds by
which man is in a great measure distinguished from the
brute creation. Whatever might be the nature of that
alphabet, we may be convinced that the ancient Jews
deemed it sacred, and therefore preserved it pure and
unmixed till the Babylonish captivity. If, then, any
monuments are still extant inscribed with letters prior
to that event, we may rest assured that these are the re¬
mains of the original alphabet.
There have, from time to time, been dug up at Jeru-
PHILOLOGY. 2p5
Salem, and other parts of Judea, coins and medals, and Hebrew
medallions, inscribed with letters of a form very differ- J.anguagL
ent from those square letters in which the Hebrew
Scriptures are now written.
When the Samaritan Pentateuch was discovered (qJ, rp. 23
it evidently appeared that the inscriptions on those me-with thT
dais and coins were drawn in genuine Samaritan cha- Samaritan,
racters. I he learned abbe Barthelemi, in his * disser-f Mem. de
tation “ on the two medals of Antigonus king of J udea,
one of the later Asmonean princes, proves that all the f
inscriptions on the coins and medals of Jonathan and Si- sm^* &c*
mon Maccabeus, and also on his, were invariably in the
Samaritan character, down to the 40th year before the
Christian era.”
It were easy to prove, from the Mishna and Jerusa¬
lem Talmud, that the Scriptures publicly read in the sy-
nagogues to the end of the second century were writ—
ten in the Samaritan character, we mean in the same
character with the Pentateuch in question. As the an¬
cient Hebrew, however, ceased to be the vulgar lan- 20
guage of the Jews after the return from the Babylonish Which af-
captivity, the copies of the Bible, especially in private terwards
hands, were accompanied with a Chaldaic paraphrase :
and at length the original Hebrew character fell into daic,6
disuse, and the Chaldaic was universally adopted.
It now appears that the letters inscribed on the an¬
cient coins and medals of the Jews were written in the
Samaritan form, and that the Scriptures were written
in the very same characters: we shall therefore leave it
to our readers to judge whether (considering the impla¬
cable hatred which subsisted between these two nations)
it be likely that the one copied from the other j or at
least that the Jews preferred to the beautiful letters used
by their ancestors, the rude and inelegant characters of
their most detested rivals. If, then, the inscriptions on
the coins and medals were actually in the characters of
the Samaritan Pentateuch (and it is absurd to suppose
that the Jews borrowed them from the Samaritans), the
consequence plainly is, that the letters of the inscriptions
were those of the original Hebrew alphabet, coeval with
that language, which we dare to maintain was the first
upon earth.
It may, perhaps, be thought rather superfluous to
mention, that the Samaritan colonists, whom the kings
of Assyria planted in the cities of Samaria (r), -were
natives of countries where Chaldaic letters were current,
and who were probably ignorant of the Hebrew lan¬
guage and characters. When those colonists embraced
the Jewish religion, they procured a copy of the He¬
brew Pentateuch written in its native character, which,
from superstition, they preserved inviolate as they re¬
ceived
(0) Apollodorus, Alexander Polyhistor, Abydenus. See Syncellus, cap. 39. et seq. Euseb. C/iron. lib. i. page 3.
(p) Plin. Nat. Hist. lib. vii. page 413. Fa' quo apparet ceternus literarum t/sus.
CO.) The celebrated Archbishop Usher was the first who brought the Samaritan Pentateuch into Europe.
In a letter to Ludovicus Capelins “ he acknowledges, that the frequent mention he had seen made of it by
some authors, would not suffer him to be at rest till he had procured five or six copies of it from Palestine and
Syria.”
(R) 2 Kings, chap. xvii. ver. 24. “ And the king of Assyria brought men from Babylon, and from Cuthah,
and horn Avah, and from Hamath, and from Sepharvaim, and placed them in the cities of Samaria.” Babylon
and Cuthah, and Avah, were neighbouring cities, and undoubtedly both spoke and wrote in the Chaldaic style.^
I he natives of Hamath spoke the Syriac, which at that time differed very little from the Chaldaic.
296
Hebrew
Xiaiijruage
PHILO
ceivcd it; and from it were copied wcomively the othero
Xh were current in Syria and Palest,ne when Areh-
“tl^/reaXleve exhibited, we hope it will ap-
ne tr that if the Hebrew alphabet, as it appears in the
Samaritan Pentateuch, was not the primitive one, it was
at l«" ibat ,n which ^ ***
committed to writing. . -r« i
* Chroiuin Scahger has inferred, from a passage 1 J , f ’
anno 740 flnd ail0ther in St Jerome t, that Itzra when he retor-
|Pr®/ 1. d | Jewish church, transcribed the Scriptures fro
the ancient characters of the Hebrews into the square
TVbi-h waslett^ of the Cl aldeans. This, he thinks, was<done for
L O G Y.
Sect I,
iuiio ured
by jcoZia
3*
The He¬
brew
vowels.
,|„ of those Jews who, being born during the capti
vOv knew mi other alphabet than that ot the people
1 , , fUrav were educated. — f his account of the
iu‘ “'’5 "Xh probable in itself, and supported by pas-
» frot both Talmuds, has been attacked by Luxtorf
r, t Iparnimr and no less acrimony, bcalige ,
Cephas beenfollowedbyacvowdoflearnednHmCs)
whose opinion is now pretty generally espoused by
" Havbg^d so much concerning the Heln^w alpha¬
bet in te preceding pages, we find ourselves hud under
. k ind of necessity of hazarding a few strictures on he
vowels and Masmetic points 5 the first essential, and
lest an appendage, of that ancient language. He
mVipr of the one, and the nature, antiquity, and nc-
nU 't of the other in order to read the language with
propriety and with discrimination, have been the subject
j F Ld/and often illiberal controversy among philologi-
cal , r er". To enter into a minute deta.l ot the argu¬
ments on either side, would require a complete volume:
sliall therefore, briefly exhibit the state ol the co -
trovers/, and then adduce a few observations, which, in
• • /Miii-lit to determine the question.
0" The'controversy then is, Whether the Hebrews used
vowels ; or whether the points, which are now call-
M v that name were substituted instead of them . or
if they were, whether they be as old as Moses or were
invenLd by Etna, or by the Masor.tes (t) ? 1 Ins eon-
troversy his exercised the wits of the most learned cri¬
tics of the two last centuries, and is still far enough
from being determined in the present. 1 he Jews main¬
tain that these vowel points (u) were delivered to
Moses along with the tables of the law •, and conse-
quently bold them as sacred as they do the letters them-
selves y Many Christian authors who have handled this
suhiect, though they do not affirm their divine original,
nor their extravagant antiquity, pretend, however, tha
they are the only proper vowels in the language, and
ven-ulate and ascertain its true pronunciation. I houg
they differ from the Jews with respect to the origin
“XS|h, “’^nld G”m^j“w who 'ZH&Z
century, Lhas Levita, a leamefl oerm ^ niade a modem
flourished at Rome, discovered ie - hppn in useinventio11,
it appear that these appendages had never been hi use
till after the writing oi the lalmuds, about 5 y
a,lev Christ This innovation raised Elias a mnlntu.k-
of adversaries, both of his own countrymen and Christ¬
ians. Among the latter appeared the two Buxtor ,
the father and the son, who produced some cabbalisU-
cal hooks of great antiquity (x), at least in 116 0Pin|«
of the Jews, in which there was express mention of the
points. The Buxtorfs were answered by Capelkis and ^
other critics*, till Father Monnust, having examn e ^
alt that had been urged on both sides, produced hi Vosuus,
learned dissertation on that subject; against 'vl^h 1 ^ 11)^1.
has been nothing replied of any consequence, whffst his BiW.
work has been universally admired, and his opinio
confirmed by those that have beaten the same field ait
^According to this learned father, it plainly appears
that neither Origen, nor St Jerome, nor even t e
compilers of the Talmuds, knew any thing of what has
been called the (vowel points; and yet these book a -
cording to the same author, were not finished till the
seventh century. Even the Jewish rahffis who wrote
during the eighth and ninth centuries, according to him,
were not in the least acquainted with these points. He
adds, that the first vestiges he could trace o them were
in the writings of Rabbi Ben Aber chief of the wes ein,
and of Rabbi Ben Naphtali chief of the eastern school
that is, about the middle of the tenth century, so that
they can hardly be said to be older than the beginning
°! Some^lem-ned men (y) have ascribed the invention
of the vowel points in question to the rabbis^ ot the
school of Tiberias ; which, according to them, flourish¬
ed about the middle of the second century. 1 his opi¬
nion is by no means probable, because it appe^ plain
from history, that before that period all the Jewish se
minaries in tbat province were destroyed, and their heads
forced into exile. Some of these retired into Babylonia,
and settled at Sora, Naherds, and Rombed.tha where
they established famous universities After this era,
there remained no more any rabbinical schoo s in Jmkea,
headed by professors capable of undertaking this difficult
operation, nor indeed of sufficient authority to iccom-
E it .0 general practice, had they been ever so
thoroughly qualified tor executing it.
aroiuniiy ^   . o
Capelins and Father Morin, who contend
late introduction of the vowel-points,
ior
the
acknowledge
that
The tern, ^ or signifies « tradition and inrports the unwritten canon by winch the read-
Inland writing of the sacred hooks was fixed. «• t mav be seen in most Hebrew grammars.
E(u) These points are 14 in number whose figures names . 1 ' ^ , j milke about 1900 years
U These books are the Bah,r. Mar, HeiUvtf Urn Eh matters cannot be relied upon.
t son, do Anti, Ennet. P. U. w
feet- I. P H I L O L o
Hebrew that there can certainly he no language without vocal toneme •
. ^4
ejections
swered.
^nguitbe- sounds, which are indeed the soul and essence of" speech 5
but they affirm that the Hebrew alphabet actually con¬
tains vowel characters, as well as the Greek and Latin
and the alphabets of modern Europe. These are
lie mntrea he, v(iu, jod. I hese they call the matres lectionis, or,
i.tioms, jf yon please, the parents of reading. To these some,
we think very properly, add am or ozti, ajin. These,
they conclude, perform exactly the same office in He¬
brew that their descendants do in Greek. It is indeed
agreed upon all hands, that the Greek alphabet is de¬
rived from the Phoenician, which is known to he the
same with the Samaritan or Hebrew. This position
vc shall prove moie fully when v>e come to trace the
origin of the Greek tongue. Hitherto the analogy is
not only plausible, but the resemblance precise. The
Hebrews and Samaritans employed these vowels exact¬
ly in the same manner with the Greeks j and so all was
easy and natural.
But the assertors of the Masoretic system maintain
that the letters mentioited above are iiot vowels but
consonants or aspirations, or any thing you please but
vocal letters. I his they endeavour to prove from their
use. among the Arabians, Persians, and other oriental
nations: But to us it appears abundantly strange to sup¬
pose that the Greeks pronounced beta, gamma, delta,
&c. exactly a? the Hebrews and the Phoenicians did,
and yet at the same time did not adopt their mode of
pronunciation with respect to the five letters under consi¬
deration. To this argument we think every objection
must undoubtedly yield. The Greeks borrowed their
letters from the Phoeniciansthese letters were the
Hebiew or oamantan. The Greeks wrote and (z)
pronounced all the other letters of their alphabet, ex¬
cept the five in question, in the same manner with their
originals of the east: if they did so, it obviously follows
that the Greek and oriental office of these letters was
the same.
Another objection to reading the Hebrew without
the aid of the Masoretic vowel points, arises from the
consideration, that without these there will be a great
number of radical Hebrew words, both nouns and verbs,
^ 297
trv wnnlffi1‘/V’6 tI,iBk thi tl,e natives <)f coun- Hebrew'
try would find it a matter of much difficulty to learn Language.
to read without the help of the vowels. They knew
the words beforehand, and so might readily enough
]earn by practice what vowels were to be inserted.
When the Hebrew became a dead language, as it
certainly was in a great measure to the vulgar after
ie return from the Babylonish captivity; such sub¬
sidiaries might we think, have been useful, and of
course might possibly have been adopted for the use
of the vulgar: but the scribe, the lawyer, and the learn¬
ed rabbi probably disdained such beggarly elements,
vve shall m this place hazard a conjecture, which, to us
at least, is altogether new. We imagine that the Plice-
nicians, who were an inventive, ingenious people, had
prior to the age of Cadmus, who first brought their let¬
ters into Greece, adopted the more commodious method
of inserting the vowels in their proper places; whereas
the Jews, zealously attached to the customs of their
ancestors, continued to write and read without them. In
tins manner the Gephurcei *, who were the followers * mna
of Cadmus, communicated them to the Jones their lin k
neighbour. Me are convinced that the materials ofcaP 5*.
ie Greek tongue are to be gleaned up in the east; and
upon that ground have often endeavoured to trace the
origin of Greek words in the Hebrew, Phoenician,
Chaldean, and Arabian languages. Reading without
the vowel points we have seldom failed in our search ;
but when we followed the method of reading by the
Masoretic points, we seldom succeeded; and this, we Proof ^ u
believe, every man of tolerable erudition who will the AW,
make a trial will find by experience to be true Thisl'eiic
argument appears to us superior to every objection, I?,”10-
Cpon this basis, the most learned Bochart has erected
his etymological fabric, which will be admired by the
learned and ingenious as long as philology shall he cui-
tivated by men.
It has been urged by the zealots for the Masoretic
system, that the Arabians and Persians employ the vowel
points That they do so at present is readily granted :
hut whether they did so from the beginning seems to be
the question. 1 hat Arabia was overspread with Jewish
without any vowel intervening amongst the consonants,’ exiles at a very1 early period^is abundantlv cert1 ^eW,yk
Inch is certainly absurd. Notwithstanding this sup- yvas natural for them to retire to a land I
posed absurdity, it is a well known fact, tlat all ,L would not hear of ^r Ir t^ sound ofthf S.ti:
posed absurdity, it is a well known fact, that all the
copies of the Hebrew Scripture, used in the Jewish syna¬
gogues throughout the world, are written or printed
without points. I hese copies are deemed sacred, and
kept in a cofier with the greatest care, in allusion to the
ark of the testimony in the tabernacle and temple. The
prefect, however, reads the portions of the layv and ha-
giographa without any difficulty. The same is done by
the remains of the Samaritans at this day. Every ori¬
ental scholar knows that the people of these countries
took upon consonants as the stamina of words. Accord-
»» writing letters, in dispatches upon business, and
a flairs of small moment, the vowels are generally
omitted. It is obvious, that in every original lan¬
guage the sound of the vowels is variable and of little
importance. Such was the case yvith the Plebrew
Accordingly we find that, prior to the age of the Ara¬
bian impostor, Arabia swarmed yvith Jewish settlements,
irom these Jews, it is highly probable that their neigh¬
bours learned the use of the points in question ; which
in the course of their conquests the Saracens communi¬
cated to the Persians,
It has been alleged with great show of reason, that
without the vowel points it is often impossible to de-
velope the genuine signification of many words which
occur frequently in the language: many words of dif-
erent and sometimes opposite significations are written
yvith exactly the same consonants. Without the points
then, hoyy are we to know the distinction ? In answer
to this objection yve beg leave to observe, that, durino-
the first period of a language, it is impossible that there
should
Tead^ TlUS 18 S° trUe’ that’ actord*S t0 fresychius and Suidas, poir(xlfry, to act the Phcenician, signified “ to
Vol. XVI. Part I. f p n
Hebrew
I/afiguage.
* Connect
part i.
book i.
3^
From Oii-
p^en’s Ilex-
apia.
PHIL
should- not 'occur a nmnher of similar sounds of differ¬
ent si'unificat ions. This is surely to be attributed to the
novelty of the language. When a few terms ha\e
been once fabricated, men will rather annex new sig¬
nifications to old terms, than be at the expense o
time or thought to invent new ones. 11ns must have
been the case with the Hebrew m particular*, and in¬
deed no language on earth is without instances ox tins
inconveniency, which, however, in a living tongue, is
easily overcome by a difference of accent, tone, ges¬
ture,* pronunciation j all which, we think, migi o
viate the difficulty.
Trom the preceding arguments, we thmKL ourselves
authorised to infer that the Masora is a novel system,
utterly unknown \o the most ancient Jews, and never
admitted into those copies of the Scriptures wine
were deemed most sacred and most authentic by that
11 With respect to the original introduction of the
points, we agree with the learned and judicious Dr
Prideaux, who imagines that there were gradually in¬
troduced after the Hebrew became a dead language,
with a view to facilitate the learning to read that lan¬
guage, more especially among the vulgar. By whom
they were introduced, we think, cannot easily m e-
tei mined > nor is it probable that they were all intro¬
duced at once, or by one and the same person, iney
have been ascribed to Ezra by many, for no other
reason that we can discover hut to enhance their au¬
thenticity, and because the sentiment is analogous to
the other articles of reformation established by that holy
priest. If our curious reader should not he satisfied
with the preceding detail, we must remit him to La-
pellus and Morinus on the one side, and the two iiux-
torfs, Schultens, and Dr James Robertson late professor
of oriental languages in the university of Edinburgh,
on the other. This learned orientalist, in his disserta¬
tion prefixed to his C/avis Pentateuchi, has collected
and arranged, with the true spirit of critidsm, every
thing that has been advanced in favour ol the Maso eti-
cal system.— Si Pergama dextra dejcndi possent, cham
hac defensdfaissent. , . . . r
St Origen, who flourished about the beginning ot
the Qd century, was a profound Hebrew scholar. He
published a most laborious and learned work, which is
generally called the Hcxapla, because it consisted of six
columns ; the first of which contained the Hebrew text,
the second, the same text, but written in Greek cha¬
racters : the third column exhibited toe version of A-
quila *, the fourth that of Symmachus j the fifth, the
Septuaginf, and the sixth, the version of Theodotan.
In sonie fragments of that vast work which are still
extant, we have a specimen of the manner m >'111011
the Hebrew was pronounced in the third century, by
Which it appears that it was very different from that
which results from observing the Masoretical points.
The following is an instance copied from the beginning
of Genesis.
o L O G Y. , &ect 1
Ouiar el&dm eth a&rkhi t6b ouialdM elbeim lien aor Heta„
ouUn a&sekb. tgg.
According to the Masokites.
Bereshith hara Elohim eth ashamajim yeeth aaretz. ^
Veaaretz ajetha thoon vaboou, yekhoshek gnal pene
tlieom verouakh elohim merakhepheth gnal pene ham
maim. . .
Vaiomer elohim jehi or, vajeln or.
Vajare elohim eth aor ki tob vajabedel elohim hem
aor oubein hakhoshek.
According to Oiugen.
Bresith hara Eloeim eth asamaim oueth aares.
Ouaares aietha Thoau ouboou ou6sekh al phne Hie
vm ouroue eloeim maraepheth al phne anaaim.
Oui&mer el^eim iei 6r ouici or.
Upon the whole, we presume to give it as our opi¬
nion, that in the most early periods, the vowels, akpfi,
he jod or yod, vaw or waw, and perhaps om or ajin,
were regularly written wherever they were sounded. ^
This to us appears plain from the practice of the aii-andthe
cient Greeks. It is agreed on all hands that the x. a-practice 0f
man tan and Biamician alphabets tvere the
that the former was that of the Jews originally. Ihe
Phoenicians certainly wrote the yuwels exactly, for so
did the Greeks who copied their alphabet . If the oe
nieians wrote their vowels, so then did the Jews of the
ao-e of Cadmus ; hut Cadmus was contemporary with
some of the earliest judges of Israel*, the consequence is
evident, namely, that the Jews wrote their vowels as
late as the arrival of that colony-chief in Greece. \\ e
ought naturally to judge of the Hebrew by the Chal-
daic, Syriac, and Arabian, its sister dialects. All these
languages in ancient times had their vowels regularly
inserted *, and why not the Hebrew m the same man¬
ner with the rest ? . , ,
As these first vowels which were coeval with the o-
ther letters, often varied in their sound and application
the points, in all appearance, were first invented and
employed to ascertain their different sounds in difterent
connections. Other marks might be invented to point
out the various tones of voice, like the tovoi, or accents
with which the vowels were to be enounced, as wa
done among the later Greeks. In process of time, in
order to promote celerity of writing, the vowels weife
omitted, and the points substituted in their place.
Before we conclude our observations on the Hebrew
language, we ought, perhaps, to make an apology
foAnfitting to interlard our details with quotation
from the two Talmuds, the Mishna, the Gemaia, the
Cabbalas, and a multitude of rabbinical writers >vho
are commonly cited upon such an occasion. V\ e be
lieve we could have quoted almost numberless passa¬
ges from the two Buxtorfs, Father Morin, Capelhis,
and other Hebrew critics, with no great trouble to
ourselves, and little emolument to the far greater par
of our readers. But our opinion is that such a pedan¬
tic display of philological erudition would probably
have excited the mirth of our learned, andr^ed th*
indignation of our unlearned, readers. Our wish is,
to gratify readers of both descriptions, by contributing
to the edification of one class without disgusting
0t,We cannot, we imagine, fairly take leave onbe
sacred language, without giving a brief .^ad of t
have sometimes contemM with it foe the pnze ot ^
*ect. I.
;EIebrew
unguage
■*—
38
I ;tcellcn-
l ks of the
, isbrew
aguage.
qaity: anti of these the iollovving in our apprehension
deserve particular notice.
It this language may claim any advantage over its
antagonists, with respect to its being rather a mother
than a daughter to any of them, it is undoubtedly in
consequence of its simplicity, its purity, its energy, its
fecundity of expressions and significations. In all these,
notwithstanding its paucity of words, it excels the vast
variety of other languages which are its cognate dialects.
To these we may add the significancy of the names,
both of men and brutes j the nature and properties of
the latter of which are more clearlv and more fully ex¬
hibited by their names in this than in any other tongue
hitherto known. Besides, its well authenticated anti¬
quity and the venerable tone of its writings surpass any
thing left upon record in any other dialect now extant
in the world. These extraordinary qualities excite our
admiration at present under every disadvantage; and
from this circumstance we may inter its incomparable
beauty in the age of the Jewish legislator, and what ef¬
fects it would naturally produce, could we know it
now as it was spoken and written in the days of David
and Si lomon.
As far, however, as we understand it in its present
mutilated condition, and are able to judge of its cha¬
racter from those few books that have come down to
our time, we plainly perceive that its genius is simple,
primitive, natural, and exactly conformable to the cha¬
racter of those uncultivated patriarchs who used it them¬
selves, and transmitted it to their descendants in its
native purity and simplicity. Its words are compara¬
tively few, yet concise and expressive j derived from a
very small number of radicals, without the artificial
composition of modern languages. No tongue, ancient
or modern, can rival it in the happy and rich fecundity
of ite verbs, resulting from the variety and significancy
of its conjugations j which are so admirably arranged
and diversified, that by changing a letter or two of the
primitive, they express the various modes of acting,
sufiering, motion, rest, &c. in such a precise and signi¬
ficant manner, that frequently in one word they convey
an idea which, in any other language, would require a
tedious paraphrase. These positions might easily be il¬
lustrated by numerous examples 5 but to the Hebrew
scholar these would be superfluous, and to the illiterate
class neither interesting nor entertaining.
To these we may add the monosyllabic tone of the
language, which, by a few prefixes and affixes without
affecting the radix, varies the signification almost at
pleasure, while the method of affixing the person to
the verb exhibits the gender of the object introduced.
In the nouns of this language there is no flexion except
what is necessary to point out the difference of gender
and number. Its cases are distinguished by articles,
which are only single letters at the beginning of the
word: the pronouns are only single letters affixed ; and
the prepositions are ot the same character prefixed to
words. Its words follow one another in an easy and
natural arrangement, without intricacy or transposition,
without suspending the attention or involving the sense
by intricate and artificial periods. All these striking
and peculiar excellencies combined, plainly demonstrate
the beauty, the stability, and antiquity of the language
unde? consideration.
PHILOLOGY.
We would not, however, be thought to insinuate fj:.hr
that this tongue continued altogether without changes I>angii;
and imperfections. We admit that many radical words 1 ‘
of it were lost in a course of ages, and that foreign ones
were substituted in their place. ’I he long sojourning of
the Israelites in Egypt, and their close connection with
that people, even quoad sacra, must have introduced a
multitude of Egyptian vocables and phrases into the
vulgar dialect at least, which must have gradually in¬
corporated with the written language, and in process of
time have become part of its essence. In Egypt, the
Israelites imbibed those principles oi idolatry which no¬
thing less than the final extirpation of their polity could
eradicate. If that people were so obstinately attached
to the Egyptian idolatry, it is not very probable that
they would be averse from tbe Egyptian language.
Besides, the Scripture informs us, that there came up
out of Egypt a mixed multitude ; a circumstance which
must have infected the Hebrew tongue with the dialect
ot Egypt. As none of the genuine Hebrew radicals
exceed three letters, whatever words exceed that num¬
ber in their radical state may be justly deemed of fo¬
reign extraction.
Some Hebrew critics have thought that verbs consti¬
tute the radicals of the whole language ; but this opin¬
ion appeal’s to us ill founded: for though many Hebrew
nouns are undoubtedly derived from verbs, we find at
the same time numbers of the latter deduced from the
former.
Before we conclude our detail of the Hebrew tongue, tJuL hins„
a few of our readers may possibly imagine that^ wen*an^m‘
ought to give some account of the Hutchinsonian sy¬
stem $ a system so highly in vogue not many years ago.
But as this allegorical scheme of interpretation is now
in a manner exploded, we shall beg leave to remit out-
curious Hebraist to Mr Holloway’s Originals, a small
book in 2 vols 8vo, but replete with multifarious erudi¬
tion, especially in the Hutchinsonian style and charac¬
ter.—Fidcs sit penes autorem.
Sect. II. The Arabic Language,
t 40
U E now proceed to give some account of the Arabian Arabic Ian
language, which is evidently one of the sister dialects ffuage ori-
of the Hebrew. Both, we imagine, wer<2 originally^'nai*- ^c
the same j the former highly improved and enlarged j
the latter, in appearance, retaining its original simpli¬
city and rude aspect, spoken by a people of a genius by
no means inventive. In this inquiry, too, as in the for¬
mer, we shall spare ourselves the trouble of descending
to the grammatical minutiae of the tongue j a method
which, we are persuaded, would neither gratify our
learned nor edify our unlearned readers. To those who
are inclined to acquire the first elements of that various,
copious, and highly improved tongue, we beg to re¬
commend Erpenii FtuhmentaLing. Arab,} Golii Gram,
Arab.} the Dissertations of Hariri, translated by the
elder Schultensj Mr Richardson’s Persic and Arabic
Gram &c.
We have pronounced the Hebrew and Arabian sister
dialects ; a relation which, as far as we know, has
been seldom controverted : but we think there is au¬
thentic historical evidence that they were positively one
and the same, at a period when the one as well as the
P p 2 other
'3°o
Arabic
Language.
t Gen ii.
IX.
PHILO
other appeared In its Infant unadorned simplicity. The
following detail, will, we hope, fully authenticate the
truth of our position.
“ Unto Eber (says the Scripture t) were horn two
sons. The name of one was Peleg, because in Ins days
the earth was divided •, and his brother’s name was Jok-
tan,” or rather Yoktan. This last, says the sacred his ¬
torian, “ had thirteen sons •, and their dwelling reached
from Mesha (Mocha) to Sephar (a),” a mount ot the
east. According to this account, the descendants ot
Yoktan possessed all the maritime coasts of Arabia irom
Mesha (Mocha) to Mount Sephar towards the east ot
that peninsula. Moses, describing the rivers of para¬
dise tells us, that one of the branches of that nvei J
« encompassed the whole land of Havilah where there
was great store of gold.” Havilah was the twelfth son
of Yoktan, whom the Arabians call Kobtan , and con¬
sequently his territory was situated towards the eastern
limit of the possessions of the posterity of the youngest
son of Eber. Yoktan or Kobtan was too young to be
concerned in the building of the tower*, and consequent¬
ly retained the language of bis family, wlncn was un¬
doubtedly the Hebrew. His descendants must have
carried the same language into their respective settle¬
ments, where it must have been transmitted to succeed¬
ing generations. The original language of all the tribes
of the Arabians who inhabit a vast tract of conn ry
along the southern shore, according to tins deduction,
was that of their father Kobtan, that is the Hebrew.
Indeed, the most learned Arabians of modern tunes un¬
animously acknowledge this patriarch as the founder ot
their language as well as of their nation.
The other districts of Arabia were peopled by the oh-
cming of Abraham. The Ishmaelites, the posterity ot
that patriarch by Hagar, penetiated into the very cen¬
tre of the peninsula *, incorporated, and m process ot
time became one people with the Kobtamtes. Another
region was possessed by the children of the same holy
man by Cheturah his second wife. The Moabites, Am¬
monites, Edomites, Amalekites, &c. who settled m
the various regions of Arabia Petrsea, were all branches
of Abraham’s family, and used the same language with
their ^reat progenitor. The Scripture indeed speaks ot
people° who inhabited the country last mentioned prior
to the branches of Abraham’s family *, but these, accord¬
ing to the same history, were extirpated by the for¬
mer. The conclusion then is, it we credit tire Mo¬
saic account, that all the inhabitants of the three divi¬
sions of Arabia did, in the earliest periods, universally
use the Hebrew tongue. . ,. . .
There was, we are sensible, a region of Arabia inha¬
bited by the Cushim, or descendants ot Cush. Ihis
district was situated on the confines of Babylonia. Our
translators have confounded this country with the mo¬
dern Ethiopia*, and have consequently ascribed the ex¬
ploits of the Arabian Cushim to the Ethiopians. The A-
rahian kings of Babylon were of those Cushim. Aliese
were concuered and expelled Babylonia by the Chasi¬
dim These, spoke the Chaldean dialect, as will appear
when we come to speak of that of the Abyssnuans.
logy. Sect 11
Here the candid reader is desired to reflect that the Arabic
Hebrew and Chaldaic are cognate dialects. .
Tire foregoing proofs, deduced from the Mosaic hi¬
story, will be corroborated by a mass ot internal e\ i-
dence in the succeeding parts of our inTll[>* . 4I
The Arabic tongue, originally pure Hebrew, was m Cl.adual,y
process of time greatly transformed and altered from itsdeviatea
simple unsophisticated state. The Arabians were dr-from that
vided into many different tribes*, a circumstance which^ P <%.
naturally produced many different dialects. These,
however, were not of foreign growth. Iso foreign ene¬
my ever conquered those independent hordes. lire
Persians, Greeks, and Romans, sometimes attempted
to invade their territories *, but the roughness of the
ground, the scarcity of forage, the penury of waiter,
and their natural bravery, always protected them.
They were indeed once invaded by the AbySsinians
or Ethiopians with some show of success ; but these
invaders were in a short time expelled the country.
Their language, of consequence, was never adultera¬
ted with foreign words or exotic phrases and idioms.
Whatever augmentations or improvements it received
were derived from the genius and industry ot the na¬
tives, and not from adventitious or imported acquisi¬
tions. From this circumstance we may justly inter,
that the Arabian tongue was a long time stationary,
and of course differed in no considerable degree from
its Hebrew archetype. The learned Schultens, in his
Commentary on Job, hath shown, to the conviction of
every candid inquirer, that it is impossible to understand
that sublime composition without having recourse to the
Arabic idioms. That patriarch was a Chuzite. His
country might be reckoned a part ot Araoia. His
three friends were actually Arabians, being the descend¬
ants of Ishmael and Esau. His country bordered with
that of the predatory Chaldeans, who were an Arabian
banditti. When we consider all these circumstances in
cumulo, we are strongly inclined to believe that the hook
of Job was actually written in Arabic, as the language
stood at that period *, which, according to the most pro¬
bable opinion, could not have been later than the age of
Moses. The learned are generally agreed that tins
whole book, the three first chapters excepted, is a poeti¬
cal composition, replete with the most brilliant and most
magnificent imagery, the boldest, the justest, and most
gorgeous tropes and allusions, and a grandeur of senti¬
ment wholly divine. Whoever has read the poetical
compositions of the modern Arabians, on divine subjects,
with any degree of taste, will, we flatter ourselves, dis¬
cover a striking similarity both of diction and senti¬
ment. Be this as it may, we think there is no reason to
conclude that the Arabic dialect deviated much from
the Hebrew standard prior to the Christian era. 4j
Of those different dialects which prevailed among the The
various tribes among which the peninsula of Arab,a was
j!_ *j„4 fKr. .v.-lnr'i ivj! were the Henryaret and the Ivo . , •
various moes Hinuoy -kt- ,
divided, the principal were the Hemyaret and the t\°- Arabla.
reish. Though some of these were tributary to the
Tobbas, or Hemyaret sovereign of Arabia helix, yet
they took no great pains to cultivate the language of
that province, and of course these people did not tho-
(a) Sephar, in the Septuagint Zo<pti$x,
chap. xxii. ver. J 4. <pct<nh rmj rwr
and in some editions : fence probably 2»^‘S*
Za/tpeig t«v At(VKi>
Or.g. in fob
Sect. II. PHILO
Arabic roughly understand it. As for the independent tribes
Language, they had no temptation to cultivate any other language’
.“—y—than their own.
The Koreish tribe was the noblest and the most learn¬
ed of all the western Arabs ; and the kaaba, or square
temple of Mecca, was before the era of Mohammed
solely under their protection. This temple drew an¬
nually a great conconrse of pilgrims from every Ara¬
bian tribe, and indeed from every other country where
the Sabian religion prevailed. The language of the
Koreish was studied with emulation by the neighbourino-
tribes. Numbers of the pilgrims were people of the
first rank, and possessed all the science peculiar to their
country or their age. Great fhirs were held during
then icsidence at l^Tecca, and a variety of gay amuse¬
ments filled up the intervals of their religious duties.
In these entertainments literary compositions bore the
highest and most distinguished rank j every man of ge¬
nius considering not his own reputation alone, but even
that of his nation or his tribe, as interested m ,iis suc¬
cess. Poetry and rhetoric were chiefly esteemed and
admiied j the first being looked upon as highly orna¬
mental, and the other as a necessary accomplishment in
the education of every leading man. An assembly at
a place called Ocadh, had been in consequence establish-
he dialect6^ a!)0U^ ^ie fcnt^ century, where all were
the Ko to a rivalship of genius. The merits of their
ish be- respective productions were impartially determined by
me the the assembly at large ; and the most approved of their
Jib’ P°eals» wr‘ufn on silk> in characters of gold; were with
w y- much solemnity suspended in the temple, as the highest
mark of honour which could be conferred on literary
merit. These noems were called the Moallabat, “ su¬
spended,” or Modhabebat, “ golden.” Seven of these
are still preserved in many European libraries.
I rom this uncommon attention to promote emulation,
and refine their language, the dialect of the Koreish be¬
came the purest, the richest, and the most polite, of all
the Arabian idioms. It was studied with a kind of pre¬
dilection j and about the beginning of the seventh cen¬
tury it was the genera! language of Arabia, the other
dialects being either incorporated with it, or sliding
gradually into disuse. By this singular idiomatic union
the Arabic has acquired a prodigious fecundity j whilst
the luxuriance of synonymes, and the equivocal or oppo¬
site senses of the same or similar words, hath furnished
their writers with a wonderful power of indulging, in
the fullest range, their favourite passion for antithesis
and quaint allusion. One instance of this we have in
the word veh ; which signifies a prince, a friend, and also
a slave. This same word, with the change of one letter
only, becomes vah; which, without equivocation, im¬
ports a. sovereign. Examples of this kind occur in al¬
most every page of every Arabic dictionary.
ail these advantages of this incomparable lan-
* a, £uag'e ai’e merely modern, and do not reach higher
than the beginning of the sixth century. Prior to that
era, as we have observed above, a variety of dialects ob¬
tained 5 and as the Arabs were by their situation in a
manner sequestered from all the rest of mankind, it
may not perhaps be superfluous to inquire briefly into
the cause and origin of this instantaneous and universal
change.
I or a course of more than 20 centuries, the Arabians
had been shut up within the narrow limits of their own
44
supe.
LOGY. 30l
peninsula, and in a great measure secluded from the rest Arabic
of the world. Their commerce with India was purely Language,
mercantile, and little calculated to excite or promote l—-*
intellectual improvements. They traded with the
Egyptians from time immemorial $ but since the inva¬
sion and usurpation of the pastor kings, every shepherd
that is, every Arabian, was an abomination to the
Egyptians. From that quarter, therefore, they could
not derive much intellectual improvement. Besides,
when an extensive territory is parcelled out among a
number of petty septs or clans, the feuds and contest?
which originate from interfering interests and terri¬
torial disputes, leave but little time, and less inclination,
for the culture of the mind. In these circumstances, the
military art alone will be cultivated, and the profession'
of arms alone will be deemed honourable. Of conse¬
quence, we find that, in the general opinion, poetry, rhe¬
toric, and the profession of arms, were the only sciences
cultivated by the people in question. As for the science
of arms, tve are convinced that it was both studied and
practised at a very early period; but as to the two former,
we imagine they were very late acquisitions, and sprung
from some circumstance external and adventitious.
i.lie tube ot the Koreish were much engaged in
commerce. They exported frankincense, myrrh, cassia,
galbanum, and other drugs and spices, to Damascus,
Tripoli, Palmyra, and other commercial cities of Syria
and its neighbourhood. Upon these occasions the Ara¬
bian traders must have become acquainted with the
Gj eek language, and perhaps with the more amusing
and affecting parts of the Grecian literature. They
might hear of the high renown of Homer and De¬
mosthenes j and it is not impossible that some of them
might be able to read their compositions. Every body
knows with what unremitting ardour the learned Arabs,
under the first caliphs, perused and translated the philo¬
sophical works of the Grecian sages. The very same
spirit might animate their predecessors, though they
wanted learning, and perhaps public encouragement, to
arouse their exertions. From this quarter, we think,
the Arabs may have learned to admire, and then to
imitate, the Grecian worthies.
The Ptolemies of Egypt were the professed patrons-
of commerce as well as of learning. Under these prin¬
ces all nations were invited to trade with that happy
country. The Arabs, now no longer fettered by E-
gyptian jealousy, carried their precious commodities to
Alexandria ; where the Grecian literature, though no
longer in its meridian splendour, shone however with a
clear unfaded lustre. The court of the first Ptolemies
was the retreat of all ther most celebrated geniuses of
Greece and of the age ; in a word, Alexandria was the
native land of learning and ingenuity. Here the inge 
nious Arab must have heard the praises of learning in¬
cessantly proclaimed ; must have been often present at
the public exhibitions of the poets and orators; and
even though he did not understand them exactly, might
be charmed with the melody of the diction, and struck
with surprise at their effects on the audience. The read¬
er will please to reflect, that the Arabian traders were
the first men of the nation, both with respect to birth,
learning, and fortune. These wise men, to use the lan-institution
guage of Scripture, inspired with the natural curiosity at viecca
of their race, might hear of the celebrated Olympic slnii,lir t0
■ - • ..Jr the Olvm-
games, the public recitations before that assembly, and1.
J thepicsameSi
302
PHILOLOGY.
Sect. II*
Arabic
Language
46
The Koran
written in
the Koreisl)
dialect.
the glorious prize bestowed upon the conquerors. Such
information might animate them to institute something
parallel at Mecca, with a view to improve their lan¬
guage, and at the same time to derive honour and emo¬
lument to themselves. The Koreishim might promise
themselves the like advantages from the establishment
of the fair and assembly at Oeadh, as the natives of Lhs
drew from the institution ol the Olympic games, tor
these reasons, we conjecture, the literary competitions at
the place just mentioned were instituted at so late a pe¬
riod^ though the nation had existed more than 2000
years before the establishment of tins anniversary
Upon the whole, we are inclined to believe, that th
Arabs, notwithstanding all the fine things recorded of
them by their own poetical historians, and believed per¬
haps too easily by those of other countries, were in the
days of ignorance like the earliest Homans, latrones U
semibarbari. For our part, we think it by no means
probable, that a people of that character should, alter
so long a course of years, have stumbled upon so lauda¬
ble and so beneficial an institution, without taking the
hint from some foreign one of a similar complexion.
This we acknowledge is only a conjecture, and as such
it is submitted to the judgment of the reader.
There were, as has been observed above, two princi¬
pal dialects of the original Arabic : I he Hamyai 1 e
spoken by the genuine Arabs, and the Koreislnte or pme
Arabic, which at last became the general language 0
that people. The former of these inclined towards the
Syriac or Chaldean ; the latter being, according to them,
the language of Ishmael, was deeply tinctured with tie
Hebrew idiom. The oriental writers tell us that Ie-
rah, the grandfather of Hamyar, was the first whose
language deviated from the Syriac to the Arabic.
Hence, say they, the Hamyaritic dialect must have ap¬
proached near to the purity of the Syriac, and of conse¬
quence must have been more remote from the true ge¬
nius of the Arabic than that of any of the other tribes.
The fact seems to stand thus : The Hamyantes were
neighbours to the Chaldeans and Syrians, and conse¬
quently were connected with those people by commeice,
wars, alliances, &c. This circumstance introduced in¬
to their language many phrases and idioms from botli
these nations. That Terah was concerned in adultera¬
ting the dialect of the Hamyarites, is a mere oriental
leuend, fabricated by the Arabs after they began to per¬
use the Hebrew Scriptures. The Koreish being situated
in the centre of Arabia, were less exposed to intercourse
•with foreigners, and therefore preserved their language
more pure and untainted.
The learned well know, that the Koran was written
in the dialect of the Koreish; a circumstance which
communicated additional splendour to that branch of the
Arabian tongue. It has been proved, that the language
of the original inhabitants of Arabia was genuine He¬
brew •, but upon this supposition a question will arise,
namely, whether the Arabians actually preserved their
original tongue pure and unsophisticated during a space
qf 3020 years, which elapsed between the deluge and
birth of Mohammed ? or, whether, during that perioil,
according to the ordinary course of human affairs, it
underwent m any changes and deviations from the ori¬
ginal standard ? , . .
The admirers of that language strenuously maintain
the former position } others, who are more moderate m
5
their attachment, are disposed to admit the latter. Arabic
»f <1* oriental languages in genera ^
that they do not vary and fluctuate with time like the *
European tongues. * “ Ce qu’il , a tie plus adm.rab e ^
dit il, et de plus remarquable, dans ces langues, c est,p(43.
qu’elles ne changent point, et n]ont point change du
tout, soi a I’egard de termes, soit a 1 egard du tour .
rien n’y est, iii nouveau m vieux, nulle bonne fa^on
de parler n’a cesse d'etre en credit. L Alcoran, par
exemple, est aujourdhui, comme il y a mil e annees 1c
modele de plus pure, plus courte, et plus eloquente dic¬
tion.” It is not to our purpose to transcribe the remain¬
ing part of the author’s reflection upon this subject:
From the above it plainly appears that he concluc.es,
that the Arabian tongue has suffered no change since the
publication of the Koran •, and at the same time insinu¬
ates, that it had continued invariable in its original pu¬
rity through all ages, from the days of Kobtan to the
appearance of that hook. Whether both or either oi
these sentiments is properly authenticated will appear
10 The8learned Dr Robertson, late professor of oriental Mtaiu a-
languages in the university of Edinburgh, informs »s,_doptedby
that the Arabians, in order to preserve the pun y ot^ preserve
their language, strictly prohibited their merchants, who the purity
were obliged to go abroad for the sake of commerce, all cftWrlan-
commerce with strange women. We know not where guage.
this injunction is recorded, but certainly it was a most
terrible interdict to an amorous son of the desert. 11
such a prohibition actually existed, we suspect it origin¬
ated irom some other source than the fear of corrupting
their language. Be that as it may, the Doctor as well
as the great Schultens, is clearly of opinion, that the
language in question, though divided into a great num¬
ber of streams and canals, still flowed pure and limpid
in its course. . , , , • . r
Our readers who are acquainted with the history of
the orientals are already apprized of the steady attach¬
ment of those people to ancient customs and institutions.
We readily allow, that in the article ol Language this
same predilection is abundant1)’ obvious •, but every ori¬
ental scholar must confess, that the style of the Koran
is at this day in a manner obsolete, and become almost aT])e style
dead language. This fact, we believe, will not be ques-of the Ko.
tioned If the Arabian has deviated so very consider-ran now
ably from the standard of the Koran in little more than obsolete.
1000 years, and that too after an archetype is ascer¬
tained ; by a parietyof reason we may inter, that much
greater deviations must have affected the language in
the space of 3000 years. . . ,
It is universally allowed by such as maintain the un¬
sullied purity of the Arabian tongue, that it was origi¬
nally the same with the Hebrew, or with the ancient
Syriac and Chaldaic. Let any one now compare the
words, idioms, and phraseology of the Koran with the
remains of those three languages, and we think we may
venture to affirm that the ditlerence will be palpable.
This circumstance, one would think, indicates in the
strongest terms a remarkable alteration.
The Arabs themselves are agreed, that, notwithstand-
ino- the amazing fecundity of their language, vast num¬
bers of its radical terms have been irrecoverably losti
Bet this loss could not be supplied without either tabii-
cating new words or borrowing them from foreign lan¬
guages. To the latter method we have seen their aver-
Sect. II. PHILOLOGY. 3^3
Arabic s*on i anc^ nmst therefore conclude that they adopted the
Language, former.
The Chaldeans, Syrians, and Phoenicians, had made
innovations on their language at a very eai'ly period, even
before conquests were undertaken : We see no reason
to suppose that the Arabs did not innovate as well as
their nearest neighbours: the Hamyarites did actually
innovate.
There are, we think, very strong reasons to believe,
that Job was an Arabian, and flourished prior to Moses,
perhaps as early as Jacob. The style, the genius, the
figurative tone of the composition ; the amazing subli¬
mity of the sentiments, the allusions, the pathos, the
boldness, the variety, and irregularity, the poetical en¬
thusiasm which pervades the whole poem, strongly breathe
the Arabian spirit: indeed the very diction is peculiar
^ to that single book, and dift’ers widely from that of the
and re- Psalms and every poetical part of the sacred canon. If
semblmg we compare this book with Mohammed’s Koran, we
brewdii its scarce any resemblance of words or phraseoio-
phraseolo- ttY ’ ^ut a wonderful similarity of figures, enthusiasm,
gy. and elevation of sentiments.
We are then led to conclude, that the Arabic did
actually lose and gain a multitude of vocables between
the era of its first establishment among the descend¬
ants of Joktan and Ishmael, and the birth of the im¬
postor.
The art of writing was introduced among the Arabs
at a very late period : Without the assistance of this art,
one would think it altogether impossible to preserve any
language in its primaeval purity and simplicity. Our
curious readers may here expect some account of the
Arabic characters : the following detail is the most
probable one wo have been able to collect on that
subject.
* P»cocke's It is generally agreed *, that the art of writing wras
Specim. known among the Hamyarites or Homerites at a very
Hist. Arab. ear]y period. These people were sovereigns of Arabia
Artof writ-^uianS a course of many years. Their character was
: ing among somewhat perplexed and confused. It was called a/
the Ham- Mosnad, from the mutual connection of the letters,
yames, rpta alphabet of these people resembled that of the He¬
brews both in the number and order of the U tters, and
i Id. ibid, is called abgad fieri* t, from the first ten letters of the
Hebrew alphabet, artificially thrown together. “ And
tVol. iii. this word (says the learned Chardin J) a, rf, is
P1 IS3i formed of the four letters which were heretofore the
first in the Arabian langnage, as they are still in that of
the Hebrews.” The same traveller is positive that these
were the ancient characters of the Arabs ; that they
differed from Cuphite letters, which were afterwards in¬
troduced } and that they were furnished with vowel
points. These, we imagine, were the first sketches of
the Chaldean character, which probably the Hamyarites
retained in their pristine unpolished form, after they
had been polished and reduced to a more elegant size
by the original inventors.
Monuments bearing inscriptions in these characters
are, they tell us, still to be seen in some places of Ara¬
bia. Some were engraved on rocks} and to these we Arabic
think it probable that the patriarch Job alludes in Language,
those passages where he seems to intimate an inclina-
tion to have his sufferings recorded in a book, and
graven in the rock for ever. All the Arabians agree,
that the dialect of the Hamyarites inclined towards
the Syriac or Chaldean. This we have imputed to
the connection of that people with the Chaldeans, who
lived in their neighbourhood. If the Hamyaritic dia¬
lect was infected with the Syriac or Chaldaic, there
can he no doubt that they derived their letters from the
same quarter.
We conclude then, that the Hamyarites knew the art in Chaldaic
of writing from the earliest antiquity, and that the let- characters,
ters they employed were the rude Chaldaic in their un¬
improved state *. Some of the Arabians do indeed * Pococke
hold, that Ishmael was the first author of letters j but ,)rpt- de
that his characters were rude and indistinct, without any ^in^' ^ja^-
interval between letters or words, and that these were
adopted by Kedar and his other children : hut this tra¬
dition hath met with little credit.
With respect to the highly polished Korelshites, it is
agreed on all hands, that they were unacquainted with
the use of letters till a few years before the birth of
Mohammed. Two difficulties here present themselves.
The first is, how the Koreishite dialect, without the art C2
of writing, happened to excel all the other dialects of Art of writ-
the Arabic tongue, assisted by that art, apparently so ing among
necessary for preserving a language in its original purity. tj,.e K°rci-
The second is still, we think, rather greater, namely,5111 es*
how the Koreish learned that most useful art at so late
a pei’iod as the sixth century. It is a well known fact,
that ever after the Babylonish captivity Arabia swarmed
with Jewish villages, in which the art of writing was
generally known ; and almost at the beginning of the
Christian era, multitudes of Christians retired to the
same country, in order to avoid the persecutions which
they suffered in the Roman empii*e. In these circum¬
stances, we think it rather strange, that the Koreishites,
highly polished and acute as they were, never thought
of laying hold on the opportunity of learning an art so
very useful. These two problems we leave to he solved
by our more learned readers.
But however they be solved, it is universally acknow¬
ledged, that the Koreish were ignorant of letters tili a
few years before the birth of their prophet. Ebn Cha-
lican (b), one of their most celebrated historians, in¬
forms us, that Moramer the son of Moira, an An bar i-
an, a native of Ankaris, a city of Irak (c), fir.->t invent¬
ed alphabetical characters, and taught his countrymen
to use them, from whom this noble invention was deri¬
ved to the Koreishites. These letters, though neither
beautiful nor convenient, were long used by the Arabs.
They were denominated Cuphite, from Cupha, a city of
Irak. In this character the original copy of the Ko¬
ran was written. These we think were the original
ffumsy characters which were retained by the vulgar,
after the beautiful square Chaldaic letters were invent¬
ed, and probably used by priests, philosophers, and the
learned
(b) See this wThole detail in Dr Pococke’s Specim. Hist. Arab. p. 250. et seq.
(B) Irack, “ Babylonia,” from Erech, one of the cities built by Nimrod. The Arabians have generally restored *
the ancient names of places. Thus with them Tyre is T%ury Sidon 6Vyi/, Egypt Mczri, $zc.
3°4
PHILO
med.
Arabic learned in general. These letters are often at this day
Language, used by the Arabs for the titles of books and public in-
' * scriptions.
* Roberts. AbauU the gon of Mocla *, about 300 years after
o “ .6 the death of Mohammed, found out a more elegant and
S3 * more expeditious character. This invention ot Abauli
Improved was afterwards carried to perfection by Elm Bowla, who
about 300 died in the r 0f tiie Hegira 413, when Kader was
Mobam caliph of Bagdad. This character, with little variation,
obtains at this day. As we think this article of some
importance, we shall, for the sake ol our unlearned rea¬
ders, transcribe an excellent account of this whole mat¬
ter from the very learned Schultens.
“ The Cuphic character, says he, which had been
brought from the region of the Chaldeans to the Pro"
vince of Hejaz, and to Mecca its capital, in the age of
Mohammed, was employed by the Koreishites, and in
it the Koran was first written. But as this character
was rude and clumsy, in consequence of its size, and ill
calculated for expedition, Abauli Ebn Mocla devised
a more elegant and expeditious one. This person was
visir to Arradius the 41st caliph, who began to reign
in the year of the Hegira 322. Accordingly, m the
10th century, under this emperor of the Saracens, the
form of the Arabian alphabet underwent a change j and
the former clumsy embarrassed character was made to
give way to the polished, easy, and expeditious type.
Regarding this expedition alone, the author of the
invention left very few vowel characters j and as the
Hebrew manner of writing admits five long ones and
five short in different shapes, he taught how to ex¬
press all the vowels, both long and short, suitably to
the genius of the language, by three, or rather by two,
small poitits, without any danger of a mistake an ab¬
breviation truly deserving applause and admiration $ for
by placing a very small line above ^ he expressed a
and e; and by placing the same below Y he meant
to intimate t only. To the other abort ones* 0 and «, he
•assigned a small waw above. In order to represent
k t}}0 long ones, he called in tue matres Icctionis^ the
“quiescent letters* S” so that phata with
timated a and 0 long, i. e. kametx and cholem ; jod
placed after kefram became tzeri and chirek long. V aw
■annexed to danitna made schufek.
In this passage, the great orientalist acknowledges
that the visir above mentioned, who carried the Ara-
fiian alphabet to the pinnacle of perfection, invented
and annexed the vowel points for the sake of ease and
•expedition in writing; from which we may infer, that
prior to the tenth century the Arabians had no vowel
points j and consequently either read without vowels, or
contented themselves with the matres lectionis above
mentioned. . . „ , .
The design of the author of the invention, m fabri¬
cating these points, was confessedly ease and expedi¬
tion in writing} a circumstance which furnishes a rio-
lent presumption that the Hebrew vowel-points were de¬
vised and annexed at some late period for the very same
purposes.
Some, indeed, have gone so far as to affirm that the
Arabians were the original fabricators of the vowel-
points. “ The Arabians t (says the learned Dr Gre-
j£iss. on Sharp) were the original authors of the vowel
^Lctrh&c.points. They invented three, called »a, and damma,
and kefra; but these were not in use till several years
LOGY. . Sect fl¬
atter Mohammed ; for it is Certain that the first copies Arai.ic
of the Koran were without them. The rabbis stole Language,
them from the Arabs.” This, however, is carrying v *
the matter too far, since it is certain that the Jews
were acquainted with the points in question long before
the period above mentioned.
Though it is not our intention to enter into a mi¬
nute detail of the peculiarities of this noble language., we
cannot omit observing one thing, which indeed belongs
to grammar, but is not generally taken notice of by the
Arabic grammarians. The roots of verbs m this dialect
are universally triliteral j so that the composition ot the
28 Arabian letters would nive near 22,000 elements
of the language. This circumstance demonstrates the 54
surprising extent of it : for although great numbers of Surprising
its roots are irrecoverably lost, and some perhaps were ^ Arabic
never in use yet if we suppose 10,000 of thein, u ithout jangKnge>
-reckoning quadriliterals, to exist, and each of them to
admit only five variations, one with another, in forming
derivative nouns, the whole language would then con¬
sist of 50,000 words, each of which may receive a mul¬
titude of changes by the rules of grammar. _ #
Again, the Arabic seems to abhor the composition
of words, and invariably expresses very complex ideas
by circumlocution j so that if a compound word be
found in any dialect of that language, we may at once
pronounce it of foreign extraction. Ihis is indeed a
distinguishing feature in the structure of this tongue, as
well as of some of its sister dialects. This circumstance
has, in our opinion, contributed not a little to the ama¬
zing fecundity of that language : for as every ingredient
in the composition of a complex idea requires a word to
express it, as many words became necessary to complete
the language as there were simple ideas to be intimated
by discourse. Were all the compounds of the Greek
language to be dissolved, as probably once they were,
the vocables of that tongue would infinitely exceed their
present number. . f
The Arabic authors boast most unconscionably 01
the richness and variety of their language. 1S>0 human
understanding, say they, is capacious enough to com¬
prehend all its treasures, inspiration alone can qua-^
lify one for exhausting its sources*. Ebn Chalawalb, ? ^
a most renowned grammarian of theirs, has spent a whole
volume upon the various names of the lion, which
amount to 500 j another on the names of the serpent,
which make up 200. Mohammed al Eirancabodius
affirms that he wrote a book on the usefulness and dif¬
ferent denominations of honey, in which he enume¬
rates 80 of them; and after all, he assures us that he
was still far from having exhausted his subject, lo
excel in a language so amazingly copious, was certainly
a proof of uncommon capacity, and considered as no
mean talent even among the Koreishites. Hence Mo¬
hammed, when some people were expressing their admi¬
ration of the eloquence of the Koran, told them that he
had been taught by the angel Gabriel the language of
Ishmael, which had fallen into desuetude. . oratory
In a language so richly replenished with the choicest^ poetr).
and most energetic terms, both oratory and Poetryofthe
were cultivated with ease. All the difficulty consisted Arabs.
in making a choice among words and phrases equally
elegant. We may compare one of those poets or orators
to a young gentleman, of a taste highly refined, wa -
ing into a repository where a profusion of the riches.
Sect. II. PHILO
Arabic and most elegant dresses are plied up in wild confusion.
Language. Our beau is here distressed with variety ; hut to be able
to choose the most handsome and most becoming, he
must have received from nature a superior good taste j
which he must likewise have cultivated by assiduous
industry, and by associating with the most genteel com¬
pany.
Ihe orations of the Arabs were of two kinds, me¬
trical and prosaic. The former they compared to
pearls set in gold, and the latter to loose ones. They
were ambitious of excelling in both j and whoever did
so, was highly distinguished. His success in either of
those departments was thought to confer honour, not
only on his family, but even on his tribe. In their
poems were preserved the genealogies of their families,
the privileges of their tribes, the memory of their heroes,
the exploits of their ancestors, the propriety of their lan¬
guage, the magnificence of banquets, the generosity of
their wealthy chiefs and great men, &c. After all,
we cannot avoid being of the unpopular opinion, that
this mighty parade of eloquence and poetry did not
reach backward above two centuries before the birth of
Mohammed, as it certainly vanished at the era of the
propagation of his religious institutions. The two suc¬
ceeding centuries were the reigns of superstition and
bloodshed. The voice of the muses is seldom heard
amidst the din of arms.
The ancient Arabs, at whatever time poetry began
to be in request among them, did not at first write
poems of considerable length. They only expressed
themselves in metre occasionally, in acute rather than
harmonious strains. The Proverbs of Solomon, and the
book of Ecclesiastes seem to be composed in this species
of versification. I he prosody of the Arabs was never
digested into rules till some time after the death of Mo¬
hammed j and this is said to have been done bv A1
Khalti al Farabidi, who lived in the reign of the caliph
Harun al Raschid.
After so many encomiums on the copiousness of the
Arabic tongue, one class of our readers may possibly
expect that we should subjoin a brief detail of its genius
and character; and this we shall do with all possible
^ brevity.
tenius and All the primary or radical words of the language
iaracter are composed of different combinations of consonants
tit Ian- by triads; so that the various combinations and con-
junctions of radicals make more than io,coo, even
without including those which may arise from the meet-
ing of guttural letters. From this quality of the lan¬
guage has flowed that stability of the dialect which has
preserved it pure and entire for so many thousand years,
and secured it from those changes and that fluctuation
to which most other tongues are subject.
Perhaps, notwithstanding its copiousness and variety,
no other language can vie with the one in question in
point of perspicuity and precision. It is possessed of a
brevity and rotundity which, amidst the greatest va¬
riety, enables it to express with clearness and energy
what could not be expressed in any other tongue with¬
out tedious circumlocutions. To this purpose we shall
beg leave to transcribe a passage from Bishop Pococke’s
oration on the Arabic language. As w7e imagine few
of our readers who will have the curiosity to peruse
this article can be unacquainted with the Latin tongue,
Vol. XVI. Part I. f
LOGY.
Arabic
Language.
we shall give it as it stands in the original, without a
translation :
“ Neque in nulla certe landis parte, mira ilia qua,
non solum verborum in significando, perspicuitate/sed
in prolatione, elegantiae et dulcedini caverunt, sedu-
Jitas ; quoque, non solum accurata, inter literas ex sig-
m heat a proportione, sensus sel intensioni, vel remis-
siom, prout res postulaverit, literarum appositione,
subductione, vel juxta organorum, rationem prospe-
xerunt; sed et ne quid delicatulis auribus ingratum, ne
quid horndum, aut urvfdpwef, reperiatur, effecerunt.
Hoc in genere est, quod nuspiam in verbo aliquo, ge-
nuinae apud Arabes originis, concurrunt, non interce-
dente vocabs alicujus motione consonantes, cum vel
tres, vel plures, aliis in linguis frequenter collidantur.
Immo neque, si adsint, quae asperitati remedio sint, vo-
cales, quas hbet temere tamen committunt consonantes :
sed ita rei natura postulat, ut concurrere debeant ilia
quae se mvicem, sine asperitatis inductione consequi et
inter se connecti non possint j illi vel situs, vel literarum
mutatione, eas abjiciendo, inserendo, emolliendo, aliisve
quibus possent modis, remedia quaerunt; adeo ab omni
quod yel absonum, vel dissonum est, abhorrent. Quod
si nobis secus videntur, et asperius sonare ah Arabibus
prolata, illud auribus nostris, et usui, non lingua; impu-
tandum, nec mollius illis sonare nostra, quam eorum no¬
bis censendum. Quin et gutturalium, quae nobis maxi¬
ma asperitatis cansa videntur, absentiam, ut magnum in
lingua Graeca defectum, arguunt Arabes.”
The learned Dr Hunt, late professor of the Hebrew
and Arabic languages at Oxford, is of the same opinion
with the very learned prelate, part of whose oration we
have transcribed above, with respect to the delicacy and
elegance of the Arabian language:—“ Nusquam, mihi
credite, (inquit ille) auribus magis parcitur quam in
Arabia ; nulla lingua a xxKopamet, alienior quam Arahi-
ca. Quamquam enim nonnulke ejus liter* minus for-
lasse suaviter, immo durius etiam sonuerint, ita tamen
Arabes eas temperarunt cum lenibus, duras cum molli-
bus, graves cum acutis miscendo, voces inde non minus
auribus jucundae, quam pronunciatu faciles confecerint,
totique sermoni miram sonorum tarn dtricedinem quam
varietatem addiderint. Quod quidem orationis modu-
land* studium in Corano adeo manifestum est, ut primi
Islamismi oppugnatores eum librum magiea ideo arte
scriptum dixerint. Non auribus tantum gratus est Ara
bismus, sed et animi conceptibus exprimendis aptus, so-
nos suos sententiis semper accommodans, et felici verbo¬
rum junctura eorum naturam depingens.”
rIo these we might add quotations from Erpenius’s
oration on the same subject, from Golius, Schultens
Hottinger, Bochart, and Sir William Jones ; besides a’
whole cloud of oriental witnesses, whose extravagant en¬
comiums would rather astonish than edify the far greater
part of our readers. These panegyrics may perhaps be
in some measure hyperbolical ; but in general we be¬
lieve them pretty well founded. At the same time w7e
are convinced that the Arabic, however melodious in
ears of a native, sounds harsh and unharmonious in that
of an European.
Whcn we consider the richness and variety of the Difficulty
Arabic tongue, we are led to conclude, that to ac- »f acquir-
quiye a tolerable degree of skill in its idioms, is a more ,nS a
difficult task than is generally imagined : at least some 1tll010"Sh
n n ° 7 . knowledge
Vt q people of it.
305
o6 PHILOLOGY.
, , • people who have acquired the knowledge of the Greek
Arabic Pe°P‘e ” iiv^wise of the more fashionable modern
Language, and Latin, and likewise oi me nn
' languages, with facility enough, have found it so Be
that as it may, there are two classes of men who, m our
opinion, cannot handsomely dispense w.th the knowledge
<$ that almost universal tongue : the gentleman who ts
to he employed in the political transactions oi the most
respectable ^mercantile company upon earth, in the east¬
ern parts of the world; and the divine who appl.es
himself to investigate the true purport of the sacred ora¬
cles ; without this, the former will often find himself
embarrassed in both his civil and mercantile negotia¬
tions j and the latter will often grope in the dark when
a moderate acquaintance with that tongue would make
all sunshine around him* .
Bochart, Hettinger, Schultens, Pocock, H“nt’ ^
Bobertson &c. have taken wonderful pams, and lavish-
fd „ profisTon of learning, in proWng the affinity and
dialectical cognation between the Hebrew and Arabi .
Much of this labour, we think, might have been spared
We presume to affirm, that no person tolerably versed
in both languages can read a single paragraph olt
Arabic version of the New Testament or indeed of the
Koran itself, without being convinced of t,Je tru h ^f
this position : it is but stripping the latter of its adven¬
titious frippery, and the kindred features will immedx-
^IMieTearned professors of the university of Leyden
were the first who entered upon the career of Arabian
learning. To them the European students are princi¬
pally indebted for what knowledge of that language
they have hitherto been able to attain. Though seve¬
ral Italians have contributed their endeavours, yet the
fruit of their labours has been rendered almost useless
by more commodious and more accurate works printed
in Holland. . . . ,
The palm of glory, in this branch of literature, is due
to Golius, whose works are equally profound and ele-
irant; so perspicuous in method, that they may always
be consulted without fatigue, and read without lan¬
guor. Erpenius’s excellent grammar, and Ins memor¬
able dictionary, will enable the student to explain the
history of Ta'imur by Ibni Arabshak. If he has once
mastered that sublime work, he will understand the
learned Arabic better than most of the Khatahs of Con¬
stantinople or of Mecca.
The Arabian language, however, notwithstanding
all its boasted perfections, has undoubtedly shared the
fate of other living languages ; it has gradually under-
cone such considerable alterations, that the Arabic
spoke and written in the age of Mohammed may be
now regarded as a dead language : it is indeed so wide¬
ly different from the modern language of Arabia, that
it is taught and studied in the college of Mecca just as
the Latin is at Rome. .
The dialect of the Highlands of A emen is said to
have the nearest analogy to the language of the Koran,
because these Highlanders have little intercourse with
sti’angers. The old Arabic is through all the East, like
the Latin in Europe, a learned tongue, taught in col¬
leges, and only to be acquired by the perusal of the best
authors.
« Ut folia in sylvisprows mutantur in atinos, Ac.”
Sect III.
Chaldean
Sect III. Of the Chaldean, Fhccnician, Ethiopian or Baugoa^,
Abyssinian, and Egyptian Languages. « ^
As there is a very strict connection and dialectical Connection
analogy among these languages we have arranged dmm
all under one section j especially since ii i 3 . Phoenician
relating to one of them may, without the least Ethiopie,
ing, he extended to them all. We shall begin with the aiid Egye-
ft* . tian lan-
The Chaldeans, or Chasidim, as they are always call-&uageS.
ed in Scripture, were the descendants of Chesed the son
of Nahor, the brother of Abraham. I he descendants
of this patriarch drove the Cushim or Arabians out of
Babylonia, and possessed themselves of that country at
a very early period. As these Chasidim or Chaldeans
were the posterity of Nahor, the descendant of Heber,
they undoubtedly spoke the original Hebrew tongue as
well as the other branches of that family. But being
an ingenious inventive people, they seem to have polish¬
ed their language with much care and delicacy of taste.
The only genuine remains of the ancient Chaldaic
language are to he found in the Hebrew Scriptures 5
and those are contained in 268 verses, of which we
have 200 in Daniel, reaching from verse 4th chapter
2d to chapter 8th exclusive-, in Ezra 67, in chapter
4th, 17 verses j chapter 5th, the same number j chap¬
ter 6th, 18 verses and in chapter 7th, 15 : m Jere¬
miah, chapter loth, these is extant only one verse.
From these fragments, compared with the Hebrevv, it
plainly appears, that the difference between that lan¬
guage and the Chaldaic is scarce equal to that between
the Doric and Ionic dialects of the Greek. .
Whatever might have been the form of the most
ancient Chaldaic letters, it is generally known that the
beautiful square characters, in which the Hebrew Scrip¬
tures began to he written after the age of Ezra, were
current among them at an era prior to the Babyloms 1
captivitv. those elegant characters were probably
the invention of the Chaldean academies, which were
established in various parts of that extensive and fertile
The Chaldean declensions and conjugations difier so Chaldean
little from the Hebrew modifications, that it would be differs htt
almost superfluous to dwell upon them 111 this section. HebreWi
The most effectual way to acquire an idea of the an¬
cient Chaldaic, is to decompound the names confessed¬
ly of that dialect, which occur in many places ot Scrip¬
ture. By this method of proceeding, its beautiful struc¬
ture and expressive energy will be readily comprehend¬
ed even by the most illiterate classes of our readers.
At the same time, we must observe, that the Chaldaic
and ancient Syriac bore so near a resemblance to each
other, that they have generally been classed under one
The first Chaldaic word that occurs in the Old Tes¬
tament is bara “ creavit” This word has all along
been assigned to the language under consideration 5 tor
what reason, we confess we are not able to discover.
The greatest part of the Hebrew tongue is now lost.
The words bar, “ a son,” and bara “ creavil, OatJer
fdiavit), may probably be of that number. Another
Scripture word which is often quoted, and always as-,
cribed either to the, Syriac or Chaldaic, is igarovjegar
Sect. III.
Chaldean sahachitha, which signifies “ a mountain of witnesses.’
language, Every body knows, that when Jacob and Laban made
th^ir compact, the latter denominated the heap of stones
r reared upon that occasion in this manner; while the
former called it Galeed, as we now write and pronounce
it. This pronunciation, however, does not appear to us
altogether genuine. 'I lie Word is probably compounded
of Vs, gal, cumulus^ “ a heap,” and ->V, chad, atcrnitas,
seculum, “ eternity, an ageso that Ipba, galchad,
<xr galaad as it came to be written afterwards, signified
an “ everlasting heap.” Laban then had respect to
the end for which the monument was erected ; but
Jacob alluded to its duration. It appears, however,
upon this and every other occasion, when Chaldaic
words are mentioned, that o, was a favourite letter
both with the Syrians and Chaldeans. We may like¬
wise observe, that the same people always changed the
Hebrew v, shin, into n, thau, in order to avoid the
6o serpentine sound of that consonant.
Its proper The Chaldaic names of gods, men, places, &c. which
names pure occur in Scripture, appear to be no other than He-
Hebrew. |)reW polished and improved. Bel, Be/us in Latin, is
evidently Vpa, Baal, or we think rather Vy.a, BecheL
The Phoenicians, and sometimes the Hebrews, used it to
aignify the most high. The Chaldeans used their word
Bd for the same purpose ; and because this word ori¬
ginally imported the High One, they dignified their first
monarch with that name. They denominated their ca¬
pital city Ba-Bel, which imports the temple of Bel, and
afterwards Babylon, which intimates the abode or dwell-
ixg of our lord the sun. ISfcbo was a name of the moon
among the Babylonians, derived from the Hebrew >03,
nubah, vaticinari, “ to prophecy.” A%er was the pla¬
net Mars, from A-%er or E‘zur, accinxit, “ to gird,”
alluding to the girding on of arms. Ahad was an As-
'Alerob. Syrian name of the sun*, a word deduced from the
lx i. c. 23. Hebrew IPX, ahad, unus, “ one.” Nel-zar was the name
Pocncke of an Arabian idolt, which often occurs in the coni-
'pecim. position of Babylonian names. In Arabic it signifies
tet.Arab. an eagle : we think, however, that the word is the He¬
brew ips, natzar, custodivit, sefvavit, “ to keep, to
preserve.” To these names of deities many more might
1* added, which the nature of our design will hot allow
us to mention.
Almost all the Chaldean proper names which occur
either in sacred or profane history are evidently of
Hebrew original, or cognate with that language. We
shall subjoin a few examples : Nabonassctr is evidently
compounded of Idaho and nazur, both Hebrew words.
Nubopollazar 5s made up of idabo-Pul, the same with
Bd, and Azer or Azor, above explained. Belesis is
made up of Bd and xa’X Esha, “ fire.” Nebuchadnez¬
zar, Belshazzar, Beltishazzar, Neriglissar, Nebuzara-
dan, Rabmag, Rabsaris, Nergal Sharezer, Rabshakeh,
Ezarhaddon, Merodach, Evil Merodach, and number¬
less others, are so manifestly reducible to Hebrew vo¬
cables, when decompounded, that the oriental scholar
will readily distinguish them.
Names of places in the Chaldaic are likewise so near¬
ly Hebrew, that nothing but the dialectical tone sepa¬
rates them. Thus Ur of the Chaldeans is actually Tix,
light, that city being sacred to the sun : Sippora is plain¬
ly the Hebrew word Zipporah; Carchetnish, a citv on
the Euphrates, is evidently compounded of Kir or Kerr,
“ a city,” and Chemosh, a name of the sun. In short,
PHILOLOGY.
3°7
every Chaldean or old Syrian word now extant, with- Chaldean
out any difficulty, bewray their Hebrew original. As Language,
for their dialectical differences, these we remit to the &c
Chaldaic grammars and lexicons.
. now proceed to the consideration of the Phoeni- Phoenician
cian language, which is known to have been that of the language
ancient Canaanites. That this was one of the original derived
dialects, and consequently a cognate of the Hebrew, is from the
universally acknowledged. Instead therefore of endea- 1Jebrew-
vouring to prove this position, we may refer our readers
to the works ol the learned Mr Bochart, where that au¬
thor has in a manner demonstrated this point, by deriv¬
ing almost all the names of the Phoenician colonies
from the Hebrew, upon the supposition that the dialect
of those people was closely connected with that tongue.
St Augustine, de Civitate Dei, has observed, that even
in his time many of the vulgar in the neighbourhood of
Carthage and Hippo spoke a dialect of the old Punic
which nearly resembled the Hebrew. Procopius, de hel¬
lo Goth, informs us, that there existed even in his days
in Africa a pillar with this inscription in Hebrew, 11 YVre
flee from the face of Joshua the robber, the son of Nun.”
The names of all the ancient cities built by the Car¬
thaginians on the coast of Africa are easily reducible to
a Hebrew original. The Carthaginian names of per¬
sons mentioned in the Greek and Latin History, such
as Himilco, Hamilcar, Asdrubal, Hannibal, Hanno,
IJido, Anna or Hannah, Sophonisba, Gisgo, Maharbal,
Adherbal, &c. all breathe a Hebrew extraction.
The Greeks borrowed a great part of their religious
worship from the people of whose language we are treat¬
ing *, of consequence, the names of most of their gods are
Phoenician. Almost every one of these is actually Heb¬
rew, as might easily be shown. The names of persons
and places mentioned in the fragments of Sanchonia-
thon, preserved by Eusebius, are all of Hebrew com¬
plexion. The names mentioned in the Hebrew scrip¬
tures of places which belonged to the Canaanites prior
to the invasion of the Israelites under Joshua, are as
much Hebrew as those which were afterwards substitut¬
ed in their stead. The Punic scene in Plautus has been
analysed by Bochart and several other learned men, by
whom the language has been clearly proved'to be dedu¬
ced from the Hebrew, with some dialectical variations.
The island of Melita (now Malta) was inhabited by
a colony of Phoenicians many ages before the Moors
took possession of it. Among the vulgar of that island
many Punic vocables are current to this day, all which
may be readily traced up to the Hebrew fountain. To
these we may add many inscriptions on stones, coins,
medals, &c. which are certainly Phoenician, and as cer¬
tainly of Hebrew extraction. We have thrown together
these few hints without pursuing them to any great
length, as we deemed it unnecessary to dwell long on a
point so hackneyed and so generally acknowledged. ^
Before we proceed to treat of the ancient language OnVin of
of the Ethiopians, we find ourselves obliged to hazard’the Ethio-
a few strictures on the origin of that ancient nation. pians-
If we can once settle that single point, the discovery
will open an avenue to their primitive dialect, the ar¬
ticle about which we are chiefly concerned in the pre¬
sent discussion.
In our Section concerning the Hebrew language, we
were led often to mention the patriarch Cush the eldest
son of Ham. The posterity of this family chief, under
Q q 2 his
308
Chaldean
Language,
&c.
f Antiq.
Jud. lib. i
c. 7.
<>3
Their lan¬
guage ori¬
ginally
Chaldean.
his son Nimrod, possessed themselves of Slrinar, after¬
wards denominated Chaldea. These were probably the
Arabians whose kings (according to Eusebius, Ahica-
nus, and other ancient chronologers) reigned in Baby¬
lon during several successive generations. Those were
the Cushim or Cushites, whom the learned Mr Bryant
has conducted over a great part of the world, and to
whose industry and ingenuity he has ascribed almost all
the inventions, arts, sciences, laws, policy, religions, &c.
which distinguished mankind in the earliest ages.
In process of time, the posterity ot Chasid or Che-
sed, called Chasdim or Chasidim, in the east, and Chal
deans in the west, drove out the Cushim, and seized up¬
on their country. The Cushim retired westward, and
spread themselves over that part of Arabia situated to¬
wards the south-east. 1 hey probably extended them¬
selves over all the eastern part of that peninsula, from
the sea to the wilderness between Arabia and Syria.
Those were the Ethiopians mentioned in Scripture by a
very unpardonable inadvertency of our translators. These,
then, we think, were the primitive Cushim.
Josephus informs us +, that all the Asiatics called the
■ Ethiopians of Africa by the name of Cushim. This de¬
nomination was not given them without good reason : it
imports at least, that they deemed them the descendants
of Cush ; it being the constant practice of the orientals
in the early ages to denominate nations and tribes from
the name of their great patriarch or founder. T he name
Cushim must then have been given to the Ethiopians,
from a persuasion that they were the progeny of the son
of Ham who bore that name. By what route soever the
Cushim penetrated into that region of Africa which was
called by that name, it may be taken for granted that
they were the descendants of Cush above mentioned.
It has been observed above, that the posterity of Cush
possessed the country of Shinar or Chaldea at a very early
period, but were expelled by the Chasidim or Chaldeans.
Upon this catastrophe, or perhaps somewhat later, a
colony from the fugitive Cushim transported themselves
from the south and south-east coast ot Arabia over the
sea which lies between that country and Ethiopia.
However imperfect the art of navigation might be in
that age, the distance was so small that they might easily
enough make a voyage cross that narrow sea in open
boats, or perhaps in canoes. However that may have
been, it cannot be doubted that the tribes on both sides
of that branch of the sea were kindred nations.
If, then, both the northern and southern Cushim
sprung from the same stock, there can be no doubt that
both spoke the same language. T he language of the
Babylonian Cushim was Chaldaic, and of consequence
that of the Ethiopian Cushim was the same. Me may
therefore rest assured, that whatever changes the Ethio¬
pian dialect may have undergone in the course of 3000
years, it was originally either Chaldaic, or at least a
branch of that language. Scaliger informs us, that the
Ethiopians call themselves Chaldeans j and that, says, he
not without reason, because of those many sacred and
profane books which are extant among them, the most
PHILOLOGY. s“t. HI.
elegant and most beautiful are written in a style near Chaldean
that of the Chaldean or Assyrian. Mananus ^ ictonus, Language,
who was the first that reduced the Ethiopic tongue to
the rules of grammar, tells us, in his Proccmium, “ that
the Ethiopians call their tongue Chaldaic *, that it springs
from the Babylonian ; and is very like the Hebrew, by-
riac, and Arabic : At the same time (he concludes), that
this language may be easily learned by those who are ma¬
sters of the Hebrew.” The learned Bochart, and Bishop
Walton in his Proleg. are clearly of the same opinion.
The vulgar letters of the Ethiopians, according to
Diodorus Siculus, were the same with the sacred f f *«*
characters of the Egyptians (l>). From this account, P- •
if the Sicilian may be trusted, the sacred letters ot these
people, concerning which so many wise conjectures have
been formed, were actually Chaldaic. To carry on this
investigation a little farther, we may observe, that Sir
William Jones seems to have proved, by very plausible
arguments, that the Sanscrit characters were deduced
from the Chaldaic. This circumstance affords a presump¬
tion that the Ethiopian Cushim were likewise concerned
with the Egyptians ; who, as is remarked in the Section
concerning the Sanscrit, probably introduced the reli¬
gion of the Brahmans into Hindostan. Ibis is advanced
as a conjecture onlyand yet when we consider the af¬
finity between the Egyptian and Gentoo religions, rve
are strongly inclined to hope that this surmise may one
day be verified by undeniable facts.
The original Ethiopians were a people highly civi¬
lized ; their laws, their institutions, and especially their
religion, were celebrated far and wide. Homer talks
in raptures of the piety of the Ethiopians, and sends
his gods every now and then to revel 12 days with that
devout people. The Sicilian adduces a number of very
specious arguments to prove that these two nations had 64
sprung from the same stock. He mentions a similarity Ancienu,
of features, of manners, of customs, of laws, ol letters, bctween
of the fabrication of statues, of religion, as evidences ot^e Ethio-
the relation between those two neighbouring nations, pams and
There was, every body knows, a communion, as to sa- Lgyptiai^
cred rites, between the two countries. The Egyptians
sent annually a deputation of their priests, furnished with
the portable statues of their gods, to visit the lanes ol the
devout Ethiopians. Upon this occasion, a solemn reli¬
gious banquet was prepared, which lasted 12 days, and
of which the priests of both nations were partakers. It
was, we imagine, a kind of sacramental institution, by
which both parties publicly avouched their agreement
in the ceremonies of their religion respectively. These
observations plainly show, that the most ancient Ethio
plans were a people highly civilized 5 indeed so much,
that the Egyptians were at one time contented to be
their scholars. The tone of their language was cer¬
tainly the same with that of the Chaldeans or Arabian
Cushim, from whom they are descended. We know not
whether there are any books in the ancient Ethiopic
now extant; so that it is not easy to produce in¬
stances of its coincidence with the Chaldaic.^ Dioge , jj,
nes Laertius J informs us, that Ihrasylius, in his ca-^ ^ri
talogue camd.
(d) We find the same observation confirmed by Heliodorus ( Ethiop. lib. x. p. ‘‘ lhe loya °
the Ethiopians (says he) were the sacred characters of the Egyptians.” Cassiodorus likewise assuies us, a
the letters inscribed upon the Egyptian obelisks were Chaldean.” See Sect. Sanscrit.
Sect. Ill, . PHILO
Chaldean talogue of the books composed by Democritus, men-
Jian^i.age, tions one, ttioi tgiv a Ms|sj) ygafiftxTav, concerning
■ i th6 sacred letters in the island of Alet'oe (k)} and another
concerning the sacred letters in Babylon. Had these
books survived the ravages ol time, they ivould in this
age of research and curiosity have determined not only
the point under our consideration, but tiie affinity of
sacred rites among the Chaldeans, Ethiopians, and E-
gyptians.
VS e have now shown that the Ethiopians were a
colony of Cushites; that the Cushites were originally
sovereigns of Shinaror Chaldea, and consequently spoke
either Chaldaic, or a dialect of that tongue j that their
colonists must have used the same language j that the an¬
cient Ethiopians were a people highly polished, and ce¬
lebrated in the most early ages on account of their vir¬
tue and piety. It has likewise appeared that the com¬
mon letters of that people were the sacred characters of
the Egyptians, J hese letters, we imagine, were the Cu-
phite 3 for which see the section on the Arabic. When
they were discarded, and the modern substituted in their
room, cannot be determined ; nor is it, we apprehend,
a matter of much importance. We shall therefore drop
that part of the subject, and refer our curious and inqui¬
sitive readers to the very learned JobLudolf’s (F)excel-
lent grammar and dictionary of the Abyssinian or Geez
tongue, where they will find every thing worth knowing
on that subject. \\ e shall endeavour to gratify our read¬
ers with a very brief account of the modern Ethiopic or
Abyssinian tongue 3 for which both they and we will be
obliged to James Bruce, Esq. that learned, indefati¬
gable, and adventurous traveller 3 who, by his observa¬
tions on that country, which he made in person, often
at the hazard of his life, has discovered, as it were, a
new world both to Europe and Asia.
The most ancient language of Ethiopia, which we
shall now call Abyssinia (its modern name), according
to that gentleman, was the Gera, which was spoken
by the ancient Cushite shepherds. This, we should
think, approaches nearest to the old Chaldaic. Upon
a revolution in that country, the court resided many
years in the province of Amhara, where the people spoke
a different language, or at least a very different dialect
of the same language. During this interval, the Gera,
or language of the shepherds, was dropt, and retained
only in writing, and as a dead language : the sacred
Scriptures being in that tongue only saved it from going
into disuse. This tongue is exceedingly harsh and un-
harmonious. It is full of these two letters D and T, in
which an accent is put that nearly resembles stammer¬
ing Considering the small extent of sea that divides
this country from Arabia, we need not wonder that it
has great affinity with the Arabic. It is not difficult to
be acquired by those who understand any other of the
oriental languages 3 and as the roots of many Hebrew
words are only to be found here, it seems to be abso¬
lutely necessary to all those who wish to obtain a criti¬
cal skill in that lantruage.
The Ethiopic alphabet consists of 26 letters, each of
which, by a virgula or point annexed, varies its sound
65
Modem
Ethiopic
tongues.
66
-thiopic
*phabet.
L O G Y. 309
in such a manner as that those 26 form as it were 62 Chaldean
distinct letters. At first they had but 25 of these origi- Language,
nal letters, the Latin P being wanting: so that they &c*
were obliged to substitute another letter in its place.' y'"”’
Paulas, for example, they call Taalus, Aldus, or Can-
lus : Petros, they pronounced Ketros. At last they sub¬
stituted T, and added this to the end of their alphabet}
giving it t-ie force of P, though it was really a repeti¬
tion of a character rather than the invention of a new
one. Besides these, there are 20 others of the nature of
diphthongs 3 but some of them are probably not of the
same antiquity with the letters of the alphabet, but
have been invented in later times by the scribes for con¬
venience.
I he Amharic, during the long banishment of the
royal family in Shoa, became the language of the court,
and seven new characters were of necessity added to an¬
swer the pronunciation of this new language} but no
book was ever written in any other language than
Gera. There is an old law in the country, handed
down by tradition, that whoever shall attempt to trans¬
late the Holy Scripture into Amharic or any other lan-
guage, his throat shall be cut after the manner in which
they kill sheep, his family sold to slavery, and their
houses razed to the ground.
Before we leave this subject, we may observe, that
all the ancients, both poets and historians, talk of a
double race of Ethiopians } one in India, and another
in Africa. hat may have given rise to this opinion
it is not easy to discover. Perhaps the swarthy com¬
plexion of both people may have led them to this sen¬
timent. Eusebius indeed informs us j;, that “ a nume-t Chron.
rous colony of people emigrated from the banks of theP-
Indus, and, crossing the oceaiij fixed their residence in
the country now called Ethiopia.” For our part, we are
rather inclined to believe, that the original Ethiopians
transported themselves into India, and there perhaps
co operated with the Egyptians in digging the excava¬
tions and framing the statues, some of which are still to
he seen in that country, and which we have mentioned
in another Section. I he Greeks called those people
Aiii67it$, JEt/uopes, \\q believe, from their sun-burnt
countenance; but indeed they were very little ac¬
quainted either with the country or its inhabitants. (67
I he most ancient name of Egypt was Mi%raim, of Ancient
consequence the Arabians still call it Mesri. It waslan?ua§e
likewise distinguished by other names, such as Oceana, si^r di^
Acria, &c. It appears from the sacred historian, that itlect of '
was inhabited by the descendants of Mizraim the second
son of Ham. Mizraim had several sons, who, according
to the Scripture account, settled respectively in that
country. If we trust to the sacred records, there will
be little difficulty in ascertaining the language of the
Mizraim. It will appear to be one of the sister dialects •
of the Hebrew, Phcenician, Arabic, Chaldaic, &c.; and
this, to us, appears to be the fact. But the origin of
that people, their language, religion, laws, and institu¬
tions, have been so warped and confounded, both by
their own historians and those of other countries, that
one is scarce able to determine what to believe or what
to
(e) Where the capital of Ethiopia ivas situated.
(*) A very learned German, who published a grammar and dictionary o£ the Geez in folio.
/
310
Chaldean
Language,
fitc.
PHILO
J Lib. xlii.
68
Egyptian
hierogly¬
phics.
to reject. Herodotus, Diodorus Siculus, Strabo, Ptole¬
my, and most other ancient geographers and historians,
are universally agreed, that Egypt, at least that part ot
it called Delta, was overflown by the sea, and conse¬
quently uninhabitable for many centuries after the dis¬
persion of mankind. When we consider the low situa¬
tion of the Delta, and the violent current of the tide
from the coast of Phoenicia and Palestine towards that
shore, we would be almost tempted to adopt this hypo¬
thesis j but the sacred records avouch the contrary. Ac¬
cording to them, we find Egypt a populous, rich, and
flourishing kingdom, as early as the age of Abraham.
Had the Lower Egypt been a pool of stagnating water
at any time after the general deluge, we think it could
not have been drained, cleared, cultivated, and stocked
with inhabitants, so early as the days ot Abraham.
Diodorus Siculus, however, is positive that the Egyp¬
tians t were a colony of Ethiopians •, and this he endea¬
vours to prove by the similarity of features, customs, laws>
religious ceremonies, &c. between the two nations. That
there was a constant intercourse of good offices between
these two branches of the Karaites, cannot be question¬
ed •, and that they nearly resembled each other in many
■respects, is too evident to admit of contradiction. The
excavations, originally dug out of the solid rocks of por¬
phyry and marble, in which the natives resided before
the plains were drained, have been observed by a most
judicious traveller (g) a very few years ago. At the same
time, the most accurate and judicious travellers (h) who
have visited that region in modern times, are generally
of opinion that the land has gained nothing on the sea
since the period when Herodotus wrote his description
of that country 5 from which circumstances we may be
led to conclude, that the idea of the inundation, of the
Delta is not founded in fact.
But even admitting that the Egyptian Delta has ac¬
quired nothing from the sea since the age of Herodotus
to the present, it certainly does not follow that the re¬
gion in question was never overflown by that element ;
since there are in many parts of the globe, large tracts
of land, certainly once covered with sea, which have
continued to this'day in the very same situation in which
they were 2000 years ago. We leave the decision of
this point to the judgment of our readers.
We have already hinted our opinion of the nature
of the Egyptian language 5 hut because Egypt is ge¬
nerally thought to have been the native land of hiero¬
glyphics, and because many are of opinion that hiero-
glyphical characters were prior to alphabetical, we shall
hazard a few conjectures with respect to that species of
'Writing.
The end of speech, in general, is to enable men to
communicate their thoughts and conceptions one to
another when present j the use of writing is to perform
the same office when people are at so great a distance
that vocal sounds cannot mutually reach them. Hiero¬
glyphics are said to have been invented to supply this
defect. The most ancient languages were everywhere
full of tropes and figures borrowed from sensible ob¬
jects. As in that stage of society men have not learned
logy. Sect- nt
to abstract and generalize, all their ideas are bommed chaldm
from snch objects as most forcibly strike the.r senses. L.™,
This circumstance would naturally suggest to savages v 
the idea of conveying their sentiments to each other,
when absent, by delineations of corporeal objects. Ihus,
if a savage asked a loan of his friend’s horse, he might
find means to have conveyed to him the figure ot that
animal; and so of others. This was the very lowest
species of ideal communication, and has been stylerl
picture-writing. ,
Necessity would soon impel our savage correspondents
to fabricate a method more extensively useful, which
would likewise be suggested by the constant use ot the
metaphorical mode of speech. Some savage leader, more
sagacious than the vulgar herd, would observe that cer¬
tain sensible objects were fitted, according to the rules ot
analogy, to represent certain human passions, and even
some abstract ideas •, and this would be readily enough
adopted bv the herd as a new improvement. In this
case a horn might be the emblem of power, a sword ot
bravery, a lion of fury, a fox of cunning, & serpent ot
malice, &c. By and by artificial signs might be con-
trived to express such ideas as could not readily be de¬
noted by bodily objects. This might be symbo¬
lical writing. Such was the foundation of the Chinese
characters j and hence that prodigious number ot letters
of which the written language ot that people is compos¬
ed. Farther they could not proceed, notwithstanding
their boasted inventive powers •, and tarther, we believe,
no nation ever did proceed, who had once upon a time
no other characters but hieroglyphical. The Mexicans
had arrived at the very lowest stage of hieroglyphical
writing, but had not taken one step towards alphabeti¬
cal. The Hurons employ hieroglyphical symbds, but
never entertained a single idea ot alphabetical. Hiero-
glyphical characters are the images of objects conveyed
to the mind by the organs of vision •, alphabetic are ar¬
bitrary artificial marks of sound, accommodated by com¬
pact to convey to the mind the ideas of objects by tlve
organs of hearing. In a word, we think that there is
not the least analogy between these two species to con- I
duct from the one to the other : we are there ore 0 opi jn vu]gar
nion, that hieroglyphical characters were never the vu.-use;
gar channels of ideal conveyance among civilized people.
We know that in this point we differ from many
learned, judicious, and ingenious writers •, some of whom
have taken much pains to investigate the intermediate
stages through which the fabricators of characters must
have passed in their progress from hieroglyphical to
alphabetical writing. These writers have adopted a
plan analogous to Bishop Wilkins’s project of an arti
dal language. In this theory, we own, we are led to
suspect that°they supposed all mankind were once upon
a time savages, and were left to hammer out words, as
well as characters, by necessity, ingenuity, experience*,
practice, &c. For our part, we have endeavoured to
prove, in our section on the Hebrew language, t.iat
alphabetical writing was an antediluvian invention 5 am
we now lay it down as our opinion, that among all
those nations which settled near the centre ot cm iza-
tion,
(g) See Mr Bruce’s Travels, vol. i.
(h) Mr Bruce, Dr Shaw, Dishop Pococke, Savary, Volirey, &e.
Sect. III.
Chaldean tion, hieroglyphics were, comparatively, a modern fa-
Lan^uage, brication.
PHILOLOGY. 311
tributes and perfections of their deities, and the myste- Chaldean
See.
7°
fint em¬
ployed to
conceal
t 1 he Orientals are, at this day, extravagantly de¬
voted to allegory and fiction. Plain unadorned truth
has with them no charms. Hence that extravagant
medley of fables and romance with which all antiquity
is replete, and by which all ancient history is disguised
and corrupted. Every doctrine of religion, every pre¬
cept of morality, was tendered to mankind in parables
and proverbs. Hence, says the Scripture, to under¬
stand a proverb, the words of the wise, and their dark
sayings. TLhe eastern sages involved their maxims in
this enigmatical dress for several reasons : to fix the
attention of their disciples j to assist their memory ^
to gratify their allegorical taste; to sharpen their wit
mid exercise their judgment j and sometimes perhaps
to display their own acuteness, ingenuity, and inven¬
tion.
It was among the ancients an universal opinion, that
the most sacred arcana of religion, morality, and the su¬
blime sciences, were not to be communicated to the un¬
initiated rabble. For this reason every thing sacred was
involved in allegorical darkness.
< Here, then, we ought to look for the origin of
hieroglyphical or picture writing among the civilized
nations of the east, ^hey did not employ that spe-
wuucai cies of writing because they were ignorant of alphabe-
sacred doc- tical characters, but because they thought fit to con¬
fines from ceal the most important heads of their doctrines under
hieroglyphical figures.^ The Egyptian priests were
most celebrated tor their skill in devising those emble¬
matical representations ; but other nations likewise
employed them. We learn from the fragments of
Berosus the Chaldean historian, preserved by Syncellus
and Alexander Polyhistor, that the walls of the temple
of Belus at Babylon were covered all over with those
emblematical paintings. These characters were called
«g«<, because they were chiefly employed to represent
sacred objects ; and yXv((hx.oi., because they were origi¬
nally carved or engraved. Their name points to their
original use. Instead of pursuing these observations,
which the nature of our design will not permit, we
must refer our readers to Herodotus, lib. ii. Diodorus
Sic. lib. i. Strabo, lib. xvii. Plut. Isis et Osiris; and
among the Christian fathers to Clem. Alex. Euseb.
Praep. Evang. 5 but chiefly to Horapollo’s Hierogly-
phica.
From this deduction tve would conclude, that this
species of writing was an adventitious mode in Egypt,
peculiar to the priests, and employed chiefly to exhi¬
bit things sacred j and that among all civilized people
it did not supersede the use of alphabetical characters,
, nor did the use of the latter originate from the former,
ior in*16* ^*ien alphabetical letters were invented, if indeed they
metoal- were a human invention, they were antecedent to the
habetical °ther in use and extent. The Egyptian priests alone
liaracters. knew the true import of those sacred symbols j and com¬
municated that knowledge first to their own children
from generation to generation, then to the initiated, and
last of all to the grandees of the nation, all of whom
were indeed initiated. The hieroglyphics of Egypt
were not then the symbols of any sacred occult lan¬
guage 5 but signs invented by the priests, and prophets
or wise men, in order to represent their deities, the at-
3
71
i Prep. Ev.
rious arcana of their religion, and many other circum- Language,
stances relating to objects of importance, which were ^c*
deemed either too sacred or too important to be impart- v " *
ed to the vulgar.
The Egyptians ascribed the invention of letters to a
person whom they called Tkoth*, Theuth, or Thyoth;* Euseb;
the Greeks and the Homans Mercurius. Platof fpXrJras
calls him a god, or a godlike man j Diodorus J makes J Lib. i.
him privy counsellor to Osiris •, Sanchoniathon ap.
Euseb. § connects him with the Phoenician Cronus or <
Saturn. To this Mercury the Egyptians ascribe, the5
invention of all the arts and sciences. He was pro¬
bably some very eminent inventive genius, who flourish¬
ed during the first ages of the Egyptian monarchy,
and who perhaps taught the rude savages the art of
writing.
According to Diodoims Siculus, the Egyptians had Two kinds
two kinds of letters the one sacred, the other com-of alphabe-
mon : the former the priests taught their own children,1*^ cha-
the latter all learned promiscuously. In the sacred cha-racters *n
racters the rites and ceremonies of their religion were i.
couched ; the other was accommodated to the ordinary
business of life. Clem. Alexand. mentions three dif¬
ferent styles of writing employed by the Egyptians f.fSJrara.
“The pupils, who were instructed by the Egyptians,lib* Y‘
first learned the order and arrangement of the Egyptian
letters, which is called epistolography, that is, the man¬
ner of writing letters ; next, the sacred character, which
the sacred scribes employed ; lastly, the hieroglyphic
character, one part of which is expressed by the first ele¬
ments, and is called Cyriologic, that is, capital, and the
other symbolic. Of the symbolic kind, one part explains
properly by imitation $ and the other is written tropical-
ly, that is, in tropes and figures ; and a third by certain
enigmatical expressions. Accordingly, when we intend
to write the word sun, we describe a circle ; and when
the moon, the figure of that planet appearing horned,
conformable to the appearance of that luminary after
the change,” In this passage we have an excellent de¬
scription of the three different modes of writing used
by the Egyptians j the common, the sacred, and the
hieroglyphic. The last he describes according to its
three divisions, in exact conformity to our preceding ob¬
servations.
By the description above translated, it plainly ap-The sacred
pears, that the sacred character of the Egyptians was letters and
entirely different from the hieroglyphic 5 and by this la.D^uage
consideration we are in a good measure justified, in chalda't
supposing, as we have done all along, that the sacred
letters of the Egyptians were actually the Chaldaic.
The inscriptions on the obelisks mentioned by Cassio-
dorus, so often quoted, were certainly engraved in the
sacred character ; and the character in which they were
drawn was that above mentioned. If the sacred let¬
ters were Chaldaic, the sacred language was pi-obably
the same.
The Egyptians pretended, that the Babylonians de¬
rived the knowledge of the arts and sciences from them 5
while, on the other hand, the Babylonians maintained,
that the former had been tutored by them. The fact
is, they both spoke the same language ; used the same
religious rites ; had applied with equal success to astro¬
logy, astronomy, geometry, arithmeticj and the other
sciences y.
312
Chaldean
[Language,
&c.
PHILO
74
The Egyp¬
tian and
Phoenician
languages
the same.
7s,
The vulgar
letters of
Egypt
nearly the
same with
the He¬
brew or
Phoenician
sciences j of course a rivalsliip had arisen between the
two nations, which laid the foundation of those opposite
pretensions.
The most faithful specimen of the vulgar language of
the Egyptians, is, we believe, still preserved in the Cop¬
tic, which, however, is so replete with Grecisms, that it
must be difficult to trace it out.
Under the Ptolemies, the Greek was the language
of the court, and consequently must have diffused it¬
self over all the country. Hence, we believe, two-
fhirds of the Coptic are Greek words, diversified by
their terminations, declensions, and conjugations on y.
To be convinced of the truth of this, our learned aui
curious readers need only consult Christian Scholtz s
Egyptian and Coptic grammar and dictionary, cor¬
rected and published by Godfred W oide, Oxford,
The Egyptians and Phoenicians were in a manner
cousin-germans, and consequently must have spoken
the same language-, that is, one of the sister dialects
of the Hebrew, Chaldean, Arabian, Cushite, &c.
This is not a mere conjecture $ it may he realized by
almost numberless examples. It is true, that when
Joseph’s brethren went down to Egypt, and that ruler
deigned to converse with them, they could not un
derstand the Egyptian idiom which he spoke ; nor
would he, had he been actually an Egyptian, have
understood them without an interpreter. The only
conclusion from this circumstance is, that by this time
the Egyptian had deviated considerably from the ori¬
ginal language of mankind. The Irish and Welch,
everv body knows, are only different dialects of the
Celtic tongue and yet experience proves, that a native
of Ireland and another of Wales cannot well compre¬
hend each other’s language, nor converse intelligibly
without an interpreter. The Erse, spoken in the
Highlands of Scotland, and the Irish, arc known to be
both branches of the old Celtic} yet a Scotch High¬
lander and an Irishman can hardly understand each
other’s speech. By a parity of reason, a Hebrew and
an Egyptian might, in the age of Joseph, speak only
different dialects of the same original tongue, and yet
find it difficult to understand one another. Hie fact
seems to be, the Hebrew dialect had been in a manner
stationary, from the migration of Abraham to that pe¬
riod whereas the Egyptian, being spoken by a power¬
ful, civilized, and highly cultivated people, must have
received many improvements, perhaps additions, in the
course of near two centuries.
The descendants of Canaan and of Mizraim were
strictly connected in their religious ceremonies: they
worshipped the same objects, namely, the Host of Hea¬
ven ; they mourned Osins and Adonis in concei t j they
carried on a joint commerce, and, we think, spoke the
same language ; we may, therefore conclude, that then
vulgar letters were nearly the same, both in form, dispo¬
sition, and number. Their original number was proba¬
bly 16, viz. five vowels, six mutes, simple and middle,
four liquids, and the solitary <r.—With these, it is like¬
ly, was joined a mark of aspiration, or an h, such as we
have in the Roman alphabet, and find on some Greek
monuments. Cadmus was originally an Egyptian j that
leader brought a new set of letters into Greece. These
are generally deemed to be Phoenician. They were
yearly the same with the ancient Pelasgic, as will be
log Y. • Sect- m‘
shown in the section of the Greek language. The latter, Chaldean
we think, were from Egypt, and consequently the for- Language,
mer must have been from the same quarter. JJanaus, , ^
Perseus, Lelex, &c. were of Egyptian extraction : they
too adopted the Cad mean characters, without substitut¬
ing any of their own.
The Jonim or lonians, emigrated from Gaza, a
colony of Egyptians ; and their letters are known to
have differed very little from those of Cadmus and the
Pelasgi. The conclusion, therefore is, that the vul¬
gar Egyptian letters were the same with the Phoeni¬
cian.
We are abundantly sensible that there are found up¬
on Egyptian monuments characters altogether different'
from "those we have been describing. At what time,
by what people, and to what language, these letters
belonged, we will not pretend to determine. I be
Ethiopians, the Chaldeans, the Persians, the Greeks,
the Romans, the Saracens, have, at different times, been
sovereigns of that unhappy country. Perhaps other
nations, whose memory is now buried in oblivion, may
have erected monuments, and covered them with in¬
scriptions composed of words taken from difleient lan¬
guages, perhaps, upon some occasions, whimsically de¬
vised, with a view to perplex the curious antiquaries
of future ages. Some of these are composed of hie¬
roglyphics intermingled with alphabetical characters,
artificially deranged, in order to render them unin¬
telligible. These we do not pretend to develope be¬
cause the most inquisitive and sagacious antiquaries
are not vet agreed as to their purport and significa¬
tion 7^
We shall now go on to show, that most part of the
names of persons and places, &c. which have been jjebl,
i     - 11 r*c* ft n r* p* f i If* •
conveyed down to us, may, in general, be reduced to,
a Hebrew, Phoenician, Syrian, or Chaldean original.
As the first of these languages is most generally
known, we shall employ it as our arch-type or stand¬
ard, beginning with those terms which occur in Scnp-
ture. . f
The word 'Pharaoh, the title of the melech or king ot
Egypt, is, we think, compounded of two terms, which
plainly discover a Hebrew original. According to an
oriental tradition, the first who assumed this title was
the sovereign of the royal shepherds ; a race ot people
from Arabia and Phoenicia. They conquered Egypt
at an early period, and kept possession of it for several
centuries. They gloried in the title or iW«(,
which according to Josephus contra Apion, signifies
“ royal shepherds.” The word Pharaoh seems to be
compounded of is Phar, “ a bullock,t’ and nrj, Par hah,
“ to feed 4,” hence rijns, Pharachuh, as we think it ouglit
to be written. The name given to Joseph is evidently
of kin with the Hebrew for %aphnalh differs very
little from the Hebrew verb tzaphan, which signifies
“ to hide, to keep secret j” Paneah or Phaneah, signi¬
fies much the same with the Hebrew Phanah, aspexit:
so that the name actually intimates one who sees hidden
things j which was certainly the very idea the prince
intended to convey by giving him that name.
Potiphar, or Potipherah, the name of Joseph’s father-
in-law, has likewise a dialectical affinity with the He¬
brew idiom. In that language Patah signifies “ to open,
to explain,” which was one part of the sacerdotal of¬
fice; and Phar imports “ a bullock.” Potiphar was
7 then
>inai
Sect IIL philology
ChaWean tlien priest of the bullock, that is, the ox anif sacre.l »nA fl w u ° •
Language, t ,1.^ „„„ ,.s ,r, • ’ ’ . e t,x’ and the Hebrew ow,
&c , . ® sun A 'n& Pe,son was priest or prince of On.
——v— ' which, according to Cyrillus on Hosea, was an Eoyn.
tian name of that luminary. The Hebrew word hon or
chon signifies “ power, wealth, sufficiency 5” a very pro¬
per epithet for the sun, who was thought to bestow^
those blessings. The name of Joseph’s wife was Asenath
or Asnath, compoundedof Ishah, “ a woman,” and Naith
or Neit, an Egyptian name of Minerva, “ a votary of
Minerva.”
Almost all the names of cities belonging to Egypt
which are mentioned in Scripture are evidently Hebrew,
lo be satisfied as to this position, our curious readers
may consult Jamieson’s Spicilegia, an excellent book ve-
77
cantiu ihat1^ kno.wm J he names of most of the Egyptian
language, deities are significant in the Hebrew tongue; and in that
dialect the names appear to have been imposed with great
judgment and propriety, plainly indicating some office
assigned them, or pointing to some peculiar attribute.
We shall produce a few instances.
Osiris was the great divinity of Egypt ; he was cer¬
tainly the sun. The Egyptians gave their deities a va-
nety of names in allusion to their various offices and at¬
tributes. Jablonski has in a manner wearied himself
with tracing the signification of this name. In Hebrew
we have. Osfu'r, “ to grow rich, to be enriched.” The
sun may be called the great enricher of nature, and
therefore might properly he called by a name alluding
to that quality. Isis was both the moon and the earth.
Ishah is the Hebrew word for woman, and Horapollo
assigns this very derivation. Anuhis was one of the
names of Mercury among the Egyptians : He was al¬
ways figured with the head of a dog. He accompanied
Isis in her peregrinations in quest of Osiris, and frighted
aivay the wild beasts from attacking the princess. In
Hebrew, Nubah signifies “ to bark.” Here the analo¬
gy, we think, is evident. Many Egyptian names be¬
gin with Can, such as Canobus, Canopus, Sue. The
Hebrew word Cahen or Cohen, Syr. Con or Chon, inti¬
mates both a prince and a priest. Ob or Anb, in He¬
brew, imports “ a bottle, a flaggon,” any thing round
and prominent like the human belly. In the language
of Egypt it was often applied to the sun, in allusion to
his rotundity. In the temple of Jupiter Ammon or Amon,
in the desert of Libya, there was a statue of the god re¬
presenting the navel of the human body, which was pro¬
bably framed in allusion to this fancy. Hence the Py¬
thoness, or people who, according to the Scripture, had
familiar spirits, were said to prophecy by the inspiration
of Ob, as the Delphic priestess did by that of Apollo.
Again, many Egyptian names end with sir is, as Calasi-
ns, Termosiris. This termination is no doubt a cog¬
nate of the Hebrew and Chaldean sar or sar, signifying
“a prince, or grandee, &c.” The river Nile in the
Ethiopic dialect is called Siris ; that is, we believe, the
King of rivers. The same flood seems to derive the name
y w^*ch it is generally known, from the Hebrew nehel,
a valley, or torrent running down a valley.” The
same river was often called Oceanus, a word composed
of og, or oc, orvoch, which signifies “ a king, a leader^”
313
, ’ a fountainso that the word Chaldean
imports the king of fountains. The Hebrews always de- Language.,
nominated the land of Egypt the land of Mizraim ; the 240
Egyptians themselves, in later times, seemed to have ' 
called ,t A<yt/wref, Mgyptv.s, “ Egypt,” which some
think is compounded of Ai, Hebrew, “ an island a
country, a province,” and Copt or Cupt, “ a famous ci-
ty in that country.”
From this specimen, we hope it will appear that the
Egyptian language in the more early ages was one of
those dialects into which that of the descendants of the
postdiluvian patriarchs was divided, and perhaps subdi¬
vided, a few centuries after the deluge. Among all
those, we believe, such an affinity will be found, as
plainly demonstrates that they originally sprung from
one common stock. Here w^e might easily follow the
Egyptian language into Greece; and there we are per¬
suaded we might trace a vast number of Egyptian terms
into that tongue, which, however, the nature of this in¬
quiry wii not permit. If onr learned readers should in¬
cline to know more of the affinity of the Egyptian
tongue with the others so often mentioned, they may
c®,,su!t Bochart’s Chanaan, Walton’s*Pro%. Gebelin’s
Monde rrim. Jamieson’s Spicilegia, &c.
Sect. I\ . Of the Persian Language.
The Persian language is divided into the ancient and
modern ; the former of which is at this day very imper¬
fectly known, the latter is at present one of the most ex-
pressive, and at the same time one of the most highly
polished, in the world. We shall, in treating of this
language, in compliance with the plan we have all along
followed, begin with the ancient.
When Mohammed was born, and Anu'shi'rava'n, At the
whom he calls the just king, sat on the throne of Persia, birth of
two languages were generally prevalent in that em,M°ham-
Plre W* Tl,e one was called Deri, and was the dia- ?icd two
lect of the court, being only a refined and elegant branch‘3^
of the Parsi, so called from the province of which Shi-m Eersia.
rax is now the capital; and that of the learned, in
which most hooks were composed, and which had the
name of Pahlavi, either from the heroes who spoke it
in former times, or from pahlu, a tract of land which
included some considerable cities of Iran: The ruder
dialects of both were spoken by the rustics of several
provinces ; and many.of these distinct idioms were ver¬
nacular, as happens in every kingdom of considerable
extent. Besides the Parsi and Pahlavi, a very ancient And
and abstruse tongue was known to the priests and philo- more an-
sophers, called the language of the Zend, because a book ciellt ian~
on religious and moral duties which they held sacred g.u?ge thtt“
!hat name’ ,,ad l!een written in it • known only
while the Caxend or comment on that work was com- to the
posed in Pahlavi, as a more popular dialect. The ]et-Prtests*
ters of this book were called %end, and the language
uvesta. ° °
. ^,e ^end and the old Pahlavi are now almost extinct
in Iran, and very few even of the Guebres can read it;
while the Parsi remaining almost pure in Shabnameht
has
S Tlf SeP,tUagint !,Gfn' xli\V* 45- and 5°-) translate On by
Vol. XVl!rpart I^6 emPire °f Persia Irani a name unknown to the ancients.
1 R r
P HILO
l,as, by the intermixture of Arabic words, and many
reman imperceptible changes, now become a new language, ex-
qu^itfly polished by a series of fine writers both m pro e
^ and verse, analogous to the d.fierent uhoms gradually
formed in Europe after the subversion of the Roman
r ?? "‘I'he'very learned and laborious Sir William Jones is
g»“Je »nd confldct that tl.e Cam abounda fill,
Sanscrit, with no other change than such as may be ob
Served’m the numerous dialects of India : that very ma-
*1 Persian imperatives are the roots of Sanscrit verbs 5
and that even the moods and tenses of the Persian verb
substantive, which is the model of all the rest, are dedu-
eible from the Sanscrit by an easy and clear analogy.
From this he infers that'the Parsi, hke Uie vanous
idiom dialects, is derived from the language of the
miu< This conclusion, we imagine, is not altogether
fust, since by the same train of reasoning we may inter
that the. Sanscrit is derived Irom the Parsi.
The same learned gentleman adds, that the nmk.tude
of compounds in the Persian language proves that it is
not of Arabic hut Indian original. This is undoubtedly
true j but though the Parsi is not of Arabic original, it
does not necessarily follow that it is of Sanscrit,
might with the same propriety, and with an equa show
'reason, conclude, that the Greek language is de¬
scended of the Sanscrit, because it to° ^teitl er
compounds. We may then rest assuied that neither
tlie one nor the other argument adduced by the ingeni¬
ous president proves that the Parsi tongue is a descen¬
dant of the Sanscrit. t .1 f
The gentleman so often mentioned, assures us, that
the Zend bears a strong resemblance to the Sanscri ,
which however, it might do without being actual!) e-
rived ’from it, since we believe every oriental scholar
will find that all the languages from the Mediterranean
to the utmost coast of Hindostan exhibit very strong
signatures of a common original The Pars,, however,
not heintr the original dialect of Iran or Persia, we shall
pursue k no farther at present, but return to give some
account of the Pahlavi, which was probably the primi¬
tive language of the country. We have observed above,
that the Pazend or comment on the Zend was com¬
posed in the Pahlavi for the use of the vulgar. Ibis,
according to Sir William, was a dialect of the Chal-
daieV and of this assertion he exhibits the following
I’rBv the nature of the ChaWean tongue moat word,
ended In the first long vowel like
and that very word, unaltered in a single letter, we tmd
fn thePazend, together with hM, “ night,” meya,
‘"*ter ” >!U “ fire,” matri, “ rain,” and a mnltt-
mde of others, all Arabic or Hebrew, with a Chaldean
termination; so %amar, by a beautiful metaphor from
' tree, means in Hebrew to expose verses, and
Ccefby an easy transition, to them ; now to
Pahlavi we see the verb %amarumten, to sing, with
it, forms ssvvavaunemi, “ I sing," and aiomW,
\ he sangthe verbal terminations of the Persian
heing added to the Chaldtie root. All these words are
integral parts of the language ; not adventitious like
the Arabic nouns and verbals engrafted on the modern
P<From this reasoning it plainly appears, 1st,That Pah-
lavi was-the ancient language of 1 ersta ; and, 2d, Lhat
Si
the Pahla¬
vi.
logy. • Sect lv-
the ancient Persian was a cognate dialect of the dial- Persian
dean, Hebrew, Arabic, Phoenician, &c M. Anquetil Language,
has annexed to his translation of the Lendavesta two
vocabularies in Zend and Pahlavi, which he found in
an a,.proved collection of Pawpyat or Traditional
Pieces in modern Persian. His vocabulary of the Pah¬
lavi strongly confirms this opinion concerning the Uial-
daic origin of that language. But with respect to the
Zend, it abounded with vast numbers of pure Sanscrit
words, to such a degree, that six or seven words in ten
belonged to that language. • 8 ^
From this deduction it would appear, that the oldest
languages of Persia were Chaldaic and Sanscrit: and ^ and
that when they had ceased to he vernacular, the i ahlavi Sanscrit,
and Zend were deduced from them respectively, and 5tc.
the Parsi either from the Zend, or immediately from
the kialect of the Brahmans : but all had perhaps a mix¬
ture of Tartarian ; for the best lexicographers assert,
that numberless words in ancient Persian are taken
from the Cimmerians. With respect to the last of
these, we cannot help being of opinion, that colonies of
people from the neighbourhood of Persia did transport
themselves into Crim Tartary, and perhaps into Europe.
These colonists brought along with them those vocables
which still occur in their dialect. Emigrants from those
quarters must have found their way into Scandinavia,
since numberless-Persian words are still current in those
regions. Perhaps Odin and his followers emigrated
from the neighbourhood of Media and Persia, and
brought with them the dialect of the nations from whose
country they had taken their departure.
With respect to the Zend, it might well he a dialect^ ZeI1(J
of the Sanscrit, and was probably a sacred language *, from the
and if so, concealed from the vulgar, and reserved for same
the offices of religion. If Zoroastres, or Zaratusht as source,
the orientals call him, travelled into Egypt, and was
initiated in the mysteries of the Egyptian religion, as
some pretend he was, he might be instructed in the sa¬
cred dialect of that people by the priests under whom
he studied. When that philosopher returned into Per¬
sia, and became the apostle of a new religion, he might
compose the volume of his laws and religious institu¬
tions in the sacred language of his Egyptian tutors.
This language then became that of the Magi, who con¬
cealed it carefully from the knowledge of the uninitiat¬
ed, as the priests did in Egypt and the Brahmans in
Hindostan. .
In our Section on the Sanscrit language, we shall
give a detail of a number of particulars, which to us
seem to furnish a presumption that the language m
question was imported from Egypt into Hindostan. Y\e
confess there are not sufficient data to improve these
presumptions into absolute certainty *, but we hope the
time is at hand when the worthy members ot the Asiatic
Society will discover abundant materials to ascertain
the truth of this position. We are the rather inclined
to adopt this hypothesis, when we consider the charac¬
ter of Zoroastres in connection wi h liiat of the Egyp¬
tian Cohens and of the Indian Brahams.
If this opinion should one day appear to be well-
founded, we believe the coincidence between the lan¬
guage of the Zend and the Sanscrit will be easily ac¬
counted for, without making the Hindoos masters ot
Iran or Persia, and then driving them hack to the shores
of the Ganges. That the nations of Turan or Scythia
PHILO
ifttrabo,
lib. ix.
Sect. IV.
Persian did actually overrun that country, and make themselves
Language, masters of a considerable part of it at different times, is
   vouched by the records and traditions of the Persians
themselves. Upon those occasions a number of Tarta¬
rian words might be introduced into the country, and
acquire a currency among the inhabitants. As the an¬
nals ot ancient Persia have been long since destroyed
and consigned to eternal oblivion, it is impossible to as¬
certain either the extent or duration of these irrup¬
tions. Indeed the nature of our design does not call
for that investigation.
Proofs from I" order to corroborate the cognation between the
Scripture Chaldean and Pahlavi languages, we shall subjoin a few
oftkeori- arguments derived from the Mosaic history, and the
Palikir?6 °?er writ*nP ot t,ie Testament. These we believe
will be admitted as irrefragable proofs of the position
above advanced by such as admit the authenticity of
those records.
Elam is always allowed to have been the progenitor
of the Persians. This patriarch was the eldest son of
Shem the son of Noah $ and according to the Mosaic
account, his posterity settled in the neighbourhood of
the descendants of Ashur, Arphaxad, Lud and Aram,
the other sons of Shem. The country where they set¬
tled was denominated Elymuis f, as late as the begin¬
ning of the Christian era. This name was retained till
the Saracens conquered and took possession of that coun¬
try. If this was the case, as it certainly was, the Ela¬
mites or Persians spoke a diVect of the primaiy lan¬
guage, which, in the first Section, we have proved to
have been the Hebrew.
When the four ea'-tern monarchs invaded the five
cities of the plain in Canaan Chedorlaomer king of
Elam xvas at the head of the confederacy. Amraphel
king of Shinar, that is Babylon or Chaldea, was one of
the allies; Arioch king of Elasar was another; and Ti¬
dal, king of some scattered nations in the same neigh¬
bourhood, was the fourth. That Chedorlaomer was
principal in this expedition, is obvious from the histo¬
rian’s detail of the second, where that prince is placed
first, and the rest are named the kings that were with
him. This passage likewise demonstrates, that Elam,
Shinar, and Elasar, lay contiguous, and were engaged
in the same cause. Wherever the country in question is
mentioned in Scripture prior to the era of Daniel and
Ezra, it is always under the name of Elam. To go
about to prove this would be superfluous.
According to Xenophon the Persians knew no¬
thing of horsemanship before the age of Cyrus: but that
historian informs us, that after that monarch had intro¬
duced the practice of fighting on horseback, they be¬
came so fond of it, that no man of rank would deign to
fight on foot. Here it ought to be considered, that the
historian above mentioned was now writing a moral, mi¬
litary, and political romance; and therefore introduces
this anecdote, in order to exalt the character of his he¬
ro : so that we are not to suppose that the people under
consideration were unacquainted with the art of horse¬
manship till that period.
I he very name Phars or Pharos is certainly of He¬
brew origin, and alludes to the skill that people profes¬
sed in horsemanship. The original seems to be Pharsah,
unguluy “ a hoof;” and in the Arabic Pharos intimates
a horse, and Pharis a horseman. Consequently the peo¬
ple were denominated Parsai, and the country Pars, be-
f Gen.
chap, sir.
i Cyrop
ib. i.
LOG Y.
cause they were trained from their infancy to ride the rvr!.Ian
great horse, which indeed they deemed their greatest ho- Laneuagr
nour. This name was perhaps first imposed upon them ' v ^
by the neighbouring nations, and in process of time be¬
came their gentile appellation. Mithras is generally
known to have been the chief divinity of the Persians ;
a name which is plainly derived from Mither, “ prvat.”
We find in Strabo the Persian god Amanas, which is
plainly a cognate of Hamah, the “ sun or fire. ” H cnce
we believe comes Hamarim, the “hearths or chapels,”
where the fire sacred to the sun was kept burning; whit li,
we believe, the Greeks called Tlv^aCua, or “ fire-tem¬
ples.” Herodotus f mentions a custom among the Per-f Lib. ix.
sians, according to which, when they came to engage cap. 8 ;.
an enemy, they cast a rope with a kind of gin at the
end of it on their enemy, and by those means endea¬
voured to entangle and draw him into their power. The
people of Persia who employed this net or gin were
called Sorgotes, from sarags, sherag, or serig, a word
which in Hebrew, Arabic, and Chaldaic, signifies to
“ hamper or entangle:” hence perhaps the Greek word
’Zx^yccv*, a “ basket or net.” Sar or zar in Hebrew,
Phoenician, Syriac, &.c. signifies “ a lord, a prince;”
and hence we have the initial syllable of the far famed
%ar-tusht, Zoroastres. In a word, most of the Persian
names that occur in the Grecian histories, notwithstand¬
ing the scandalous manner in which they have been dis¬
guised and metamorphosed by the Greeks, may still with
a little skill and industry be traced back to a Hebrew,
Chaldaic, Syriac, or Phoenician origin. In the books
of Daniel, Ezra, Nehemiah, and Esther, we find a
number of Persian names which are all of a Hebrew
or Chaldaic complexion : to investigate these at much
greater length would he foreign to the design of the
present article. If our curious reader should incline to
be more fully satisfied as to this point, he may consult
Bochart’s Chanaan, D’Herbelot’s Bib. Orient. Wal¬
ton’s Proleg. &c.
It now appears, we hope, to the entire satisfaction of
our readers, that the Pahlavi is a remnant of the old
Persian, and that the latter is a cognate branch of the
Hebrew, Chaldaic, Syriac, &c. We have likewise ad¬
duced some presumptive proofs that the Zend was co¬
pied from the sacred language of the Egyptians: we
shall now endeavour to explain by what changes and
revolutions the language first mentioned arrived at its
present summit of beauty and perfection^ Sc.
We have observed above, that the Scythians, whom Progress of
the old Persians called Zxkxi, Sactc, and whom the mo-the Persian
dern call Turan, often invaded and overran Persia at a*al,Sua£e-
very early period. The consequence was, an infusion of
Scythian or Tartarian terms, with which that language
was early impregnated. This in all probability occa¬
sioned the first deviation from the original standard.
The conquests of Alexander, and the dominion of his
successors, must, one would imagine, introduce an inun¬
dation of Greek words. That event, however, seems
to have affected the language in no considerable degree,
at least very few Grecian terms occur in the modern
Persian.
The empire of the Arsacidce or Parthians, we appre¬
hend, produced a very important alteration upon the an¬
cient Persian. They were a demi-Sc\thian tribe ; and
as they conquered the Persians, retained the dominion of
those parts for several centuries, and actually incorpo-
R r 2 rated
il6
P H
^ ~ I L O
Persian rated with the natives, their language must necessarily
Language, have {riven a deep tincture to the original dialect of the
  v 1 Pei •sians. Sir William Jones has observed, that the let¬
ters of the inscriptions at Istakhr or Persepolis bear some
resemblance to the old Runic letters ot the Scandinavi¬
ans. Those inscriptions we take to have been Parthian •,
and we hope, as the Partisans were a Tartarian clan,
this conjecture may be admitted till another more plau¬
sible is discovered. The Persians, it is true, did once
more recover the empire j and under them began the
reign of the Deri and Parsi tongues: the former con¬
sisting of the old Persian and Parthian highly polished •,
the latter of the same languages in their uncultivated
vernacular dress. In this situation the Persian lan¬
guage remained till the invasion of the Saracens in 636}
when these barbarians overran and settled in that fine
country j demolished every monument of antiquity, re¬
cords, temples, palaces, every remain of ancient super¬
stition j massacred or expelled the ministers of the Ma-
gian idolatry j and introduced a language, though not
entirely new, yet widely differing from the old exem-
plar* ; .
But before we proceed to give some brief account of
the modern Persian, we must take the liberty to hazard
one conjecture, which perhaps our adepts in modern
Persian may not find themselves disposed to admit. In
modern Persian we find the ancient Persian names won¬
derfully distorted and deflected from that form under
which they appear in the Scripture, in Ctesias, Mega-
sthenes, and the other Greek authors. From this it has
been inferred, that not only the Greeks, but even the
sacred historians of the Jews, have changed and meta¬
morphosed them most unmercifully, in order to accom¬
modate them to the standard of their own language.
As to the Greeks, we know it was their constant prac¬
tice, but we cannot believe so much of the Hebrews.
We make no doubt of their writing and pronouncing
the names of the Persian monarchs and governors of that
nation nearly in the same manner with the native Per¬
sians. It is manifest, beyond all possibility of contra¬
diction, that they neither altered the Tyrian and Phoe¬
nician names of persons and places when they had oc¬
casion to mention them, nor those of the Egyptians
when they occurred in their writings. 1 he Babylo¬
nian and Chaldaic names which are mentioned in the
Old Testament vary nothing from the Chaldean origi¬
nal. No reason can be assigned why they should have
transformed the Persian names more than the others.
On the contrary, in Ezra, Nehemiah, and Esther,
we find the Persian names faithfully preserved through¬
out.
The fact, we imagine, is this : Our modem admirers
now exist ^ie Persic have borrowed their names of the ancient
ing in Per- kings and heroes of that country from romances and fa-
sic, except bulous legends of more modern date and composition,
the Zend, archives of Persia were destroyed by the Saracens:
thc^aracennot^n£ °* imPortance was written in that country till
conquest, two centuries after the era of Mohammed. \\ hat suc¬
ceeded was all fiction and romance. The authors of
those entertaining compositions either forged names of
heroes to answer their purpose, or laid hold on such as
were celebrated in the ballads of their country, or pre¬
served by vulgar tradition. The names were no doubt
very different from those of the ancient kings and he¬
roes of Persia ; and ,probably many of them had under-
LOGY. Sect‘ tV-
gone considerable changes during the continuance of the Persian
Parthian empire. Upon this foundation has the learned Language.
Mr Richardson erected a very irregular fabric, new, and v v ^
to use his oWn expression, we think built upon pillars of
He has taken much pains to invalidate the credit
ice.
86
Nothing
tiow exist-
of the Grecian histories of the Persian empire, by draw¬
ing up in battle array against their records legions of ro¬
mantic writers, who were not born till near 1000 years
after the events had taken place j and to complete the
probability, who lived 200 years after all the chronicles
of the Medes and Persians had been finally destroyed by
the fury of the Saracens.
After the decisive victory obtained over the Persians
at Kadessa, their ancient government was overturned,
their religion proscribed, their laws trampled under
foot, and their civil transactions disturbed by the forci¬
ble introduction of the lunar for the solar kalendar ;
while, at the same time, their language became almost
overwhelmed by an inundation of Arabic words . which
from that period, religion, authority, and fashion, incor¬
porated with their idiom.
From the seventh till the tenth century the Persian
tongue, now impregnated with Arabic ivords, appears
to have laboured under much discouragement and ne¬
glect. Bagdad, built by Almansor, became soon after
the year 762 the chief residence of the caliphs, and
the general resort of the learned and the ambitious fiom
every quarter of the empire. At length the accession of
the Buyah princes to the Persian throne marked in the
tenth century the great epoch of the revival of Persian
learning. About the year 977 the throne of Persia was
filled by the great Azaduddawla J who first assumed the
title of Sultan, afterwards generally adopted by eastern
princes. He was born in Ispahan, and had a strong at¬
tachment to his native kingdom. His court, whether
at Bagdad or in the capital of Persia, was the standard
of taste and the favourite residence of genius. The na¬
tive dialect of the prince was particularly distinguished,
and became soon the general language of composition in ^
almost every branch of polite learning. From the md fp])e n)0St
of the tenth till the 15th century may be considered as flourishing
the most flourishing period of Persian literature. The period of
epic poet Firdausi, in his romantic history of the Persian '
kings and heroes, displays an imagination and smooth¬
ness of numbers hardly inferior to Homer. The whole
fanciful range of Persian enchantment lie has interwo¬
ven in his poems, which abound with the noblest efforts
ef genius. This bard has stamped a dignity on the mon¬
sters and fictions of the east, equal to that which the
prince of epic poetry has given to the mythology of an¬
cient Greece. His language mny at the same time be
considered as the most refined dialect of the ancient 1 ei -
sian, the Arabic being introduced with a very sparing
band : whilst Sadi, Jami. Hafiz, and other succeeding
writers, in prose as well as verse, have blended in their
works the Arabic without reserve j gaining perhaps in
the nervous luxuriance of the one language what may
seem to have been lost in the softer delicacy of the other.
Hence Ebn Fekreddin Anju, in the preface to the dic¬
tionary called Farhang Jehanguiri, says, that the Deri
and the Arabic idioms were the languages of heaven ;
God communicating to the angels his milder mandates
in the delicate accents of the first, while his stern com¬
mands were delivered in the rapid accents of the last.
For near 300 years the literary fire of the Persians
PHILOLOGY
Sect. IV.
Persian Seems indeed to have been almost extinguished ; since,
Language, during that time, hardly any thing of that peojde which
v deserves attention has appeared in Europe : enough,
however, has already been produced, to inspire ns with
a very high opinion of the genius of the east. In taste,
the orientals are undoubtedly inferior to the best writers
of modern Europe $ but in invention and sublimity,
they are excelled, perhaps equalled, by none. The
Persians affect a rhetorical luxuriance, which to a Eu¬
ropean wears the air of unnecessary redundance. If to
these leading distinctions we add a peculiar tone of
imagery, of metaphor, of allusion, derived from the
difference of government, of manners, of temperament,
and of such natural objects as characterise Asia from
Europe j we shall see, at one view, the great points of
variation between the writers of the east and west.
Amongst the oriental historians, philosophers, rhetori¬
cians, and poets, many will be found who would do ho¬
nour to any age or people; whilst their romances,
their tales, and their fables, stand upon a ground which
Europeans have not yet found powers to reach. We
might here quote the Arabian Nights Entertainments,
88 Persian Tales, Pilpay’s Fables, &c.
The genius We shall now annex a few strictures on the genius of
r/ertuepmic.that-n0ble lanSUaSe > t,10Ugh ^ is our opinion that the
•province of the philologist is to investigate the origin,
progress, and final improvement of a language, without
descending to its grammatical minutiae or peculiar
idiomatic distinctions. We have already observed,
that the tongue under consideration is partly Arabic
and paitly Persian, though the latter generally has
the ascendant. I he former is nervous, impetuous,
and masculine } the latter is flowing, soft, and luxu¬
riant. Wherever the Arabic letters do not readily in¬
corporate with the Persian, they are either changed
into others or thrown away. Their letters are the Ara¬
bic with little variation; these being found more com¬
modious and expeditious than the old letters of the
Den and Parsi. Iheir alphabet consists of 32 letters,
which, like the Arabic, are read from right to left :
their form and order will be learned from any gram¬
mar of that language. The letters are divided into
vowels and consonants as usual. The Arabic charac¬
ters, like those of the Europeans, are written in a va¬
riety of different bands; but the Persians write their
poetical works in the Talick, which answers to the
most elegant of our Italic hands.
.esem- ^fre /s a great resemblance between the Persian
Sn Kr “l • LrnSlish languages in the facility and simplicity of
i an and , ir °!'m ant* construction : the former, as well as the
' ;iiglish. a^er> ,as no difference of terminations to mark the
gender either in substantives or adjectives 5 all inani¬
mate things are neuter ; and animals of different sexes
have either different names, or are distinguished by the
words male, and made, female. Sometimes in¬
deed a word is made feminine, after the manner of the
Arabians, by having s added to it.
I he Persian substantives have but one variation of
case, which is formed by adding a syllable to the nomi¬
native in both numbers; and answers often to the da¬
tive, but generally to the accusative, case in other lan¬
guages. I he other cases are expressed for the most
part by particles placed before the nominative. The
Persians have two numbers, singular and plural 3 the
atter is formed by adding a syllable to the former.
The Persian a ‘ -'‘Ives admit of no variation but in Persian
the degrees of ison. "Ihe comparative is form- Language,
ed by adding ter, and the superlative by adding
to the positive.
I he Persians have active and neuter verbs like
other nations; but many of their verbs have both an
active and neuter sense, which can be determined only
by the construction. Those verbs have properly but
one conjunction, and but three changes of tense: the
imperative, the aorist, and the preterite 3 all the other
tenses being formed by the help of particles or of aux¬
iliary verbs. The passive voice is formed by adding
the tenses of the substantive verb to the participle of
the active.
In the ancient language of Persia there were very
few or no irregularities 3 the imperative, which is often
irregular in the modern Persian, was anciently formed
from the infinitive, by rejecting the termination eedtn :
for originally all infinitives ended in den, till the Arabs
introduced their harsh consonants before that syllable,
which obliged the Persians, who always affected a
sweetness of pronunciation, to change the old termina¬
tion of some verbs into ten, and by degrees the original
infinitive grew quite obsolete; yet they still retain the
ancient imperative,and the aorists which are formed from
it. This little irregularity is the only anomalous part of
the Persian language ; which nevertheless far surpasses
in simplicity all other languages ancient or modern.
With respect to the more minute and intricate parts
of this language, as well as its derivations, compositions,
constructions, &c. we must remit our readers to Mi-
mnskie’s Institutiones Luiguce Tui'cicce, cum vvdimen-
hs parallel™ linguarum Arab, et Pet s. ; Sir William
Jones’s Persian Grammar 3 Mr Richardson’s Arabian
and Persian Dictionary 3 D’Herbelot’s Bibl. Orient. ;
Dr Hyde de Belig. vet. Pers. &c. Our readers, who
would penetrate into the innermost recesses of the Per¬
sian history, colonies, antiquities, connections, dialects,
may consult the last mentioned author, especially chap,
xxxv. De Persia et Persantm nominibus, et de mo-
derna atque veten lingua Persica, ejusque dialect™.
In the preceding inquiry we have followed other au¬
thors, whose accounts appeared to us more natural,
and much less embarrassing.
Po conclude this section, which might easily have Utility of
been extended into a large volume, W'e shall only take the Am-
the liberty to put our readers in mind of the vast utili-bian.and
ty of the Arabian and Persian languages. Numberless ^>eis^ari^an"
events are preserved in the writing of the orientals which
were never heard of in Europe, and must have for ever
lain concealed from the knowledge of its inhabitants,
had not these two tongues been studied and understood
by the natives of this quarter of the globe. Many of
those events have been transmitted to posterity in poems
and legendary tales like the Runic fragments of the
north, the romances of Spain, or the heroic ballads ol
our own country. Such materials as these, we imagine,
may have suggested to Firdausi, the celebrated heroic
poet of Persia, many of the adventures of his Shahnume 3
which, like Homer when stript of the machinery of su¬
pernatural beings, is supposed to contain much true hi-
story, and a most undoubted picture of the superstition
and manners of the times. *1 he knowledge of these two
languages has laid open to Europe all the treasures of
oriental learning, and has enriched the minds of Rrit<4ps
with -
PHILO
with Indian science as much as the prudence of the re-
e. gions has increased their wealth and enervated their
constitution. .
Before we conclude this section, we shall subjoin a
few strictures on the nature of Persian poetry, in order
to render our inquiry the more complete. The modern
Persians borrowed their poetical measures fiom the
Arabs: they are exceedingly various and complicated ;
they consist of 19 different kinds 5 but the most common
of them are the lambic or Trochaic measures, and a
metre that chiefly consists of those compounded feet
which the ancients called which are composed
of iambics and spondees alternately. In lyric poetry
their verses generally consist of 12 or 16 syllables . t icy
some times, but seldom, consist of 14. Some of their ly¬
ric verses contain 13 syllables', but the most common
Persian verse is made up of 11 ; and in this measure
are written all their great poems, whether upon heroic
or moral subjects, as the works of Firdausi and Jami,
the Bostar of Sadi, and the Mesnavi of Gelaleddin.
This sort of verse answers to our common heroic rhyme,
which was brought to so high a degree of perfection by
Pope. The study of the Persian poetry is so much the
more necessary, as there are few books or even letteis
written in that language, which are not interspersed
with fragments of poetry. As to their prosody, no¬
thing can be more easy and simple. When the student
can read prose easily, he will with a little attention
read poetry with equal facility.
Sect. V. Sanscrit and Bengalese Languages.
aiic 3HU- The Sanscrit, though one of the most ancient lan-
scrit one 5TUa£TeS in the world, was little known even in Asia till
of the. most . ^ , -in r ai__  * ftlnrp that oe-
9*
The San-
. . about the middle of the present century. Since that pe-
Wua'es riod, by the indefatigable industry of the very learned
in th. “ and ingenious Sir William Jones, and the other worthy
world. members of that society of which he has the honour to
be president, that noble and ancient language has at
length been brought to light 5 and from it vast treasures
of oriental knowledge will be communicated both to
Europe and Asia*, knowledge which, without the exer¬
tions of that happy establishment, must have lain con¬
cealed from the researches of mankind to the end ot
the world. In this section we propose to give to our
readers such an account of that language as the limits
of the present article, and the helps we have been able
to procure, shall permit. . .
The Sanscrit language has for many centuries lain
concealed in the hands of the bramins ol Hmciostan. it
is by them deemed sacred, and is of consequence con¬
fined solely to the offices of religion. Its name imports
the perfect language, or, according to the eastern style,
the language of perfection ; and we believe no language
ever spoken by man is more justly intitled to that high
PThe grand source of Indian literature, and the parent
of almost every dialect from the Persian gull to the
China sea: , is the Sanscrit; a language ot the most vene-
Traces of rable and most remote antiquity, which, though at prt-
Sanserit in sent shut up in the libraries of the bramins, and appro-
every di- pV;ated solely to the records ol their religion, appears to
slrlcl °t’1 have been current over most of the oriental world. Ac-
*Z2vc cordingly traces of its original extent may be discovered
ia almost every district of Asia. Those who are ac-
5
LOGY. Sect. IV,
quainted with that language have often found the simi- Sanscrit
litude of Sanscrit words to those of Persian and Ara-andBenga
bic and even of Latin and Greek*, and that not in tech- lcs,: Lan-
nical and metaphorical terms, which refined arts and , ^ua^es'
improved manners might have occasionally introduced,
but in the main ground-work of language, in monosyl¬
lables, the names of numbers, and appellations of such
things as would be first discriminated on the immediate
dawn of civilization.
The ancient coins of many different and distant king¬
doms of Asia are stamped with Sanscrit characters,
and mostly contain allusions to the old Sanscrit my¬
thology. Besides, in the names of persons and places,
of titles and dignities, which are open to general no¬
tice, even to the farthest limits of Asia, may be found
manifest traces of the Sanscrit. The scanty remains
of Coptic antiquities afford little scope for comparison
between that idiom and this primitive tongue j but
there still exists sufficient ground to conjecture, that,
at a very early period, a correspondence did subsist be¬
tween these two nations. The Hindoos pretend, that
the Egyptians frequented their country as disciples,
not as instructors j that they came to seek that liberal
education and those sciences in Hindostan, which none
of their own countrymen had sufficient knowledge to
impart. Perhaps we may examine the validity of this
claim hereafter.
But though numberless changes and revolutions have
from time to time convulsed Hindostan, that part of it
which lies between the Indus and the Ganges still pre- <54
serves that language whole and inviolate. Here they N’unibert
still offer a thousand books to the perusal of the curious 5
many of which have been religiously banded down Irom g^age.
the earliest periods of human existence.
The fundamental part of the Sanscrit language is
divided into three classes: Dhaat, or roots of verbs,
which some call primitive elements ; Shubd, or original
nouns *, and Evya, or particles. The latter are ever
indeclinable, as in other languages j but the words
comprehended in the two former classes must be pre¬
pared by certain additions and inflexions to fit them 95
for a place in composition. And here it is that the Charactej
art of the grammarian has found room to expand it-lstics ofij
self, and to employ all the powers of refinement. Not
a syllable, not a letter, can be added or altered but by
regimen j not the most trifling variation of the sense,
in the minutest subdivision of declension or conjugation,
can be effected without the application of several rules :
all the different forms for every change of gender, num¬
ber, case, person, tense, mood, or degree, are methodi¬
cally arranged for the assistance of the memory, ac¬
cording to an unerring scale. The number of the ra¬
dical or elementary parts is about 700 ; and to these,
as to the verbs of other languages, a very plentiful
stock of verbal nouns owes its origin •, but these are not
thought to exceed those of the Greek either in quantity
or variety.
To the triple source of words mentioned above, every
term of truly Indian original may be traced by a labo¬
rious and critical analysis. All such terms as are tho-
rous^lily proved to bear no relation to any one ot the
Sanscrit roots, are considered as the production of
some remote and foreign idiom, subsequently ingrafted
upon the main stock ; and it is conjectured, that a ju¬
dicious investigation of this principle would throw a new
light
Scet. V.
lese Lan¬
guages.
Sanscrit light upon the first invention of many arts and sciences,
and Henga- and open a fresh mine of philological discoveries. We
shall now proceed to give as exact an account of the
constituent parts of this language as the nature of our
design will permit.
Ihe Sanscrit language is very copious and nervous.
The first of these qualities arises in a great measure
from the vast number of compound words with which
it is almost overstocked. “The Sanscrit (says Sir
William Jones) like the Greek, Persian, and German,
delights in compounds; but to a much higher degree,
and indeed to such excess, that I could produce words
ol more than 2o syllables $ not formed ludicrously like
that by which the buffoon in Aristophanes describes a
feast, but with perfect seriousness, on the most solemn
occasions, and in the most elegant works.” But the
style of its best authors is wonderfully concise. In the
regularity of its etymology it far exceeds the Greek
and Arabic j and, like them, has a prodigious number
of derivatives from each primary root. The gramma¬
tical rules also are numerous and difficult, though there
are not many anomalies. As one instance of the truth
of this assertion, it may be observed, that there are
seven declensions of nouus, all used in the singular, the
dual, and the plural numbers, and all of them different¬
ly formed, according as they terminate with a con¬
sonant, with a long or a short vowel ; and again, dif¬
ferent also as they are of different genders : not a no¬
minative case can be formed to any one of these nouns
without the application of at least four rules, which
vary likewise with each particular difference of the
nouns, as above stated : add to this, that every word
in the language may be used through all the seven de¬
clensions, which is a full proof of the difficulty of the
idiom.
The Sanscrit grammars are called Beeakerun, of
which there are many composed by different authors ;
some too abstruse even for the comprehension of most
bramins, and others too prolix to be ever used as refer¬
ences. One of the shortest, named the Sarasootec, con¬
tains between two and three hundred pages, and was
compiled by Anobbhootee Seroopgnam Acharige, with
a conciseness that can scarcely be paralleled in any
other language.
The Sanscrit alphabet contains 50 letters ; and it
is one boast of the bramins, that it exceeds all other
alphabets in this respect : but it must be observed, that
as of their 34 consonants, near half carry combined
sounds, and that six of their vowels are merely the cor¬
respondent long ones to as many which are short, the
advantage seems to be little more than fanciful. Be¬
sides these, they have a number of characters which Mr
Halhed calls connected vowels, but which have not
been explained by the learned president of the Asiatic
Society.
'CCXvt • ^anscr‘t character used in Upper Hindustan f
is gay to jje t{,e same original letter that was first de¬
livered to -the people by Brahma, and is now called
THewnagury or the language of angels, which shows the
high opinion that the bramins have entertained of that
character. Their consonants and vowels are wonder-
PHILOLOGY. 3,9
fully, perhaps whimsically, modified and diversified } to Sanscrit
97
inscrit
phabet.
I Plate
enumerate which, in this place, would contribute very and Uenga-
little either to the entertainment or instruction of our lese Lan-
readers. All these distinctions are marked in the Beids &uagcs-
(l), and must he modulated accordingly ; so that they “
produce all the effect of a laboured recitative: but by
an attention to the music of the chant, the sense of the
passage recited equally escapes the reader and the audi¬
ence. It is remarkable, that the Jews in their syna¬
gogues chant the Pentateuch in the same kind of melo¬
dy } and it is supposed that this usage has descended to
them from the remotest ages.
I he Sanscrit poetry comprehends a very great va- Poetry,
rietry of different metres, of which the most common are
these :
The mvnnee hurreneh chhund, or line of 12 or 19
syllables, which is scanned by three syllables in a foot,
and the most approved foot is the anapscst.
J he cdoee chhund, or line of eleven syllables.
I he anushtqfe chhund, or line of eight syllables.
I he poems are generally composed in stanzas of
four lines, called ushlogues, which are regular or irre¬
gular.
The most common ashlogue is that of the anushtof?
chhund, or regular stanza of eight syllables in the line.
In this measure the greatest part of the Mahdbdret is
composed. The rhyme in this kind of stanza should he
alternate \ bu’ the poets do not seem to be very nice in
the observance of a strict correspondence in the sounds
of the terminating syllables, provided the feet of the
verse are accurately kept.
This short anushtofe ashlogue is generally written by
two verses in one line, with a pause between j so the
whole then assumes the form of a long distich.
1 be irregular stanza is constantly called anydchhund,
of whatever kind of irregularity it may happen to con¬
sist. It is most commonly compounded of the lomr line
ca )ee chhund and the short anushlofe chhund alternately ;
in which form it bears some resemblance to the most
common lyric measure of the English.
Perhaps our readers may feel a curiosity to be inform¬
ed of the origin of this oriental tongue, ’if we believe
the bramins themselves, it was coeval with the race of
man, as was observed towards the beginning of this sec¬
tion. The bramins, however, are not the only people
who ascribe a kind of eternity to their own particular
dialect. We find that the Sanscrit in its primitive de- Ori-m of
stination was appropriated to the offices of religion. It this^tongue. -
is indeed pretended, that all the other dialects spoken in
Hindostan were emanations from that fountain, ta which
they might be traced hack by a skilful etymologist.
Plus, we think, is an argument of no great consequence,
since we believe that all the. languages of Europe, by
the same process, may be deduced from any one of those
current in that quarter of the globe. By a parity of
reason, all the different dialects of Hindustan may be
referred to the language in question. Indeed, if we
admit the authority of the Mosaic history, all languages
whatsoever are derived from that of the first man. "Tt
is allowed that the language under consideration is im¬
pregnated with Persian, Chaldaic, Phoenician, Greek,
and 4
(l) The books which contain the^religion of the hramina.
320 PHILO
Sanscrit and even Latin idioms. This, we think, atlords a pre-
and Benga- sumption that the Sancrit was one of those original dia-
Jese Lan- ]ects which were gradually produced among the clescend-
guages. ants of Noai,) jn proportion as they gradually receded
V ^ ' from the centre of population. What branch or
branches of that family emigrated to Hindustan, it is
not easy to determine. That they were a party ot the
descendants of Shem is most probable, because the
other septs of his posterity settled in that neighbour¬
hood. The sum then is, that the Hindoos were a colony
consisting of the descendants of the patriarch Shem.
It appears, however, by almost numberless monuments
of antiquity still existing, that at a very early period a
different race of men had obtained settlements m that
country. It is now generally admitted, that colonies ot
Egyptians had peopled a considerable part of Him o-
stan. Numberless traces of their religion occur eve¬
rywhere in those regions. The very learned presi¬
dent himself is positive, that vestiges ot those sacerdotal
wanderers are found in India, China, Japan, Tibet, ant
many parts of Tartary. Those colonists,. it is well
known, were zealous in propagating their religious cere¬
monies wherever they resided, and wherever they travel¬
led. There is at the same time even at this day a strik¬
ing resemblance between the sacred rites of the vulgar
Hindoos and those of the ancient Egyptians. Ibe
prodigious statues of Salsette and Elephanta fabricated
in the Egyptian style ; the vast excavations hewn out
of the rock in the former ; the woolly hair ot the sta¬
tues, their distorted attitudes, their grotesque^appearan-
ces, their triple heads, and various other configurations
—plainly indicate a foreign original. These phenome¬
na suit no other people on earth so exactly as the sons
of Mizraim. The Egyptian priests used a sacred cha¬
racter, which none knew but themselves } none were al¬
lowed to learn except their children and the choice ot
the initiated. All these features mark an exact para lei
with the bramins of the Hindoos. Add to this, that
the dress, diet, lustrations, and other rites °f both sects,
bore an exact resemblance to each other. Sir VV ilham
Jones has justly observed, that tjie letters of the Sanscrit,
stript of all adventitious appendages, arereally the square
, T :h n; Chaldaic characters. We learn from Cassiodorus f the
tpist^ et following.particulars : « The height of the obelisks is
51. equal to that of the circus } now the higher is dedicated
to the sun, and the lower to the moon, where the sacred
rites of the ancients are intimated by Chaldaic signa¬
tures by way of letters.” Here then it is plain that
the sacred letters of the Egyptians were Chaldaic, and
it is allowed that those of the bramins were ol the
same complexion j which affords a new presumption
of the identity of the Sancrit with those just men¬
tioned. . ,
That the Egyptians had at a very early period pene¬
trated into Hindostan, is universally admitted. Osins,
their celebrated monarch and deity, according to the^r
mythology, conducted an army into that country, taught
the natives agriculture, laws, religion, and the cultuie
of the vine, &c. He is said at the same time to have
left colonies of priests^as a kind of missionaries, to in¬
struct the people in the ceremonies of religion. Seso-
LOGY. Sect-v-
stris, another Egyptian potentate, likewise overran San^rit
Hindostan with an army, and taught the natives many and Benga.
useful arts and sciences. When the pastor-kings invad- J an.
ed and conquered Egypt, it is probable that numbers ot
the priests, in order to avoid the fury ot the merciless
invaders, who demolished the temples and persecuted the
ministers of religion, left their native country, and
transported themselves into India. These, we should
think, were the authors both of the language and reli¬
gion of the bramins. This dialect, as imported by the
Egyptians, was probably ot the same contexture with
the sacred language of that people, as it appeared many
a<res after. The Indians, who have always been an in¬
ventive and industrious race of men, in process of time
cultivated, improved, diversified, and constructed that
language with such care and assiduity, that it gradually
arrived at that high degree of perfection in which at
present it appears.
Had the learned president ol the Asiatic bociety (Mj,
when he instituted a comparison between the deities of
Hindostan on the one side and of Greece and Italy on
the other, examined the analogy between the gods ot
Hindostan and those of Egypt, we think he would have
performed a piece of service still more eminent. Haying
first demonstrated the similarity between the divinities
of India and Egypt, he might then have proceeded to
investigate the resemblance of the Egyptian and 1 nce-
nician with those of Greece and Rome. By this pro¬
cess a> chain would have been formed which would
have conducted his reader to comprehend at one view
the identity of the Zabian worship almost throughout
We foresee that it will he objected to this hypothe¬
sis, that all the dialects of Hindostan being clearly re¬
ducible to the Sanscrit, it is altogether impossible that
it could have been a foreign language. To this we an¬
swer, that at the early period when this event is suppo¬
sed to have taken place, the language of the posterity ot
the sons of Noah had not deviated considerably from
the primitive standard, and consequently the language
of the Egyptians and the Hindoos was nearly the same.
The Sanscrit was gradually improved : the language ot
the vulgar, as is always the case, became more and
more different from the original archetype; but still re¬
tained such a near resemblance to the mother-tongue as ^
proved the verity of its extraction. Bengalese
To the preceding account of the Sanscrit language language
we shall annex .a few strictures on the language ot iJen-deriv£d
gal, which we believe is derived from the other, and from the
is in most common use in the southern parts of Hm- Sanscnt.
dostan.
Though most of the ancient oriental tongues are
read from right to left, like the Hebrew, Ebaldaic, A-
rabic, &c. yet such as properly belong to the whole con¬
tinent of India proceed from left to right like those of
Europe. The Arabic, Persian, &c. are the grand
sources whence the former method Eas been derived;
but with these, the numerous original dialects ot llindo-
stan have not the smallest connection or resemblance.
The great number of letters, the complex mode ot
combination, and the difficulty of pronunciation, are
(m) See that gentleman’s discourse, Researches, vol. i.
2
101
Bengal
alphabet
102
Genders,
Sect. V. PHILO
Sanscrit considerable impediments to the study of the Bengal
and Benga-language j and the carelessness and ignorance of the
leseLan- people, and the inaccuracy of their characters, aggra*
■ gaafeS' ‘ vate tlle.se inconveniences. Many of their characters
are spurious ; and these, by long use and the hurry of
business, are now almost naturalized into the language.
The.Bengal alphabet, like that of the Sanscrit, from
which it is derived, consists of 50 letters, whose form,
order, and sound, may be learned from Mr Halhed’s
grammar of the Bengal language. The vowels are di¬
vided into long and short, the latter of which are often
omitted in writing. Most of the oriental languages are
constructed upon the same principle, with respect to the
omission of the short vowel. The Hebrews had no
sign to express it before the invention of the Masoretic
points $ in Arabic it is rarely inserted unless upon very
solemn occasions, as in the Koran ; in the modern Per¬
sian it is universally omitted { so to all the consonants
in the Sanscrit, the short vowel is an invariable appen¬
dage, and is never signified by any diacritical mark $
but where the construction requires that the vowel
should be dropped, a particular stroke is set under the
letter. It is in vain to pretend, in a sketch like this,
to detail the sound and pronunciation of these letters :
this must be acquired by the ear and by practice.
P v. . In t,le language, there are three genders, as
msT v • .reek’ ArabIc’ &c- The authors of this threefold
=> ’ division of genders, with respect to their precedence, ap¬
pear to have considered the neuter as a kind of residu¬
um resulting from the two others, and as less worthy or
less comprehensive than either (see section of the Greek).
The terminations usually applied upon this occasion are
aa for the masculine, and ee for the feminine. In San^
scrit, as in Greek and Latin, the names of all things in¬
animate have different genders, founded on vague and
incomprehensible distinctions: the same is the case with
the Bengal.
■ A Sanscrit noun, on its first formation from the ge¬
neral root, exists equally independent of case as of gen-
dei. It is neither nominative, nor genitive, nor accusa¬
tive j nor is impressed with any of those modifications
which mark the relation and connection between the
several members of a sentence. In this state it is called
an imperfect or crude notm. To make a nominative of
a word, the termination must be changed and a new
form supplied. Ihuswesee, that, in the Sanscrit at
least, the nominative has an equal right with any other
inflection to be called a case. Lverv Sanscrit noun has
seven cases, exclusive of the vocative; and therefore
comprehends two more than even those of the Latin.
Mr Halhed above mentioned details all the varieties of
these with great accuracy, to whose grammar we must
refer our readers. .1 he Bengal lias only four cases be¬
side the vocative; in which respect it is much inferior
to the other.
It would be difficult to account for the variety of
words which have been allotted to the class of pronouns
by European grammarians. The first and second per¬
son are chiefly worthy of observation ; these tWo should
seem to be confined to rational and conversable beings
only : the third supplies the place of every object in na¬
ture ; wherefore it must necessarily be endutd with a
capacity of shifting its gender respectively as it shifts the
subject; and hence it is in Sanscrit frequently denomi¬
nated an adjective. One of the demonstratives hie or
VOL. XVI. Part I. f
LOGY.
321
103
I eculiari-
es of
anscrit
nd Ben-
ilese
suns.
i//e usually serves for this purpose; and generally the Sanscrit
latter, which in Arabic has no other name than dhemeer and Benga
elghaayb, “ the pronoun of the absentee,” for whose lese ;Lan-
name it is a substitute. guages.
In most languages where the verb has a separate in- ^
flection to each person, that inflection is sufficient to Bengalese
ascertain the personality ; but in Bengal compositions, Pr°uo«n*-
though the first and second persons occur very frequent¬
ly, nothing is more rare than the usage of the pronoun
of the third ; and names of persons are inserted with a
constant and disgusting repetition, to avoid, as it should
seem, the application of the words he and she. The
second person is always ranked before the first, and the
third before the second. rIhe personal pronouns have
seven cases, which are varied in a very irregular manner.
Leaving these to the Bengalian grammar, we shall pro¬
ceed to the verb.
The Sanscrit, the Arabic, the Greek and Latin verbs,
are furnished with a set of inflections and terminations
so comprehensive and so complete, that by their form
alone they can express all the different distinctions both
of persons and time. Three separate qualities in them
are perfectly blended and united. Thus by their root
they denote a particular act, and by their inflection both
point out the time when it takes place and the number
of the agents. In Persian, as in English, the verb ad¬
mits but of two forms, one for the present tense and one
for the aorist; and it is observable, that while the past
tense is provided for by a peculiar inflection, the future
is generally supplied by an additional word conveying
only the idea of time, without any other influence on
the act implied by the principal verb. It is also fre¬
quently necessary that the different state of the action,
as perfect or imperfect, be further ascertained in each
of the tenses, past, present, and future. This also, in
the learned languages, is performed by other variations
of inflections, for which other verbs and other particles
are applied in the modern tongues of Europe and
Persia.
Every Sanscrit verb has a form equivalent to the
middle voice of the Greek, used through all the tenses voice of
with a reflective sense, and the former is even the most ®a!ascr*t
extensive of the two in its use and office : for in Greek verl)s'
the reflective can only be adopted intransitively when
the action of the verb descends to no extraneous sub¬
ject ; but iir Sanscrit, the verb is both reciprocal and
transitive at the same time.
Neither the Sanscrit, nor the Bengalese, nor the Plin-
dostanic, have any word precisely answering to the sense
of the verb 1 have, and consequently the idea is always
expressed by est mihi; and of course there is no auxilia¬
ry form in the Bengal verb correspondent to I have
written, but the sense is conveyed by another mode.
The very substantive, in all languages, is defective and
irregular, and theref ore the Sanscrit calls it a semi-verb.
It is curious to observe that the present tense of this
verb, both in Greek and Latin, and also in the Persian,
appears plainly to be derived from the Sanscrit. In the
Bengalese, this verb has but two distinctions of time,
the pi’esent and the past; the terminations of the several
persons of which serve as a model for those of the same 7og
tense in all other verbs respectively. Charac-
Verbs of the Bengal language may be divided into ter!st*cs
three classes, which are distinguished by their penulti- ^en"
mate letter. The simple and most common form has^ts.
S s an
PHILO
an open consonant immediately preceding the final let-
a-ter of the infinitive* The second is composed of those
' words whose final letter is preceded by another vowel or
open consonant going before it. The third consists en¬
tirely of causals derived from verbs of the first and se¬
cond conjugations. The reader will easily guess at the
impossibility of prosecuting this subject to any greater
length : avc shall therefore conclude with a few remarks
collected from the grammar so often mentioned, whicn
we apprehend may be more amusing, if not more in¬
structing.
The Greek verbs in ^ are formed exactly upon the
same principle with the Sanscrit conjugations, even in
the minutest particulars. Instances of this are produced
in many verbs, which from a root form a new verb by
adding the syllable mi, and doubling the first consonant.
This mode furnishes another presumption of the Egyp¬
tian origin of the Sanscrit. Many Greeks travelled in¬
to Egypt} many Egyptian colonies settled in Greece.
By one or other of those channels the foregoing inno¬
vation might have been introduced into the Greek lan¬
guage. .
To form the past tense, the Sanscrit applies a syllabic
augment, as is done in the Greek : the future has for its
characteristic a letter analogous to that of the same tense
in the Greek, and it omits the reduplication of the first
consonant. It may be added, that the reduplication of
the first consonant is not constantly applied to the pre¬
sent tense of the Sanscrit more than to those of the
LOGY. Sect. V.
barrassment in the form of a declension. Those are too Sanscrit
few in the Greek language, which occasions much in- ^enga-
convenience. See sect. Greek. imaR6!?-
The Latin is less polished than the Greek, and of con- v irmmJ
sequence bears a much nearer resemblance to the San¬
scrit, both in words, inflections, and terminations.
The learned are now convinced that the use of nu¬
merical figures was first derived from India. Indeed
the antiquity of their application in that country tar
exceeds the powers of investigation. All the nume¬
rals in Sanscrit have different forms for the ditlerent
genders, as in Arabic. There appears a strong proba¬
bility that the European method of computation was de¬
rived from India, as it is much the same with the San¬
scrit, though we think the Europeans learned it from
the Arabians. The Bengalese merchants compute the
largest sums hy fours ; a custom evidently derived from
the original mode of computing by the fingers.
The Sanscrit language, among other advantages, has
a great variety in the mode of arrangement; and the
words are so knit and compacted together, that every
sentence appears like one complete word. When two
or more words come together in regimme, the last ot
them only has the termination of a case \ the others are
known by their position •, and the whole sentence so-
connected, forms but one compound word, which is call¬
ed a foot.
Sect. VI. Of the Chinese Language.
io8'
VjieeK..
The natural simplicity and elegance of many ot the
Asiatic languages are greatly debased and corrupted by
the continual abuse of auxiliary verbs j and this incon¬
venience has evidently affected the Persian, the Hindo-
stan, and the Bengal idioms.
The infinitives of verbs in the Sanscrit and Benga¬
lese are always used as substantive nouns. Every body
knows that the same mode of arrangement very often
occurs in the Greek.
In the Sanscrit language, as in the Greek, there
are forms of infinitives and of participles comprehen¬
sive of time •, there are also other branches of the verb
that seem to resemble the gerunds and supines of the
Latin. ....
All the terms which serve to qualify, to distinguish,
or to augment, either substance ov action, are classed by
the Sanscrit grammarians under one head ^ and the
word used to express it literally signifies increase or ad¬
dition. According to their arrangement, a simple sen¬
tence consists of three members; the agent, the action,
the subject ; which, in a grammatical sense, are reduced
to two •, the noun and the verb. They have a particu¬
lar word to specify such words as amplify the noun
which imports quality, and answers to our adjectives 01
epithets ; Such as are applied to denote relation or con¬
nection, are intimated by another term which we may
107 translate preposition.
Sanscrit The adjectives in Bengalese have no distinction of
and Ucnga- gent|er or nUmber ; but in Sanscrit these words pre-
tlves^0" serve the distinction of gender, as in the Greek and
Latin.
Prepositions are substitutes for cases, tvliich could not
have been extended to the number necessary for expres¬
sing all the several relations and predicaments in which
a noun may be found, without causing too much em-
The Chinese, according to the most authentic ac-Antiquity
counts, are a people of great antiquity. J heir situa-of the Cn
tion was such, as, in the earliest ages of the world,
in a great measure secured them from hostile invasion.
Their little commerce with the rest of mankind pre¬
cluded them the knowledge of those improvements
which a mutual emulation had often generated among
other nations, who were situated in such a manner, with
relation to each other, as served to promote a mutual
intercourse and correspondence. As China is a large
and fertile country, producing all the necessaries, con-
veniencies, and even the luxuries of life, its inhabitants
were not under the necessity of looking abroad for the
two former, nor exposed to the temptation of engaging
in foreign commerce, in order to procure the latter.
Perfectly satisfied with the articles which their own
country produced, they applied themselves entirely to
the practice of agriculture and other arts connected
with that profession > and their frugality, which they re¬
tain even to this day, taught them the lesson ot being
contented with little } of consequence though their po¬
pulation was almost incredible, the produce of their sod
was abundantly sufficient to yield them a subsistence.
Their inventions were their own ; and as they bor¬
rowed nothing from other people, they gradually be¬
gan to despise the rest of mankind, and, like the an¬
cient Egyptians, branded them with the epithet ot bar¬
barians.
Those people had at an early period made amazing
proficiency in the mechanical arts. Their progress
in the liberal sciences, according to the latest and in¬
deed the most probable accounts, was by no means pro¬
portioned. In mathematics, geometry, and astronomy,
their knowledge was contemptible; and in ethics, or
moral philosophy, the complexion of their laws and
r J customs
I op
Their lan¬
guage an
original
tongue.
Sect. VI. PHILO
Chinese customs proves their skill to have been truly superficial.
.. They value themselves very highly at present upon their
oratorial talents j and yet of all languages spoken by
any civilized people, theirs is confessedly the least im¬
proved. To Avhat this untowardly defect is owing, the
learned have not yet been able to determine.
The language of the Chinese is totally different
from those of all other nations, and bears very strong
marks of an original tongue. All its words are mo¬
nosyllabic, and compositions and derivations are al¬
together unknown. Their nouns and verbs admit of
no flexions j in short, every thing relating to their idi-
ems is peculiar, and incapable of being compared with
any other dialect spoken by any civilized people. Most
baibarous languages exhibit something that resembles an
attempt towards those diacritical modifications of speech ;
whereas the Chinese, after a space of 4000 years, have
not advanced one step beyond the very first elements of
ideal communication. This circumstance, we think, is
a plain demonstration that they did not emigrate from
that region where the primitive race of mankind is
thought to have fixed its residence. Some have im¬
agined, we believe with good reason, that they are a
lar tartan race, which, breaking off from the main
body of that numerous and widely extended people, di¬
rected their march towards the south-east. There, fall¬
ing in with delightful and fertile plains which their po¬
sterity now inhabit, they found themselves accommodat¬
ed so much to their liking, that they dropped all desire
of changing their habitations. The country of China
is, indeed, so environed with mountains,deserts, and seas,
that it would have been difficult for men in their primi¬
tive state to have emigrated into any of the neighbour¬
ing regions. Uius secluded from the rest of mankind,
the Chinese, in all probability, were left to the strength
of their own inventive powers to fabricate a language,
as well as the other arts and improvements necessary
for the support and convenience of life.
It is indeed obvious that their stock of vocables,
when they emigrated from Tartary, was neither ample
nor properly accommodated to answer the purposes
of the mutual conveyance of ideas. With this slen¬
der stock, however, they seem to have been satisfied ;
for it does not appear that any additions were after¬
wards made to that which was originally imported.
Instead of framing a new race of terms by compound¬
ing their primitive ones; instead of diversifying them
by inflections, or multiplying them by derivatives, as
is done, in every other language ; they rather chose to
retain their primitive words, and by a variety of mo¬
difications introduced upon their orthography or pro¬
nunciation, to accommodate them to a variety of sig¬
nifications. Were it possible to scrutinize all the Tar¬
tarian dialects, and to reduce them to their primitive
monosyllabic character, perhaps the original language of
the Chinese might be investigated and ascertained. W e
know that attempts have been made to compare it with
some of the other Asiatic languages, especially the He¬
brew : This labour has, however, proved unsuccessful,
and no primeval identity has been discovered. Before
this comparison could be instituted with the most di¬
stant prospect of success, the language last mentioned
must be stripped of all its adventitious qualities ; and
not only so, but it must be reduced to the monosyllabic
LOGY.
323
tone, and then contrasted with the Chinese monosyl- Chinese
ables ; an undertaking which we are persuaded would Language
not be readily executed. After all, we are convinced ' v—-
that no resemblance of any importance would be disco¬
vered.
The Chinese language must then, in our opinion, 0”°,
have been a Tartarian dialect, as the people them-its fabrica-
selves were colonists from Tartary. We have observed tion.
above, that those people have not hitherto found out the
art of composition of words. This is the more surpri¬
sing, when we consider that, in the characters which
form their written language, they employ many com¬
positions. For example, the character by which they
represent misfortune, is composed of one hieroglyphic
which represents a house, and another which denotes
Jire ;' because the greatest misfortune that can befal a
man is to have his house on fire. With respect to the
language which they use in speech, though they very
often employ many words to express one thing, yet
they never run them together into one word, makino-
certain changes upon them that they may incorporate
the more conveniently, but always preserve them entire
and unaltered.
The whole number of words in the Chinese language PauJtvof
does not exceed 1200: the nouns are but 326. It its words,
must certainly appear surprising, that a people whose
manners are so highly polished and refined, should he
able to express so many things as must of necessity
attend such a course of life by so small a number of
words, and those too monosyllables. The difficulties
which attend this singular mode must he felt almost
eveiy instant ; circumstances which, according to the
ordinary course of things, should have induced them
to attempt both an augmentation of the number of
their words and an extension of those which they had
by composition and derivation. W^e learn from Du-
Halde* that the Chinese have two different dialects: * jr-1 f
the one vulgar, which is spoken by the vulgar, andc/itW
vanes according to the different provinces; the othervol ii.’
is called the Mandarin language, and is current only
among the learned. The latter is properly that which
was formerly spoken at court in the province of Kiang-
nan, and gradually spread among the polite people in
the other provinces. Accordingly, this language is
spoken with more elegance in the provinces adjoining
to K tang-nan than in any other part of the kingdom.
By slow degrees it was introduced into all parts of the
empire, and consequently became the universal lan¬
guage.
It then appears that the modern language of Chi¬
na was originally the court dialect, and utterly un¬
known to the hulk of the 2:eople. From this circum¬
stance we think it may fairly be concluded that this
dialect was deemed the royal tongue, and had been
fabricated on purpose to distinguish it from the vul¬
gar dialects. \\ e learn from Heliodorus, that the f F- + pn ■
thiopians had a royal language which was the same lib. vi!^
with the sacred idiom of the Egyptians. This Man¬
darin tongue was originally an artificial dialect fabri¬
cated with a view to enhance the majesty of the court,
and to raise its very style and diction above that of the
rest of mankind. The Chinese, a wonderfully inventive
people, might actually contrive a language of that
complexion, with an intention to render it obscure
S s 2 anc{
324
PHILO
Chinese and enigmatical (u). Sucli a plan wonld excite their
Language admiration, and would at the same time greatly ex-
1 ■ » ceeil their comprehension. In process of time, when
the Chinese empire was extended, the Mandarins who
had been brought up at court, and understood no¬
thing of the provincial dialects, found it convenient to
have the most eminent persons in every province taught
the language employed by themselves, in order to qualify
them for transacting the affairs of government with
them in a language which both understood. By this
means the royal dialect descended to the vulgar, and
in process of time become universal. The lartar dia¬
lect formerly in use vanished j only a few vestiges of it
remained ; which gradually incorporating with the royal
language, occasioned the variation of provincial tongues
above mentioned.
We are therefore clearly of opinion, that the mo¬
dern language of the Chinese was deduced from the
original Mandarin, or court dialect, and that this last
was an artificial speech fabricated by the skill and inge¬
nuity of that wonderful people. The learned have long
held it up as the primary dialect, because, say they, xt
bears all the signatures of an original unimproved lan¬
guage. In our opinion, nothing appears more inge¬
niously artificially. It is universally allowed that, in
its structure, arrangement, idioms, and phraseology,
it resembles no other language. Is not every learned
man now convinced that all the Asiatic languages yet
known, discover unequivocal symptoms of their cog¬
nation and family resemblance ? The Ethiopians,
deans, Arabians, Persians, Egyptians, Hebrews, Phoe¬
nicians, the Brahmans, Bengalese, the Hindoos border¬
ing upon China, all speak only different; dialects of one
language, varying from the original in dialect only,
some in a greater some in a lesser degree: why should
the Chinese alone stand altogether insulated and unal-
lied ? . . f
The languages of the North all wear congenial fea¬
tures. The Tartar or Tatar dialects of every clan,
of every canton, of every denomination, exhibit the
most palpable proofs of a near affinity : the Gothic and
Sclavonian dialects, which pervade a great part of Eu¬
rope and some parts of Asia, are obviously brethren,
and may easily be traced up to an Asiatic original.
Even some of the American jargon dialects contain vo¬
cables which indicate an Asiatic or European original.
Our readers, we flatter ourselves, will agree with us,
that had the language of the Chinese been the original
language, a resemblance must have still existed between
it and its descendants. If it had originated from any
other language, it would have retained some character¬
istic features of its parent archetype. As neither of
these is to be found in the fabric of the language under
consideration, the conclusion must be, that it is a lan¬
guage entirely different from all other tongues 5 that it
is constructed upon different principles, descended from
different parents, and framed by different artists.
The Chinese themselves have a common and imme¬
morial tradition, that their language was framed by Yao
LOGY. Sect IV.
their first emperor, to whom they attiibute the inven- Chinese
tion of every thing curious, useful, and ornamental. Language,
Traditional history, when it is ancient, uniform, and ^mmml
universal, is generally well founded : upon this occasion
we think the tradition above mentioned may be fairly
admitted as a collateral evidence. ... 112
The paucity of vocables contained in this singular a proof of
language, we think another presumption of its artificial its artifieiai
contexture. The Chinese Onomathetce would find it an*trilctui'e-
arduous task to devise a great number of new terms, and
would therefore rest satisfied with the smallest number
possible. In other languages we find the like economy
was observed. Bather than fabricate new words, men
chose sometimes to adapt old words to new, and, upon
some occasions, even to contrary significations. To
spare themselves the trouble of coining new terms, they
contrived to join several old ones into one; whence
arose a numerous race of compounds. Derivatives too
were fabricated to answer the same purpose. By this
process, instead of creating new vocables, old ones
were compounded, diversified, deflected, ramified, me¬
tamorphosed, and tortured into a thousand different
shapes.
The Greek is deservedly esteemed a rich and copious
language ; its radical words have been curiously traced
by several learned men, who, after the most laborious
and exact scrutiny, have found that they do not amount
to more than 300. The Sanscrit language is highly
compounded; its radical terms, however, are very few
in number. Upon the whole, we think we may con¬
clude, that the more any language abounds in com¬
pounds and derivatives, the smaller will be the number
of its radical terms. The Arabic admits of no compo¬
sition, and of consequence its words have been multi¬
plied almost in infinitum ; the Sanscrit, the Persian, and
the Greek, abound with compounds, and we find their
radicals are few in proportion. e 113
There are, we think, three different methods which Three dif-
may be employed in order to enrich and extend the
range of a language. 1st, By fabricating a multitude enricLing
of words ; the plan which has been pursued by the a language
Arabs. 2d, By framing a multitude of compounds and
derivatives; the artifice employed by the Greeks and the
authors of the Sanscrit. 3d, By varying the significa¬
tion of words without enlarging their number ; the me¬
thod practised by the Chinese and their colonists. The
Arabians, xve think, have shown the most fertile and
inventive genius, since they have enriched their lan¬
guage by actually creating a new and a most numerous
race of words. The fabricators of the Sanscrit and the
collectors of the Greek have exhibited art, but compa¬
ratively little fertility of genius. Leaving, therefore,
the Arabians, as in justice we ought, masters of the
field in the contest relating to the formation of language,
we may range the Greek and Sanscrit on the one side,
and the Chinese on the other; and having made this
arrangement, we may attempt to discover on which side
the largest proportion of genius and invention seems to
IeSt’ Tte
00 A., attempt of this nature, among a people like the Chinese, is by no means mprobaUe ; nor is its success
less probable. For a proof of this, we need only have recourse to Bishop Wilkins s Artificial Languag , .
Psalmanazar’s Dictionary of the language of Formosa.
PHILO
■ 14
That sv-
d opted by
, the Chi-
Sect. VI.
Chinese The Greek and Sanscrit (for we have selected them
Language.^ as most highly compounded) exhibit a great deal of art
[n modifying, arranging, and diversifying their com¬
pounds and derivatives, in such a manner as to qualify
them for intimating complex ideas; but the Chinese
have performed the same office by the help of a race of
monosyllabic notes, simple, inflexible, invariable, and at
the same time few in number. The question then comes
to be, whether more art is displayed in new-modelling
old words by means of declensions, compounds, and de¬
rivatives j or by devising a plan according to which mo¬
nosyllabic radical terms, absolutely invariable, should,
by a particular modification of sound, answer all the
purposes performed by the other. The latter appears
to us much more ingeniously artificial. The former re¬
sembles a complicated machine composed of avast num¬
ber of parts, congenial indeed, but loosely connected j
the latter may be compared to a simple, uniform engine,
easily managed, and all its parts properly adjusted. Let
us now see in what manner the people in question ma¬
naged their monosyllabic notes, so as to qualify them for
answering all the purposes of speech.
Though the number of words in the Chinese lan¬
guage does not amount to above 1200 ; yet that small
number of vocables, by their artificial management,
is sufficient to enable them to express themselves with
ease and perspicuity upon every subject. Without mul¬
tiplying words, the sense is varied almost in infinitum
by the variety of the accents, inflections, tones, aspi¬
rations, and other changes of the voice and enuncia¬
tion 5 circumstances which make those who do not
thoroughly understand the language frequently mistake
one word for another. This will appear obvious by an
example.
The word teov pronounced slowly, drawing out the
y and raising the voice, signifies a lord or master. If
it is pronounced with an even tone, lengthening the r,
it signifies a hog. When it is pronounced quick and
lightly, it imports a kitchen. If it be pronounced in a
strong and masculine tone, growing weaker towards the
end, it signifies a column.
By the same economy, the syllable yw, according to
the various accents, and the different modes of pronun¬
ciation, has eleven different significations. It signifies
glass, to boil, to winno w rice, wise or liberal, to prepare,
an old woman, to break or cleave, inclined, a very little,
to water, a slave or captive. From these examples, and
from almost numberless others which might be adduced,
it is abundantly evident that this language, which at first
sight appears so poor and confined, in consequence of
the small number of the monosyllables of which it is
composed, is notwithstanding very copious, rich, and
expressive.
Again, the same word joined to various others, im¬
ports a great many different things j for example mou,
when alone, signifies a tree, wood; but when joined with
another word, it has many other significations. Mou
leoo, imports “ wood prepared for building $” mou lan
is “ bars, or wooden grates 5” mou hia, “ a box j” mou
sang, “a chest of drawers;” mou tsiang, “a cax-penter;”
mou eul, “ a mushroom mou nu, “ a sort of small
orange mou sing, “ the planet Jupiter mou mien,
“ cotton,” &c. This word may be joined to several
others, and has as many differe;.*■>. significations as it has
different combinations.
LOGY. 325
Thus the Chinese, by a different arrangement of Chinese
their monosyllables, can compose a regular and ele-Language,
gant discoure, and communicate their ideas with entr- v
gy and precision ; nay even with gracefulness and pro¬
priety. In these qualities they are not excelled either
by the Europeans or Asiatics, who use alphabetical
letters. In fine, the Chinese so naturally distinguish
the tones of the same monosyllable, that they com¬
prehend the sense of it, without making the least re¬
flection on the various accents by which it is deter¬
mined.
We must not, however, imagine, as some authors have ConsJquen-
related, that those people cant in speaking, and make aces of this
sort of music which is very disagreeable to the ear; met*lod .on
these different tones are pronounced so curiously, that Pronuncia-
ctr-a n rvo-no Grwl If ,!\ IT*, 4. _    • .1 • 1 •
even strangers find it difficult to perceive their difference
even in the province of Kiang-nan, where the accent is
more perfect than in any other. Jhe nature of it may
be conceived by the guttural pronunciation in the Spa¬
nish language, and by the different tones that are used
in the Fiench and Italian; these tones are almost im¬
perceptible ; they have, however, different meanings, a
circumstance which gave rise to the proverb, that the
tone is all.
If the fineness and delicacy of their tones are such
as to be scarce perceptible to a stranger, we must sup¬
pose that they do not rise high, but only by small in¬
tervals ; so that the music of their language must some¬
what resemble the music of the birds, which is within a
small compass, but nevertheless of great variety of notes.
Hence it will follow, that strangers will find it very dif¬
ficult, if not impossible, to learn this language; more
especially if they have not a delicate ear and a flexible
voice, and also much practice. The great difference
then between the Chinese and Greek accents consists in
this, that the Greeks had but two accents, the grave and
acute, distinguished by a large interval, and that not
very exactly marked : for the acute, though it never
rises above a fifth higher than the grave, did not always
rise so high, but was sometimes pitched lower according
to the voice of the speaker. The Chinese must have
many more accents, and the intervals between them
must be much smaller, and much more carefully mark¬
ed : for otherwise it would be impossible to distinguish
them. At the same time, their language must be much
more musical than the Greek, and perhaps more so than
any language ought to be; but this becomes necessary for
the purposes above mentioned. Hu Halde is positive,
that notwithstanding the perpetual variation of accents
in the Chinese tongue, and the almost imperceptible in¬
tervals between these tones, their enunciation does not
resemble singing : many people, however, who have re¬
sided in China, are equally positive that the tone with
which they utter their words does actually resemble
canting; and this, when we consider the almost imper¬
ceptible intervals by which they are perpetually raising
and lowering the tone of their voice, appears to us high¬
ly probable.
As the people of whose language we are treating at
piesent communicate a variety of different significations
to their monosyllabic words by their different accentua¬
tion, so they employ quantity for the very same purpose.
By lengthening or shortening the vowels of their words,
they employ them to signify very different things. The
same they perform by giving their words different aspi- .
rations,.
tion.
32<5
Chinese,
LanffuaKe
116
Grammar
of the Chi
nese.
1x7
Chinese
letters or
characters
PHILO
rations, as likewise by sounding them with different de¬
grees of roughness and smoothness, and even sometimes
' by the different motion, posture, or attitude, with wmch
their enunciation is accompanied. By these methods ot
diversifying their monosyllables (says Du Halde), they
make 330 of them serve all the purposes ot language,
and these too not much varied in their termination *, since
all the words in that language either terminate with a
Towel or with the consonant n, sometimes with the con¬
From this account, we think it is evident that the
Chinese, by a wonderful exertion of ingenuity, do, by
different tones and prosodical modifications, by means ot
a very inconsiderable number of words, all invariable
radicals, actually perform all that the most polished na¬
tions have been able to achieve by their compounds,
derivatives, &c. diversified by declensions, conjugations,
and flexions of every kind 5 circumstances which, in our
opinion, reflect the greatest honour on their inventive
1)0 With respect to the grammar of this language, as it
admits of no flexions, all their words being indeclinable,
their cases and tenses are all formed by particles. 1 hey
have no idea of genders j and even the distinction ot
numbers, which in almost all other languages, even the
most unimproved, is marked by a particular word, is in
the Chinese only indicated by a particle. Ihey have
only the three simple tenses, namely, the past, present,
and future ; and for want of different terminations, the
same word stands either for the verb or the verbal sub¬
stantive, the adjective or the substantive derived from it,
according to its position in the sentence.
The Chinese language being composed of monosyl¬
lables, and these indeclinable, can scarce be reduce! to
grammatical rules: we shall, however, attempt to lay
before our readers as much of the texture of that sin¬
gular dialect as may enable them to form some vague
idea of its genius and constitution. F\e shall begin
with the letters, and proceed regularly to the remaining
parts as they naturally succeed each other.
The art of joining the Chinese monosyllables to0 -
ther is extremely difficult, and requires a very long and
laborious course of study. As they have only figures
by which they can express their thoughts, and have no
accents in writing to vary the pronunciation, they are
obliged to employ as many different figures or charac¬
ters as there are different tones, which give so many
different significations to the same word. Besides some
single characters signify two or three words, and some¬
times even a whole period. For example, to wnte
these words, good morrow, Sir, instead of joining he
characters which signify good and morrow with that
of Sir, a different character must be used, and this cha¬
racter alone expresses these three words. This circum¬
stance greatly contributes to multiply the Chinese eba-
la Tte method of joining the monosyllables is indeed
sufficient for wiling so as to be understood ; but ;t s
deemed trifling, and is used only by tbe vulgai. fbe
Style that is employed, in order to sb.ne in composi¬
tion is quite different from that tyhicb is used in con¬
versation, though tbe words are in reality the same.
In writings of that species, a man of letters must use
mote elegant phrases, more lofty expressions, and the
Whole must be dignified with tropes and figures which
LOGY. Sect. VI.
arc not in general use, but in a peculiar manner adapt- Chinese
ed to the nature of the subject in question. The cha- Lansuage.
racters of Cochin-china, of Tong-king, ot Japan, are v—-\r—'
the same with those of the Chinese, and signify the
same things ; though, in speaking, these nations do not
express themselves in the same manner : ot consequence
the language of conversation is very different, and they
are not able to understand each other ; while, at the
same time, they understand each other’s written lan¬
guage, and use all their books in common.
b The learned must not only be acquainted with the
characters that are employed in the common atlairs of
life, but must also understand their various combinations,
and’ the numerous and multiform dispositions and ar¬
rangements which of several simple strokes make the Il8
compound characters. The number of their characters exceeding,
amounts to 80,000 ; and the man who knows the great- ly numc-
est number of them is ot course the most learned. * rom
this circumstance we may conclude, that many years
must he employed to acquire the knowledge of such a
prodigious number of characters, to distinguish them
when they are compounded, and to remember their shape
and import. After all, a person who understands 10,000
characters may express himself with tolerable propriety
in this language, and may be able to read and under¬
stand a great number ot books. rlhe generality ot their
learned men do not understand above 15,000 or 20,000,
and few of their doctors have attained to the knowledge
of above 40,000. This prodigious number of characters
is collected in their great vocabulary called Hai-pien.
They have radical letters, which show the origin ot
words, and enable them to find out those which are
derived from them: for instance, the characters of
mountains, trees, man, the earth, of a horse, under
which must he sought all that belongs to mountains,
trees, man, &c. In this search one must learn to di-
stinguish in every word those strokes or figures which
are above, beneath, on the sides, or in the body ot the
radical figure. _ n • / 7 v
Clemens Alexandrinus (see Section Chaldean, otc.)
informs us, that the Egyptians employed three sorts of
characters : The first was called the epistolary, which
was used in writing letters j the second was denomi¬
nated sacred, and peculiar to the sacerdotal order 5 the
lust hieroglyphical, which was appropriated to monumen-
tal inscriptions and other public memorials. This mode
of representation was twofold : one, and the most simple,
was performed by describing the picture of the ob¬
ject which they intended to represent, or at least one
that resembled it pretty nearly ; as when they exhi¬
bited the sun by a circle and the moon by a crescent:
the other was properly symbolic *, as vyhen they mark¬
ed eternity by a serpent with his tail in his mouth, the
air by a man clothed in an azure robe studded with
stars, &c. ,
The Chinese, in all probability, had the same variety
of characters. In the beginning of their monarchy,
they communicated their ideas by drawing on paper
the images of the objects they intended to express j that
is they drew the figure ol a bird, a mountain, a tree,
waving lines, to indicate birds, mountains, forests, n-
V t There were, however, an infinite number of ideas to
he communicated, who^e objects do not fall under the
cognizance of the senses ; such as the soul, the thoughts.
Sect. VI.
Chinese
Language
119
i and truly
hieregly-
phical.
120
’eculiaii-
ies of the
'hinese
arts of
peech.
the passions, beauty, deformity, virtues, vices, the ac*
• tions of men and other animals, &c. This inconveni-
' ence obliged them to alter their original mode of wri¬
ting, which was too confined to answer that purpose,
and to introduce characters of a more simple nature,
and to invent others to express those things which are
the objects of our senses.
These modern characters are, however, truly hiero-
glvphical, since they are composed of simple letters
which retain the signification of the primitive charac¬
ters. The original character for the sun was a circle,
th us © y this they called ga: They now represent that
luminary by the figure to which they still give the
original name. But human institutions having annexed
to these last framed characters the very same ideas indi¬
cated by the original ones, the consequence is, that
every Chinese letter is actually significant, and that it
still retains its significancy, though connected with
others. Accordingly the word tsai, which imports
“ misfortune, calamity,” is composed of the letter mien,
“ a house,” and the letter ho, “fire;” so that the sym¬
bolical character for misfortune is the figure of a house
on fire. The Chinese characters, then, are not simple
letters without any signification, like those of the Eu¬
ropeans and other Asiatics ; but when they are joined
together, they are so many hieroglyphics, which form
images and express thoughts.
Upon the whole, the original characters of the Chi¬
nese were real pictures (see Section of the Egyptian lan¬
guage); the next improvement was the symbolical cha¬
racter ; the third and last stage is the present mode, in
which artificial signs have been fabricated, in order to
represent such thoughts or ideas as could not be repre¬
sented by one or other of the methods above described.
Du Halde, vol. ii. p. 400, et seq. has furnished us with
rules for pronouncing the Chinese vowels and conso¬
nants ; a piece of information which, wTe apprehend,
would be of little consequence to our readers, and which
we shall therefore pass over, and proceed to give a brief
account of their grammar. As the whole language
is composed of monosyllables, and these indeclinable, its
grammatical structure must be simple and obvious: we
shall only mention what to us appears singular and im¬
portant.
In tire Chinese language there is no diversity of gen¬
ders or cases, and of consequence no declensions. Very
often the noun is not distinguished from the verb ;
and the same word which in one situation is a substan¬
tive, in another may become an adjective, and even a
verb.
The adjective always goes before the substantive; but
if it follow it, it becomes a substantive.
The cases and numbers are known only by the com¬
position. The plural number is distinguished by the
particle men, which is common to all nouns ; but when
the noun is preceded by some word that signifies num¬
ber, the particle men is not annexed.
The Chinese genitive, both singular and plural, when
it comes after nouns, is often made by ti; and there is
no other case in that language. The same particle is
sometimes placed after pronouns, as if they were deri¬
vatives.
The comparative degree is formed by adding the par¬
ticle keng, which is always set before the noun, and sig-
327
PHILOLOGY.
nifies much. The particle to is sometimes used, which ru,-
1 • 1 • • 7 1 lyiiinesc
JiKewise imports much. Language.
The Chinese have only three personal pronouns, nqo,' y
“ I,” ni, “ thou,” and ta, “ he these become pluI
ral by adding the syllable men. They are made pos¬
sessive by adding the syllable ti, as nqo ti, “ mine,” mtz'j
“ thine,” ta ti, “ his.” The patronymics are formed
by putting the name of the city, country, &c. after
the pronoun : cium is the pronoun relative who, what,
which.
Chinese verbs have only three tenses, the preter-
perfect, the present, and the future. When there is
no particle added to the verb, it is the present : the
preterperfect is made by adding the particle leao:
to distinguish the future tense they use the particle
tsiang or hoei-, and these are all the varieties incident
to their verbs.
The Chinese language has no wrords that are proper¬
ly adverbs ; they only become so by custom, or by the.
place they possess in discourse. They are often obliged
to employ several words to express the adverbs of other
languages : they have none that are demonstrative, or
proper for calling or exhorting; but in their stead they
are obliged to use nouns and verbs.
Perhaps our readers may wish to know the Chinese Their iiu-
numerals ; and may imagine that they bear a resem-merals. ’
blance to those of the European or other Asiatic dia¬
lects. In this, however, they will be disappointed.
They stand as follows :
T One
Eut Two
San Three
Sace Four
Ou Five
Lou Six
Tsi Seven -
Po Eight
Kieou Nine
Che Ten
Che y Eleven
Eut chc Twelve
San chc Thirteen
Pc One hundred
Eut pe Two hundred
Y tsien One thousand
Youan Ten thousand
Che ouan Twenty thousand
Eut ouan One hundred thousand
Che ouan Two hundred thousand
Ype ouan One million
There are a great many particles proper to numbers
in the Chinese language : they are frequently used, and
in away peculiar to it; for every numeral has a particle
importing the object to which it is attached. Thus co
is used for man, and y co for a woman, &c.; hoei is used
for illustrious men ; tche or tchi is used for ships, dogs,
hens ; mey is used for pearls and precious things ; pen
is used for books ; teng is appropriated to oxen and
cows ; too is used for letters and little bundles of paper;
00 is employed lor com and pulse. Those distinctions
indicate a language manufactured on purpose to be em¬
ployed
328 ' p H1L 0
Chinese ployed by people who were too high and too haughty
JLianguage. to converse with the vulgar. .
V—i The style of the Chinese, in their elaborate composi-
c .I22pt1 tions, is mysterious, concise, and allegorical, after the
rSn^ eastern maimer. It is often obscure to those who do not
writers. understand the language thoroughly j and it requires a
considerable degree of skill to avoid mistakes m reading
an author of elegance and sublimity. Their writers ex¬
press a great deal in few words •, and their expressions
are lively, full of spirit, intermingled with bold compa-
riTonsand lofty nitaphors. They affect to insert in
their compositions many sentences borrowed from their
five canonical books j and as they compare their books
to pictures, so they liken these quotatlon,s.tot,t!,e.1|1^
principal colours employed m painting*, and in this thei
eloquence chiefly consists. .
They prefer a beautiful character to the most finisl -
ed picture*, and nothing is more common than to see
a single page covered with old characters, if they hap¬
pen to be fair and elegant, sold at a very high price*
They honour their characters in the most common
books*, and when they happen to light by chance upon
a printed leaf, they gather it up with the greatest caie
aI1IneChina there are three varieties of language *, that
of the common people, that of the people of fashion,
and that employed in writing books. 1 hough the
first is not so elegant as either of the other two, it is
not however inferior to our European languages,
though those who are but superficially acquainted With
the Chinese may, in fact, imagine it uncouth and bar¬
barous. This low and rude language is pronounced
and written many different ways, as is generally the
case in other countries.
But a more polished, and at the same time a much
more energetic, language, is employed in an almost in¬
finite number of novels; some perhaps tiue, u many
more the vehicles of fiction. These are replete with
lively descriptions, characters highly finished, morality,
variety, wit, and vivacity, in such a degree as to equal
in purity and politeness the most celebrated authors of
Europe. This was the language of the Mandarins }
and though exquisitely beautiful in its kind, was still
inferior to the language of books. This last might be
styled the hyper sublime ; and of this there are severa
-degrees and intervals before an author can arrive at
what they call the language of the kiny;. This mode
of writing cannot be well understood without looking
upon the letters; but when understood, it appears easy
and flowing. Each thought is generally expressed m
four or six characters : nothing occurs that can offend
the nicest ear *, and the variety of the accents with
which it is pronounced produces a soft and harmonious
The difference between the king and their other books
consists in the difference of the subjects upon which they
are written. Those of the former are always grand and
sublime, and of course the style is noble and elevated :
those of the latter approach nearer to the common af¬
fairs and events of life, and are of consequence detailed
in the Mandarin tongue. In writing on sublime sub¬
jects no punctuations are used. As these compositions
are intended for the learned only, the author leaves to
the reader to determine where the sense is complete ;
logy. Sect- VI.
and those who are Well skilled in the language readily Chinese
find it out. - . .
The copiousness of the Chinese language is in a great'" ,
measure owing to the multitude of its characters. It is
likewise occasioned, in some degree, by the difference of
their signification, as also by the artificial method of
their conjunction, which is performed most commonly
by uniting them two and two, frequently three and
three, and sometimes four and four. f ,IJ3
Their books are very numerous and bulky, and ofThe,r
course exceeding cumbrous. A dictionary 1 ie‘r_ merous and
language was compiled in the i8th cen uiy. bulky,
sisted of o; large volumes. An appendix was annexed
of 2C volumes. Their other books are voluminous m
proportion. The Chinese, one may say, aie a na
tion of learned men. Few people of rank neglect
the belles lettres *, for ignorance m a man of any de¬
gree of eminence is deemed an indelible stain on his
character. . , , . , . ‘.u
For their manner of writing, the -implements with
which they write, and the materials upon which they
draw their characters, we must refer our readers to
the article Writing. It would, we believe, afford our
readers some pleasure, could we discover and explain the
reasons which have hitherto prevented the Chinese from
adopting the letters employed from time immemorial by
the other nations of Europe and Asia. 124
The Chinese have ever looked upon themselves as Obstacles
greatly superior to the rest of mankind. In ancient to^theinm.
times they entertained such contemptible notions of i°-inscience
reigners, that they scorned to have any further commerce and iitera.
with them than to receive their homage. They wereture.
indeed, at a very early period, highly revered by the
Indians, Persians, and Tartars. In consequence of this
veneration, they looked upon themselves as the favourites
of heaven. They imagined they were situated in the
middle of the earth, in a kind of paradise, in order to
give laws to the rest of mankind. Other men they
looked upon with contempt and disdain, and deemed
them deformed in body and defective in mind, cast out
into the remote corners of the world as the dross and
refuse of nature. They boasted that themselves only
had received from God rational souls and beautiful bo¬
dies, in order to qualify them for being sovereigns of the
^ Such are the sentiments of the Chinese *, and with
such sentiments it is by no means surprising that their
improvements in language, in writing, and other appen¬
dages of the belles lettres, have not been proportioned
to their progress in mechanics. When people are once
fully persuaded that they have already arrived at the
summit of perfection, it is natural for them to s.t down
contented, and solace themselves With the idea o their
own superior attainments. The Chinese had early en¬
tertained an exalted opinion of their own superiority to
the rest of mankind ; and therefore imagined that they
had already carried their inventions to the
of perfection ; the consequence was, that they eou.u
make no exertions to carry them higher.
The Chinese, for the space of 3000 years, had almost
no intercourse with the rest of mankind. 1^ w^
the consequence of their insulated situation—I hey
of course, compared themselves with themselves, and
finding that they excelled all their barbarian neig -
Sect. VI. PHIL
Chinese hours, they readily entertained an opinion that they
Language, excelled^ all the rest of mankind in an equal propor-
v tion. This conceit at once stifled the emotions of
ambition, and deprived them of all oppoitunities of
learning what was going forward in other parts of the
world.
They despised every other nation. People are little
disposed to imitate those whom they despise j and
this perhaps may be one reason why they are at
this day so averse from adopting the European inven¬
tions.
A superstitious attachment to the customs of the
ancients, is the general character of the Asiatic nations.
This is evidently a kind of diacritical feature among
the Chinese. The institutions of Fohi are looked up
to among them with equal veneration as those of Thoth
were, among the Egyptians. Among the latter, there
was a law which made it capital to introduce any inno¬
vation into the music, painting, or statuaryart, instituted
by that legislator. \Y e hear of no such law among the
former; but custom established, and that invariably, for
a space of 3000 years, might operate as forcibly among
them as a positive law did among the people first men¬
tioned. An attachment to ancient customs is often
more powerful and more coercive than any law that
can be promulgated and enforced by mere human au¬
thority. These reasons, we think, may be assigned as
the impediments to the progress of the Chinese in the
belles lettres, and perhaps in the cultivation of the other
sciences.
. Though the language of the Chinese is confessedly
different from all the other known languages in its cha-
xacter and construction, it contains, however, a great
ther lau- number of words evidently of the same origin with those
?uages. which occur in other dialects, used by people, who, ac-
cording to the natural course of things, could never
have been connected with that remote country. A
Tew of those we shall produce before we conclude this
section. We shall begin with the import of the name
China.
China, or, as the orientals write it, Sin, is perhaps the
Latin sinus, “ the bosom, the heart, the middle.” The
Chinese actually imagine that their country is situated
in the very middle of the earth, and of consequence call
it Cham, “ the middle, the heart;” a denomination
which exactly suits their opinion.
Fu, in Chinese, intimates every thing that falls under
the cognizance of the senses, every thing that strikes the
sight ; in Latin, tueor.
la, a table, a plank, a figure that renders every thing
sensible : 2. To see, to look upon, to appear ; Greek
'ixvx, whence now, tendo.
TW, to examine attentively, to inspect carefully.
Tui, the most apparent, chief, principal, first; 2. Lisfit-
mng, thunder. 6
leu, a. sign by which we know one, letter of acknow¬
ledgment. All these ideas are contained in the He-
rew in, thu, signum, which we believe has produced
the Egyptian theuth, the god or godlike man who in¬
vented letters, geometry, music, astronomy, &c.
Fai, a dye, a theatre ; Greek of old ©saw, then
Gixopxi, “ to see, to look.”
lam, Latin tantum, so much.”
lan, land, country, region, a syllable annexed to the
Vol. XVI. Part I. +
O L o G Y.
329
.IXS
Chinese
words
found in
radons 0-
end of a great number of words. Aqui tan, Aquitania, cbJlri
“ a Jandof water ;” Mauri tan, Mauritania, “ the land Language.
ol the Moors.” The orientals prefix .9, whence Farsi'' v 
stan, Farsistan, “ the land or country of the Persians:”
Chusistan, Chusistan, “ the country of Chuz ;” Turque
stan, Turquestan, “ the land of the Turks.”
Ti, a chief, an emperoY, a title of dignity ; whence
the Greek r<», “ to honour ;” hence, too, the word di,
“bright, glorious;” whence Aij, “ Jupiter,” “ di¬
vine ;” the Latin Dim, now Deus, “ God,” and Divus,
with the digamma JEdicum inserted ; the Celtic Dhia,
&c. It signified originally “ bright, glorious,” and’
was an epithet of the Sun.
Tum, Latin tumeo, “ to swell.”
Liven, “ to love;” Hebrew ab, leb, “ tlie heart
Latin, libet. This word pervades all the dialects of the
Gothic tongue, still retaining either the same or a near¬
ly analogous signification.
Li, “ letters ;” Latin, lino, “ to daub,” as the Chi¬
nese actually do in forming their letters.
Lo, “ to contain, that which contains;” Celtic, log;
French, loge, logis, loger.
Lim, “ a rule ;” hence Latin, tinea, “ a line.”
Su, “ with Greek, <rvx, “ with ;” Celtic, eyn, rym;
whence Latin, cum, con, &c.
Xim, “ very high, elevated, sacred, perfect;” Latin,
cximius.
Sin, “ the heart;” Persian, Sin, “ the heart.”
Sien, “ chief, first;” Celtic, can, ccan, son, “ the
head ; ^ metaphorically, the chief, the first, the princi¬
pal ; Thibet, sen, or ken, “ great, elevated;” Arabic,
same, “ to he elevated or x-aised.”
bim, or Sing, “ a constellation, a star, an element;”
Hebrew, shem : Greek, cv-i/xuav, mux ; Latin, signum.
Sie, “ a man of learning;” Goth. Sax. Engl. “ see;
to see, seer.”
Cem, “ a priest:” Hebr. cohcn ; Syr. eon ; Egypt.
can, cun.
Quin, “ a king;” Celtic, ken, kend, “ head, chief;”
Gothic, koanig ; Germ. Flem. Engl, king, also queen.
Hu, “ a door ;” Goth. Germ. Engl, hus, hausen,
house.
Min, “ a river ;” Welch, men, “ the water of a ri¬
ver ; Latin, mano, “ to flow,” and perhaps amoenus,
“ pleasant.”
Hen, “ hatred ;” Greek, xm>t, “ cruel, horrible, odi¬
ous.”
Kiven, “ a dog;” Greek xvuv, id.
Fen, “beauty;” Latin, Venus, venustas; Iceland.
Swed. wen, “ pleasant;” Scotch, winsome.
Han, “ the soul, breath ;” Greek, Latin, ani-
ma, animus.
To these instances of the analogy between the Chi¬
nese language and those of the other people of Asia and
Europe many more might be added; but the preced¬
ing, it is hoped, will serve as a specimen, which is all
that can be expected from an inquiry of the nature of
the present.
Sect. VII. Oj' the Greek Language,
Before we enter upon the consideration of the es- . .
sential and constituent parts of this noble language, we <?llsAn of.
must beg leave to settle a few preliminaries, which, we110
T t trust,
33°
PHILO
Greek trust, will serve to throw some light upon many points
Langua,... which may come under consideration in the course ot
'“"""V'—' the following disquisition. , o
The Greeks, according to the most authentic ac¬
counts, were descended of Javan or Jon, the fourth
son of Japhet, the eldest son of the patriarch Noah.
The Scriptures of old, and all the orientals to this
day, call the Greeks Jonim, or Jaumm, or Javenot/i.
We have already observed, in the beginning of the ar¬
ticle concerning the Hebrew language, that only a
few of the descendants of Ham, and the most profli¬
gate of the posterity of Shem and Japhet were con¬
cerned in budding the tower of Babel. shall not
now resume the arguments then collected in support ot
that position but proceed to investigate the character
of that branch of the posterity of Javan which inhabited
Greece and the neighbouring regions.
At what period the colonists arrived in these parts
cannot be certainly determined *, nor is it of great im-
pittance in the question before us. That they carried
along with them into their new settlements the an-
guage of Noah and his family, is, we think, a point that
cannot be controverted. We have endeavoured to prove
that the Hebrew, or at least one or other of its sister-
dialects, was the primaeval language of mankind. 1 he
Hebrew, then, or one of its cognate branches, was the
original dialect of the Jonim or Greeks.
Be that as it may, before these people make their
appearance in profane history, their language deviates
very' widely from this original archetype. By what
means, at what period, and in what length of time
this change was introduced, is, we believe, a matter
not easy to he elucidated. That it was progressive, is
abundantly certain both from the rules of analogy and
The colonies, which traversed a large tract of coun¬
try before they arrived at their destined settlements,
must have struggled with numberless difficulties in the
course of their peregrinations. The earth, during the
period which immediately succeeded the universal de¬
luge, must have been covered with forests, intersected
with swamps, lakes, rivers, and numberless other im¬
pediments. As the necessaries, and a few of the con¬
veniences of life, will always engross the first cares of
mankind, the procuring of these comforts will, ot
necessity, exclude all concern about arts and sciences
which are unconnected with these pursuits. Hence
we think it probable, that most of those co omes which
migrated to a very great distance from the plains of
Shinar, which we believe to have been the original seat
of mankind, in a great measure neglected the practice
of the polite but unnecessary modes of civilization
which their ancestors were acquainted with, and prac¬
tised before the era of their migration. Certain it is,
that those nations which continued to reside in the
neighbourhood of that centre of civilization, always ap¬
pear in a cultivated state j while, at the same time, the
127 colonists who removed to a considerable distance appear
who wer$ to have sunk into barbarism, at a period more early than
long a bar annals of profane history can reach.—This appears
bar°US to have been the situation of the primary inhabitants of
LOGY.
Sect. VI.
Greece Their own hislorians, the most partial to their Greek
own countrymen that can well he imagined, exhibit a Language,
very unpromising picture of their earliest progenitors. ^
Diodorus Siculus, in delineating the character ot the-
original men, we believe sketches his draught from the
first inhabitants of Greece *. He represents them as * Lib.,.
absolute savages, going out in small parties to make
war upon the wild beasts of the field, which (according
to him) kept them in continual alarm. “ Necessity
obliged them to band together for their mutual securi¬
ty ; they had not sagacity enough to distinguish be¬
tween the wholesome and poisonous vegetables j nor
had they skill enough to lay up and preserve the fruits
of autumn for their subsistence during the winter. I he
scholiast on Pindar describes the situation of the inhabi¬
tants of Peloponnesus in the following mannert. “ No_w f Pi/fAwt
some have affirmed that the nymphs, who officiated in Ode 4.
performing the sacred rites, were called Melissa. Ut
these Mnaseas of Patara gives the following account.
They prevailed upon men to relinquish the abominable
practice of eating raw flesh torn from living animals, and
persuaded them to use the fruits of trees for food.— Il8
Melissa, one of them, having discovered bee-hives, ate Progress of
of the honey-combs, mingled the honey with water
drink, and taught the other nymphs to use the same11^11011*
beverage. She called bees MiXircrcu, Melissa, from her
own name, and bestowed much care on the management
of them. , . _ ,
« These things (sayshe) happened in Peloponnesus*,
nor is the temple of Ceres honoured without nymphs,
because they first pointed out the mode of living on the
fruits of the earth, and put an end to the barbarous
practice of feeding on human flesh. The same ladies,
too, from a sense of decency, invented garments made
of the bark of trees.” _ , _ ,
Hecatseus the Milesian, treating of the Peloponne¬
sians, affirms*, “ that before the arrival of the Hellenes, * Strata,
a race of barbarians inhabited that region j and that al-hb.
most all Greece was, in ancient times, inhabited by bar¬
barians +. In the earliest times (says Pausanias) (o) f Id. lib. i
barbarians inhabited most part of the country called
Hellas” The original Greeks, if we may believe an
author of deep research and superior ingenuity J, were f Pto.M
strangers to all the most useful inventions of life. Even«WI-
the use of fire was unknown till it was found out and
communicated by Prometheus, who is thought to have
been one of the first civilizers of mankind. Hence
JEschylus §, introduces Prometheus commemorating j
the benefits which he had conferred upon mankind by Vcise 441-
his inventions, in a strain that indicates the uncultivat¬
ed state of the world prior to the age in which he
flourished. For the entertainment of our readers, we
shall translate as much of that passage as suits our pre¬
sent purpose.
Of the human race
people.
Now hear the tale, how foolish erst they were:
I taught them thought and exercise of reason:
If aught they saw before, they saw in vain.
Hearing, they heard not j all was shapeless dreams
For a long space of time, at random mixt. ^
(o) The Greeks borrowed this contemptuous epithet from the Egyptians. See Herod, lib. ii. cap. 158.
* Plato.
Sect. VII.
Greek In wild confusion : for they neither knew
Language. Tile-cover’d houses standing in the sun,
Nor timber work 5 but, like the earth-bred ant,
They lodg’d in sunless caves dug under ground:
No certain sign had they of winter cold,
Nor of the flow’ry spring, or summer store,
But blindly manag’d all j till I them taught
"What time the stars appear, what time they set,
Hard to be scan’d : then arithmetic rare,
That queen of arts, by dint of patient thought
Descry’d, I taught them 5 and how vocal sounds
From letters join’d arose.”
This character, though applied to mankind in gene¬
ral, was in reality that of the most ancient Greeks.
These forbidding features had been transmitted to the
poet by tradition as those of his ancestors : he was a
Greek, and of consequence imputes them to all man¬
kind without distinction.
Phoroneus, the son and successor of Inachus*, is said
to have civilized the Argives, and to have taught them
the use of some new inventions. This circumstance
raised his character so high among the savage abori-
f Pausan. gines of the country, that succeeding ages t deemed him
fib. viii. the first of men. Pelasgus obtained the like character,
Cl 11 because he taught the Arcadians to live upon the fruit
of the fagt/s, to build sheds to shelter them from the
cold, and to make garments of the skins of swine.
But what clearly demonstrates the unpolished cha¬
racter of the most ancient Greeks is, the extravagant
honours lavished by them upon the inventors of useful
and ingenious arts. Most of these were advanced to
divine honours, and became the objects of religious
worship to succeeding generations. The family of the
Titans affords a most striking instance of this species
of adulation. Jupiter, Juno, Mars, Apollo, Venus,
Diana, &c. were sprung of this family. By the useful
inventions which these personages communicated to the
uncultivated nations of Greece, they obtained such last¬
ing and such extravagant honours, that they justled out
the sidereal divinities of the country, and possessed
their high rank as long as Paganism prevailed in those
regions. To these testimonies of the savagism of the
original Greeks, others almost without number might
be added $ but those adduced in the preceding part of
this inquiry will, we hope, satisfy every candid reader
129 as to the truth of the position advanced,
s. new co- While matters were in this situation with respect to
ms pi" ^ primitive Jonim or Greeks, a new colony arrived in
Greece cal-those parts, which in a few years considerably changed
«<i Pelas. the face of affairs. The people who composed this colo¬
ny were called Pelasgi; concerning whose origin,
country, character, and adventures, much has been writ¬
ten, and many different opinions exhibited by the learn¬
ed. It is not our province to enter into a detail of
their arguments and systems $ we shall only inform our
readers, that the general opinion is, that they were na¬
tives either of Egypt or Phoenicia. We have seen a
dissertation in manuscript upon this subject, from which
we are allowed to extract the following particulars.
The author, we think, has proved by very plausible
arguments, that these people could not be descendants
of the Egyptians nor Phoenicians. He maintains, that
the Pelasgi were a great and numerous tribe; that they
*over$pread all the coast of Asia Minor from Mount My-
331
PHILOLOGY.
cafr toTroas; that they were masters at one time of Greek
a tie / siatic and Grecian islands ; that they overran Language
„ ,e.ce. antl many of t,,e neighbouring countries; and '   
all this in less than halfacenturv—These facts he stems
to have proved from Homer, Herodotus, Diodorus Sicu¬
lus, Pausamas, and other Greek authors of approved au¬
thenticity. He shows, that they were a civilized gene-
ration ; that they were well acquainted with military
affairs, legislation, agriculture, navigation, architecture,
letters, &c. He insists, that Phoenicia could not at anv
given period have furnished such a numerous body of
emigrants, even supposing the whole nation had «m-
grated, and left their native country a desart. He be¬
lieves that this event took place before the invasion of
Lanaan by the Israelites; that consequently the Pelasgic
migration was not occasioned by that catastrophe. He
has shown, we think by very probable arguments, that
the .Egyptians in the earliest ages were averse to foreign
expeditions, especially by sea; because that people hated
tins element, and besides could be under no temptation
to emigrate: add to this, they were accustomed to five
on small matters, and their country was exceedingly fer¬
tile and easily cultivated. It appears (says he) from He-
lodotus, that the Pelasgi ivere not acquainted with the
religion of the Zabians, which could not have been the
case had they emigrated from either of these countries.
He makes it appear, at least to our satisfaction, that
Herodotus is mistaken when he supposes that the deities
of Greece were derived from Egypt. He demonstrates,
that the names of the greatest part of those deities are
of Phoenician extraction ; and this opinion he establishes
by a very plausible etymological deduction. He asserts,
that had the Pelasgi been natives of either of the coun¬
tries above mentioned, it would be absurd to suppose
them ignorant of the names and religious rites of their re¬
spective nations. He finds, that the Egyptian and Phoe¬
nician colonies, which afterwards settled in Greece, were
enemies to the Pelasgi, and either subdued or expelled
them the country, which, he imagines, would scarce have
been the case had both parties sprung from the same
ancestors. After settling these points, he concludes, that
the people in question were the progeny of the Arabian
shepherds, who, at a very early period, invaded and sub¬
dued both the Lower and Upper Egypt. After posses¬
sing that country about a century and a half, they were
conquered by Amenophis king of the Upper Egypt, w ho
drove them out of the country. Upon this the fugitives
retired to Palestine, where Manetho the Egyptian his¬
torian loses sight of them, and either through malice or
ignoiance confounds them with the Israelites. This
writer supposes that those fugitives gradually directed
their course for the west and north-westcoasts of Asia Mi¬
nor, whence they conveyed themselves over to Greece.
Such are the arguments by which the author of the
dissertation above mentioned supports bis hypothesis.
It is, for aught we know, altogether new, and to us it
appears by no means improbable. If our curious read¬
ers should wish to know more of this subject, they may
consult Gebelin’s preliminary Discourse to his Greek
Dictionary, Lord Monboddo’s Inquiry into the Origin
and Progress of Language, vol. i. towards the end, and
Mr Bryant’s Analysis of Ancient Mythology, passim.
Be this as it may, nothing is more certain than that
Eelasgi were the first people who in some degree
civilized the savages of ancient Greece. It is not our
T t 2 business
332
PHILO
Greek
Laii'raatre.
130
Who intro
duce let¬
ters into
that coun¬
try.
* Lib. i.
cap. 59.
t Lib. iii
Ibid.
business at present to enumerate the many useful inven¬
tions which they communicated to the Greeks, at that
time worse than barbarians. We deem it, however, ab¬
solutely necessary, as an introduction to our subject, to
hazard a few conjectures on the language and letters ot
those adventurers j a point strictly connected with the
subject soon to fall under consideration.
Whether we suppose the Pelasgi to have been h.c 0
spring of the Phoenicians, Egyptians, or Arabian shep¬
herds! it will make little dilference as to their language j
every man of learning and research is convinced that
those three nations, especially at that early period, spoke
a dialect of the Hebrew. The Pelasgi, then, must have
spoken a dialect of that language when they arrived in
Greece. Perhaps it might have undergone several
changes, and acquired some new modifications, during
so many years as had passed since they began to be a
separate nation, and in the course of so many peregrina¬
tions. Some monuments of theirs still extant prove this
fact beyond all contradiction. As these people incorpo¬
rated with the aborigines of Greece, the remains ol the
original language of mankind, or at least so much ot it
as had been retained by them, gradually coalesced with
that of the new settlers. From this, we think, it is ob¬
vious, that prior to the arrival of the new colonists irom
the East, the language now current among the two
united tribes must have been a dialect of the 1 hoem-
cian, Arabian, Hebrew, &c. Be that as it may, He¬
rodotus * affirms that the Pelasgi in his time spoke a
barbarous language, quite unintelligible to the modern
Greeks.
The reason of this difference between the language
of the Hellenes or Greeks in the age of Herodotus,
and that of the remains of the Pelasgi at that peucd,
seems to be this : Prior to the time of that historian,
the Greek language had, from time to time, undergone
many changes, and received vast improvements; where¬
as, on the contrary, that ot the remnant ol the 1 elasgi,
who were now reduced to a very low state, had remain¬
ed stationary, and was then just in the same predica¬
ment in which it had been perhaps a century altei their
arrival in the country.
As the Pelasgi, as was observed above, were a people
highly civilized and well instructed in the various arts at
that time known in the eastern world, they were skilled
in agriculture, architecture, music, &c. (p). Ihe pre¬
sumption then is that they could not be unacquainted
with alphabetical writing. This most useful art was
well known in the countries from which they emigrat¬
ed ; and of course it is impossible to imagine that they
did not export this art as well as the others above-men¬
tioned. Diodorus Siculus imagines that t the 1 elasgi
knew not the use of alphabetical letters, but that they
received them from Cadmus and his Phoenician fol¬
lowers; that those letters were afterwards called Pelas-
o-ic, because the Pelasgi were the first people of Greece
who adopted them. This account must go to the score
of national vanity, since very soon after he acknow¬
ledges X that Linus wrote the exploits ol the first Bac-
logy. . Sect-vn-
chus and several other romantic fables in Pelasgic cha- Greek
racters; and that Orpheus, and Pronapules the master ^^ge-
of Homer, employed the same kind of letters. Zeno¬
bius likewise informs usf that Cadmus slew Linus \ Apud Dr
teaching characters diflWent Iron, ta These
could be none other than the 1 elasgic J.
Pausanias, in his Attics, relates||, that he himsell saw CrcckLm.
an inscription upon the tomb of Corsebus, who lived at
the time when Crotopus, who was contemporary with | See Plate
Deucalion, was king of the Argives This inscription ? ^ .
then was prior to the arrival ot Cadmus ; and conse- ^ ^
quently letters were known in Greece before they were
introduced by this chief. It likewise appears from He¬
rodotus himself, that the lonians were m possession ot
alphabetical characters before the coming ol the Ihce-
nicians. “ For (says he) § the lonians having received § Ink ,.
letters from the Phoenicians, changing the figme and ■ 5
sound of some of them, ranged them with their own,
and in this manner continued to use them atterwards.
If, then, the lonians (d) ranged the Phoenician charac¬
ters with their own, it is obvious that they had alpha*
betical characters of their own.
Besides these historical proofs of the existence ot i e-
laso-ic characters, monuments hearing inscriptions in the
same letters have been discovered in several parts oi
Greece and Italy, which place this point beyond the
reach of controversy. What characters these were may
be easily determined. As the Pelasgi emigrated from
Arabia,'the presumption is that their letters were i hce-
nician. They are said by Dr Swinton to have been 13^
in number, whereas the Phoenician alphabet consists ol
16. The three additional letters were probably invent¬
ed by the latter people after the Pelasgi had left the
eastern quarters. The Phoenician letters imported by
the Pelasgi were, no doubt, of a coarse and clumsy con¬
texture, unfavourable to expedition in writing, and un¬
pleasant to the sight. Besides, the Phoenician characters
had not as yet received their names; and according y
the Romans, who derived their letters from the Area-
dian Pelasgi t, had no names for theirs. The probahi- fLmt,
Jity is, that prior to this era the Pelasgic letters had not 1 ■ i- c. 7.
been distinguished by names. These were of course no ^ xy |
other than the original letters ol the Phoenicians in their
first uncouth and irregular form : and for this reason
they easily gave way to the Cadmean, which were more
beautiful, more regular, and better adapted to expedi-
1 °Hitherto we have seen the Pelasgi and the lomm in¬
corporated, living under the same laws, speaking the
same language, and using the same letters. But another
nation, and one too of vast extent and populousness, had
at an early period taken possession of a considerable part
of the country afterwards distinguished by the name ot
He/fos or Greece. The Thracians were a great and
mighty nation; inferior to none except the InuiansJ, f Ifcroi.
says the father of Grecian history. These people at a Ub. v c.
very early period, had extended their quarters over *11 The Thra.
the northern parts of that country. rI hey were, in an-cians a
oient times, a learned and polished nation. From them, powerful
in nation at»
•very early
(r) The Arcadians, who were a Pelasgic tribe, were highly celebrated for their ski in inu.i .
duct d this art into Italy. See B/on. Halicar. lib. i.
ta) The Athenians were originally called Ionian*.
~~ period.
* Sirnbo,
Sect. VII. P HILO
Greek i*1 succeeding ages, the Greeks learned many useful and
Language, ornamental sciences, Orpheus (r) the musician, the
egislator, the poet, the philosopher, and the d ivine, is
known to have been ol Thracian extraction. Xhamyris
and Linus were his disciples, and highly respected among
the Greeks for their learning and ingenuity. That these
people spoke the same language with the Greeks, is a-
bundantly evident from the connection between them
and these Ihracian bards. Ihe Thracian language,
then, whatever it was, contributed in a great propor¬
tion towar ds forming that of the Greeks. From the re¬
mains of the Thracian dialect there appears to have
been a very strong resemblance between it and the
Chaldean. I ins position we could readily support by
thf most plausible etymological deduction, did the li¬
mits prescribed us in this article admit such an inquiry.
|su.StT;i Jtnppears, however, that the * Thracians, .GeUe, and
Daci or Davi, spoke nearly the same language. The
Goths, so much celebrated in the annals of the lower
empire, were the descendants of the Getse and Daei,
and consequently retained the dialect of their ances¬
tors. Ihe reader, therefore, must not be surprised, if
in tracing the materials of which the Greek language
is composed, we should sometimes have recourse to the
remains of the Gothic.
The Greek Wo have now found out three branches of the Greek
language language ; that of the lonim or Aborigines, that of the
of three fr^e’ anf^ ^ie Thracians. These tiiree,
ferent dia- we im-lgiuo, were only different dialects of the very
same original tongue. This assertion we could readily
prove by the comparison of a great number of words
taken from the two last, tvere this a proper place for
such a discussion.
Some centuries after the arrival of the Pelasgi, Cad-
GreeceSm m.U?’ an ^SyP*-jan (s) by birth, and a sojourner in Phoe¬
nicia, arrived in Boeotia with a multitude of followers.
This colony-chief and his countrymen introduced letters
and several other useful improvements into the country
m question. As these people were natives of Phoenicia
and its environs, their alphabet was that of their native
country, consisting of 16 letters. That the Phoenician
alphabet was nearly the same with the Samaritan and
Hebrew, has been so often and so clearly demonstrated
by the learned of this and the former century, that it
would be altogether superfluous to insist upon it in this
short inquiry. Ihe Phoenicians, as is generally known,
wrote from right to left, and the old Grecian charac¬
ters, inverted, exactly resemble the other.
Scaliger, "Ihe names of the Cadmean characters are Syrian f,
which shows the near resemblance between that lan¬
guage and the Phoenician. They stand thus: alpha.
lects.
132
Arrival of
Cadmus
Greece.
133 w „  
tlie letters beta, gamla, delta, &c. The Syrians used to add a
ntroduced to the Hebrew vocables j hence alph becomes alpha,
beth, betha or beta, &c. In the Cadmean alphabet
we find the vowel letters, which is an infallible proof
that this was the practice of the Phoenicians in the
age of Cadmus ; and this very circumstance furnishes
a presumption that the Jews1 did the same at the same
period.
L O G V. 333
After all, it is evident that the oldest Greek letters, Greek
which are written from right to left, differ very little Language,
from those of the Pelasgi. The four double letters ^ ^
^ Z> are said to have been added by Palamedes
about 20 years before the war of Troy. Simonides
is generally supposed to have added the letters g, v, ^
though it appears by some ancient inscriptions that some
of these letters were used before the days of Palamedes
and Simonides.
In the year of our Lord 1456 seven brazen tables
were discovered at Engubium, a city of Umbria in the
Apennines, of which five were written in Pelasgic or
Etruscan characters and two in Latin. The first of
these tables is thought to have been composed about 168
years after the taking of Troy, or 1206 years before
Christ. By comparing the inscription on these tables
witu the old ionic characters, the curious have been
enabled to discover the resemblance. I? j
'I he old Ionic character wrote from right to left con- T*ie old
tinned in general use for several centuries : It was com-Ionic cka'
posed of the Cadmean and Pelasgic characters, with some llict'e1'
variations of form, position, and sound. The Athenians
continued to use this character till the year of Rome
350. The-old Ionic was gradually improved into the
new, and this quickly became the reigning mode. After
the old Ionic was laid aside, the * Bustro- * Puufan.
phodon came into custom, which goes backwards ami,ib'viiL
forwards as the ox does with the plough. They carried I^‘
the line forward from the left, and then back to the
right. The words were all placed close together, and
few small letters were used before the fourth century.
If our curious readers would wish to know more of let¬
ters and alphabets, we must remit them to Chishul
Morton, Postellus, the great Montfaucon, Gobelin’
Astle, &c. For our part we are chiefly concerned at
present with the Phoenician and Cadmean systems •
and on these perhaps we may have dwelt too long. 135
Having now, we hope sufficiently proved that theTfie Greek
Greek alphabet was derived from the Phoenician, in alp!iab,et
order to convince our curious but illiterate readers of Lon,Ihe
the ceitainty ol our position, as it were by ocular de- Phoenician,
monstration, we shall annex a scheme of both alpha¬
bets, to which we shall subjoin some strictures upon
such letters of the Greek alphabet as admit any ambi¬
guity in their nature and application.
A, alpha, had two sounds, the one broad like a in
the English word all; the other slender, as e in end
spend, defend. The Hebrews certainly used it so, be¬
cause they had no other letter to express that sound ;
the Arabs actually call the first of their alphabet elif;
and they as well as the Phoenicians employ that letter
to express both the sound of A and E promiscuously.
The Greeks call their letter E s-^iAov, that is E slen¬
der, which seems to have been introduced to supply the
place of A slender.
H, eta, was originally the mark of the spiritus asper,
and no doubt answered to the Hebrew n. It is still re¬
tained in that capacity in the word and in words
with the spiritus asper beginning books, chapters, sec¬
tions, *
(R) Orpheus seems to he compounded of two oriental words, or, “ light,” and phi, “ the mouth.” Though
•■orne deduce it from the Arabian arif, a learned man.”
i s) Joseph Scaliger’s account of the origin of the Ionic letters. Eeitseb. Chron.
334
Greek tions, &C.
PHILO
ureeK uuu3, - originally marked both the sound of
Language. eLam and Hr* j that is, it was sometimes sounded
' short as at present, and sometimes long, where it is
now supplied by H. As it was found convenient to
distinguish these two different quantities of sound by
different letters, they adopted H the former spirttus
asper, to denote the long sound of E, and substituted
the present spiritus asper ['] in its place.
I, iota, is the Hebrew or Phoenician jw/ or yod. Y\e
imagine it originally served the purpose of both iota and
ypsilon. It had two different sounds; the one broad
and full, the other weak and slender. The latter had
the sound of the modern That this was actually
the case, appears in several monumental inscriptions :
And upon this depends the variation of some cases
of the demonstrative pronoun and of the second declen-
O, omicron, or small o, in the original Greek had
three different sounds. It sounded o short, as at pre¬
sent ; and likewise o long, now denoted by Cl or large
O. It likewise marked the sound of the improper diph¬
thong sounded like the English diphthong oo. live
Cl was taken from the Phoenician wau or V.
Y, ypsilon, we have observed before, was adopted to
supply a mark for the sound of I slender.
Z, xeta, is compounded of $s. Dion. Hahc. how¬
ever, informs us, that this letter should be pronounced
o-£, according to the Doric plan.
©, theta, was not known in the old Greek. It is
compounded of r and the spiritus asper, both which
were of old written separately thus TH.
2, xi, is compounded of yj, *5, These letters,
too, were originally written separately.
<I>, phi. This letter is compounded of w, and the
spiritus asper; thus BH, PH. , . . ,
X, chi, like the foregoing, is compounded of y, *, and
the spiritus asper as above.
+ psi, like some of the rest, is made up of /8s, ws,
which, too, were originally written in separate charac-
teIThese observations are thrown together purely for
the use of students who may not choose to inquire into
the minutiee. We are sorry that the nature of the work
will not permit us to extend our researches to greater
length The reader will find an ancient inscription on
Plate-CCCCXVI. in which the powers of the letters are
exemplified as they were in the first stage of the Greek
language. Every language, we believe, was originally
composed of inflexible words *, the variations which now
distinguish.nouns and verbs were the effects of progres¬
sive improvements. What might have been the state of
the Greek language with respect to these variations m
its original form, it is not now possible to discover.
That it was rude and irregular, will not, we imagine,
be controverted. One of the first attempts towards
forming the variations, now denominated declensions
and conjugations, would probably be made upon the de¬
monstrative article and the substantive verb. Ibis ob¬
servation will be found to hold good in most polished
languages. In the Greek tongue, this was evidently
the method. . . r a
Origin and The original Greek article was imported fi-om the
flexion of east. It was the Hebrew or Phoenician fr ha. 1 bis par-
tke article. tjc^e sonietimes signifies one, and sometimes it answers to
our demonstrative thc} both in its adverbial and demon-
LOGY. Sect. VI.
strative capacity it imports demonstration. In the ear- Greek
liest stages of the two oriental languages, it was proba- Language,
bly written apart, as ha-mclcvh, “ the king. In pro¬
cess of time it came to be joined with the following
word, as llannnelech. Irom this we think the Greek
article was deduced. It is still retained in the Doiic
dialect in its pristine character, 'i he difference be¬
tween ho and ha in the eastern language is nothing.
Here then we have the articles i masculine and U femi¬
nine. Upon these several changes were superinduced,
in order to render them more useful for the purposes
of language. For those changes we know of no arche¬
type.
The Greeks then having adopted the Hebrew, or
Phoenician, or Chaldean article ha, and changed it into
ho for the masculine, seem to have arranged its varia¬
tions in the following manner :
Sing. _
Nom. o
Gen.
Dat. ci
Acc. «v
P/u.
Ci
6)1
J37
1 o I
In the earliest stages of the Greek language, * and tiltsnsein
were sounded in the same manner, or nearly so, as was the flexion
observed above. The accusative was at first like the ®he1!°™s 0
nominative ", for distinction’s sake it was made to termi-an(j
nate in », which letter was likewise adopted to charac-declen-
terize the genitive plural; t was annexed to the dativesion*.
plural, to distinguish it from the dative singular. I he
radical word was still without inflexion.
When the article was inflected in this manner, the
process stood as follows : tve take *«y«s for an ex¬
ample.
Sing.
Nom. o Aey speech
Gen. ov X«y of speech
Dat. a« Aey to speech
Acc. ov Xoy speech
Flu.
«< X«y speeches
aiv Aoy of speeches
,5(5 Xoy to speeches
iv( A ay speeches
In this arrangement our readers will observe, that in
the time under consideration, u was not yet introduced ;
and therefore eput-qw or little o was the same letter in
the genitive plural as in the accusative singular; but in
the latter case it was sounded long by way of distinc¬
tion. 4 . i T. •
The article ha, which is still retained in the Hone
dialect, was varied as follows :
Flu.
eii
Sing.
Nora, u
Gen.
Dat. in
Acc. <«v
01V
ini
ki
These variations differ a little from those of the mas¬
culine ; and they were no doubt made for the sake of
distinction, as is usual in such cases. \Y e shall now
give an example of the feminine as it must have stood
before variations were introduced. We shall employ
Tipj.
Sing. Flu.
Nom. it Tip homur Tip honours
Gen. hi Tip of honour «v Tip of honours
Dat. hi Tip to honour hit Tip to honours
Acc, «tv Tint honour hi Tip honours
Afteiwards,
I38
(nthis
mode of
Scxion the
Greeks co¬
pied from
the Orien-
tals.
1.39
Formation
Sect. VII. PHIL O
, j Aft'ntards, wlien the ChaUettn article da wag adopt.
Slfl* pd for the ncuter gfn^er, the letter T or t/ was clianLreti
into r, and prefixed to it j and then the Greeks, who
m their declension of adjectives, always followed the
neuter gender, began to prefix it to the oblique
cases. ’
.In t!lis manner we think the Greek nouns stood ori¬
ginally j the only change being made upon the article.
At length, instead ol prefixing that word, and expres¬
sing it by itself, they found it convenient to affix a frag¬
ment of it to the noun, and so to pronounce both with
moie expedition. Ihus es-Aay, c. g. became Aoy-«j,
A«y became A«y «», and of course Aoyj; and Aoyav, &c.
Ihe spiritus asper, or rough breathing, was thrown a-
way, in order to facilitate the coalition. Nouns of the
neuter gender, as was necessary, were distinguished by
using i instead of j. In oriental words the Greeks of¬
ten change $ into ►, and vice versa.
In this case the Greeks seem to have copied from an
eastern archetype. In Hebrew we find an arrangement
exactly similar. To supply the place of the pronouns
possessive, they affix fragments of the personals: Thus
they write ben-i, “ my son,” instead of ben-ani, and
debir-nu, “ our words,” instead of debir-unu, &c. The
persons of their verbs are formed in the same manner.
In this way, in our opinion, the variations of the first
and second declensions were produced.
iiiiiouuu Aftei that a considerable number ol their nouns were
>f the third arranged under these two classes, there remained an al-
leclension most infinite number of others which could not conveni-
"ses!* *U ently jjroug[lt into these arrangements j because their
terminations did not readily coalesce with the- articles
above mentioned. These, like nouns of the neuter gen¬
der, were in a manner secluded from the society of the
two other classifications. It is probable that these for
a long time continued indeclinable. At last, however,
an effort was made to reduce them into a class as well
as the others. All these excluded nouns originally ter¬
minated' with s, which appears from their genitives as
they stand at present. By observing this case, we are
readily conducted to the termination^of the pristine vo¬
cable. The genitive always ends in which ending is
formed by inserting • between the radical word and ?.
By throwing out « we have the ancient nominative:
ihus, Titi*v, genitive ; taking out o tve have T<-
r*vf, the original inflexible termination. genitive
Autmj j throw out o and you have Aisroj. n*AA«j, ge¬
nitive n«eAAa?e; j take away o and there remains zraAAaJs.
Ognf, genitive $ by throwing out o we have
Ogwdf. A**|, genitive A***™;, Av**Tf. K^rcS) geni¬
tive Kgemss, K^xtyh ; originally Kgaerej, because origi¬
nally i bad the sound of jj, as was observed above. MsAi,
genitive MsAiref, MsAwf. genitive £<&«-, EiZic
the old noun. In short, the genitive is always formed
by inserting * immediately before f, which is always the
termination of the nominative ; and by this rule, we
easily discover the noun such as it was in its original
form. °
The dative of this declension was closed with i ascrip-
turn ; the same with that of the second, namely, < sirb-
senptum. The accusative commonly terminates with cc :
?riSI,.ially en^e(i with r. The Romans imitated
the Alolian dialect, and they commonly ended it with
em or im. The Greeks, perhaps in this imitated their
progenitors, for a was their favourite vowel. The no-
335
Greek
Language.
L Q G t.
minative plural ended in a, which nearly resembles the
English plural, and was possibly borrowed from the
1 hracians. The genitive plural in all the declensions *
ends in m ; the dative ends in c-<, the a- being inserted to
distinguish it from the dative singular. When a strong
consonant, which would not easily coalesce with f, comes
immediately before it, that consonant is thrown out to
avoid a harsh or difficult sound. The sum then is j the
cases ol nouns of the first and second declensions consist
ol the radical word with fragments of the articles annexed,
and these were the first classifications of nouns. The’
other nouns were lelt out for some time, and might be
denominated neuters ; at length they too were classified,
and their variations formed as above. In this process
the Greeks deviated from the oriental plan ; for these
people always declined their nouns bv particles prefixed.
W hether the Greeks were gainers by this new process,
we will not pretend positively to determine. AVe are,
however, inclined to imagine that they lost as much in
perspicuity as they gained by variety.
It is generally believed that the Greeks have no Greek40
ub-
ablative ; to this opinion, however, we cannot assent, latire*
It is ti ue, that the dative, and what we would call the
ablative, are always the same : yet we think there is
no more reason to believe that the latter is wanting in
Greek, than that the ablative plural is wanting ifi
Latin, because in that language both these cases are al¬
ways alike.
In the eastern languages there are only two genders,
analogous to the established order of nature, where all
animals are either male or female. But as the people
of the east are, to this day, strongly addicted to personi*
fication, they ranged all objects of which they had occa¬
sion to speak, whether animate or inanimate, under one
or other of these two classes. Hence arose what is now
called the masculine andfeminine genders. The orien¬
tals knew nothing ol a neuter gender, because, indeed,
all objects were comprehended under the foregoing clas¬
ses. The Phoenician feminine was formed from the mas¬
culine, by adding nx, ah. In this the Greeks in many ,,,
cases imitated them, 'j he Greeks and Latins left a vast Genders,
number of substantives, like a kind of outcasts, without
reducing them to any gender $ this process gave rise to
the neuter 'gender, which imports, that such substantives
W’ere of neither gender. This has the appearance of a
defect, or rather a blemish, in both. Sometimes, too,
they make words neuter, which, according to the ana¬
logy ol grammar, ought to be either masculine or femi¬
nine. And again, they range words under the mascu¬
line or feminine, which by the same rule ought to have
been neuter. In short, the doctrine of generical distri¬
bution seems to have been very little regarded by the
fabricators of both tongues. The beauty which arises
from variety seems to have been their only object.
The use of the article in the Greek language is, we p T,42
think, rather indeterminate ; it is often prefixed to pro- servabonT'
per names, where there is no need of demonstration nor on the ar-
generical distinction. On the contrary, it is often omit-tide,
ted in cases where both the one and the other seem to
require its assistance. In short, in some cases it seems
to be a mere expletive. Though both Lord Monboddo
and Mr Harris have treated of this part of speech, nei¬
ther the one nor the other has ascertained its proper use.
(See Origin and Progress of Language, vol. ii. p. 53,
Hermes, p. 214. et seq.)—AVe know not any objection
to
336
Greek
language
.H3
Adjectives
144
Greek nu¬
merals.
P H I L
to tlie early use of articles among tbc Greeks so plausible
as tlie total neglect ot them among the liomans. l)Ut
it ought to be considered, that after the flexions were
introduced, the use of the article was in a great measure
neglected. Accordingly, Lord Monboddo observes that
it is very seldom used as such by Homer, but commonly
in place of the relative pronoun si, 0.—Thus it would
appear, that at the time when the Homan language was
reduced to the Grecian standard, the article rvas not
commonly used by the Greeks } and ot course the Ija-
tins never employed it. There can be no doubt but the
pronoun who, in the northern languages, is the same
with the Greek 0, and the Hebrew hua. This among
the northern people is always a relative, which affords a
presumption that the Greeks originally used the article
in the same manner as we do at present. 1 he fact is,
that the articles having once got into vogue, were often
positively used as mere expletives to fill up a gap j and
that, on the other hand, when there was no occasion for
pointing out an object, it being fully determined by the
tenor of the discourse, it was often omitted.
In forming adjectives, they followed the same plan
that they had done with substantives. Their great eflort
was to make their adjectives agree with their substan¬
tives in gender, number, and case. 1 his arrangement
improved the harmony of speech •, and nothing could
be more natural than to make the word expressing the
quality correspond with the subject to which it be¬
longed.
As adjectives denote qualities, and thus are suscep¬
tible of degrees, nature taught them to invent marks
for expressing the difference of these degrees. The
qualities may exceed or fall below each other by al¬
most numberless proportions j it was, however, found
convenient to restrict these increases and decreases to
two denominations. The positive is, properly speaking,
no degree of comparison at all *, therefore we need only
point out the formation of the comparative and super¬
lative.
The former is generally thought to be fabricated, by
first adding the Hebrew word excellent, to the po¬
sitive, and then affixing the Greek termination ej; and
the latter, by affixing the Syrian word tath and the syl¬
lable e;, in the same manner.
Every nation, even the most uncivilized, have early
acquired the notion of number. Numerical characters
and names are the same in many different languages.
These terms were discovered, and in use, long beiore
grammar came to any perfection j and therefore re¬
main either inflexible or irregular. The first way of
computing among the Greeks was by the letters of
the alphabet; so that A signified one and SI twenty-
fe/ur: in this manner the rhapsodies ot Homer are
numbered •, and so are the divisions of some ot. the
Psalms, as is generally known. But a more artilicial
plan of computation was obviously necessary. They
divided the letters of the alphabet into decades or tens,
from A to i=:xo. To express the number 6, they in¬
serted lyaw'xzfa "y so that by this means the first de¬
cade amounted to 10. In the next decade every letter
increased by tens, and so P denoted 100. In this de¬
cade they inserted 4 In the third, every
letter rose by 1005 so that 4 ) cwvtnrrpoo. By in¬
serting these three Phoenician characters they made
O L O G Y. Sect- vn-
their alphabet amount to 900. To express chiliads Greek
or thousands, they began with the letters of the al-
phabet as beiore j and to make the distinction, they
placed a dot under each character, as the units, tens,
hundreds, were distinguished by an acute accent over
them. ... , • •
But in monumental inscriptions, and in public in¬
struments, a larger and more lasting numerical charac¬
ter was fabricated. The began with I, and repeat¬
ed that letter till they arrived at 0=5. This is the first
letter of mm, five. Then they proceeded, by repeat¬
ing I till they came to 10 A, the first letter oihKx, ic.
Then they repeated A over and over, so that four A.—
40. To express 50, they used this method ; they in¬
closed A in the belly of a|=50, |h]=500, |m|=50,ooo,
&c. Often, however, X signifies 1000, and then we
have XiAioi, 2000 j rgis Xthiot, 300c $ and so of the
rest.
The word pronoun signifies a word placed instead ofPronou!1-
a noun or name *, and indeed the personal pronouns are
really such : tills needs no explication. The pronoun
of the first person is one of those words which have
continued invariable in all languages } and the other
personals are of the same character. The itlatncs,
possessives, demonstratives, and gentiles, are generally
derived from these, as may be discerned by a very mo¬
derate adept in the language. Our readers will there¬
fore, we hope, easily dispense with our dwelling upon
this part of speech.
Verb. In most ancient languages, verbs, according^ck^
to the order of nature, have only three tenses or times,
namely, t\\e. past, present, future. The intermedi¬
ate tenses were the invention of more reimed ages.
The Greek, in the most early periods,^ had no other
tenses but those above mentioned. The manner of
forming these we shall endeavour to point out, with¬
out touching upon the nature of the rest, since an idea
of them may be acquired from any common gram-
mar. , , n • e
We have observed above, that the flexion ot nouns
of the first and second declensions are formed by an¬
nexing fragments of the articles to the radical words;
and that the variation of the tenses was produced by
joinino- the substantive verb, according to the same ana¬
logy. "Every Greek verb was originally an inflexible bi-
literal, triliteral, quadriliteral or dissyllabic radix. The
variations were formed a long while after in the manner
above intimated.
The Greeks had their substantive or auxiliary verb,
from the Phoenician or Chaldean verb r\'n,fuit. This
verb, taking away the gentle aspirate from both begin¬
ning and end, actually becomes u. rl his vocable the
Greeks brought along with them from the East, and
manufactured after their own manner, which appears to
have been thus :
ES^SV, £STS, iOTi,
6vy.w, sm, ov<rt,
vropiv, &c.
Pres, iu, «ss, ss,
Cont. u, e<s, £<,
Eut. £!7<y, Eirtls, SCTEl,
We place c<n in the third person plural, because for
many centuries supplied the sound of the dipi-
thong By these variations it will appear that the
radical verb was rendered capable of inflection, >\e
have observed that Greek verbs were a collection of bi-
liters*}
I’iJi LOIjOM Y.
rL-j/'E ccc(x\ /.
CD
4/
ZX //////// /// r J -V V//Y Y//V//// O D/y^ y///////
Zu^ra/v//// nz‘ ro//
'A/YI/7//H
tem/ta. f/z/tr /// tua - yj/,,,, rf,./
zmed/aziocf. t, yr-Y/,-/,/ r-i/.
oi)i'7\i. ooMiirro.v ^metjkine s^lekto. tfiopIo. ho
ESTW. EpI. TO.TBITO.EiV.TEI. HOHOI rivL /^L /UvA TO!
HEROHO.- /lEOl.O MREOIO.Y.'KJJ.XI.A'ESEETf.JMARTAN
lULA/OK K.MIODEA.KJI.HOI.KIO/VES.DEMETROS
k./ikowas. ka^oogmotr. ooi:o;\. kai .
' Zsz/AJc/y/ Q/i/////,/7c/.
Woo/;.
‘‘O __Z1 ^ «.   ^
a ere a er er cc
f ^ ^ ^ ^ Y 3?
(< 'n 'll /n Iru err a /,< <ui n/( a//, vr; < /
(s7?
lOvn ftcr/sL' (y Zi/i/eCj.
l7t>iu>o/)a/i£i.
$ ft V V W_J f. 5T?To75^ T S-UT^ETS
hL yu ynu n crru/c chi c/tAa j,r jha /u/a /a /Jut /7c d/ic na 7c f,Z/f dc
R H ^ 1 ^ H T ^ cf YI R H- ^ ET
. ' tic ya /him be bhe me ye ret 1e /re ,/cr ,j7ia zzh Tehct -r ynya or<///a
Sect. VII. PHILO
Greek literal, triliteral, or quadriliteral, radical words.—The
Language, following may serve for examples: r<, My, M<*£, tvtt,
" v <Potv, T«v, geiTT, Actft, AnX, Atix..
These radicals are taken at random; and we believe
our Grecian student, by adding the terminations, will
readily find them all significant verbs. With these ra¬
dicals, then, and the substantive verb, we suppose the
present and future tenses were formed.
Original But it is now generally admitted that the modern
pi-esent that present was not the original one of the verb. The se-
"ow the se con<^’ or future, appears plainly to have been the
cond fu-^moSt anc*ent Present. When the language was im-
ture. proved, or rather in the course of being improved, a new
present was invented, derived indeed from the former,
but differing widely from it in its appearance and com¬
plexion. Upon this occasion, the old present was de¬
graded, and instead of intimating what was doing at pre¬
sent, was made to import what was immediately to be
done hereafter. By this means, y^cpw, contracted in-
to y^octya, lam writing, came to intimate, lam just go¬
ing to write. This change wTas probably made for the
sake of enriching the language, for variety, for energy.
Thus, Tvmw contracted became tv^tw^ucu, tiktu,
&c. According to this theory, we find, that such verbs
as now have no second future retain their original form,
only the circumflex has been removed in order to ac¬
commodate them to the general standard. Gramma¬
rians have now chosen the three characteristic letters of
active verbs from the present, first future, and perfect.
The true characteristic of the original verb was that of
the present second future. Many verbs are now desti¬
tute of that tense, because since the invention of the
new present, those have fallen into disuse.
337
148
deni pre
sent.
T49
First fu¬
ture, and
Formation Let us now take the verb Xsy«, dico, in order to
f .the.ni0‘ make a trial 5 and let us write the radix and the
auxiliary, first separately, and then in conjunction:
Thus,
My-tu, Xsy-esj, My-tt, My-eoft(», My-isri, My-ietrrt. Then
we will have contracted MyS, Myiis, MyiT, MyaZpiv,
Xiyuri, Xiyutri. Here, we believe, every thing is self-
evident.
The English would run thus : Saying I am, saying
thou art, saying he is, &c. At first the radix and the
Auxiliary were pronounced separately, as we do our
helping verbs in English, and would have been written
in the same manner had words been then distinguished
in writing.
The present first future occupied the same place that
it now does, and concurred in its turn to complete the
future in conjunction with the radix. That the sub¬
stantive verb was inflected in the manner above laid
down, is obvious from its future middle iropou, and
from the future of the Latin verb sum, which was of
old eso, esis, &c. Verbs in Xu, fin, »&>, g&i, often take
<r<y in the first future. See Fml. Cret. ap. Marm. Oxon.
lib. 87. Verbs in Xu and assume <r by analogy, as
iciXXii, xiXcra, Eurip. Hecub. V. 1057. xiXrtu, Horn. Od-
x. v. 511. rsXXu, TiXru, unde reXtrav, ll. x. v. 707.
Find. Nem. Od. 9. Duodec. 2. rn^u, ngru,
Theoc. Idyll. 22. v. 63. In fine, the iEohc dialect
after the liquids often inserts <r.
It must be observed, that the Greeks, in order to ac¬
celerate the pronunciation, always throw out the t and
«, except in verbs ending in uu, ia, tu ; where they gene¬
rally change them into >j and When the last letter
Vol. XVI. Part I. f
LOGY.
of the radix can coalesce with r after t is thrown out, Greek
they transform it, so as to answer that purpose; if not, LangnaSe.
they sometimes throw it out. We shall once more take ’"““"v  
Xiyu for an example :
Xty-uru, Xiy-urtts, Xiy-vnt, &c.
Throwing out 1, it would stand Xsy-c-u, Xiy-mif, &c.
by changing yj into | it becomes Xilu. A 6 and <r can¬
not coalesce with <r, therefore they throw them out:
thus, A^ai, future first ct<ru; tfXyiQu, future first 7rXv\<ru j
Avvth, Avvtrv, &c.
These are the general rules wilh respect to the for¬
mation of the present and future of active verbs in the
earliest stages of the Greek language. The limits pre¬
scribed will not allow us to pursue these conjectures $
but the reader may, if he thinks proper, carry them a
great way. . ,so
I he preterite tense falls next under consideration. Prcterite
If we may trust analogy, this, as well as the other two, tense‘
must have owed its conformation to the radix of the
verb, and some other word fitted to eke out its termina¬
tions. It has been thought by some critics, that this
addition was taken from the Hebrew word run 5 and we
should be of the same opinion did not another auxiliary
present itself nearer home, which appears to us much 151
more congruous to such a purpose. Perhaps, indeed, Origin of
the people from whom we suppose it borrowed, derived^16 aux*~
it from the eastern quarters. We have already obser-^^
ved, that the Thracians were masters of a great part of
Greece in the very earliest ages. At that tirrte they
were a polite and learned people. From them a consi¬
derable part of the Greek language was derived. If,
therefore, we should find a word in their language em¬
ployed for the same purpose, and accommodated to coa¬
lesce with the radical verb, we feel ourselves very much
inclined to prefer such a word.
The word ha pervades many different languages as
an auxiliary verb. From it we have the Italian ho,
the Spanish he, the French ai; and in one shape or
other it appears in all the German and Scandinavian
dialects. It is the Gothic auxiliary j and, we believe,
it forms the termination of the perfect active of the first
conjugation in the Latin tongue: For there am is the
radix of amo ; in the preterite am-avi, amavi: and the
preterperfect am-hav-eram, i. e. amaveram, compounded
of am, hav, and eram, the imperfect of the indicative of
the substantive verb. This process, in the formation of
the preterite of Latin verbs, will scarce be questioned,
and forms certainly a presumptive proof that the Greeks
pursued the same line. From this verb is likewise de¬
rived the Latin habeo, by changing v and b, which are
indeed the same letter. Our readers, after this detail,
will not be surprised if we should now hazard a conjec¬
ture, and declare it as our opinion, that this same Go¬
thic auxiliary ha is actually the additional part of the
preterite of Greek verbs, and that part upon which
the conjugation depends.
In forming this combination between the ritdix and
the auxiliary, the Greeks were obliged to fabricate
several devices. As often as the last letter of the ra¬
dix could not unite with the aspirate in ha, they me¬
tamorphosed it into one of the double letters, which
are capable of coalescing with it. In the verb Xiyu,
y was.changed into % j thus, Xsy ha became Xsy«, tvtttu
preterite tvtt ha, was combined into In verbs
U u which
338
Greek
Language
PHILO
which had a radix that would not admit this conjunc¬
tion, they hardened the k into as in rtw, preterite
Ax6vy.it. Many oilier ways were contrived to
facilitate this re-union. These are detailed in every
Greek grammar, and so need not be mentioned.—
What has been said with respect to this configuration,
we offer as a pure conjecture, without the most remote
intention of obtruding it upon our readers.
If it is admitted, that the auxiliary /ia formed the
conjugating termination of the active verb among the
Greeks, it will likewise be admitted, that the radical
verb and the other made originally two distinct words:
that, according to this scheme, the preterite would pro¬
ceed thus, Aiy //o, said 1 have ; Asy has, said thou hast;
Aty he, said he hath, &c. This process to us appears ra¬
tional, elegant, and advantageous. I he pluperfect was
not then invented, and therefore it does not come under
our consideration. The other tenses were all deduced
from those described j and in forming these intermediate
distinctive tenses, we believe that both critics and gram¬
marians, and perhaps philosophers too, were employed.
See Grammar. .
The eastern nations have diversified their verbs, by
affixing fragments of the personal pronouns to the la-
dix, by which they gained only the advantage of ex¬
hibiting the genders of the persons engaged in being,
acting, and suffering •, but a perpetual repetition of
these was unavoidable. The Greeks, by their artifi¬
cial combination of the radix with the two auxiliaries,
avoided the necessity of repeating their personal pro¬
nouns, as we and the other modern inhabitants of Eu¬
rope are obliged to do •, and at the same time, by diver¬
sifying the terminations of their nouns and verbs, won¬
derfully improved the beauty and harmony of then-
language. The arrangement above insisted on is so
very different from that of the orientals, and so entirely
Gothic, that we think there can be no doubt that the
Greeks borrowed this manoeuvre from the Thracians.
Every person moderately acquainted with the Greek
language will, upon examination, discover a wonderful
coincidence between the structure, idioms, and phraseo-
]0gy, of the English and Greek languages •, so nmny
congenial features must engender a strong suspicion
that there once subsisted a pretty intimate relation be¬
tween them. <
In the preceding deduction, we find ourselves obli¬
ged once more to\liffer from the very learned author
of the Origin and Progress of Language. As we took
the liberty to question his originality of the Greek
language, and at the same time presumed to attack
the goodly structure raised by philosophers, critics,
and grammarians ; so we now totally differ from that
learned writer as to his theory of the creation of
verbs out of the inhabile matter of ecu, tu, &c. Hus
whole fabric, in our opinion, leans on a feeble foun¬
dation.
The apparatus of intermediate tenses, of augments,
derivation of tenses, with their formation, participles,
and idiomatical constructions, and other essentials or
appendages, we omit, as not coming within the verge
of the disquisition.
LOGY. Sect IL
The derivation and formation of the middle and Greek
passive voices, would certainly afford matter of curious Language,
speculation j but the labour necessary to investigate '
this connection would greatly overbalance the benellt De,ivation
expected* • • and fornift-
However to complete our plan, we shall subjoin a tion of the
few strictures with respect to the formation of the middle
middle voice, which was, in our opinion, immediately
formed from the active. _ ...
We have seen already, that the active voice in its
original state was formed by annexing fragments of
the substantive or auxiliary verb to the radix. The
same economy was observed in fabricating the ilexibie
parts of the verb of the middle voice. 1 o demon¬
strate this, we shall first conjugate the present tense of
the auxiliary passive upon the principles above laid
down. c .
Present, Es/ttai, urcci, tircte, icfciiot,, eurfa, mreti. ouen
was the passive-present of the auxiliary. We shall now
take our example from the verb ; second luture
Tvir-itfccti, struck I am, iwies-ai, struck thou art, tvtt-
tirxi, struck he is, &c. contracted ryTrovfcxi, rv?rn, tvttu-
t*<. The conjunction and formation here is obvious.
Perhaps, in the second person, <r was inserted, which,
however, is thrown out in the process of the persons.
The future middle is clearly formed, by affixing the
future-passive of the verb lu, only as « was introduced
into the language for s long, it was generally (t) substi¬
tuted instead of that vowel in verbs ending in «« and u,
and u for « in verbs ending in ««; the two vowels 6 and
o being originally long as well as short, till » was
adopted to denote the long sound of the former, and
w that of the latter. In many verbs, before the con¬
junction of the radix and auxiliary, s was thrown out: plate
thus, rvTT-tropxt became rv^cfcue, Xiy-ie-tfccu, (XCCXVI.
See.
The preterite was deduced from that of the active by
a very slight variation, so trifling, indeed, that it need
not be mentioned j only we may observe, that the aspi¬
rate h is never retained in this tense, which originally
seems to have been the only distinguishing character by
which that tense of the middle voice differed from the
same tense of the active. , r r
From the strict analogy between the mode ot torm-
ing the three primary tenses ol the active and middle
voice, we are led to suspect that what is now the middle
was originally the passive voice.
The immediate formation of the former, by annexing
the passive auxiliary, is obvious. The middle voice still
partakes of the passive signification, since it has some¬
times a passive, though more frequently an active.
There are several parts of the present passive quite ana¬
logous to the same tenses in the middle : and, lastly, it
is the common progress, in the course of improvement,
to proceed step by step, and by approximation. What
is most simple and easy is the first object, then succeeds
what is only a little more difficult, and so on till we ar¬
rive at the last stage, when human ingenuity can go
no farther. Now, it will readily be admitted, that
the passive voice is much more embarrassed and in¬
tricate in its texture than the middle; and, therefore,
the
(t) We say generally, because in verbs ending in w, the s is sometimes retained, as nMu, nteru, ^
Sect. VII.
Creek the former should have been posterior in point of time
Language, to the latter.
j v We are well aware, that the very learned Kuster, and
most other moderns, deeply skilled in the origin, pro¬
gress, and structure, of the Greek language, have thought
otherwise. The general opinion has been, that the
Greek middle voice answered exactly to the Hebrew
conjugation hithpachal, and in its pristine signification
imported a reciprocality, or when the agent acts upon it¬
self. For our part, we only intended a few hints upon
the subject, which our learned readers may pursue, ap-
j,3 prove, or reject, at pleasure,
and of the If vve might pretend to investigate the formation of
passive. the passive voice, we should imagine that the modern
present was formed from the ancient one, by inserting
such letters as were found necessary for beauty, variety,
energy, &c.; the first future from the second future
middle of the verb once This future is
Hropxi; and, joined to the radix, always occupies that
place, TiMSvjiropxi, QtegfiYitrofixt, Tv^dqirapsii, and
so of the rest: whether <rcti, rasi, which occur so
frequently as the terminations of the middle and passive
voices, are fragments of some obsolete verb, we will not
■pretend to determine.
From verbs in <*», e&>, ou, vt», are formed verbs in pt;
which in the present, imperfect, and second aorist, as it
is called, only have k different form, by assuming (At
with a long vowel preceding it, in the present active *,
which vowel is preserved in each person singular. This
collection of irregular verbs seems to be formed from
the verb tipi, which in some dialects might be npi. In¬
deed the imperfect >iv, ijy, seems to imply as much : in
this, however, we dare not be positive.
In the whole of this analysis of the formation of
verbs, we have laid down what to us appears most plau¬
sible. That metaphysical critics may discover inaccu¬
racies in the preceding detail we make no doubt j but
our candid readers will doubtless reflect, that no lan¬
guage was ever fabricated by philosophers, and that
the elements of language were hammered out by pea¬
sants, perhaps by savages. Critics have created a philo¬
sophy of language we admit, and have a thousand times
discovered wonderful acuteness aid ingenuity in the
mechanism of words and sentences, where the original
onomathetae never apprehended any, and which possibly
never existed but in their own heated imagination. If
our more enlightened readers should find any thing in
the preceding detail worthy their attention, so much the
better j it the contrary should happen, we presume they
will take up with the hackneyed system. We have all
along neglected the dual number, because it regularly
follows the type of the other numbers.
Be that as it may, before we drop this subject ive
must take the liberty to subjoin an observation or two
with respect to the consequences of the practice of new
modelling the present, and of course the imperfect,
tenses of verbs, ist, After this arrangement they com¬
monly retained all the other tenses exactly as they had
stood connected with the primitive verb : this needs no
example. 2d, They often collected the tenses of verbs,
whose present and imperfect were now obsolete, in order
339
to supply this defect. Thus we have myx.x, Greek
WOK*' 3d, They often formed present and imperfect Language,
tenses without any other tenses annexed : The poets in '—
particular seem to have fabricated these two tenses at
pleasure.
If this procedure was convenient for the poets, it
was certainly most incommodious with respect to the
vulgar, as well as to foreigners who had an inclination
to learn the language. The vulgar, some ages after
Homer and Hesiod, must have found it as difficult to
understand their poems as our people do to compre¬
hend those of Chaucer and Spenser. By this disposi¬
tion, too, the etymology of verbs was almost entirely
confounded. The present second future being, as has
been observed, the ancient present, the attention of the
curious etymologist was naturally diverted to the modern
present, where it was utterly impossible to discover the
radical word. A few examples will elucidate this point:
•niva, to stretch, to extend, old present rxv'ji', ron is the ra¬
dix, which at once appears to lie a Persian word signi¬
fying a large tract of country. Hence Mauritania “ the
land of the Mauri,” Aquitania, Bretania ; and with s
prefixed, Hindo-stan, Chusi stan, Turque-stan. The ob¬
solete verb &7CM, whence oxrtfAxt, is evidently derived
from op, an Egyptian name of the moon : (ftxivM, second
future ipctvd, to show, from the Egyptian word phan or
pan, a name of the sun: future second rvxa •, rvvr
is obviously the offspring of sn, thapfif a drum or tim¬
brel,” from beating or striking, &,c. In such etymo¬
logical researches, the student must he careful to turn
the Ionic « into the Doric «c j because the Dores were
latest from the coast of Palestine, and consequently re¬
tained the largest share of the Phoenician dialect: thus
wfcu, to rejoice, turning » into « becomes ycthu. This
word, throwing away the termination, becomes gath,
plainly signifying a winepress (u). It is likewise to he
observed, that the .^Eolians often change u into v, as s-yg?
instead of &c.
It is not our intention to enter into the arrange¬
ment and peculiar constructions of the Greek language.
1 here is, however, one, which we cannot well pass over 1
in silence. As that tongue is destitute of those words Greek in-
which the Latins chUgerunds, to supply this defect they fiaitivcs
employ the infinitive with the article prefixed: thus,cdfs
Etf to Meet ctvTVf tpiXx?, in order to their being friends:
ctiro ra itecrtxi ctvrovs BcttriXtst, from their having elected a
king; Ex. rn cexo (pivyui uvTXf ix ru; xoXiof, from their
flying out of the city. In these phrases the infinitive is
said to assume the nature of a substantive noun 5 agree¬
ing with the article before it, exactly as if it were, a noun
of the neuter gender. Idioms of this kind occur in our
own tongue; only with us the verb, instead of being
expressed in the infinitive, is turned into the participle.
According to this arrangement, the first of the preced¬
ing phrases, which, according to the Greek, would
stand toward to be friends, in English is, in order to
their being friends. This anomaly, then, if indeed it be
such, is of no manner of consequence. The French, if
we are not mistaken, would express it in the very same
manner with the Greek, that is, pour ctre amis.
Frem treating of verbs, we should naturally proceed
Uu 2 to
P H I L O L O G Y.
(H) Hence it came to signify rejoicing, from the mirth and revelry attending the treading of the vine-press.
*55
Greek par¬
ticles ot
oriental
extraction.
PHILO
to the consideration of adverbs, which are so denomina¬
ted, because they are generally the concomitants ol
verbs. Every thing relating to that part of speech, in
the Greek tongue, may be seen in the I ort lioyal or
any other Greek grammar. Instead therefore of dwel¬
ling upon this beaten topic, we shall hazard a conjecture
upon a point to which the critics in the Greek tongue,
as far as we know, have not hitherto adverted. .
The most elegant and most admired writers, ot
Greece, and especially Homer, and after him Hesiod,
abound with small particles, which appear to us pure
expletives, created as it were to promote harmony, or
fill up a blank without sense or signification. How
those expletive particles should abound in that language
beyond any other, we think, is a matter not easy to be
accounted for. It has been said by the Zoili, that if you
extract these nonentities from the poems of that bard,
aid solus meruit didpoeta, a magnum inane, *, mighty
blank, would be left behind. We would willingly do
iustice to that pigmy race of words, and at the same
time vindicate the prince of poets from that groundless
imputation. Plato likewise, the prince of philosophers,
has been often accused of too frequently employing
these superfluous auxiliaries. _ , „ ,
Those particles were no doubt imported from the
east. It would be ridiculous to imagine that any de¬
scription of men, however enthusiastically fond they
might be of harmonious numbers, would sit down on
purpose to fabricate that race of monosyllables purely
to eke out their verses; mere sounds without sigmhcan-
cy. In the first place, it may be observed, that there
is a very strict connection among the particles of ail
cognate languages. To this we may add that the not
understanding the nature, relations, signification, and
original import of those seemingly unimportant terms,
has* occasioned not only great uncertainty, but num¬
berless errors in translating the ancient languages into
the modern. The Greek language in particular loses
a considerable part of its beauty, elegance variety, and
energy, when these adverbial particles with which it is
replete are not thoroughly comprehended. An exact
translation of these small words, in appearance insig¬
nificant, would throw new light not only on Homer
and Hesiod, but even upon poets ot a much postenor
date Particles, which are generally treated as mere
expletives, would often be found energetically signifi¬
cant. It is however, altogether impossible to succeed
in this attempt without a competent skill in the e-
bfew Chaldaic, Arabian, Persian, and old Gothic lan-
o-uaires. We shall here take the liberty to mention a
few of these particles which are most familiar, one or
other of which occur in almost every line of Homer,
and which we believe are either not understood or mis¬
understood. Such are A*, f y£’
oa. ryvv. A* is nothing else but the Chaldaic paiticle dec,,
fhe parent of the English the. It likewise signifies by
in your turn; h is the same word in the Ionic
dialect; mv is a particle of the Hebrew affirmative
amen tides, veritas. Mxv, a kind of oath by the moon,
cailed'M, almost over all the east; hence Dor.^v*;
an oath by ye*, that is, the earth; anotneroath
L the same element, probably from the oriental word
of the same import; is a fragment of mentioned
before; ysv, of the earth, and „v or *v, an Egyp¬
tian name of the sun; *s, as, a particle which per-
logy. Sect- vn.
vades all the dialects of the Gothic language. In this Creek
manner we believe all these small words that occur so Lavage,
frequently in the Greek tongue, and which have hither¬
to been held inexplicable, may be easily rendered in
significant terms : and were this done, we believe they
would add both beauty and energy to the clauses in
which they stand. But this discussion must be left to
more accomplished adepts. . . p
We shall not explain the nature of prepositions, be- ^mi-
cause we are convinced that lew people will take the
trouble to peruse this disquisition who are not already
acquainted with their import in language. . The Greek
prepositions are eighteen in number, which need not
be enumerated here. Most of these might be easily
shown to be particles, or fragments deduced from ori¬
ental or Gothic words. The use of these words is to
connect together terms in discourse, and to show the
relation between them. In languages where, as m
English, all these relations are expressed without any
change on the termination of the nouns to which they
are prefixed, the process is natural and easy. The whole
is performed by juxtaposition. But in the Greek and
Latin tongues, this effect is produced, partly by prefix¬
ing prepositions and partly varying the terminations of
nouns. Had the Greeks been able to intimate all those
relations by varying the terminations, or had they muk
tiplied their prepositions to such a number as would have
enabled them to express these relations without the
casual variations, as the northern languages have done;
in either case their language would have been less em¬
barrassing than it is in its present state. According to
the present arrangement both prepositions and the casual
variations are used promiscuously to answer that pur¬
pose ; a method which appears to us not altogether uni¬
form. Though this plan might occasion little embar¬
rassment to natives, it must, in our opinion, have proved
somewhat perplexing to foreigners. The difficulty would
be, as to the latter, when to adopt the one and when tbe
other expedient. _
Another inconveniency arises from the exceeding
small number of prepositions in that language, which
bear too small a proportion to the great variety ot re¬
lations which they are appropriated to express. Ihia
deficiency obliged them often to employ the same pre¬
position to denote different relations : For instance, Ett;
intimates, ist, upon ; as nrc tx hdx, upon the stone; and
then it takes the genitive. 2d, It denotes near upon ;
as sti r? and then it governs the dative. 3d, Ihe
same preposition signifies motion towards ; as E^erev
rev XiQov, he fell upon the stone. In these instances the
same preposition intimates three different relations; and,
which is still more embarassing, each of these requires
a different case. The difficulty in this instance is so
considerable, that even the most accurate of the Greek
writers themselves often either forget or neglect the
true application. Many examples ot this might be ad¬
duced, did the limits assigned us admit such illustra¬
tions. Every man who has carefully perused the Gre-
cian authors ivill readily furnish himself with examples. IST^
Auain, some prepositions, which indicate different re-
lations, are prefixed to the same case. Thus, e| signifies
from ; as, E* Aw u^iUjrom Jupiter we begin ;
luev Uv, from my life, or my course of life; t*>,
6ugMv, before the doors ; ngt lyKUfuov, an encomium
before ihe victory; <x.ru ecyx6m UKodidomi to render
Sect. VII.
Greek
LanOTage,
J.S8
| ed iu
'fliposi-
! w.
evil for good; uni c-av, against you. In these examples,
and indeed every where, those prepositions intimate dif¬
ferent relations, and yet are prefixed to the same cases.
Sometimes the same preposition seems to assume two
opposite significations: this appears from the preposition
just mentioned, which intimates both for, instead of,
and against or opposite to.
What has been observed with respect to the preposi¬
tions above mentioned, the reader will readily enough
apply to tcutcc, piru, ciix, These incongruities
certainly imply something irregular ; and seem to inti¬
mate that those anomalies were so deeply incorporated
with the constitution of the language, that the subse¬
quent improvers found it impossible to correct them.
Indeed to prefix a preposition to a case already distin¬
guished by the affixed termination, appears to us a su¬
perfluity at least, if not an absurdity ; for certainly it
would have been more natural to have said s* Zevs ct^o-
fidct, than I* Aio? Some very learned men, who
have inquired into the origin of language, have been of
opinion that prepositions were the last invented species
of words. If this opinion be well founded, we may sup¬
pose (and we think that this supposition is not alto¬
gether improbable) that the casual terminations of the
Greek language were first affixed to the radix, in the
manner above exhibited ; and that prepositions were
afterwards fabricated and prefixed to the cases already
in use.
The syntax or construction of the Greek language
does not, according to our plan, come within the com¬
pass of our present inquiry. This the curious Greek
student will easily acquire, by applying to the grammars
composed for that purpose. W^e have already hazarded
a few conjectures with respect to the formation of the
most important and most distinguished classes of words
into which it has been divided by the most able gram¬
marians, without, however, descending to the minutise
of the language. As prepositions are the chief materials
with which its other words, especially verbs, are com¬
pounded, we shall briefly consider the order in which
they probably advanced in this process.
Complex ideas are compounded of a certain number
or collection of simple ones. Of those complex no¬
tions, some contain a greater and some a smaller num¬
ber of simple conceptions. In language, then, there
are two ways of expressing those complex ideas, either
by coining a wmrd to express every simple idea sepa-
rately, according to the order in which they stand in
the mind ; or by trying to combine two or more
simple terms into one, and by that method to intimate
one complex idea by one single word. The Arabians,
notwithstanding all the boasted excellencies of their
language, have never arrived at the art of compound¬
ing their words, in order to answer this noble purpose j
and the sister dialects are but slenderly provided with
this'species of vocables. The Greeks, of all other
nations (except perhaps those who spake the Sanscrit
language), are unrivalled in the number, variety, pro¬
priety, elegance, energy, and expression of their com¬
pound terms, The Greeks, like the Arabians, in the
earliest stages of their language, had only a collection
of radical disjointed w'ords, consisting of the jargons
of the aboriginal Greeks, of the Pelasgi, Thracians,
&c. How these words were arranged and constructed,
we have no data remaining upon which we can found
PHILOLOGY.
...... 34i
a critical investigation. We must therefore remain sa- Greek
tisfied with such probable conjectures as the nature of the Language,
case, and the analogy of the language, seem to suggest. 1 " v
Hie prepositions were originally placed before the
nouns, whose relations they pointed out. For example,
let us take the ^vvuTn&vnu-KiTo uWois, he died along
with the rest, or he died out of hand along with the
others, i hese words were arranged thus : oimivnmil*
evi Tflij ciXXoig and XTro-Owis-Kov cvy t«<5 uXXoig. In this
manner the parts of every compound word were placed
separately, at least as much as other words which had no
connection.
I lie first compound words of the Greek language The first
were the radical nouns with the article, and the radical compound
part of the substantive or auxiliary verb. The success p0rc*f/n
of this experiment encouraged them to attempt the same Giee '
m other words. By this noble invention they found
themselves able to express, in one word, with ease and
significancy, what in other languages, and formerly in
their own, required a tedious ambages or circumlocution.
In process of time, as their language was gradually mel¬
lowed, they increased the number of their compounds,
till their language, in that respect, infinitely excelled
all its parent dialects. In this process they were care¬
ful to unite such letters as not only prevented asperity
and difficulty of pronunciation, but even promoted har¬
mony and elegance. But this was the labour of poste¬
rior ages.
1 he Greeks were entirely ignorant of the derivation
or etymology of their language: for this we need only
consult Plato’s Cratylus, Aristotle’s Rhetoric, Demetri¬
us Phalereus, Longinus, &c. In deducing patrony¬
mics, abstracts, possessives, gentiles, diminutives, ver¬
bals, &c. from radicals of every kind, ihey have shown
the greatest art and dexterity. Examples of this occur
almost in every page of every Greek author. But this
extended no farther than their own language •, every
foreign language was an abomination to the Greeks.
But more of this in the sequel.
1 he original materials of the Greek tongue were un- Original
doubtedly rough and discordant, as we have described materials
them above. They had been collected from different ot the
quarters, were the produce of different countries, and ^reeh lan*
had been imported at very distant periods. It would gUage ’
therefore be an entertaining, if not an instructing, spe¬
culation, if it were possible to discover by what men
and by what means, this wonderful fabric was found¬
ed, erected, and carried to perfection. The writers of
Greece afford us no light. Foreigners were unacquain¬
ted with that originally insignificant canton. Every
thing beyond Homer is buried in eternal oblivion. Or¬
pheus is indeed reported to have composed poems 5 but
these were soon obliterated by the hand of time. The
verses now ascribed to that philosophical hero are none
of his*. Linus wrote, in the Pelasgic dialect, the a-* Pausaru
chievements of the first Bacchus ; Thamyris the Thra-Iib- i-
clan wrote ; and Pronapides the master of Homer wascai>' 22,
a celebrated poet. The works of all these bards did
not long survive ; and it is a certain fact that the Greek
tongue was highly polished even more early than the
age in which these worthies flourished. Homer, no
doubt, imitated their productions, and some are of opin¬
ion that he borrowed liberally from them. The Greeks
knew no more of the original character of their lan¬
guage, than of the original character and complexion
of, f
342
Greek
Jjan^iiHO'e.
161
which was
carried lo
its utmost
perfection
at a very
early pe¬
riod.
PHILO
of tlieif progenitors. They allowed, indeed, that their
language was originally barbarous and uncouth $ but
by what means or by what persons it was polished, en*
riched, and finally arranged, was to them an impene¬
trable secret.
We have already demonstrated that the lonim or
aborigines of Greece were a race ot barbarians *, that
consequently their language, or rather their jaigon,
was of the s-ame contexture. rl he Pelasgi found both
the people and their speech in this uncultivated state.
These people arrived in Greece about the year before
Christ 1760. It was then that the language of Greece
began to be cultivated. Before the age of Homer the
work seems to have been completed. Nothing ot con¬
sequence was afterwards added to the original stock ;
on the contrary, not a few moieties were deducted from
the Homeric treasure. The Pelasgi, as was said before,
arrived in Greece an. ant. Chr. 1760. Homer is thought
to have been born an. ant. Chr, 1041 j consequently
the cultivation of the Greek tongue was completed in a
period of about 700 years. But upon the supposition
that Orpheus, Linus, Thamyris, &.c. wrote long before
Homer, as they certainly did, that language had arrived
nearly at the standard of perfection two centuries be¬
fore *, by which computation the period of its progress
towards its stationary point is reduced to 500 years.
But as the Pelasgi were a colony of foreigners, we
ought to allow them one century at least to settle and
incorporate with the natives, and to communicate their
language, laws, manners, and habits, to the aborigines
of the country. By this deduction we shall reduce the
term of cultivation to less than four centuries.
During this period Greece was furiously agitated by
tumultsandinsurrections. That country was divided into
a number of independent states, which were perpetually
engaged in quarrels and competitions. The profession
of arms was absolutely necessary for the protection and
preservation of the state j and the man ot conduct and
prowess was honoured as a demi-god, and his exploits
transmitted with eclat to posterity. The Greek tongue
was then rough and unpolished 5 because, like the an¬
cient Romans, the bravest men were more disposed to
act than to speak. Every language will take its colour
from the temper and character of those who employ it;
and had it not been owing to one class of men, the
Greek tongue would have continued equally rough to
the era of Homer as it had been a centuiy after the ar¬
rival of the Pelasgi.
There has appeared among barbarous or half civilized
people a description ol men whose profession it has been
to frequent the houses or palaces of the great, in order
to celebrate their achievements, or those of their ances¬
tors, in the sublimest strains of heroic poetry. Accord¬
ingly, we find that the Germans had their bards, the
Gauls their fads, the Scandinavians their sca/ds or scal-
dres, the Irish their /ZAa.v, all retained for that very
purpose. They lived with their chieftains or patrons •,
attended them to battle j were witnesses of their heroic
deeds-, animated them with martial strains ; and cele¬
brated their prowess, if they proved victorious j or, if
they fell, raised the song of woe, and chanted the
mournful dirge over their sepulchres. These bards
were always both poets and musicians. Their persons
were held sacred and inviolable. They attended pu¬
blic entertainments, and appeared in all national con-
5
logy. Sect- vu;
ventions. The chief of them were employed in the Greek
temples of the gods-, and the less illustrious, like our Language,
minstrels of old, strolled about from place to place, and v—'
exercised their functions wherever they found employ¬
ment. 162
Among the ancient Greeks there was a numerous by the p0.
tribe of men of the very same description who were^h,
at once poets and musicians, and whose office it was
to celebrate the praises of the great, and to transmit
their exploits to posterity in the most exaggerated en¬
comiums. These poetical vagrants were styled
or songsters. Some of these lived in the houses ot great
while others, less skilful or less fortunate, strolled
about the country in the manner above described. The
more illustrious of these who were retained in the
temples of the gods, were certainly the fir^t improvers
of the language" of the Greeks. Among the Hebrews
we find the first poetical compositions were hymns in ho¬
nour of Jehovah, and among the Pagans the same prac¬
tice was established. In Greece, when all was confu¬
sion and devastation, the temples of the gods were held
sacred and inviolable. There the improved their
talents, and formed religious anthems on those very mo¬
dels which their progenitors had chanted in the east.
The language of the Greeks was yet rugged and un¬
mellowed : their first care was to render it more soft
and more flexible. rJ hey enriched it with vocables
suited to the offices of religion } and these, we imagine,
were chiefly imported from the east. Homer every
where mentions a distinction between the language of
gods and men. The language of gods imports the
oriental terms retained in the temples, and used in between
treating of the ceremonies of religion j the language the lan-
of men intimates the ordinary civil dialect which sprung
from the mixed dialects of the country. The priests8°^
no doubt concurred in promoting this noble and impor¬
tant purpose. From this source the strolling Ao^ot drew
the rudiments of their art} and from these last the vul¬
gar deduced the elements of a polished style.
To these A<>^<» of the superior order we would ascribe
those changes mentioned in the preceding part of this
inquiry, bv which the Greek tongue acquired that va¬
riety and flexibility, from which two qualities it has de¬
rived a great share of that ease, beauty, and versatility,
by which it now surpasses most other languages. The
diversity of its terminations furnishes a most charming
variety, while at the same time the sense is communi¬
cated to the reader or hearer by the relation between
them. By this economy the poet and orator are left at
liberty to arrange their vocables in that order which
may be most soothing to the ear, and best adapted to
make a lasting impression on the mind.
Few colonies have emigrated from any civilized coun¬
try without a detachment of priests in their train. I be
supreme powers, whoever they were, have always been
worshipped with music and dancing. The Hebrews,
Phoenicians, and Egyptians, delighted in these musical
andjocund festivals. The priests who attended the lones,
Dores, iEolians, Thebans, Athenians, &.c. from the east,
introduced into Greece that exquisite taste, those delicate
musical feelings, which distinguish the Greeks from all
the neighbouring nations. Hence that numerous race of
onomatapoeas, by which the Greek language is invested
with the power of expressing almost every passion ot the
human soul, in such terms as oblige it to feel and actually
to
Sect. VII. PHIL
Greek to assimilate to the passion it would excite. Number-
ILanguage, less instances 0f this occur in every page of Homer,
^ Hesiod, Pindar, Sophocles, Euripides, and even of A-
ristophanes : to quote instances would be to insult the
Greek student.
Every body knows that the practice of writing in
verse was antecedent to the date of prosaic composition.
Here, then, the and the ministers of religion
chiefly displayed their skill and discernment. By a ju¬
dicious mixture of short and long syllables 5 by a junc¬
tion of consonants which naturally slide into each other •
by a careful attention to the rhythm, or harmony result¬
ing from the combination of the syllables of the whole
line—they completed the metrical tone of the verse,
guided by that delicacy of musical feeling of which they
were possessed before rules of prosody were known
among men.
Much liberty was certainly used in transposing let¬
ters, in varying terminations, in annexing prefixes and
affixes, both to nouns and other kinds of words where
such adjuncts were possible : and upon this occasion we
think it probable, that those particles of which we have
spoken above were inserted like filling stones thrust in to
stop the gaps or chinks ot a building. ^ erses were then
clumsy and irregular, as the quantity ot vowels was not
duly ascertained, and the collision ot heterogeneous con¬
sonants not always avoided. Probably these primitive
verses differed as widely from the finished strains of
Homer and his successors, as those of Chaucer and
Spencer do from the smooth polished lines of Dryden
and Pope.
Ihe poetical compositions of the earliest Greeks were
not, we think, in the hexameter style. As they were
chiefly calculated for religious services, we imagine they
resembled the Hebrew iambics preserved in the song of
Aaron and Miriam, Deborah and Barak, Psalms, Pro¬
verbs, &c. which were indeed calculated for the same
purpose. Archilochus perhaps imitated these, though
the model upon which he formed his iambics was not
generally known. The later dramatic poets seem to
have copied from the same archetypes. Hexameters, it
is probable, were invented by Orpheus,Linus, Thamyris,
Musaeus, &c. The first of these travelled into Egypt,
where he might learn the hexameter measure from that
people, vyho used to bewail Maneros and Osin's in ele¬
giac strains. This species of metre was first consecrated
to theology, and the most profound sciences of moral
and natural philosophy ; at length it was brought down
to celebrate the exploits of kings and heroes.
164
Earliest
1 >ets of
Res gestas regumque, ducumqve, et fortia bella,
Quo scribipossent numero monstravit Homerus.
M e have hazarded a conjecture above, importing that
the earliest poetical compositions of the Greeks were con¬
secrated to the service of the gods. We shall now pro¬
duce a few facts, which will furnish at least a presump-
165 ^Ve ev*^ence °f the probability of that conjecture.
'hens, Orpheus begins his poem with ancient chaos, its trans¬
formations and changes, and pursues it through its va¬
rious revolutions. He then goes on to describe the off¬
spring of Saturn, that is time, the aether, love, and light.
In short, his whole poem is said to have been an oriental
allegory, calculated to inspire mankind with the fear of
the gods, and to deter them from murder, rapine, unna-
tural lusts, &c.
0 L ° C Y. 343
Musaeus was the favourite scholar of Orpheus, or per- Greek
haps his son. He composed prophecies and hymns, and Language.
wrote sacred instructions, which he addressed to his son.'  '
He prescribed atonements and lustrations 5 but his great.T 166
work was a Theogony, or History of the Creation, &c.
Melampus brought the mysteries of Proserpine from Melampus.
Egypt into Greece. He wrote the whole history of the
disasters of the gods. This seer is mentioned by Homer
himself. J
Olen came from Lycia, and composed the first hymn Olen. "
that wras sung in Delos at their solemnities •, he probably
emigrated from Patara a city of Lycia, where Apollo
had a celebrated temple and oracle.
The Hyperborean damsels used to visit Delos, where
they chaunted sacred hymns in honour of the Delian god.
To these we add the great Homer himself, if indeed Homeland
the hymns commonly annexed to the Odyssey are his Hesiod,
composition. Hesiod’s Theogony is too well known to
need to be mentioned.
From these instances we hope it appears, that the
origin of the poetry of Greece is to be found in the
temples j and that there, its measure, numbers, rhythm,
and other appendages, were originally fabricated.
The Grecian poets, however, enjoved another ad¬
vantage which that class of writers have seldom pos¬
sessed, which arose from the different dialects into which
their language was divided. All those dialects were Different
adopted indifferently by the prince of poets; a circum-dialects,
stance which enabled him to take advantage of any word wkh their -
from any dialect, provided it suited his purpose. This, orisin‘
at the same time that it rendered versification easy, dif¬
fused an agreeable variety over his composition.' ’ He
even accommodated words from Macedonia, Epirus,
a.nd Illyricum, to the purposes of his versification : Be¬
sides, the laws of quantity were not then clearly ascer¬
tained ; a circumstance which afforded him another con-
veniency. Succeeding poets did not enjoy these advan¬
tages, and consequently have been more circumscribed
both in their diction and numbers.
.The Greek language, as is generally known, was di¬
vided into many different dialects. Every sept, or petty
canton, had some peculiar forms of speech which distin¬
guished it from the others. There were, however, four
different dialectical variations which carried it over all
the others.^ These were the Attic, Ionic, JEolic, and
Doric- These four dialectical distinctions originated
from the different countries in the east from which the
tribes respectively emigrated. The Attics consisted, 1st,
of the barbarous aborigines ; 2d, of an adventitious co¬
lony of Egyptian Saxtes ; 3d, a branch of lonians from
the coast of Palestine. Ihese last formed the old Ionian
dialect, from which sprung the Attic and modern Ionic.
The ^Eolians emigi-ated from a different quarter of the
same coast; the inhabitants of which were a remnant of
the old Canaanites, and consequently different in dialect
from the two first-mentioned colonies. The Dores
sprang from an unpolished race of purple fishers on the
same coast, and consequently spoke a dialect more coarse
and rustic than any of the rest. These four nations emi-
grated from different regions ; a circumstance which, in
our opinion, laid the foundation of the different dialects
by which they were afterwax-ds distinguished.
It is impossible in this short sketch to exhibit an exact.
view of the distinguishing features of each dialect. Such
an analysis would carry us far beyond the limits of the
article.
344-
Greek article in question. For entire satisfaction on this head,
Language, we must refer the Grecian student to Mattaire’s Greca
' Lingua Dialecti, where he will find every thing ne
cessary to qualify him for understanding that subject.
We shall content ourselves with the few observations
following. #
The Athenians being an active, brisk, volatile race,
delighted in contractions. Their style was most exqui¬
sitely polished. The most celebrated authors who wrote
in that dialect were the following: Plato, Thucydides,
Xenophon, Demosthenes, and the other orators iFs-
ehylus, Euripides, Sophocles, Aristophanes, Menander,
Diphilus, with the other comic and tragic poets. J hat
dialect was either ancient or modern. The ancient
Attic was the same with the Ionic.
The Ionic, as was said, was the ancient Attic ; but
when that nation emigrated from Attica and settled on
the coast of Asia Minor, they mingled with the Carians
and Pelasgi, and of course adopted a number of their
vocables. They were an indolent, luxurious, and dissolute
people } of course their style was indeed easy and flow¬
ing, but verbose, redundant, and without nerves. This,
however, is the leading style in Homer j and after him
a prodigious number of writers on every subject have
used the same dialect, such as Herodotus of Halicarnas¬
sus the celebrated historian-, Ctesias of Cnidus the his¬
torian of Persia and India ; Hecatseus of Miletus ^
gasthenes the historian, who live under Seleucus Nica-
tor Hippocrates the celebrated physician of Coos;
Hellanicus the historian often mentioned with honour
by Polybius 5 Anacreon of Teia, Alcaeus, Sappho of
Lesbos, excellent poets 5 Pherecydes Syrus the philoso¬
pher, and a multitude of other persons of the same pro¬
fession, whom it would be superfluous to mention upon
the present occasion.
The iEolic and Doric were originally cognate dia¬
lects. When the Dorians invaded Peloponnesus, and
settled in that peninsula, they incorporated with theiEo-
lians, and their two dialects blended into one produced
the new Doric. The original Dores inhabited a rugged
mountainous region about Ossa and Pindus, and spoke a
rough unpolished language similar to the soil which they
inhabited. Andreas Schottus, in his observations on poe¬
try, lib. ii. cap. 50. proves from an old manuscript of
“ Theocritus, that there were two dialects of the Doric
tongue, the one ancient and the other modern that this
poet employed Ionic and the modern Doric; that the old
Doric dialect was rough and cumbrous ; but that Theo¬
critus has adopted the new as being more soft and mel¬
low.” A prodigious number of poets and philosophers
wrote in this dialect, such as Epicharmus the poet; Iby-
cus the poet of Rhegium; Corinna the poetess of 1 hespis,
or Thebes, or Corinth, who bore away the prize of poetry
from Pindar ; Erynna a poetess of Lesbos; Moschus the
poet of Syracuse; Sappho the poetess of Mitylene ; Pin-
darus of Thebes, the prince of lyric poets; Archimedes
of Syracuse, the renowned mathematician ; and almost
all the Pythagorean philosophers. Yew historians wrote
in that dialect; or if they did, their works have not fal¬
len into our hands. Most of the hymns sung in temples of
the gods were composed in Doric ; a circumstance which
evinces the antiquity of that dialect, and which, at the
same time, proves its affinity to the oriental standard.
After that the Greek tongue was thoroughly polished
by the steps which we have endeavoured to trace in the
3
PHILOLOGY . Sect. VII,
preceding pages, conscious of the superior excellency of Gleek
their own language, the Greeks, in the pride of their Languages
heart, stigmatized every nation which did not employ
. . . • 1 ,1 i  t    <-. + 1 /i/'/'T*fin'r'irvY)Q
IlCdi aLIy ^ . j . T*7T
their language with the contemptuous title'of barbarians. The 7
r-i 1 .1 i t pure that thev i*. 1
men    .1 , .i , -ine parn-.
Such was the delicacy of their pampered ears, that they ajjty 0fty
could not endure the untutored voice of the people whom Greeks to
the called This extreme delicacy produ- their own
ced three very pernicious effects;, for, 1st, It induced
them to metamorphose and sometimes even to mangle, seqUence,
foreign names, in order to reduce their sound to the
Grecian standard ; and, 2d, It prevented their learning
the languages of the east, the knowledge of which would
have opened to them an avenue to the records, annals,
antiquities, laws, customs, &c. of the people of those
countries, in comparison of whom the Greeks themselves
were of yesterday, and knew nothing. By this unlucky
bias, not only they, but even we who derive all the lit¬
tle knowledge of antiquity we possess through the chan¬
nel of their writings, have suffered an irreparable injury.
By their transformation of oriental names they have in a
manner stopped the channel of communication between
the histories of Europe and Asia. 1 his appears evident
from the fragments of Ctesias’s Persian history, from
Herodotus, Xenophon,and all the other Grecian writers
who have occasion to mention the intercourse between
the Greeks and Persians. 3d, It deprived them of all
knowledge of the etymology of their own language, with¬
out which it was impossible for them to understand its
words, phraseology, and idioms, to the bottom. Me
mentioned Plato’s Cratylus above. In that dialogue, the
divine philosopher endeavours to investigate the etymo-
logy of only a few Greek words. His deductions are
absolutely childish, and little superior to the random con¬
jectures of a school-boy. ^-'arro, the most learned of all
the Romans, has not been more successful. Both stumb¬
led on the very threshold of that useful science ; and a
scholar of very moderate proficiency in our days knows
more of the origin of these two noble languages, than
the greatest adepts among the natives did in theirs. By
prefixes, affixes, transpositions of letters, new conjunc¬
tions of voivels and consonants for the sake of the music
and rhythm,they have so disguised their words, that it is
almost impossible to develope their original. As a proof
of this, we remember to have seen a manuscript in the
hands of a private person where the first twelve verses
of the Iliad are carefully analysed; and it appears to our
satisfaction, that almost every word may be, and actual¬
ly is traced back to a Plebrew, Phoenician, Chaldean,
or ^Egyptian original: And we are convinced that the
same process will hold good in the like number of verses
taken from any of the most celebrated poets of Greece.
This investigation we found was chiefly conducted by
reducing the words to their original invariable state,
which was done by stripping them of prefixes, affixes,
&c. These strictures are, we think, well founded ; and
consequently need no apology to protect them. 172
These imperfections, however, are counterbalanced Beauty^
by numberless excellencies : and we are certainly much
more indebted to that incomparable people for the in¬
formation they have transmitted to us through the me¬
dium of their writings^than injured by them in not con¬
veying to us and to themselves more authentic and more
ample communications of ancient events and occurrences.
Withoutfatiguingourreaderswithsuperfluousencomiums
on a language which has long ago been extolled perhaps
Greek
Language
173 .
The sniri-
tus asper
and lenis.
174
The ac¬
cents.
Sect. VII. PHILO
to an extravagant degree by the labours of men of the
most enlarged capacity and the most refined taste, we
' shall now proceed to make a few observations on spirits
and accentsi which being rather appendages than es¬
sentials of the language, we have on purpose reserved
for the last place.
Every word in the Greek language beginning with
a vowel is marked with a spirit of breathing: This aspi¬
ration is double, namely lenis et asper, “ the gentle, and
rough or aspirated.” The gentle accent, though always
marked, is not now pronounced, though in the earliest
periods of the language it was undoubtedly enounced,
though very softly. Both these aspirations were import¬
ed from the east They were actually the Hebrew rr he
and n heth. The former denoted the spiritus lenis, and
and latter the spiritus asper. The Hebrew prefixed ha
or he to words beginning with a vowel, and of course
the Greeks followed their example. These people seem
to have delighted in aspirates ; and of consequence the
letter 5 is, some think, rather too often affixed to the
terminations of their words. Every word beginning
with g had the aspirate joined to 5, probably with a de¬
sign to render the aspiration still more rough.
The Greek accents are three in number; the acute,
the grave, and the circumflex. The acute raises and
sharpens the voice; the grave depresses and flattens it5
the circumflex first raises and sharpen* the voice, and
then de presses and flattens it It is obviously composed
of the other two. The learned author of the Origin and
Progress of Language has taken much pains to prove
that these accents were actually musical notes, invented
and accommodated to raise, depress, and suspend the
voice, according to a scale of musical proportions. It is
scarce possible, we think, for a modern Greek scholar
to comprehend distinctly the ancient tluory of accents.
These the native Greeks learned from their infancy,
and that with such accuracy, that even the vulgar among
the Athenians would have hissed an actor or actress off
‘See Pul- the stage or an orator oft’ the pul pi turn *, on account of
mum. a fbw mistakes in the enunciation of those notes.
The elevations, depressions, and suspensions of the
voice upon certain syllables, must have made their lan¬
guage sound in the ears of foreigners somewhat like re¬
citative, or something nearly resembling cant. But the
little variety of these syllabic tones, and the voice not
re-ting upon them, but running them on without inter¬
ruption, sufficiently distinguished them from music or
cant. Be that as it may, we think it highly probable,
that the wonderful effects produced by the harangues of
the orators of Greece on the enraptured minds of their
hearers, were owing in a good measure to those artifi¬
cial musical tones by which their syllables were so hap¬
pily diversified.
To this purpose we shall take the liberty to tran¬
scribe a passage from Dion. Halic. De Structura Ora-
tionis,' which we find translated by the author of the
Origin and Progress of Language, vol. ii. book 3d,
part ii. chap. y. page 381. “ Rhetorical con position is
a kind of music, differing only from song or instrumen¬
tal music, in the degree, not in the kind 5 tor in this
composition the words have melody, rvthm, variety, or
change, and what is proper or becoming: So that the
ear in it, as well as in music, is d lighted with the me-
lodv. moved by the rythm, is fond of variety, and de-
Vcl, XVI. Part I. f
L O G Y.
sires with all these what is proper and suitable,
difference, therefore, is only ol greater and less.”
With respect to accents, it may be observed that
only one syllable of a word is capable of rcceiviijo-
the acute accent, however many there be in the word.
It was thought that the raising the tone upon more than
one syllable of the word, would have made the pro¬
nunciation too various and complicated, and too like
chanting.
The grave accent always takes place when the acute
is wanting. It accords with the level of the discourse 5
whereas the acute raises the voice above it.
1 he circunifle.v accent being composed of the other
two is always placed over a long syllable, because it is
impossible first to elevate the voice and then to depress
it on a short one. Indeed among the Greeks a long
syllable was pronounced like two short ones ; and we
apprehend it was sometimes written so, especially in
later times. It is altogether obvious from two learned
Greek authors, Dion. Halic. and Aristoxcnus, that the
Greek accents were actually musical notes, and that
these tones did not consist of loud and low, or simply
elevating and depressing the voice ; but that they were
uttered in such a manner as to produce a melodious
rythm in discourse.
In a word, the acute accent might be placed upon any
syllable before the antepenult, and rose to & fifth in the
diatonical scale of music ; the grave fell to the third be¬
low it. The circumflex was regulated according to the
measure of both, the acute always preceding. The grave
accent is never marked except over the last syllable.
When no accent is marked, there the grave always
takes place. Some words are called enclitics. These
have no accent expressed, but throw it back upon the
preceding word. The circumflex, when the last syllable
is short, is often found over the penult, but never over
any other syllable but the last or the last but one.
The ancient Greeks had no accentual marks. They Th/nn 1
learned those modifications of voice by practice from ent Greeks
their infancy ; and we are assured by good authority, had no ae-
that in pronunciation they observe them to this day.rfn!ual
I he accentual marks are said to have been invented111’1'^
by a famous grammarian, Aristophanes of Byzantium,
keeper of the Alexandrian library under Ptolemy Phi-
lopater, and Epiphanes, who was the first likewise who
is supposed to have invented punctuation. Accentual
marks, however, were not in common use till about the
seventh century, at which time they are found in manu¬
scripts. If our curious readers would wish to enter more
deeply into the theory of accents, we must remit them
to Origin of Language, vol. ii. lib. 2. passim; and to
Mr Foster’s Essay on the dift'eient Nature of Accent
and Quantity.
Such, in general, are the observations which we
thought the nature of oui; design obliged us to make on
the origin and progress of the Greek language. Some
of our more learned readers may perhaps blame us for
not interspersing the whole disquisition with quotations
from the most celebrated writers in the language which
has been the object of our researches. W7e are well aware
that this is the general practice in such cases. The books
were before us, and we might have transcribed from them
more quotations than the natme of an article of this kind
would permit. In the first part there were no books in
X x that
r
346 P H I T, O
Greek that language to quote from, because the Greeks knew
Language, nothing of their own origin, nor of that of their lan-
1 v—^ guage, and consequently have recorded nothing but
dreams and fictions relating to that subject. . Even
when we had made considerable progress in our inquiry,
the nature of the plan we have adopted excluded in a
great measure the use of quotations. When we drew
near the conclusion, we imagined that our learned read¬
ers would naturally have recourse to the passages allud¬
ed to without our information, and that the unlearned
would not trouble themselves about the matter. The
Greek student who intends to penetrate into the depths
of this excellent language, will endeavour to be thorough-
176 ly acquainted with the books after mentioned.
Books to be Aristotle’s Rhetoric and Poetics, his book De Inter-
studied by pretatioJie, especially with Ammonius’s Commentary,
who ^wishes Ammonias was a native ot Alexandria, and by far the
lobe a mas-most acute of all the ancient grammarians,
ter of tins Dion. Halic. Dc Structura Oratioms, where, amidst
language. a|,untiance of curious and interesting observations, will
be found the true pronunciation of the Greek letters..
DemetriusPhalereus De TZlocutione; a short essay in¬
deed, but replete with instruction concerning the proper
arrangement of words and members in sentences.
Longinus, the prince of critics, whose remains are
1 See Gaza, above commendation. Theodorus Gaza t and t'16 otlier
refugees from Constantinople, who found an hospitable
reception from the munificent family of the Medici,
and whose learned labours in their native, language
once more revived learning and good taste in Europe.
These, with some other critics of less celebrity, but
equal utility, will unlock all the treasures of Grecian
erudition, without however disclosing the source from
which they flowed. To these one might add a few
celebrated moderns, such as Mons. ! ourmont the Elder,
Mons. Gebelin, Abbe Pezron, Salmasius, and especially
the learned and industrious Lord Monboddo.
We shall now give a very brief account of the vast
extent of the Greek language even before the. Macedo¬
nian empire was erected ; at which period, indeed, it
became in a manner universal, much more than ever
the Latin language could accomplish notwithstanding
177 the vast extent of the Roman empire.
Vastextent GrceCe, originally Hellas, was a region of small ex-
°! tht 1 tent and yet sent out many numerous colonies into diffe-
sjuage. an’ rent parts of the world. These colonies carried their
native language along with them, and industriously dif¬
fused it wherever they formed a settlement. The lones,
iEoles, and Dores, possessed themselves of all the west,
and north-west coast of the Lesser Asia and the adja¬
cent islands *, and there even the barbarians learned that
polished language. The Greek colonies extended them¬
selves along the south coast ot the Euxine sea as far as
Sinope, now Trebizund, and all the way from the west
coast of Asia Minor : though many cities of barbarians
lay between, the Greek tongue was understood and ge¬
nerally spoken by people of rank and fashion.
There were Greek cities on the north coast of the
Euxine sea to the very eastern point, and perhaps be¬
yond even those limits 5 likewise in theTaurica Cherso-
nesus, or Crim Tartary *, and even to the mouth of the
Danube, the straits of Caffa, &c. In the neighbour¬
hood of all these colonies, the Greek language was care¬
fully propagated among the barbarians, who carried on
commerce with the Greeks.
LOGY. Sect. VII. S
A great part of the south of Italy was planted with Greek
Greek cities on both coasts *, so that the country was Language, ('
denominated Magna Grcecia. Here the Greek tongue 1 J
universally prevailed. In Sicily it was in a manner ver¬
nacular. The lonians had sent a colony into Egypt in
the reign of Psammitichus j and a Greek settlement had
been formed in Cyrenia many ages before. The Pho-
cians had builtMassilia or Marseilles as early as thereign
of Cyrus the Great, where some remains of the Greek
language are still to be discovered. Caesar tells us, that
in the camp of the Helvetii registers were found in
Greek letters. Perhaps no language ever had so exten¬
sive a spread, where it was not propagated by the law j I .■
of conquest. x7^
The Greek tongue, at this day, is confined within Greek spo. | it
very narrow limits. It is spoken in Greece itself, ex- sent^ ^
cept in Epirus, and the western parts of Macedonia. It
is likewise spoken in the Grecian and Asiatic islands, in
Candia or Crete, in some parts of the coast of Asia Mi¬
nor, and in Cyprus: but in all these regions, it is much
corrupted and degenerated.
As a specimen, we shall insert a modern Greek song,
and the advertisement of a quack medicine, which with
other plunder, was brought by the Russians from Choc-
sim or Chotzim in 1772-
Song in modern Greek.
MI ^VTUCi'ctis wotefta pi (i area a, a? to tepa
Eipca, Ktu xivTinvv, x«i »« xovrivu
Xto TrtXxyof ray trvp^e^ay pi £7n*i»Jvvov x«<gor
M’ ctv'ipvs oXccS^im e-<po^sj kcci BvxvrtVf.
Mi KvpuTct mXhay xxt pay rvcpctyi ccvceriyctrpay.
Oxhcerirct tpnoKepiyn, oroXAflO aygiopivti,
"OttS ucp^t r-*i tyno-a yi (rxya.yelx.iet 7rt£too-x
Xvyi?a o-xoTiopiyx xxi xxrxo-vy^ttrpeyx,
Kxt yet <pxv>j ptet trur^ix, yx i$Sy rx pxrtx puri^x.
rxix.x vi£X yx iuga, xxtr-^x xxi 2iv
N’ d%x%a xxi hy iiporo^d ytxn Xip'ivx ^6» $©§«.
M’ xnX%Krixy 0701 ^ i‘X‘U-
IIS pi xind xxy yx orvvya vj cnXxp'cnvx tvya,
Kxt rarx ay (Zarafysv, ipxt^y yd pi <f>vhx%uy.
Translation.
With dire misfortunes, pains, and woes,
O’erwhelm’d, ingulph’d, I struggling fight;
O’er my frail bark proud billows close,
To plunge her deep in lasting night.
Rough seas of ills incessant roar,
pierce winds adverse, with howling blast,
Heave surge on surge. Ah ! far from shore
My found’ring skiff shall sink at last.
Involv’d in low’ring darksome clouds,
’Mid sultry fogs, I pant for breath ;
Huge foaming billows rend my shrouds,
While yawning gulfs extend beneath.
From bursting clouds loud thunders roll.
And deaf’ning peals terrific spread *,
Red lightnings dart from pole to pole,
And burst o’er my devoted head.
When shall the friendly dawning rays
Guide me to pleasures once possest •,
And breezy gales, o’er peaceful seas,
Waft to some port of endless rest ?
Sect. VII.
Greek In dark despair, with tempests tost,
Language. I veer my sail from side to side.
L v " * Conduct me, Heav’n ! to yond’ fair coast,
Or plunge me in the ’whelming tide.
The Quack Bill.
BAASAMON THE 'lEPOTSAAHM, AGO
TAIS, KAI NOTPIAIS, KAI
HAAEAIS PETZETAIS.
TOTTO to [ATTctXe'ctf/.ov aiQthu to ti^wxrav ro/uct^i,
KXt t&oriii t'kh %ovivo-(v tvixpum rij» x.oe.$txv. rvKum oXx?
xxi riji Xtthict; tuipiteT its TW wurtv kx) pZj%x ttx-
hxto>. ‘Ixt^vh rx; ij-xri^tKxs TrXvtyxs r5 wins, kxi tS ttviv-
fiovos qyovv tttetania, kivii tx KXTx/xjnx tuv yvvxuceiy. ’Ets
tx{ ilunotxxs TrXviyxs jrgsira vx fixfyrxi fti to |«v0o toVov
its Tcx’hxtxi. Otov xx) Ifovsoej, xxQoos tivxt *i a7rx6txtf, xxt
fxx-fcxt^xis, xxt uXXx xa^tfxxrx ixr^iuet xxhXtytjs QtfoXx,
xx) oXxf rxs (Z^opifis TfXnyxs ottS tpOxerx* its to xoxxXot
SxvfAxrtus, apiXu its r<« xvtix ottS t^s^ovv ifXTrvoy vx rx-
girxt 2vo vj Tgsij xttfXTTiss v%evv rxXxypxTtxs plZxpTrxxt
fyippivav us xvro, /ZxviTXt its rxs irXvyaftivxs SovroxotXtxis
xxt ikAavv ’xr^iv&ij. xxt xxifxt hvvxxeivet tx oh'avnx ottS xt-
»o?» TXi h. 5-sAoy» vx TriTMv. /3ov)6x xxt xtto tkv ttxvxxXxv.
'H oog-is ircdTi^ixus cc; ihxt Sixx tj xxt dahxx xofXTrvs its
Ihtyov x^xa-t, vj xxt vi^ov, to xxfi rx-^v xxi figxdv. xs to /xi-
rxyji^irxt, xxt uvx ^xv/xxo-tov /xit'kv ejoxtpvtv fi£xi&>/ti(vo>.
AfaQis fixXrxpov t« B*o-<A«a.
Instead of giving a literal and bald translation of
this advertisement, which runs exactly in the style of
other quack bills, it may be sufficient to observe, that
the medicine recommended is said, when taken inward¬
ly, to raise the spirits, remove costiveness and inveterate
coughs; to cure pains of the breast and bellyaches;
to assist respiration, and remove certain female ob¬
structions. When applied externally, it cures wounds
and sores, whether old or fresh, removes ringing of
the ears, fastens the teeth when loose, and strengthens
the gums.
All this, and much more, it is said to do in a won¬
derful manner; and is declared to be the true royal
balsam of Jerusalem, and an universal specific.
Ii is indeed next to a miracle that so many monu¬
ments of Grecian literature are still to be found amono-
men. Notwithstanding the burning of the famous li¬
brary of Alexandria, and the almost numberless wars,
massacres, and devastations, which have from time to
time in a manner desolated those countries where the
Greek language once flourished; we are told that
there still remain about 3000 books written in that
language.
We shall now conclude this section with a brief de¬
tail of the most distinguished stages and variations
through which this noble tongue made its progress
from the age of Homer to the taking of Constanti¬
nople, a?mo Chi'. 1453 ; a period of more than 2000
years.
Homer gave the Greek poetry its colour and consist¬
ency, and enriched, as well as harmonized, the lan-
•guage. It seems, from the coincidence of epithets and
cadence in Homer and Hesiod, that the Greek heroic
verse was formed spontaneously, by the old A«^«<, a sort
of improvisatori; and that Homer and his first followers
adopted their versification. The Iliad and Odyssey have
PHILOLOGY.
'1'>
Dhtm-
guislied
stages of
the Greek
language.
347
much of the air of extempore compositions ; an epithet Greek
is never wanting to fill up a verse ; and a set of expres- Language.
sums are mechanically annexed to such ideas as were of'    
frequent recurrence. Hence that copiousness and waste
of words in the old Greek bard, which forms such a
contrast to the condensed and laboured composition of
Virgil.
The Greek prose was of a more difficult structure;
and it may be distributed into different styles or degrees
of purity. Of the prose authors now extant, the first
and best style is that of Herodotus, and of Plato in
the florid or mixed kind, of Xenophon in the pure and
simple, of Thucydides and Demosthenes in the austere.
Nothing, perhaps, is so conducive to form a good taste
m composition as the study of these writers.
The style of Polybius forms a new epoch in the hi¬
story of the Greek language : it was the idiotic or po¬
pular manner of expression, especially among military
men, in his time, about the 150th Olympiad. It be¬
came the model of succeeding writers, by introducing a
simple unstudied expression, and by emancipating them
from the anxious labour of the Old Greeks respecting
the cadence and choice of words. The style of the
New lestament, being plain and popular, frequently re¬
sembles that of Polybius, as has been shown by Raphe-
lius, and by Kirchmaier, cle parallelismo N. T. ct Boh/,
bii, 1725.
Before this historian, the Alexandrian Jews had
formed a new or Hellenistic style, resulting from the
expression of oriental ideas and idioms in Greek words,
after that language had lost of its purity, as it gained
in general use, by the conquests of Alexander. The
Hellenistic is the language of the Septuagint, the A-
pocrypha, the New Testament, and partly of Philo and
Josephus. This mixture in the style of the evangelists
and apostles, is one credential of the authenticity of the
best of all books, a book which could not have been
written but by Jewish authors in the first century. See
the fine remarks of Bishop Warburton, Doctrine of
Grace, book i. ch. 8 — 10. Critics lose their labour in
attempting to adjust the Scripture-Greek to the stand¬
ard of Atticism.
The diction of the Greek historians, and geographers
of the Augustan age, is formed on that of Polybius ;
but improved and modernized, like the English of the
present age, if compared with that of Clarendon or Ba¬
con. More perspicuous than refined, it was well suited
to such compilations as were then written by men of
letters, such as Dionysius, Diodorus, and Strabo, with¬
out much experience or rank in public life.
The ecclesiastical style was cultivated in the Christian
schools of Alexandria, Antioch, and Constantinople;
rank and luxuriant, full of oriental idioms, and formed
in a great measure on the Septuagint version. Such is,
for instance, the style of Eusebius. After him, the best
Christian writers polished their compositions in the schools
of rhetoric under the later sophists. Hence the po¬
pular and flowing purity of St Chrysostome, who has
more good sense than Plato, and perhaps as many good
words.
On the Greek of the Byzantine empire, there is a
good dissertation by Ducange, de causis corruptee Grce-
citatis, prefixed to his Glossary, together with Portius’s
Grammar of the modern Greek. This last stage of the
Greek language is a miserable picture of Turkish bar-
X x 2 barism.
348
philology.
Sect. VIII.
Greek
.Language
barism. And, wlncb is most surprising, there is no city
_c r< i   lonn-iiaiTe is move difterent irom
of Greece where the language is more difterent from
the ancient than at Athens. I lie reasoi
reason ot that is, be-
iy a mixed multitude
cause it has been long inhabited
of different nations. , ,.
To conclude, the Greeks have left the most durable
monuments of human wisdom, fortitude, magnificence,
and ingenuity, in their improvement of every art and
science, and in the finest writings upon every subject
necessary, profitable, elegant, or entertaining.
The Greeks have furnished the brightest examples ot
every virtue and accomplishment, natural or acquired,
. i    m mathema-
which a variety of accidents had drawn together, to Latin
establish themselves on that mountainous region, m order Laugaage.
to secure their own property, and plunder that ot then
neighbours. They were in all probability composed ot
Arcadians, Sabines, Latins, Hetruscans, Umbrians, Os-
cans, Pelasgi, &c.; and if so, their language must have
been a mixture of the different dialects peculiar to all
these discordant tribes. . , ,
The Latin language ought then to he a mingled mass
of the Arcadian, that is, the iEohan || Greek, the Pe- \Straho,
ot the Arcadian, mai is, mo u ’ . . lih
lasgic, Hetruscan, and Celtic dialects. Ihcse jarnng Diw^ Ua
e^^^pUsh^nt, naWal or a^uired. f
jSo
No perfect
translation
of any
Greek au¬
thor.
politicsti) morAij ui imiiK** j •
tics and philosophy j in all the forms of government, in
architecture, navigation, commerce, war: as orators,
poets, and historians, they stand as yet unrivalled and
are like to stand so for ever •, nor are they less to be ad¬
mired for the exercises and amusements they invented,
and brought to perfection, in the institution ot their
public games, their theatres, and sports.
Let us further observe, that in vain our readers wil
look for these admired excellencies m any ot the best
translations from the Greek: they may indeed commu¬
nicate some knowledge of what the originals contain •,
they may present you with propositions, characters, and
events: but allowing them to he more ta.thlul and more
accurate than they really are, or can well be «t.ll hey
are no better than copies, in which the spirit and ustre
of the originals are almost totally lost. The mind may
be instructed, hut will not be enchanted : 1 he picture
may bear some faint resemblance, and if painted by
masterly hand give pleasure *, but who would be satisfied
with the canvass, when he may possess tne real object.
who would prefer a piece of coloured g^ss to a dia¬
mond ? It is not possible to preserve the beauties of the
original in a translation.—The powers of the Greek are
vastly beyond those of any other tongue. ^ bate
the Greeks describe is always felt, and almost seen, m -
tion and music are in every tone, and enthusiasm and in-
chantment possess the mind :
Grans inseniumy Gratis dedit ore rotundo,
Musa loqui. Horace.
iSi
Origin of
the Ro¬
mans, and
of their
language.
* Tit. Liv.
lib i. cap I.
&C.
+ Antiq.
Rom. lib. i.
J Vita Ro~
muL
Sect. VIII. Of the Latin Language.
This language, like every other spoken by barbari¬
ans, was in its beginning rough and »n^Lvated
What people the Romans were, is a point m which an
Aquarians'are not yet agreed. In their own opinion
.  + l rrv
rr-e ^ from the Trojans * • Dion. HaUcar
derives them from the Greekst J and Plutarch informs
us t that some people imagined that they were sprung
from the Pelasji. The fact is, they were a mixture of
people collected out of Latium and the adjacent parts
afterwards called the Latin tongue.
The Arcadians were a Pelasgic § tribe, and t Strabo et
ouently spoke a dialect of that ancient Greek produced iWcto
by the coalition of this tribe with the savage aborigines
of Greece. This dialect was the ground-work ot the
Latin. Every scholar allows, that the iLohan Greek,
which was strongly tinctured with the Pelasgic, was the
model upon which the Latin language was formed.
From this deduction it appears, that the Latin tongue
is much more ancient than the modern Greek; and ot
course we may add, that the Greek, as it stood before it
was thoroughly polished, bore a very near resemblance
to that language. Hence we think we may conclude,
that the knowledge of the Latin language is necessary
in order to understand the Greek. Let us not then
expect to find the real ingredients of the Greek tongue
in the academic groves of Athens or ^ Smyrna, or in
Rhodope, or in Haemos ; but on the banks ot the lib
and on the fields of Laurentum. ,
A very considerable part of the Latin tongue was
derived from the Hetruscan. That people were the
masters of the Romans in every thing sacred From
them they learned the ceremonies of religion, the me¬
thod of arranging games and public festivals, the art of
divination, the interpretation of omens, the method of
lustrations, expiations, &c. It would, we believe, be
easy to prove, fbat the Pelasgi * and Hetrusci (x) were.
the^ame race of people ; and if this was the case, their^, hb -
languages must have differed in their dialect only.
the Umbrian or Celtic enters deeply into the com¬
position of the Latin tongue. For proof of this we
need only appeal to Pelloutier, Bullet's Memotres de la
Langue Celtic, partie premiere, Abbe Pesrow -v Origin
of Ancient Nations, &c. Whether the old C eltic dif¬
fered essentially from the Pelasgic and Hetruscan, would
he a matter of curious investigation, were this a proper
subject for the present article.
The Latin abounds with oriental words, especially
Hebrew, Chaldaic, and Persian. These are certainly
remains of the Pelasgic and Hetruscan tongues, spoken
originally by people who emigrated from regions wheie
those were parts of the vernacular language -Die
(x} The Iletrusci were variously denominated *£<£*•“**££ Asia MiXp
winch was their true name, for they aetua y em.gra d from I agh.sjv or t ^ ^ . ,,ence in that dmlect
t!J Romans ^tyled
U,: Chha.£ Cd^r, •'* or sorcerer > a name deduced from then *0.
in divination.
i8j
ow far
e Latin
semblcs
j cet. VIII. P H I L O
Latin Greeks, in polishing their language, gradually distorted
.anguage. and disfigured vast numbers of the rough eastern voca¬
bles, which made a very great part of it. (See the
preceding section).
The Romans, of less delicate organs, left them in
their natural state, and their natural air readily bewrays
their original. We had collected a large list of Latin
words still current in the east; but find that Thomas-
(ilossaiy. sj'1 + and Ogerius (y), and especially Mens. Gebelin,
in his most excellent Latin Dictionary, have rendered
that labour superfluous.
In this language, too, there are not a few Gothic
terms. H ow these found their way into the Latin, it
is not easy to discover, unless, as Pelloutier supposes,
the Celtic and Gotiiic languages were originally the
same : or perhaps we may conjecture, that such words
were part of a primitive language, which was at one
time universal.
There are, besides, in the Latin a great number of
obsolete Greek words, which were in process of time
obliterated, and outers substituted m their room ; so
Greea. that, upon the whole, we ate persuaded, that the most
efl'ectual method to distinguish the difterence between
the early and modern Greek, would be to compare the
ant ent Latin with the latterj there being, we imagine,
very little difference between the ancient Greek and
LaUn jn the earliest periods.
However that may be, it is certain that the Roman
letters were the same with the ancient Greek.—Formce
hteris Latinis qua: vetervimis Gracorum, says Taci¬
tus J ■, and Pliny § says the same thing, and for the
truth of his assertion he appeals to a monument extant
in his own times.
These old Greek letters were no other than the Pe-
lasgic, which we have shown from Diodorus Siculus
(see preceding Section) to have been prior to the Cad-
mean. For the figure of these letters, see Astle, Po-
stellus, Montfaucon, Palaegraphia Grseca, Mons. Ge¬
belin, and our Plates XV. and XVI.
That the Latins borrowed the plan of their declen¬
sions from the Greeks, is evident from the exact resem¬
blance of the terminations of the cases throughout the
three similar declensions. In nouns of the first declen¬
sion, the resemblance is too palpable to stand in need
of illustration. In the second, the Greek genitive is »«.
In Latin the o is thrown out, and the termination be¬
comes z. In the Greek section, we have observed, that
the sounds of < and v differed very little 5 therefore the
Latins used < instead of v. The Latin dative ends in 0,
which is the Greek dative, throwing away < subscrip-
tum, which was but faintly sounded in that language.
No genuine Greek word ended \n p or m.
The Hellenes seemed to have abhorred that bellowing
liquid j it is, however, certain that they imported it
from the east, as well as the other letters, and that they
employed it in every other capacity, except in that of
closing words. In the termination of flexions, they
changed it into ».
The Latins retained which had been imported to
them as a terminating letter at an era before the Greek
logy.
Tacitus,
! pa/.
1 - ii.
I sat Hist.
L vii.
\ >•
, 349
language had undergone its last refinement.—Hence the Latin
Latin accusative in t/m, instead of the Greek ev. The Language,
vocative case, we imagine, was in this declension origi-
nally like the nominative. The Latins have no dual
number, because, in our opinion, the iEolian dialect,
from which they copied, had none. It would be, we
think, a violent stretch of etymological exertion, to de¬
rive either the Latin genitive plural of the second de¬
clension from the same case of the Greek, or that of the
latter from the former 5 we therefore leave this anoma¬
ly, without pretending to account for its original forma¬
tion. The third declensions in both languages are so
exactly parallel, that it would be superfluous to compare
them. The dative plural here is another anomaly, and
we think a very disagreeable one, which we leave to the
conjectures of more profound etymologists.
lor the other peculiarities of Latin nouns, as they are
nearly similar to those of the Greek, we must beg leave
to remit our readers to that section for information. 1S3
1 he Latins have no articles, which is certainlv a de--^e^c’enc}e
feet in their language. The Pelasgic, from which theyof ailieles,
copied, had not adopted that word in the demonstrative
sense. Homer indeed seldom uses it j and the probabi¬
lity is, that the more early Greek used it less frequent¬
ly, at least in the sense above mentioned. Thus in La¬
tin, when 1 say, video hominem, it is impossible to find
out by the'bare words whether the word hominem inti¬
mates “ a man,” or “ the man j” whereas in Greek
it would be acOgivT.n, / see a man, BMttu to*
ecyfyairev. 1 see man. Hence the first expression is
indehnite, and the second de finite.
Ihe substantive verb sum in Latin seems to be partly Origin of
formed from the Greek and partly not. Some of the ,*lesu,’stan*-
persons of the present tense bu\e a near resemblance tollve ver,'‘'
the Greek verb iu 01 hui, while others vary widely
from that archetype. Tue imperfect prate rite and
praeterperfect have nothing common with the Greek
verb, and cannot, we think, be forced into an alliance
with it. The future ero, was of old cao, and is indeed
genuine. Greek. Upon the whole, in our apprehension,
the Latin substantive verb more nearly resembles the
Persian verb hesteii than that of any other language we
are acquainted with. Ig^
Irom what exemplar the Latin verbs were derived, and of o-
is not, we think, easily ascertained. We know that at-UlervcrbSi•
tempts have been made to deduce them all from the
iEoiic Greek, and that the Romans themselves were ex¬
tremely iond of this chimera ; but the almost number¬
less irregularities, both in the formation and conjugation
of. their verbs, induce us to believe that only a part of
them were formed upon that model. We are apt to
think that the terminations iu bam, bus, hat, bamus,
&c. are produced by their union with a fragment of
some obsolete verb, which is now wholly lost. In the
verb amo, e. g. we are sure that the radix am is the He¬
brew word mother j but how am-abam, am-abo, am-arem
were fabricated, and connected with the radical am, is
not so easily determined. That Latin verbs are com¬
posed of an inflexible radix and another flexible verb,
as well as the Greek, cannot be doubted $ but what this
flexible
(y) Greer a ct Latina lingua Hebraixantes, Venice 1763. If these books are not at hand, Dr Littleton’s
Dictionary will, in a good measure, supply their place.
35°
Latin
Language.
PHILO
186
Deficien¬
cies in La
tin verbs.
187
Irregulari¬
ties in the
conjuga¬
tions.
flexible auxiliary was, we think, cannot now be clearly
ascertained. It is not altogether improbable that such
parts of the verbs as deviate from the Greek archetype
were supplied by fragments ot the verb ha, which per¬
vades all the branches of the Gothic language, and has,
we think, produced the Latin verb habeo. When the
Greeks began to etymologize, they seldom overpassed
the verge of their own language : the Latins pursued
nearly the same course. If their own language presented
a plausible etymology, they embraced it; if not, they
immediately had recourse to the Greek •, and this was
the ne plus ultra of their etymological researches. Ci¬
cero, Quintilian, Festus, &c. and even Varro, the most
learned of all the Romans, stop here j all beyond^ is
either doubt or impenetrable darkness. 1 heir opinion
above mentioned we offer only as a conjecture 5 the de¬
cision we leave to more able critics.
The want of aorists or indefinite tenses seems to us a
palpable defect in the Latin language. The use of
these among the Greeks entitled the writer to express
the specific variations of time with more accuracy and
precision than the Latins, who never attempted to spe¬
cify them by any other tenses but the imperfect and plu¬
perfect. Indeed we should imagine, that both the
Greeks and Latins were much inferior to the English
in this respect. rlhe Latin word Irgo, lor example, may
be translated into English three different ways: 1st, I
read; 2d, I do read; 3d, I am reading.
The Latins, in reducing verbs to their four conjuga¬
tions, formed their inflexions in a very irregular manner.
Many very of the first class inflect their pneterite and
supine like those of the second : thus domo, instead of
giving avi and atum, has ui and itum, like monui and
monitum. Again, not a few verbs of the third conju¬
gation have ivi and atum, as if they belonged to the
fourth j e. g. peto, petivi, petitum. Then, some verbs
have io in the present, ivi in the preterite, and itum in
the supine, while, contrary to the rules of analogy, they
in reality belong to the third : such are cupio, cupivi,
cupitum, cupere, &c. Some verbs of the second conju¬
gation have their preterite and supine as if they belong¬
ed to the third-, thus, jubeo, jussi, jussum, jubere ; au-
geo, auxi, auctum, augere. Some verbs, which are
actually of the fourth conjugation, have their preterite
and supine as if they were of the third j thus sentio,
sensi, sensum, sentire; haurio, hausi, haustum, haurire,
&c. * If these are not manifest irregularities, we cannot
say what deserves the name. The fact seems to stand
thus : The Romans were originally a banditti of rob¬
bers, bankrupts, runaway slaves, shepherds, husband¬
men, and peasants of the most unpolished character.
They were engaged in perpetual broils and quarrels at
home, and seldom enjoyed repose abroad. Their pro¬
fession was robbery and plunder. Like old Ishmael,
their hands were against every man, and every man’s
hand against them. In such a state of society no time
was left for cultivating the sciences. Accordingly the
arts of war and government were their sole profession.
This is so true, that their own poet characterizes them
in the following manner :
Excudunt alii spirantia mollius cera, &c.
Iy8 • Another blemish in the Latin tongue is occasioned
deficient1 in by its wanting a participle of the preterite sense in the
participles, active voice. This defect is perpetually felt, and is the
3
logy. Sect- vnt
cause of an awkward circumlocutionwherever it happens Latin
to present itself. Thus, “ The general having crossed
the river drew up his army,” Imperator, cum transnsset * ”
jlumen, aciem instruxit. Herecwm transiisset fiumen is
a manifest circumlocution, which is at once avoided in
the Greek « iiytpwv Tregao-oes t#v 7CCT*pt», &e. T-his must
always prove an incumbrance in the case of active in¬
transitive verbs. When active deponent verbs occur,
it is easily avoided. Thus, “ Caesar having encouraged
the soldiers, gave the signal for joining battle Ccesar
cohortatus milites, prodii committendi signum dedit.
Another palpable defect in this language arises from
the want of a participle of the present passive. This
again must produce an inconveniency upon many occa¬
sions, as will be obvious to every Latin student almost
every moment. ^9
The two supines are universally allowed to be sub- SupinesaE,
stantive nouns of the fourth declension. How these ^
assumed the nature ol verbs it is not easy to deteimine.
When they are placed after verbs or nouns, the matter
is attended with no difficulty j but how they should ac¬
quire an active signification, and take the case of the
verb with which they are connected, implies, we should
think, a stretch of prerogative.
The Latin gerunds form another unnatural anomaly.
Every Latin scholar knows that those words are nothing
but the neuters of the participles of the future passive.
The fabricators of the Latin tongue, however, elevated
them from their primary condition, giving them upon
many occasions an active signification. In this case
we must have recourse to
■Si volet usus,
Quern penes arbitrium est etjus et norma loquendt.
Another inconveniency, perhaps more severely felt
than any of the preceding, arises from the want of the
use of the present participle of the verb sum. Every
body knows what a conveniency is derived from the
frequent use of the participle »» in Greek ; and indeed
it appears to us somewhat surprising that the Latins
neglected to introduce the participle ens into their lan¬
guage. In this we believe they are singular. Here
again a circumlocution becomes necessary in such a case
as the following: “ The senate being at Rome, passed
a decree.” Instead of saying senatus ens Bonue, legem
tulit, we are obliged to say cum senatus Bomee esset,
&c. If the words ens or existens bad been adopted,
as in the Greek, this odious circumlocution would have
been avoided.
Many other defects of the like kind will occur to
every person who shall choose to search for them, and
those in the most approved classical authors. Perhaps
our mentioning so many may be deemed invidious by
the admirers of that language j but we write from con¬
viction, and that must be our apology. ipc
If one take the trouble to compare the structure of the Different
Greek and Latin languages, he will, we think, quickly genius of
be convinced that their characteristic features are ex'^^ee|
tremely different. rlhe genius of the former seems easy jangUages
and natural; whereas that of the latter,notwithstanding
the united efforts of poets, orators, and philosophers,
still bears the marks of violence and restraint. Hence
it appears that the Latin tongue was pressed into the
service, and compelled almost against its will to bend to
the laws of the Grecian model. Take a sentence of
Hebrew,
PHILOLOGY,
feet. VIII.
Latin Hebrew, Chaldean, Arabian, &c. and try to translate
..anguage; jt into Greek without regarding the arrangement of the
words, and you will find it no difficult attempt; hut
make the same trial with respect to the Latin, and you
will probably find the labour attended with considerable
difficulty. To translate Greek into English is no labo¬
rious task $ the texture of the two languages is so con¬
genial, that the words and phrases, and even the idio¬
matic expressions, naturally slide into each other. With
the Latin the case is quite otherwise; and before elegant
English can be produced, one must deviate considerably
from the original. Should we attempt to translate a piece
ot English into Greek, and at the same time into Latin,
the translation of the former would be attended with
much less difficulty than that of the latter, supposing
ipi the translator equally skilled in both languages,
mses of This incongruity seems to spring from the following
is differ- cause. Before any man of considerable abilities, either
in the capacity of a poet, grammarian, or rhetorician,
appeared at Rome, the language had acquired a strong
and inflexible tone, too stubborn to be exactly moulded
according to the Grecian standard. After a language
has continued several centuries without receiving a new
polish, it becomes like a full grown tree, incapable of
being bent to the purposes of the mechanic. For this
reason, it is highly probable, that the tongue in question
could not be forced into a complete assimilation with
the Greek. Notwithstanding all these obstructions, in
process of time it arrived at such an exalted pitch of
perfection, as to rival, perhaps to excel, all the other
European languages, the Greek only excepted. Had
men of the taste, judgment, and industry of Ennius,
Plautus, Terence, Cicero, and the worthies of the
Augustan age, appeared in the early stages of the Ro¬
man commonwealth, we may believe that their language
would have been thoroughly reduced to the Grecian
archetype, and that the two dialects might have im¬
proved each other by a rivalship between the nations
who employed them.
Without pretending to entertain our readers with a
pompous and elaborate account of the beauties of that
imperial language which have been detailed by writers
almost without number, we shall endeavour to lay be¬
fore them as briefly as possible its pristine character, the
steps and stages by which it gradually rose to perfec¬
tion, the period when it arrived at the summit of its
excellence, and by what means it degenerated with a
rapid career till it was lost among those very people to
192 whom it owed its birth.
■: Latin We have observed already, that the Latin tongue
| was a colluvies of all the languages spoken by the va-
( % of £lan.t P60?*6 wh° composed the first elements of that re-
1 asgic public. The prevailing dialects were the Pelasgic or
* Celtic Hetruscan, which we think were the same ; and the
v ds. Celtic, which was the aboriginal tongue of Italy.
Hence the primary dialect of the Romans was composed
ot discordant materials, which in our opinion never ac¬
quired a natural and congenial union. Be that as it
may, this motley mixture tvas certainly the original dia¬
lect of the Romans. The Pelasgic or Hetruscan part of Latin
it retained a strong tincture of the oriental style. The Language.
Celtic part seems to have been prevalent, since we find v'  
that most of the names of places (z), especially in the
middle and northern parts of Italy, are actually of Cel¬
tic original. It is therefore clear that the style of the
first Romans was composed of the languages above men¬
tioned. Who those first Romans were, we believe it is
impossible to determine with any degree of certainty.
The Roman historians afford us as little information up¬
on that subject, as their etymologists do upon the origin
of their language. Their most celebrated writers upon
this point were ^Elius Gallus, Quintus Cornificius, No¬
nius Marcellus, Festus, and some others of less note.
At the head of these we ought to place Terentius
\ arro, whom Cicero styles the most learned of all the
Romans. From these writers we are to expect no
light. Their etymologies are generally childish and
futile. Of the language of the most ancient Romans
we can only reason by analogy; and by that rule we
can discover nothing more than what we have ad*
vanced above.
In the first place we may rest assured that the dual
number, the articles, the participle above mentioned, the
aorists, and the whole middle voice, never appeared in
the Latin tongue; and accordingly were not current in
those languages from which it was copied, at least at
the time when it was first fabricated.
Besides all this, many circumstances concur to make
it highly probable that, in the earliest period of the lan¬
guage, very few inflexions were introduced. 1st, When
the Pelasgi left Greece, the Greek language itself was
not fully polished. 2d, The Arcadians were never tho¬
roughly cultivated. They were a rustic pastoral people,
and little minded the refinements of a civilized state;
consequently the language they brought into Italy at
that era must have been of a coarse and irregular con¬
texture. 3d, When the Thessalian * Pelasgi arrived in * Dionys.
Italy about the time of Deucalion, the Greek itself was
rude and barbarous; and, which is still of more conse-libi*
quence, if we may credit Herodotus quoted in the for¬
mer section, that people had never adopted the Hellenic
tongue. Hence it appears, that the part of the Latin
language derived from the Pelasgic or Hetruscan (for
those we believe to have been the same) must have ta¬
ken a deep tincture from the oriental tongue. (See pre¬
ceding Section). If we may judge of the Celtic of that
age by that of the present, the same character must like¬
wise have distinguished its structure.
From these circumstances, we think it appears that Hence3
the earliest language of the Romans was very little di-little in-
versified with inflections. It nearly resembled the orien- fleeted in its
tal exemplar, and consequently differed widely from theorig!nal
modern Latin. The effect of this was, that the modernState*
Romans could not understand the language of their early
progenitors. Polybius f, speaking of the earliest treaty j
between the Romans and Carthaginians, makes the fol- sub initio*
lowing observation : “ Believe me (says he), the Roman
language has undergone so many changes since that
time
(z) For proof of this our readers may consult Abbe Pezron, Pelloutier, Bullet’s Mem. Gebelin, Pref. Diet.
Lai. and many others.
104
Bent after¬
wards into
the Gre¬
cian model
PHILO
time (a) to tlie present, that even those who are most
deeply skilled in the science of antiquities cannot under¬
stand the words of that treaty but with the greatest dif¬
ficulty.”
From this source we make no doubt has flowed that
vast number of oriental words with which the Latin
language is impregnated. These were originally in¬
flexible. like their brethren of the east. They were not
disguised as they now7 are with prefixes, affixes, meta¬
theses, svncopas, antitheses, &c. but plain ami unadorn¬
ed in their natural dress. _
After the Romans became acquainted with the iEo-
lian Greeks, who gradually seized upon both coasts of
Italy towards the south, which they called Magna Grte-
tia7 they began to affect a Grecian air, and to torture
their language into that foreign contexture. It appears,
however, that at first the Grecian garb sat rather awk¬
wardly, and several marks of violence were easily dis¬
cerned. The most ancient specimen ol this kind that
we can recollect consists ot the remains ot the twelve
tables. Here every thing is rude and of a clumsy cast *,
for though by this time considerable progress had been
made in refinement, and the language ot Rome had be¬
gun to appear in a Grecian uniform, still those changes
were not altogether natural. Soon after appeared Mar¬
cus Fabius Pictor and Sisenna *, historians often quoted
by Livy, but whose works are long since irrecoverably
lost. The Fasti Capitolini are often mentioned j but
they too perished in the burning of the Capitol during
the civil wars between Marius and Sylla. Had those
monuments escaped the ravages of time, we should ha%e
been able to mark the progress of the Latin tongue
from stage to stage, and to ascertain with the greatest
accuracy its gradual configuration in the course ot its
progress towards the Grecian standard. We must there¬
fore leave the Latin tongue during those periods rude
and barbarous, and descend to others better known and
more characteristically marked. Those commenced al¬
ter that
Sect VIII
toS
The prin¬
cipal au¬
thors by
whom it
Grcecia capta fermn victorem ccpit, et antes
Intulit agresti Latio.
was gra¬
dually po¬
lished.
In this period we find Ennius, who wrote a Roman
history in hexameter verse in 18 books, which he called
Annals i most part of which is now lost. He likewise
translated Enhemerusde OrigineDeornm; a work often
mentioned by the Christian fathers in their disputes with
the Pagans. It is sometimes quoted by Cicero. Then
followed Caius Lucilius the famous satirist, ar.d a num¬
ber of other writers, such as Accius, Valerius, ./Ldituus,
Alpinus, &c. whose fragments were published by the
Stephens, Paris, i 564. All these imitated ihe writers
of Greece or translated from them. By their perseve¬
rance and active exertions, the spirit of these authors
was transfused into the Latin tontine, and its stri cture
accommodated to the Grecian plan.
Plautus ami Terence, by translating the comedies of
Menander and Diphilns into their own lane page, taimkt
the Latin muses to speak Attic Greek. To speak that
language was then the ton of the times, as it is now with
logy.
us to chatter French. Greek tutors were retained in ji;,tin
every reputable family j and many Romans ot the first Uncage
rank were equally qualified to speak or write both in'
Greek and Latin. The original jargon of Latium was
now become obsolete and unintelligible •, and Cato the
Ancient condescended to learn the Gieek language
at 80. . ip6
To pretend to enumerate the various, and we may The ^old-
add inimitable, examples of the Augustan or golden age age of
of the Roman tongue, would be an insult to the under¬
standing ot our readers we shall only take the libeity
to translate a ft W lines from a most excellent historian *, * Velkim
who, had his honesty been equal to his judgment,jWcu/w
might have rivalled the most celebrated writers of his™- '• caP
country. Having observed, that the Greek authors,
who excelled in every province ot literature, had all
made their appearance nearly about the same space of
time, confined within very narrow limits, he adds,
“ Nor was this circumstance more conspicuous among
the Greeks than among the Romans *, for unless we go
back to the rough and unpolished times, wiiieh deserve
commendation only on account ot their invention, the
Roman tragedy is confined to Acc ius and the period
when he flourished. The charming wit of Latin ele¬
gance was brought to light by Cecilius, Terentius, and
Afraoius, nearly in the same age. As for our historians
(to add Liw al-o to the age of the former), if we ex¬
cept Cato and some old obscure ones, they were all c on¬
fined to a period of 80 years-, so neither has our stock of
poets extended to a space much backward or forward.
But the energy of the bar. and the finished beauty of
prose eloquence, setting aside the sin < Cate (by leave
of P. Crassus, Scipin, Radius, the Gracchi, Fannius,
and Scr. Galba, be it spoken), broke out all at once
under Tully the piince of bis profession j so that one
can be delighted with none before Itim, and admire none
except such as have either seen or were seen by that
orator.”
From this quotation it plainly appears, that the Ro¬
mans themselves weie cor viuced of the short dmation of
the golden age of their language. According to the
most judicious critics, it commenced with the era of Ci¬
cero's oratorical productions, and terminated with the
n ign of Tiberius, or perhaps it did not reach beyond 107
the middle of that prince’s reign. It is generally be-C«»«0J
Uie miucue oi u.ai “ - *V W , , he degem
lievec! that eloquence, andVith it every thing liberal,^oflhJ
elevated, and manly, was banished Rome by the despo-j^tm
tism of the Ccesars. We imagine that the transition was tongue
too instantaneous to have been entirely produced by that
unhappy cause. Despotism was firmly established among
the Romans about the middle of the reign of Augustus-,
and yet that period produced such a group of learned
men as never adorned ary other nation in so short a
space of time. Despotism, we acknowledge, might have
affected the eloquence of the bar*, the noble and im¬
portant objects which had animated the republican ora¬
tors being now no more : but this circumstance could
not afl'. cl poetry, history, philosophy, &c. The style
employed uiion tlie“e subjects did not feel the fetters of
de-potism. The age of Loins XIV. was the golden pe¬
riod
I!
(a) This treaty, according to the same historian, was concluded In the consulship of Lucius Junius Brutus and
Marcus Valerius, 28 years before Xerxes made his descent upon Greece.
5
PHILOLOGY.
Sect. VIII.
Latin nod of the French tongue; and we think that age pro-
Lankin,,e. duced a race of learned men, in every department supe¬
rior in number and equal in genius to the literati who
flourished under the noble and envied constitution of
Britain during the same age, though the latter is uni¬
versally allowed to have been the golden period of this
country. 1 he British isles, we hope, enjoy still as much
liberty as ever; yet we believe few people will aver,
that the writers of the present age are equal either in
style or in genius to that noble group who flourished from
the middle of the reign of Charles I. to the middle of
the reign of George II.; and here despotism is quite un¬
concerned.
In the east the same observation is confirmed. The
I eisians have long groaned under the Mohammedan
yoke; and yet every oriental scholar will allow, that in
that country, and under the most galling tyranny, the
most amazing productions of taste, genius, and industry,
that ever dignified human nature, have been exhibited.
Under the Arabian caliphs, the successors of Moham¬
med, appeared writers of a most sublime genius, though
never was despotism more cruelly exercised than under
those fanatics. The revival of letters at the era of the
Refoimation was chiefly promoted and cherished by petty
despotical princes.
We cannot therefore be persuaded, that the despo¬
tism of the Caesars banished eloquence and learning
from Rome. Longinus indeed has attributed this mis-
f01 tunc to that cause, and tells us, ts yacg fKctyri tx
<Pt>muxTX rut MiyxMQ^vui « EAEY0EPIA, &c. “ It
is liberty that is formed to nurse the sentiments of great
geniuses, to push forward the propensity of contest, to
inspire them with hopes, and the generous ambition of
being the first in rank.” When Longinus wrote this,
he did not reflect that he himself was a striking instance
of the unsoundness of his observation.
I9S As to science, the fact is undoubtedly on the other
lie writers side. I hat Seneca was superior to Cicero in philosophy,
cannot be reasonably contradicted. The latter had read,
eater anf^ actually abridged, the whole extent of Grecian phi-
asters of losophv : this displayed his reading rather than his
lenee learning. The former had addicted himself to the stoic
edecesf1 an<^ though he does not write with the same flow
is, of eloquence as Tully, he thinks more deeply and rea¬
sons more closely. Pliny’s Natural History is a won¬
derful collection, and contains more useful knowledge
than all the writings of the Augustan age condensed in¬
to one mass. We think the historical annals of Tacitus,
it inferior to Livy in style and majesty of diction, much
superior in arrangement and vigour of composition. In
short, we discover in these productions a deep insight in¬
to human nature, an extensive knowledge of the science
of government, a penetration which no dissimulation
could escape, together with a sincere attachment to
truth both with respect to events and characters; nor is
he inferior in the majesty, energy, and propriety of his
harangues, wherever an equal opportunity presents it¬
self. Quintilian, Pliny the younger, Suetonius, Petro-
nius Arbiter, and Juvenal, deserve high esteem; nor
are they inferior to their immediate predecessors. We
think there is good reason to conclude, that the loss of
liberty among the Romans did not produce the extinc¬
tion of eloquence, science, elevation of sentiment, or re¬
finement of taste. There were, we believe, other cir-
Vol, XVI. Part I. f
cumstances which chiefly contributed to produce that re¬
volution.
I he same \ elleius Paterculus whom we have quoted
assigns some plausible and very judicious reasons for this
catastrophe. “ Emulation (says he) is the nurse of ge¬
nius; and one while envy, and another admiration, fires
imitation. According to the laws of nature, that which
is pursued with the greatest ardour mounts to the top.
but to be stationary in perfection is a difficult matter;
and by the same analogy, that which cannot go forward
goes backward. As at the outset we are animated to
overtake those whom we deem before us, so when w-e
despair of being able to overtake or to pass by them, our
ardour languishes together with our hope, and what it
cannot overtake it ceases to pursue; and leaving the sub¬
ject as already engrossed by another, it looks out for a
new one upon which to exert itself. That by which we
find we are not able to acquire eminence we relinquish,
and try to find out some object elsewhere upon which to
employ our intellectual powers. The consequence is,
that frequent and variable transitions from subject to sub-
fess^on0”68 a SrCat °bstacIe t0 Perfecti°n in any pro-
This perhaps was the case with the Romans. The
heroes of the Augustan age had borne away the prize
of eloquence of history, of poetry, &c. Their succes¬
sors despaired of being able to equal, much less to sur¬
pass them, in any of these walks. They were therefore
laid under the necessity of striking out a new path bv
winch they might arrive at eminence. Consequently
beneca introduced the stile coupe, as the French call it':
that is, a short, sparkling, figurative diction, abounding
with antitheses,quamtnesses, witticisms, embellished with
t owers and meretricious ornaments; whereas the stjle of
the Augustan age was natural, simple, solid, unaffected,
and properly adapted to the nature of the subject and the
sentiments of the author.
I he historian Sallust laid the foundation of the unna¬
tural style above mentioned. Notwithstanding all the
excellencies of that celebrated author, he everywhere
exhibits an affectation of antiquity, an antithetical cast,
an air of austerity, an accuracy, exactness, and regula¬
rity contrary to that air degagt which nature displays
in her most elaborate efforts. His words, his clauses,
seem to be adjusted exactly according to number, weight’
and measure, without excess or defect. Velleius Pater¬
culus imitated this writer; and, as is generally the case
with imitators, succeeded best in those points where his
archetype had failed most egregiously. Tacitus, how¬
ever excellent in other respects, deviated from the Au¬
gustan exemplars, and is thought to have imitated Sal¬
lust; but affecting brevity to excess, be often falls into
obscurity. 1 he other contemporary writers employ a
cognate style; and because they have" deviated from the
Augustan standard, their works are held in less estima¬
tion, and are thought to bear about them marks of de¬
generacy.
That degeneracy, however, did net spring from the
despotic government under which these authors lived,
but from that affectation of singularity into which they
were led by an eager but fruitless desire of signalizing
themselves in their mode, as their predecessors had done
in theirs. But the mischiefs of this rage for innova¬
tion did not reach their sentiments, as it had done their
Y y style;
353
354
Latin style ; for in that point we think they were so far from
Language, falling below the measure of the writers of the former
' v 1 ' age, that in many instances they seem to have surpas¬
sed them.
With respect to sentiment and mental exertions, the
authors in question preserved their vigour, till luxury
and effeminacy, in consequence ot power and opulence,
enervated both the bodies and minds ot the Romans.
The contagion soon became universal j and a listless¬
ness, or intellectual torpor, the usual concomitant, of
luxury, spread indolence over the mental faculties,
which rendered them not only averse to, but even inca¬
pable of, industry and perseverance. This lethargic
disposition of mind seems to have commenced towards
the conclusion of the silver age j that is, about the end
of the reign of Adrian. It was then that the Roman
eagle began to stoop, and the genius of Rome, as well
in arts as in arms, began to decline. Once more, the
declension of the intellectual powers of the writers ot
that nation did not arise from the form of the govern¬
ment, but from the causes above specified.
As the Roman genius, about that period, began to
decline, so the style of the silver age was gradually viti¬
ated with barbarisms and exotic forms of speech. The
multitudes of barbarians who flocked to Rome from all
parts of the empire j the ambassadors of foreign princes,
and often the princes themselves, with their attendants j
the prodigious numbers of slaves who were enteitained
in all the considerable families of the capital, and over
all Italy •, the frequent commerce which the Roman ar¬
mies upon the frontiers carried on with the barbarians ;
all concurred to vitiate the Tatin tongue, and to. inter¬
lard it with foreign words and idioms. In such circum¬
stances, it was impossible for that or any other language
to have continued pure and untainted.
This vitiated character both of style and sentiment
became more and more prevalent, in proportion as it
descended from the reign of Adrian towards the era of
the removal of the imperial seat from Rome to Con¬
stantinople. Then succeeded the iron age, when the
Roman language became absolutely rude and barba-
,00 rous. _ .iii
Writers of Towards the close of the silver, and during the whole
great ta- course of the brazen age, there appeared, however,
tents dur- ma wrlters of no contemptible talents. The most re-
Sverand markable was Seneca the stoic, the master of Nero,
brazen whose character both as a man and a writer is discus-
aScs> sed with great accuracy by the noble author of the Cha¬
racteristics, to whom we refer our readers.
About the same time lived Persius the satirist, the
friend and disciple of the stoic Cornutus ; to whose pre¬
cepts he did honour by his virtuous life and by Ins
works, though small, he showed an early proficiency in
the science of morals.
Under the mild government of Adrian and the Anto-
nines lived Aulus Gellius, or (as some call him) Agel-
lius •, an entertaining writer in the miscellaneous way,
well skilled in criticism and antiquity. His works con¬
tain several valuable fragments of philosophy, which are
indeed the most curious part of them.
With Aulus Gellius we may rank Macrobius•, not be¬
cause he was a contemporary (for he is supposed to have
lived under Honorius and Theodosius), but from his
near resemblance in the character of a writer. Plis
Sect. VIII.
works like those of the other, are miscellaneous-, filled Latin
with mythology and ancient literature, with some pluto- Language.
sophy intermixed. .
In the same age with Aulus Gellms flourished Apu-
leius of Madaura in Africa ; a Platonic writer, whose
matter in general far exceeds his perplexed and affected
style, too conformable to the false rhetoric of the age in
which he lived. r .
Boethius was descended from one of the noblest ot the
Roman families, and was consul in the beginning of the
sixth century He wrote many philosophical works j
but his ethic piece on the Consolation ot Philosophy de¬
serves great encomiums, both tor the matter and the
style ; in which latter he approaches the purity of a far
hetter age than his own. By command of Iheodoric
king of the Goths this great and good man suffered
death ; and with him the Latin tongue, and the last re¬
mains of Roman dignity, may be said to have sunk in
the western world.
There were besides a goodly number both of poets
and historians who flourished during this period j such
as Silius Italicus, Claudian, Ausonius, &c. poets and
historians to a very great number, for whom our readers
may consult Joh. Alberti Fabricii Bibl. Lot. . 2oo
There flourished, too, a number of ecclesiastical writ-Elegant et-
ers, some of whom deserve great commendation. Thecl^ucat
chief of these is Lactantius, who has been deservedly
dignified with the title of the Christian Cicero.
The Roman authors amount to a very small number
in comparison of the Greek. At the same time, when
we consider the extent and duration of the Roman em¬
pire, we are justly surprised to find so few writers of
character and reputation in so vast a field. We think
we have good reason to agree with the prince of Roman
poets in the sentiment already quoted. 2oi
Upon the whole, the Latin tongue deserves our at-Excellency
tention beyond any other ancient one now extant. The and useful-
grandeur of the people by whom it was spoken j the
lustre of its writers the empire which it still maintains tongu€
among ourselves j the necessity we are under of learning
it in order to obtain access to almost all the sciences,
nay even to the knowledge of our own laws, of our ju¬
dicial proceedings, of our charters -, all those circum¬
stances, and many others too numerous to be detailed,
render the acquisition of that imperial language in a pe¬
culiar manner at once improving and highly interesting.
Spoken by the conquerors ot the ancient nations, it par¬
takes of all their revolutions, and bears continually their
impression. Strong and nervous while they were em¬
ployed in nothing but battles and carnage, it thundered
in the camps, and made the proudest people to tremble,
and the most despotic monarchs to bend their stubborn
necks to the yoke. Copious and majestic, when, weary
of battles, the Romans inclined to vie with the Greeks
in science and the graces, it became the learned lan¬
guage of Europe, and by its lustre made the jargon o
savages disappear who disputed with it the possession of
that quarter of the globe. After having controuled by
its eloquence, and humanized by its laws, all those peo¬
ple, it became the language of religion. In short,
the Latin language will be studied and esteemed as
long as good sense and fine taste remain in the
world.
Sect,
PHILOLOGY.
Sect. IX.
Celtic
PHILOLO GY.
I language.^ Sect. IX. Celtic^ Gothic, and Sclavonian Languages.
§ I • Of the Celtic Language.
In treating of the origin of the Latin tongue (see
Sect. VIII.), we observed that a great part of it is de¬
rived from the Celtic. We shall now endeavour to give
some account of the origin and extent of that ancient
language j still leaving the minutiae to grammars and
dictionaries, as we have done with respect to the other
dialects which have fallen under our consideration. Our
candid readers, it is hoped, will remember, that we are
acting in the character of philologers, not in that of
grammarians and lexicographers.
Irigia of ^ ^ t^escein^anfs °f Japhet having peopled the west-
ie Celts, era Parfs Asia, at length entered Europe. Some
broke into that quarter of the globe by the north, others
found means to cross the Danube near its mouth. Their
posterity gradually ascended towards the source of that
river; afterwards they advanced to the banks of the
Khine, which they passed, and thence spread themselves
as far as the Alps and the Pyrenees.
Ihese people, in all probability, were composed of
different families; all, however, spoke the same lan-
guage ; their manners and customs bore a near resem¬
blance ; there was no variety among them but that dif¬
ference which climate always introduces. Accordingly
they were all known, in the more early times, by the
general name of Celto-scythce. In process of time, be¬
coming exceedingly numerous, they were divided into
several nations, which were distinguished by different
names and territorial appellations. Those who inhabited
irtof tliat lar&e count.rV hounded by the ocean, the Mediter-
bom wereranean, the Rhine, the Alps, and the Pyrenees, were
“nomina- denominated Gauls or Celts. These people multiplied
d Gmk. so prodigiously in the space of a few centuries, that the
fertile regions which they then occupied could not af¬
ford them the means of subsistence. Some of them now
passed over into Britain ; others crossed the Pyrenees,
and formed settlements in the northern parts of Spain.
Even the formidable barriers of the Alps could not im¬
pede the progress of the Gauls: they made their way
into Italy, and colonized those parts which lie at the
foot of the mountains, whence they extended themselves
towards the centre of that rich country.
By this time the Greeks had landed on the eastern
eoast of Italy, and founded numerous colonies in those
parts. The two nations vying as it were with each other
in populousness, and always planting colonies in the
course of their progress, at length rencountered about
the middle of the country. This central region was at
that time called Latium. Here the two nations formed
one society, which was called the Latin people. The
languages of the two nations were blended together ;
and hence, according to some, the Latin is a mixture
ef Greek and Gaelic.
As the Gauls were a brave and numerous people, they
certainly maintained themselves in their pristine posses¬
sions, uninvaded, unconquered, till their civil animosi¬
ties and domestic quarrels exposed them as a prey to those
very Romans whom they bad so often defeated, and
sometimes driven to the brink of destruction. They
were not a people addicted to commerce ; and upon the
whole, considering their situation both in their primary
355
Celtic
Language.
seats and afterwards in Italy, they had little temptation
or opportunity to mingle with foreigners. Their lan¬
guage, therefore, must have remained unmixed with fo- , -
reign idioms. Such as it was when they settled in Gaul,
such it must have continued till the Roman conquests!
If therefore there is one primitive language now exist-
ing, it must be found in the remains of the Gaelic or
Celtic. It is not, then, surprising, that some very
learned men, upon discovering the coincidence of very
great numbers of words in some of the Greek dialects
with other words in the Celtic, have been inclined to
establish a strict affinity between those languages. TheResem-
ancient 1 elasgic and the Celtic at least must have nearly be-
resembled each other, admitting a dialectical difference tlveen their
only, and that discrimination which climate and a long- lanj’r“aSe
period of time must always produce. t^e Pef °l
Some have thought that the Gauls lost the use of their ^assi-
native language soon after their country was conquered
by the Romans ; but Monsieur Bullet, in his Memoires
de la Langue Celtique, has proved almost to a demonstra¬
tion, that the vulgar among those people continued to
speak it several centuries after that period. When a
great and populous nation has for many ages employed
a vernacular tongue, nothing can ever make them en¬
tirely relinquish the use of it, and adopt unmixed that
of their conquerors.
Many learned men, among whom is the lexicogra¬
pher above mentioned, have shown that all the local
names in the north of Italy are actually of Celtic ex¬
traction. These names generally point out or describe
some circumstances relating to the nature of their situa¬
tion ; such as exposure, eminence, lowness, moistness,
dryness, coldness, heat, &c. Ibis is a very character¬
istic feature of an original language ; and in the Celtic
it is so prominent, that the Erse names of places all
over Scotland, are, even to this day, peculiarly distin¬
guished by this quality. We have heard a gentleman,
who was well skilled in the dialect of the Celtic still
spoken in the Highlands of Scotland, propose to lay a
bet at very great odds, that if one should pronounce
the name of any village, mountain, river, gentleman’s
seat, &c. in the old Scottish dialect, he should be able,
by its very name, to give a pretty exact description of
its local situation.
To discover the sources from which the Celtic tongue
is derived, we must have recourse to the following expe¬
dients.
1. We must consult the Greek and Latin authors,
who have preserved some Gaelic or Celtic terms in their
writings.
2. W'e must have recourse to the Welsh and Basse
Bretagne dialects; in which, indeed there are many
new words, but these are easily distinguished from the
primitive stock.
3. If one would trace another source of the Celtic,
he must converse with the country people and peasants,
who live at a distance from cities, in those countries
where it was once the vernacular tongue. We have
been credibly informed, that a Highland gentleman
crossing the Alps for Italy, accidentally fell in with an
old woman, a native of those parts, who spoke a lan¬
guage so near akin to his native Erse, that he could un¬
derstand her with little difficulty; and that she on the
other hand, understood most of his words. That an
event of this nature should actually take place is by no
Y y 2 means
35 6
Celtic
X.anguage.
205
The most
gsmiine re¬
mains of
the Celtic
in the
Highlands
of Scot¬
land.
The Welsh
dialect not
pnre, nor
the Jrish.
PHILO
means surprising, when we consider that the Erse spo¬
ken in the Highlands of Scotland is pernaps the most
genuine remnant of the Celtic now existing, and at the
same time reflect that there may be some remote can¬
tons among those wild and inaccessible mountains, the
Alps, where some remains of that tongue may still lie
preserved.
4. We have said that the most genuine remains of
the Gaelic tongue are to be found in the Highlands of
Scotland } and the reason is obvious. 'Hie Scottish
Highlanders are the unmixed unconquered posterity of
the ancient Britons, into whose barren domains the
Homans never penetrated j not, we imagine, because
they were not able, since they subdued both North and
South Wales, equally inaccessible, but because they
found no scenes there either to fire their ambition or al¬
lure their avarice. Amidst all the revolutions that
from time to time shook and convulsed Albion, those
mountainous regions were left to their primitive lords,
who, like their southern progenitors, hospitable in the
extreme, did not, however, suffer strangers to reside
long among them. Their language, accordingly, re¬
mained unmixed, and continues so even unto this day,
especially in the most remote parts and unfrequented
islands.
TheNorvvegians subdued the western islands of “cot-
land, at a time when the Scottish monarchy was still in
its minority. They erected a kind ot principality over
them, of which the isle of Man was the capital. Though
they maintained the sovereignty of those islands lor some
centuries, built many forts, and strengthened them with
garrisons, and in fine were the lawgivers and administra¬
tors of justice among the natives ; yet we have been in¬
formed by the most respectable authority, that there is
not at this day a single vocable of the iS orse or Danish
tongue to be found among these islanders. This fact
affords a demonstration ot that superstitious attachment
with which they were devoted to their vernacular dia¬
lects.
The Welsh dialect cannot, we think, be pure and un¬
sophisticated. The Silures were conquered by the Ro¬
mans, to whom they were actually subject for the space
of three centuries. During this period a multitude of
Italian exotics must have been transplanted into their
language ; and indeed many of them are discernible at
this day. Their long commerce with their English
neighbours and conquerors hath adulterated their lan¬
guage, so that a great part of it is now of an English
complexion. The Irish is now spoken by a race of
people whose morality and ingenuity is nearly upon a
level. Their latest historians have brought them from
the confines of Asia, through a variety of adventures, to
people an island e.rtra anni solisque vias. However this
genealogical tale may please the people for whom it w’as
fabricated, we may still suspect that the Irish are of
Celtic extraction, and that their forefathers emigrated
from the western coast of Britain at a period prior to all
historical or even traditional annals. Ireland was once
the native land of saints. The chief actors on this sa¬
cred stage were Romanists, and deeply tinctured with
the superstition of the times. They pretended to im¬
prove the language of the natives ; and whatever their
success was, they improved it in such a manner as to
make it deviate very considerably from the original
Celtic ; so that it is not in Ireland that we are to look
LOGY. Sect. IX
for the genuine characters ol the dialect under conside-
Celtic
ration. _ ... ,^anSua^c'
Though the Hibernian tongue, in our opinion, dif- "V
fers considerably from the original Celtic, some very in¬
genious essays have been lately published by the learned ^
and laborious members of the Antiquarian Society o/'Coinci-
Dublin ; m which the coincidence ol that tongue with (jenee be-
some of the oriental dialects, has been supported by tween the
very plausible arguments. In a dissertation published in
the year 1772, they have exhibited a collection of Pu- ‘ KiaB'
nico-Maltese words compared with words of the same im¬
port in Irish, where it must be allowed the resemblance
is palpable. In the same dissertation they have compa¬
red the celebrated Punic scene in Plautus with its trans¬
lation into the Irish ; in which the words in the two lan¬
guages are surprisingly similar. If those criticisms are
well founded, they will prove that the Celtic is coeval
and congenial with the most ancient languages of the
east} which we think highly probable. Be that as it
may, the Danes and Norwegians formed settlements in
Ireland ; and the English have long been sovereigns of
that island. These circumstances must have affected the
vernacular idiom of the natives ; not to mention the ne¬
cessity of adopting the language of the conquerors in
law, in sciences, in the offices of religion.
The inhabitants of the highlands and islands of Scot¬
land are the descendants of those Britons who fled from
the power of the Romans, and sheltered themselves among
the fens, rocks, and fastnesses of those rugged mountains
and sequestered glens. They preferred those wastes and
wilds, with liberty and independence, to the pleasant
and fertile valleys of the south, with plenty embittered
by slavery. They no doubt carried their language along
with them ; that language was a branch of the Celtic.
With them, no doubt, fled a number of the druidical
priests, who unquestionably knew their native dialect in
all its beauties and varieties. These fugitives in process
of time formed a regular government, elected a king,
and became a considerable state. They were sequester¬
ed by their situation from the rest of the world. With¬
out commerce, without agriculture, without the mecha¬
nical arts, and without objects of ambition or emulation,
they addicted themselves wholly to the pastoral life as
their business, and to hunting and fishing as their diver¬
sion. Those people were not distinguished by an inno¬
vating genius j and consequently their language must
have remained in the same state in which they received
it from their ancestors. They received it genuine Cel¬
tic, and such they preserved it.
When the Scots became masters of the low country,
and their kings and a great part of the nobility embra¬
ced the Saxon manners, and adopted the Saxon lan¬
guage, the genuine Caledonians tenaciously retained
their native tongue, dress, manners, clanships, and feu¬
dal customs, and could never cordially assimilate with
their southern neighbours. Their language, therefore,
could not be polluted with words or idioms borrowed
from a people whom they hated and despised. Indeed
it is plain from the whole tenor of the Scottish history,
that neither Caledonian chieftains, nor their vassals, were
ever steadily attached to the. royal family after they fixed
their residence in the low country, and became Saxons,
as the Highlanders called them by rvay of reproach. In-
deed the commerce between them and those of the south,
till about a century and a half ago, was only transient
and
Sect. IX.
PHILOLOGY.
nor was their native dialect in the least
iiicient
language.
Celtic and accidental
Language, affected by it.
Their language, however, did not degenerate, be-
Jlauses of cause there existe<l among them a description oi‘ men
jhe purity whose profession obliged them to guard against that mis-
ot the fortune. Every chieftain retained in his family a bard
''t of diis •>l' l100*' hiureat, whose province rt was to compose poems
jiicieut honour of his lord, to commemorate the glorious ex¬
ploits of his ancestors, to record the genealogy and con¬
nections ol the family j in a word, to amuse and enter¬
tain the chief and his guests at all public entertainments
and upon all solemn occasions. Those professors of the
Parnassian art used to vie with each other j and the
chiefs of families often assembled their respective bards,
and encouraged them by considerable premiums to exert
their poetic talents. The victor was rewarded and ho¬
noured ; and the chieftain deemed it an honour to him¬
self to entertain a bard who excelled his peers. The an¬
cient Gauls, as we learn from jDiodorus Siculus, Strabo,
'lacitus, Lucan, &c. entertained persons of that profes¬
sion ; and certainly the ancient Britons did the same.
Those bards were highly revered ; their persons were
deemed sacred j and they were always rewarded with
salaries in lands or cattle (sec Section Greek'). Those
poetic geniuses must have watched over their vernacular
dialect with the greatest care and anxiety j because in
their compositions no word was to be lost, but as many
gained as possible.
The use of letters was not known among the ancient
CeltcE ; their druidical clergy forbade the use of them.
All their religious rites, their philosophical dogmas, their
moral precepts, and their political maxims, were com¬
posed in verses which their pupils were obliged to com¬
mit to memory. Accordingly letters were unknown to
the Caledonian Scots, till they learned them either from
their southern neighbours or from the Romans. The
Irish, indeed, pretend to have letters of a very ancient
date j the Highlanders of the country in question make
no claim to the use of that invention. Their bards,
therefore, committed every thing to memory 5 and of
course the words of their language must have been faith¬
fully preserved. We find that the celebrated poems of
Ossian, and others of an inferior character, or at least
fragments of such poems (see Ossian), have thus been
preserved from father to son for more than 1000 years.
Ihe beauty, significancy, harmony, variety, and energy
of these verses, strike us even in a prose translation: how
infinitely more charming must they appear in their na¬
tive form and poetical attire !
In order to exhibit the genius of the Celtic in as
striking a light as the nature of our present design will
permit, we shall lay before our readers a very contract¬
ed sketch of the Gaelic or Caledonian dialect as it now
stands j which we hope will go a great way to convince
them that this is the genuine offspring of the other. In
doing this we shall borrow many bints from a gentle¬
man * whose learning seems to equal his zeal for his na¬
tive language; which, in compliance with the modern
practice, we shall for the future distinguish by the name
of Gaelic.
Ihe Gaelic is not derived from any other language
as far as we know, being obviously reducible to its own
roots. Its combinations are formed of simple words of
a known signification ; and those words are resolvable
into the simplest combinations of vowels and consonants,
357
Sssdws,
•by
nes
»nt,
1- advo-
and even into simple sounds. In such a language we Celtic
may expect that seme traces will be found of the ideas Language.
and notions of mankind living in a state of primeval sim- 1 *v  
plicity j and if so, a monument is still preserved of the
primitive manners of the Celtic race while as yet under
the guidance ol simple nature, without any artificial re¬
straint or controul.
The sudden sensations of heat and cold, and bodily
pain, are expressed by articulate sounds, which, how¬
ever, are not used in this language to denote heat, cold,
01 bodily pain. A sudden sensation of heat is denoted
by an articulate exclamation hait; of cold, by id; of
bodily pain, by oieh. All these sounds may be called
interjections, being parts of speech which discover the
mind to be seized with some passion. Few of the im¬
proved languages of Europe present so great a variety
of sounds which instantaneously convey notice of a par¬
ticular passion, bodily or mental feeling.
Ihe pronouns he and shelve expressed by the simple
sounds e and 2, and these are the marks of the masculine
and feminine genders 5 for a neuter gender is unknown
in the Cxaehc. 1 he compositions of rude and barbarous
ages are universally found to approach to the style and
numbcis of poetry j and this too is a distinguishing cha-
lacter of the Gaelic. Bodily subsistence will always be
the principal concern of an uncultivated people. Hence
ed ox eid is used upon discovery of any animal of prey
or game : it is meant to give notice to the hunting com¬
panion to be in readiness to seize the animal: and hence
we believe edo “ to eat” in Latin, and ed in Irish, sig¬
nifies “ cattle likewise in Scotch cdal “ cattle,” lite¬
rally signifies “ the offspring or generation of cattle.”
Coed or cued, “ share or portion of any subject of pro¬
perty,” literally “ common food.” Faced “ hunting,”
literally “ gathering of food.” Edra “ the time of the.
morning when cattle are brought home from pasture to
give milk,” literally “ meal-time.” These are words
importing the simplicity of a primitive state, and are
common in the Gaelic idiom.
I races of imitative language remain in all countries.
The word used for cow in the Gaelic language is bo,
plainly in imitation of the lowing of that animal.
In joining together original roots in the progress of
improving language and rendering it more copious, its
combinations discover an admirable justness and preci¬
sion of thought, which one would scarce expect to find 2Q
in an uncultivated dialect. It will, however, be found, Excellency
upon examination, that the Gaelic language, in its com- Gaelic
bination of words, specifies with accuracy the known c0mP0Uflds.
qualities, and expresses with precision the nature and
properties which were attributed to the object denomi¬
nated.
An appears to have been a word of frequent use in
this language, and seems to have been originally a name
applied indefinitely to any object. According to Bullet,
it was used to signify “ a planet 5” hence the sun had
the name of grian, which is a compound of gri “ hot,”
and an “ a planet.” Re signifies originally and radical¬
ly “ division.” The changes of the moon and the va-
riety of her phases were early employed to point out the
divisions of time. The present name for the moon is
geidach: a word der ived from her whiteness of colour,
lo these we might add a vast number more whose signi¬
fication precisely indicates their shape, colour, effects,
&c. Many ol these would be found exactly similar to
Greek
358
PHILO
Celtic Greek and Latin words of the same sound and significa-
Jjanguage. tion. In order to satisfy our curious readers, we shall
   ' annex a few, though some of them may perhaps be
questionable.
The Venus of the Latins is said to be a compound of
ben andjW, which literally signify the “ tirst woman,
the letter b in Gaelic being softened into v. and
.**^5 signify “ food.” These words are compounded of
the Gaelic words ed or eid and ar ; the former denotes
food simply, and the latter ploughed kind. These are the
roots of the Greek and Latin words edo ; x^»u, aro.
E$£x, which signifies “ a seat,” has an evident reference
to food. It is compounded of two Gaelic words ed and
ira, which literally signifies “ meal-time.” E^x, which
signifies “ the presents which a bridegroom made to his
bride,” is a compound of two Gaelic words ed and na
or nuah, literally signifying “ raw food.” From ar
there are many Greek derivatives. Agajat signifies
“ploughed land,” also “crop of corn j” A^rof, “ bread.”
In Gaelic a crop of corn and bread are expressed by
arbhar, commonly pronounced arar and aran ; all be¬
ing equally derivatives of the root ar. bo the Greek
and Latin words aegores, arabihs, “ arable } aegargov,
aratrum, “ a plough;” orator, 44 a ploughman;
and many others, are evidently derived from the same
source. We would not, however, suggest, in conse-
„quence of this coincidence, that either the Greek or La¬
tin languages was derived from the Gaelic ; we rather
believe that these are remains of a primeval tongue,
which are still retained in all the three ; and we produce
them upon the present occasion as presumptions that the
Gaelic is an original, underived language, and of course
the most pure and unadulterated relick of the Celtic now
existing. If our readers should incline to know more of
this subject, they may consult Pezron’s Origin of An¬
cient Nations, Bullet’s Mem. de la Langue Celticgue,
Parson’s Rem. of Japhet, Gebelin’s Monde prim. &c.
When the Celtie language was generally spoken over
„es5 cimi Europe, it seems to have been amazingly copious. By
antiquity of consulting Bullet’s Memoir es, it appears that its names
the Celtic. for tiie common and various objects of nature were very
numerous. The words denoting water, river, wood, fo¬
rest, mountain, lake, &c. were most precisely accom¬
modated to specify each modification and variety, with
such peculiar exactness as even the Greek, with all its
boasted idiomatical precision and copiousness, has not
been able to equal. The appearances which diversify
the visible face of animated nature, arrest the attention
of men in an uncultivated state. Unaccustomed to
thought and abstract reasoning, their minds expand and
exercise their powers upon sensible objects, and of course
mark every minutia and almost imperceptible distinction
with an accuracy to us seemingly impossible.
We hope it now appears to every reader, that the Cel¬
tic was one of the dialects of the primitive language ;
that it once overspread by far the greatest part of Eu¬
rope ; that the Gaelic now spoken in the northern parts
of Scotland and the adjacent islands is the most pure and
unmixed relick of that tongue now anywhere existing.
We would willingly refer our readers to some well com¬
posed grammar of that language ; but indeed we know
of none that deserves our recommendation. Some years
ago we were flattered with the prospect of seeing one
published by a gentleman whose deep skill in that lan¬
guage is universally acknowledged. We have likewise
210
Copious¬
ness and
LOGY. Sect-1X'
heard of an intended dictionary of the same tongue; but Celtic
hitherto our hopes have been disappointed. ,Lail^ua^
We are, however, happy to find that there is now
publishing an excellent translation of both the Old and
New Testaments into Gaelic, which has hitherto been a
desideratum among those who speak this language. Such
a translation will at once contribute to preserve that an¬
cient tongue, and disseminate the knowledge of the truth
among the natives of that country.
Every assistance towards acquiring the knowledge of
a tongue which was once universal over a great part of
Europe, will certainly be an acceptable present to the
public. The antiquary, who is desirous of tracing the
affinity of languages, and wishes to mark the migrations
of people, ought certainly to apply himself to the study
of its remaining branches ; and, if we mistake not, he
will soon be convinced, that they all breathe a spnit
congenial to the manners and sentiments of a people
who are just entering upon the first stage of improve¬
ment and civilization. 211
Perhaps it may be expected, that, before rve con-Origin of
elude this short sketch of the Celtic tongue, we should
give some account of the origin of the words Gaul and
Gal, the two names by which this people was distin¬
guished by the Greeks and Homans. Mr M‘Pherson
imagines, that the appellation of Celt is an adjective
derived from Gael, the aboriginal name of the inhabi¬
tants of ancient Gaul. For our part, we can see no
connection between Gael and Kelt, nor do we think
that the latter is an adjective. We believe that those
people called themselves Gael and not Gael. Me aie
sure that Caledonia, or Cal-don or dun, was an ancient
name of the mountainous parts of Scotland.
Though many different opinions have been advanced
with relation to the etymology of this word, we ima¬
gine that none is so probable as that which supposes
that it is compounded of the two Celtic words Cal or
Ka/, that is, “ Gal or Gaul,” and dun, which signi¬
fies “ a hill or mountain.” Upon this ground, the
Caledonii will import the Gauls of the mountains, or
which is the same, the Iiighland Gauls. The Iiish
and Highlanders reciprocally denominate themselves
by the general title of Gael, Gael, or Gauls. They
also distinguish themselves, as the Welsh originally
did, and as the Welsh distinguish them both at pre¬
sent, by the appellation of Guidhill, Guethel, and Ga-
thel. The intermediate th, they say, is left quiescent
in the pronunciation, as it is in many words of the
British language; in which case Gathcl would imme¬
diately be formed into Gael; and Gathel is actually
sounded like Gael by both the Irish and Highlanders at
present. The appellation of Gathel, therefore, say they,
was originally the same with Gael, and the parent of it.
The quiescent letters in British are frequently transfer¬
red from the middle to the conclusion of the word ; by
which manoeuvre, Gathel is changed into Galath, Galat,
Galt, and Celt. It is true, that Gael of the continent is
universally denominated Galaler and Celtce by the Gre¬
cians, and Gallt and Gullta by the Irish. The appella¬
tions, therefore, of Gathel-i, Gall-i, Gallat-ce, Culet-es,
An-calit-es, and Celt-ee, are all one and the same deno¬
mination, only varied by the astonishing ductility of the
Celtic, and disguised by the alterations ever incident to
a language that has been merely oral for ages.
It may perhaps appear presumptuous in us to dif-
Sect. IX.
PHIL
212
ncient
■othic.
Lib.i.
g. 2.
-ib. ii.
a. 23.
,
e same
:h the
fmage
:be
racians.
'ib- 7-
f ,2-14
{ iinof
^ Goths.
fev from two such respectable authorities as McPher¬
son and Whitaker : we must, however, acknowledge,
1 that neither the one nor the other appears to us well
founded. Besides, they convey no idea of the signifi¬
cation of the words, though in the Celtic language
they must have been significant. The name Gael, the
same with Gal, was probably giving them in the East
from the Greek kxX, which in many oriental languages
denotesyfor y and yaXccrix, may be easily derived from
yxX or yxXxd, Gal or Galat/i.—This denomination might
be given them by their neighbours, in allusion t® their
fair complexion.
§ 2. Of the Gothic Language.
The Celtic and Gothic tongues at one time divided
Europe between them. Both were of equal antiqui¬
ty, both originated in Asia, both were dialects of the
original language of mankind. The Celtic, however,
was first imported into Europe. The Gauls or Celts
had penetrated farthest towards the west; a circum¬
stance which plainly intimates the priority of their ar¬
rival. In the population of countries, we believe it
may be held as a maxim, that the colonies who emi¬
grated first were generally impelled by succeeding emi¬
grants £ and that of consequence the most early were
pushed forward to the parts most distant. The Celts,
then, having overspread the most western parts of
Europe, must have arrived more early in those re¬
gions.
The Goths and Getae were the same race of people,
according to Procopius *, de hello Goth. ; and Strabo f
(b) informs us, that they spoke the same language with
the Thracians, from whose confines they had spread
themselves northward as lar as the western banks of the
Danube. Vopiscus, in the History of Probus tells us,
that this emperor obliged “ the Thracians, and all the
Getic tribes, either to surrender or accept of his friend¬
ship.” This expression indicates, that the Thracians
and the Getic tribes were deemed the same race of
people. From this deduction it is clear, that the Ge¬
tae and Thracians were brethren ; that they spoke the
same language : and that their laws, manners, customs,
and religious tenets, were the same, might easily be
shown, were this a proper place for an inquiry of that
nature.
The Thracian language, as might be demonstrated
from names of persons, offices, places, and customs,
among that people, was nearly related to the Chaldean
and other oriental languages.
They are thought to have been the descendants of
Tiras, one of the sons of Japhet, and consequently
must have preserved the speech of the Noachic fami¬
ly. The Gothic language abounds with Pahlavi, or
old Persic words, which are no doubt remains of the
primeval dialect of mankind. The Thracians peo¬
pled a considerable part of the northern coast of Asia
Minor ; and consequently we meet with many names
of cities, mountains, rivers, &c. in those parts, exactly
° L ° G Y. 3S9
corresponding with many names in Europe, evidently Gothic
imposed by our Gothic progenitors. Any person to- Language,
lerably acquainted with the remains of the Gothic'"_"v  
tongue, will be able to trace these with little diffi¬
culty.
W e learn from Herodotus *, that Darius in his * Bib. iv,
expedition against the wandering Scythians wdio lived^asi7WZ‘
on the other side of the Ister or Danube, in his pro¬
gress ^subdued the Gctai j and in the same passage the
historian informs us, that these people held the im¬
mortality of the human soul, and that they were the
bravest and most just ol all the Thracians. After this
period, we find them mentioned by almost every Greek
writer, even, familiarly ; for Geta, in the comedies of
that nation, is a common name for a slave. The Cette
then occupied all that large tract of country which ex¬
tended from the confines of Thrace to the banks of the
Danube 5 were a brave and virtuous people; and spoke
the same language with the Thracians, with whom they
are often confounded both by Greek and Roman histo¬
rians.
But the name of Goths is by no means so ancient.
It was utterly unknown both to the ancient Greeks
and Romans. The first time that the name Goth is
mentioned is in the reign of the emperor Decius, about
the year of Christ 250. About that time they burst
out ol Getia, and, rushing like a torrent into the empire,
laid waste every thing with fire and sword. The name
of their leader or king was Cneva. Decius, endea¬
vouring to expel them from Thrace, was vanquished and
slain.
ATter this irruption, we find them frequently in the
Latin authors under the name of Get(e or Gothi; though
the Greeks generally denominate them Scythee. Tor-
fseus tells us, that get f and are actually the same | o/-
word, which anciently, according to him denoted ^Norway,
“soldier.” Got in Icelandic signifies a “horse or^-i-
horseman,” onA gata a “ wanderer j” and this last was
perhaps the import of the term Geta, they being oriod,
nally an unsettled vagrant people. As nations general¬
ly assume to themselves some high auspicious denomina¬
tion, we may believe the Goths did the same. We may
therefore rest satisfied, that the Getae assumed the Ice¬
landic name above mentioned as their national one :
or perhaps, notwithstanding their Greek denomination,
they called themselves Gots or Goths from the begin¬
ning.
The orginal seat of the Goths was the country TheiVpri-
now called Little Tartaey, into which they had ex-mary seat,
tended themselves from the frontiers of Thrace. This
country was called Little Scythia by the Greek wri¬
ters ; and it was the station whence those innumerable
swarms advanced, which, in conjunction with the A-
lani and other barbarous tribes, at length overran
and subverted the western empire. One part of the
Gothic nation was allowed by Constantine to settle in
Moesia. Before the year 420 most of the Gothic na¬
tions who had settled within the limits of the Roman
empire had been converted to the Christian faith:
but,
(b) Lib. \ii. page 295, B.j ibid, page 3°5' (Casaubon). From this passage it appears, that the Greeks
SwcSr Were ThraCia,’S- ^ N,“- HiSL ‘ib- "• a tribe of tie GeS
360
Gothic
language
Remains,
of genuine
Gothic.
PHILOLOGY. . Sect. IX,
greater part of the apostles by dence. To confirm this position, we shall annex a few Gothic
2x7
Gothic al¬
phabet.
but, unhappily, the 0
whom they had been proselyted, were Arians, which
proved fatal to many of the orthodox Christians 5 tor
the Arian Goths persecuted them with unrelenting
cruelty.
About the year 367, Ulphilas bishop of the Moe-
sian Goths, translated the New Testament into the
Gothic language. The remains ot this translation
furnish a genuine, and at the same time venerable, mo¬
nument of the ancient Gothic dialect. Nor more is
now extant of that valuable translation than the tour
Gospels, and another fragment containing part ot
the epistle to the Romans. The Gospels have been
repeatedly published since the first edition by Junius
1665, down to that of Mr Lye. Other fragments of
the Gothic language have also been found, which our
curious readers may see in Lye’s Notes to his Ldition
of the Gothic Gospels. The fragment of the Epistle
to the Romans was lately discovered in the library at
Wolfenhnttle, and published by Knitel archdeacon of
Wolfenbuttle.
The Goths, prior to the age of Ulphilas, were ig¬
norant of the use of alphabetical characters. 1 he bi¬
shop fabricated an alphabet for them, which is a medley
of Greek and Roman letters, but rather inclining to the
former.
This alphabet consists of 25 letters (see Plate XV.j.
Junius lias carefully analyzed those letters, and pointed
out their powers and sounds in bis Gothic alphabet, pre¬
fixed to his Glossarium Gothiclim. They were long
retained in all the European languages derived from
the Gothic source, which will be enumerated in the
sequel.
What kind of language the ancient Gothic was, is
plain from the fragments above mentioned*, but in what
respects it agrees with the oriental tongues, or difi’ers
from them, is not easy to ascertain with precision. We
have observed in our section on the Greek, that a con¬
siderable part of that language must have been derived
from the Thracian *, which, according to Strabo there
G thief]an quoted, was the same with the Getic or Gothic. Ihe
guagede- Thracian tongue will, we are convinced upon compari¬
son, be found analogous to the Chaldean or Syrian. 1 he
German, which is a genuine descendant of the Gothic,
is full of Persian words : the old Persian or Pahlavi ap¬
pears to be a dialect of the Chaldean. Phe learned
Junius, near the beginning of his Gothic alphabet,
remarks that a very considerable part of the lan¬
guage in question is borrowed from the most ancient
Greek.
Both the learned Thre in his Glossarium Smo-Got/u-
cum, and Wachter in his excellent German and La¬
tin Dictionary, often remark the coincidence of Go¬
thic and German words with oriental vocables of the
like sound and of the same signification. In the old
Saxon, which is another ramification of the Gothic
tongue, numberless terms ot the very same complexion
appear. From this deduction we hope it will follow,
that the Gothic tongue, in its original unmixed state
as it was spoken by the ancient Getae, was a dialect
of the primeval language *, that language which the
sons of Tiras brought with them from the plains
of Shinar or from Armenia, or from any other re-
<ri®n, where the primitive mortals had fixed their resi-
Languagf.
rived from
the Chal¬
dean, Stc.
instances. . .
The Thracian tribes, in all probability, first took^—i
possession of tbose tribes of Asia Minor which stretch
towards the east. Thence they crossed the Hellespont,
and spread themselves far and wide northward. Strabo
supposes that they first settled in the regions to the
north of those straits, and thence transported numerous
colonies into Asia Minor. The reverse was probably
the case 5 but be that as it may, it is universally agreed,
that both sides of the Hellespont were peopled with
Thracians.
In Asia Minor we meet with the city Perga, which,
throwing away the a, is Perg. In every tongue de¬
scended from the Gothic, the word Berg signifies
“ a rock,” and metaphorically a “ town or burgh j”
because towns were originally built on rocks for the
sake of defence. Hence likewise Pcrgamos, the fort or
citadel of Troy. Beira in Thracian signified a “ city j”
the Chaldaic and Hebrew word Reer imports a “well,”
and is possibly the original of the Gothic word beer,
ale. In ancient times, especially in the East, it was
customary to build cities in the neighbourhood of foun¬
tains, The ancients called the Phrygians Bgvyes, R/y-
<res, or Bruges; the Gothic word coinciding is ob¬
vious. Dyndymus, the name of a city sacred to Cy-
bele, is compounded of two Gothic words dun and ditm,
both signifying “ a height, an eminence j” and hence
a town, an inclosure. The word tros seems to be the
very Gothic trosh, “ brave, valiant.” The words fa¬
der, mader, dochter, bruder, are so obviously Persian,
that every etymologist has assigned them to that lan¬
guage.
Many futile etymologies have been given of the sa¬
cred name God, which is in reality the Persian word Cho-
da, commonly applied by them to their Hormwzdor Oro-
?na%es. The Persian bad or bod signifies a “ city j”
the same word in Gothic imports a “ house, a mansion,
an abode.” Band, in Persic, a “ strait place *,” in Go¬
thic, “ to bend.” Heim or ham, “ a house,” is gene¬
rally known to be of Persian original. Much critical
skill has been displayed in tracing the etymology of the
Scotch and old English word Yule,^ “ Christmas.”
Yule, derived from iul, was a festival in honour of the
sun which was originally celebrated at the winter sol¬
stice. Wick or wich is a Gothic term still preserved in
many names of towns j it signifies “ a narrow corner,
or small strip of land jutting into the sea, or into a lake
or river:” hence the Latin vicus, and Greek poocoj.
In Spanish, we have many old Gothic words j among
others hijo a “ son,” the same with the Greek ^05. In
some places of Scotland, we call any thing that is little,
small, wee ; originally spelt wi, if we mistake not, from
the very same word.
These few examples we have thrown together, with¬
out any regard to order, persuaded that almost eveiy
word of the language, truly Gothic, may with a little
pains and judgment be traced to some oriental root or
cognate. We may observe in passing, that many Go¬
thic nouns end in a, like the Chaldaic and Syriac 5 that
their substantive verb very much resembles that of the
Persian, Greek, and Latin j and that their active and
auxiliary verb has furnished the common preterperfect
tense of Greek verbs in the active voice : that verb is
haban,
Sect. IX,
219
[Modern
t tongues
deduced
from the
Gothic-
Gothic haban, but originally ha, as the common people pro
Language* nounce it at this day, especially in the north of Scotland,
‘ and among the Swedes, Danes, Norwegians, and Ice¬
landers.
We shall now leave the other inferior arrangements
of this ancient language to grammarians and lexico¬
graphers, and proceed to inquire what modern tongues
are deduced from it as their stock, and which of them
makes the nearest approaches to its simplicity and rus¬
ticity.
We have already observed that the Goths, formerly
Getas, were possessed of a vast extent of country,
reaching from the frontiers of Thrace to the banks of
the Ister or Danube. We have seen that a colony of
them settled in Moesia under Constantine IT. They
then spread themselves into Dacia, and from thence in¬
to Germany. All these countries were situated in such
a manner, that the progress of population was forward,
and according to the natural course of emigration,
From Germany they extended themselves into Scandi¬
navia, that is, Sweden, Denmark, and Norway. Their
Whole ancient Edda, Sagas, “ Chronicles,” show that
the Goths arrived in Scandinavia by this route, without,
however fixing the era of that event with any tolerable
degree of accuracy. By the Germans, we believe the
ancients understood all the nations eastward, westward*
and northward, i*eaching from the Danube on the south
Up to the extremity of Scandinavia on the Northern
ocean ; and from the Rhine and German ocean on the
west, to the river Chronus or Niemen on the east. All
those nations spoke one or other of the Gothic dialects,
some approaching nearer, and others deviating farther
from, the parent language.
The Francic is a dialect of the Teutonic, Tudesque,
or old German 5 and the Gospels ot Ulphilas bear such
a resemblance to the Francic, fragments of which are
preserved in the early French historians, that some
learned men have pronounced those gospels to be part
of an old Francic version 5 but others of equal respec¬
tability have refuted this opinion, both from history
and comparison ot the dialects. Schilter has given us
large monuments of the Tudesque or old German from
Ihe seventh Century, Which evidently prove that the
Gothic of Ulphil us is the same language, Wachter^s
learned Glossary of the ancient German likewise con-
firms this position. Mi- Hire, after hesitating whether
the Gospels ot Ulphilas bear most resemblance to the
German or Scandinavian dialect of the Gothic, declares
at last in favour of the former. The Anglo-Saxon is al¬
so known to be a venerable dialect of the Tudesque j
and is so intimately connected with the gospels, that
some valuable works en this subject are wholly built
upon that supposition.
The Icelandic is the oldest relick of the Scandina¬
vian. It begins with Arius Frode in the eleventh
Century, and is a dialect of the German. The re¬
mains we have ol it are more modern by four centuries
than those ot the German: they are more polished
than the other. The words are shortened, not only
because they are more modern than the German, but
because the Icelandic was polished by a long succession
ot poets and historians almost equal to those of Greece
and Rome. Hence the Icelandic, being a more po¬
lished language than the German, has less affinity with
the parent Gothic. The Swedish is more nearly related
^ OL. XVI. Part I. j-
PHILOLOGY.
361
to the Icelandic than either the Danish or Norwegian. Gothic
That the Swedish is the daughter of the Gothic, is fully Language.
shown by Mr Hire above mentioned, in his Glossarium ' -v——'
Suio-Got/ncum. There is, therefore, no manner of doubt
as to the identity of the Gothic, preserved in Ulphilas
and other ancient remains, with the German and Scan¬
dinavian tongue.
Ihe modern German, a language spoken in a far
greater extent than any other of modern Furope, re¬
sembles the Gothic Gospels more than the present Da¬
nish, Norwegian, or Swedish j and has certainly more
ancient stamina. Its likeness to the Asiatic tongues, in
harshness and inflexible thickness of sound, is very ap¬
parent.
Busbequius shows, that the clowns of Crim Tartary,
remains of the ancient Goths, speak a language almost
German, -these clowns were no doubt descendants of
the ancient Goths, who remained in their native coun¬
try after the others had emigrated. It is therefore ap¬
parent from the whole of this investigation, that the
Gothic was introduced into Europe from the East, and
is probably a dialect of the language originally spoken
by men.
§ 3- Of the Sclavonian Language.
Ihere is another language which pervades a con¬
siderable part of Europe, and this, like the Gothic, 22o
seems to have originated in the east. The language Sclavonic
we mean is the Sclavonic or rather Slavonic, which pi e- language,
vails far and wide in the eastern parts of this division
qf the globe. It is spoken by the Dalmatians, by the
inhabitants of the Danubian provinces, by the Poles,
Bohemians, and Russians. The word slab, that is,
“ slave,” (whence the French word esclave, and our
word slave), signifies “ noble, illustrious j” but because
in the lower ages of the Roman empire, vast multitudes
of these people were spread over all Europe in the qua¬
lity of slaves, that word came to denote the servile tribe
by way of distinction, in the same manner as the words
Geta, Davus, and Sijrus, did among the Greeks at a
more early period.
The Slavi dwelt originally on the banks of the Bo-s k“Tb
rysthenes, now the Dnieper or Nieper. They were one the Slavi
of the tribes of the European Sarmatians who in ancient one of the
times inhabited an immense tract of country, bounded
on the west by the Vistula, now the Weisel ; on the831™111*'
south-east by the Euxine sea, the Bosphorus Cimmerius,
the Pains Moeotis, and the Tamils or Don, which divides
Europe from Asia.
In this vast tract of country, which at present com¬
prehends Poland, Russia, and a great part of Tartary,
there dwelt in ancient times many considerable tribes.
To enumerate these, we believe, would not much edify
our readers : we shall only inform them, that among
these Sarmatian clans were the Roxolani, now the Rus¬
sians, and likewise the Slavi, who dwelt near the Bory-
sthenes, as was observed above.
The Slavi gradually advanced towards the Danube j
and in the reign of Justinian having passed that river,
they made themselves masters of that part of Illyricum
which lies between the Drave and the Save, and is to
this day from them called Sclavonia. These barba¬
rians by degrees overran Dalmatia, Liburnia, the
western parts of Macedonia, Epirus $ and on the east
they extended their quarters all along to the western
Z z bank
3° 2
Sdavouiati
language.
222
^lie i’oks,
223
Silesians,
and
224
Russians,
descended
tVom tlie
Slavi.
PHILO
bank of tlie Danube, where that river falls into the
Euxine. In all these countries, the Sclavonian was
deeply impregnated with the Greek, which was a thing
ot course, since the barbarian invaders settled in those
regions, and mingled with the aborigines, who spoke a
corrupt dialect of that language.
The Poles are the genuine descendants of the ancient
Sarmatce (c), and consequently speak a dialect of their
language, hut much adulterated with Latin words, in
consequence of the attachment the Polanders have long
professed to the Homan tongue.
The Silesians and Bohemians have corrupted their di¬
alects in the very same manner. In those countries,
then, we are not to search for the genuine remains ot the
ancient Sarmatian.
The modern Russians, formerly the Rhoxani or
Roxolani, are the posterity of the Sarmatse, and are a
branch of the Slavi : they inhabit a part of the coun¬
try which that people possessed before they fell into
the Roman provinces } they speak the same language,
and wear the very same dress j for, on the historical
pillar at Constantinople, the Sclavonians are dressed
like the Russian boors. If then the Slavi are Sarma-
he, the Russians must of course be the descendants of
the same people. They were long a sequestered people,
and consequently altogether unconnected with the other
nations of Europe, They were strangers to commerce,
inhospitable to strangers, tenacious of ancient usages,
averse to improvements of every kind, wonderfully
proud of their imaginary importance ; and, in a word,
a race of people just one degree above absolute savagism.
A. people of this character are, for the most part, ene¬
mies to innovations ; and if we may believe the Russian
historians, no nation was ever more averse to innovations
than the one in question. From the ninth century, at
which era they embraced Christianity, it does not ap¬
pear that they moved one step forward towards civiliza¬
tion, till Peter the Great, not a century ago, in conse¬
quence of his despotic authority, compelled them to
adopt the manners and customs of their more polished
neighbours.
We may then conclude, that the Russians made as
little change in their language during that period, as
they did in their dress, habits, and manner ol living.
Whatever language they spoke in the ninth century,
ihe same they employed at the beginning of the l8tb.
They were, indeed, according to Appuin dc bel. Mithnd.
once conquered by Diophantus, one of Mithridates s
generals, but that conquest was for a moment only:
they were likewise invaded, and their country overrun,
by the great Timor or Tamerlane j but this invasion
was like a torrent from the mountains, which spreads
devastation far and wide while it rages, but makes little
alteration on the face of the country.
We find likewise, that upon some occasions they
made incursions upon the frontiers of the Roman em¬
pire •, but we hear of no permanent settlements formed
by them in these quarters. Upon the whole, we take
the Russians to have been, with respect to their lan¬
guage, in the very same predicament with the high-
LOGY. Sect. IX.
landers and islanders of Scotland, who, according to Sclavonian
the general opinion, have preserved the Celtic dialect Language,
pure and entire, in consequence of their having never
mingled with foreigners. _ . 22S
From this deduction we may infer two things; first,The Itus-
that the Russian language is the genuine Sclavonian ;
and, secondly, that the latter is the same, or nearly the*ui*e ^
same, with the ancient Sarmatian. vonie.
In the Russian, there are found a great number of
words resembling the old simple roots of the Gieek
both in sound and signification ; its grammatical ge¬
nius is nearly the same ; and tve are informed by the
very best authority, that there is in this language a
translation of Epictetus, in which there are whole
pages, in both original and translation, without one
single transposition. Mons. Leveque, who has publish¬
ed a translation of a history of Russia, is so entirely con¬
vinced of the strict analogy between the ancient Greek
and the modern Russe, that he is positive that the for¬
mer is derived from the latter. Mons. Iveret, a very
learned French academician, is clearly of the same opi¬
nion. We are, however, persuaded that this opinion is
ill founded. We rather imagine, that those coinci¬
dences arise from the relicks of the primitive language
of mankind; vestiges of which, we believe, are to be
found almost in every tongue now existing.
It is, however, we allow, uncommonly difficult to
render a reason for the syntaxical analogy ot the two
languages, without admitting the truth ot the one or
the other hypothesis. We have examined with some
care a good number of Russian vocables, and compaied
them with Greek ones of the same signification. We
have not, however, found such a resemblance as we
think necessary to support the position advanced above. 22(5
We have indeed found a very strong resemblance be- Resem-
tween the former and many oriental words, especially Wancebc-
Hehrew, Chaldean, and old Persian, of which we could
produce several Instances, did the nature ot our present oriental
inquiry admit such a deviation. Every body knowswor(is.
that the Sarmatse were divided into two great nations,
the Asiatic and European ; the former extended very
fareastward, behind the mountain Caucasus, the northern
shore of the Euxine sea, and so forth. These, we may
believe, derived their language from the original tongue
long before the Greek language existed. This, in com¬
parison of the Hebrew, Phoenician, Egyptian, Arabian,
Chaldean, &c. was but of yesterday. The Greek, most
learned men are now convinced, was a late composition
of many different dialects, incorporated with the jargon
of the aboriginal lonim or Greeks. The Sarmatian, on
the contrary, was the tongue of a great and populous
nation, civilized, in all appearance, long before the
Greeks began to emerge from a state of savagism. VVe
are, therefore, by no means disposed to allow, either that
the Greek is derived from the Russian, or the Russian
from the Greek. We believe there is just the same
reason for this conclusion, that the Abbe Pezron and
Mons. Gebelin pretend to have discovered, in order t©
support their position that the Greek is derived from the
Celtic. Certain it is, that the resemblance among the
(c) This appears by their character, their laws, their manners, their form of government, their military cqiu
yage, their impetuosity* their aristocratic splendour..
Sect. IX. PHILO
Sclavonian oriental languages, of winch «'e take the Sarmatian to
Language, have been one, is so palpable, that any person of a mo-
' * derate capacity who is perfectly master of one, will
find little difficulty in acquiring any other. If, there¬
fore, the coincidence between" the Greek and Russian
should actual!^ exist, we think this circumstance will
not authenticate the supposition, that either of the two
is derived from the other.
In the course of this argument, our readers will he
pleased to observe, that we all along suppose, that the
Sclayonian, of which we think the Russian is the most
genuine remain, is the same with the old Sarmatian.
We shall now take the liberty to hazard a conjecture
with respect to the syntaxicafcoincidence of that lan¬
guage with the Greek j for we acknowledge that we
are not so profoundly versed in the Russian dialect of
the Sclavonian as to pretend to pronounce a definitive
227 sentence.
hef nnxi ^ ^l?ss*ans were a generation of savages, there
al coin- *s no Pr°bability that they were acquainted with the use
ideneebe-letters and alphabetical writing till they acquired
ween tliis that art by intercourse with their neighbours. It is cer-
inguagc tain, beyond all contradiction, that few nations had made
Jreek prohCieilcy 1*1 the fine arts than that under consider¬
ation : and we think there is little appearance of their
having learned this art prior to their conversion to
Christianity. Certain it is, that the Slavi, who settled
in Dalmatia, Illyria, and Liburnia, had no alphabetical
characters till they were furnished with them by St Je¬
rome. I he Servian character, which very nearly re¬
sembles the Greek, was invented by St Cyril; on which
account the language written ii* that character is de¬
nominated Chinrilix'z.a. These Sclavonic tribes knew
nothing of alphabetic writing prior to the era of their
conversion. 1 he Moesian Goths were in the same con¬
dition till their bishop Uiphilas fabricated them a set of
letters.
If the Slavi and Goths, who resided in the neigh¬
bourhood of the Greeks and Romans, had not learned
alphabetical writing prior to the era of their conversion
to Christianity, it must hold, d fortiori, that the Rus¬
sians, who lived at a very great distance from those
nations, knew nothing of this useful art antecedent to
the period of their embracing the Christian faith.
1 he Russians pretend that they were converted by
St Andrew ; but this is known to be a fable. Christi¬
anity was first introduced among them in the reign of
the grand duke Wolodimar, who marrying the daugh¬
ter of the Grecian emperor Basil ms, became her con¬
vert about the year 989. About this period, tVe ima^-
gine, they were taught the knowledge of letters by the
Grecian missionaries, who were employed in teaching
them the elements of the Christian doctrines. Their
alphabet consists of 31 letters, with a few obsolete ad¬
ditional ones ; and these characters resemble those of
the Greeks so exactly, that there can be no doubt of
their being copied from them. It is true, the shape of
some has been somewhat altered, and a few barbarian
ones have been intermingled. The Russian liturgy, eve¬
ry body knows, was copied from that of the Greeks ;
and the best specimen of the old Russian is the church
»fices for Easter, in the very words of Chrysostom, who
is called by his name ustii, “ golden-mouthed.’1
I he power of the clergy in Russia was excessive $ and
no doubt their influence was proportioned to their
L O G Y.
power. The first race of clergy in that country w.ifc
undoubtedly Greeks. We know how active and indu¬
strious those people were in propagating their language
as well as their religion. The offices of religion might
be at first written and pronounced in the Greek tongue,
but it would soon be found expedient to have them
translated into Russian. The persons employed in this
work must have been Greeks, who understood both lan¬
guages. .
As it is Confessedly impossible that a people so dull
and unattentive as the Russians originally were, could
ever have fabricated a language so artificially construct¬
ed as their present dialect.; and as it is obvious, that, till
Christianity \Vas introduced among them bv the Greeks,
they Could have no correspondence with that people 
it must appear surprising by what means their language
came to he fashioned so exactly according to the Greek
model. We have observed above, that the Russian let¬
ters must have been invented and introduced into that
country by the Greek missionaries. We think it pro¬
bable* that those apostles, at the same time that they
taught them a new religion, likewise introduced a
change into the idiom of their laHguage. The influence
of those ghostly teachers over a nation of savages must
have been almost boundless j the force of their precepts
and example almost incontrollabie. If the savage con¬
verts accepted a new religion from the hands of those
Grecian apostles, they might with equal submission a-
dopt improvements in their language. Such of the na¬
tives as were admitted to the sacerdotal function must
have learned the Greek language, in order to qualify
them for performing the offices of their religion. A
predilection for that language would be the immediate
consequence. Hence the natives, who had been ad¬
mitted into holy orders, Would co-operate with their
Grecian masters in improving the dialect of the cotin-
try 5 which, prior to the pet'iod above mentioned, must
have greatly deviated from the original standard of the
Sarmatian tongue.
upon this occasion, ife imagine the Greek apostles,
in conjunction with their Russian disciples, reduced the
language ol the country to a resemblance with the
Greek idiom. 1 hey retained the radical vocables as
they found them; hut by a variety of flections, conju¬
gations, derivations, compositions, and other modifica¬
tions, transformed them into the Grecian air and appa¬
rel. They must have begun with the offices of the
church ; and among a nation of savages newly con¬
verted, the language of the new religion would quickly
obtain a very extensive circulation. When the Grecian
garniture was introduced into the church, the laitv
would in process of time assume a similar dress. The
fabric of the Grecian declensions* conjugations, &e.
might be grafted upon Russian stocks without affecting
the radical parts of the language. If the dialect in
question, like most others of a very ancient date, la¬
boured under a penury of vocables, this manoeuvre
would contribute exceedingly to supply that defect.
By this expedient the Greek language itself had been
enlarged from about 300 radical terms to the prodi¬
gious number of words of which it now consists.
fhe Latin tongue we have seen above in its original
constitution differed widely from the Greek 5 and not¬
withstanding this incongruity, the improvers of the for¬
mer have pressed it into a very strict agreement with the
Z z 2 latter*
364
Slavonian letter.
PHILO
This, we think, was still a more difficult task *,
Language, as, in our opinion, the genius of the Latin differs in a
—-Y—much greater degree than that of the Russian does from
the Greek. We know, that the genius of the Gothic
tongue and those of all its descendants are much more
in unison with the Greek than with that of the Latin.
The Spanish, Italian, and French, have cudgelled many
of their Gothic, Teutonic, and Celtic verbs, into a kind
of conjugations, imitating or rather aping those of the
Latin. The Persians have formed most elegant and
energetic declensions and conjugations, upon inflexible
roots borrowed from the Pahlavi and Deri, and even
from Tartar originals.
Upon the grounds above mentioned we have taken
the liberty to'hazard the following conjectures, which
we cheerfully submit to the cognizance of our more en¬
lightened readers. _ . . .
1. That the Sarmatian was a dialect of the original
language of mankind. _
2. That the Sclavonian was a dialect of the Sarma-
Ua3n: That the Russe is the most genuine unsophisticated
relick of the Sclavonian and Sarmatian.
4. That the Russians had no alphabetic characters
prior to the era of the introduction of Christianity, that
is, towards the end of the tenth century.
5. That they were converted by Grecian missionaries.
6. That those missionaries copied their present letters
from those of Greece j and in conjunction with the
more enlightened natives, reduced the original unim¬
proved Russe to its present resemblance to the Greek
standard. , . .
The Russian language, like most others, contains eig it
parts of speech, noun, pronoun, &c. Its nouns have
three genders, masculine, feminine, and neuter 5 it has
also a common gender for nouns, intimating both sexes.
It has only two numbers, singular and plural. Its cases
are seven, nominative, genitive, dative, accusative, voca¬
tive, instrumental, and prepositive. These cases are not
formed by varying the termination, as in Greek and
Latin; but generally by placing a vowel after the
word, as, we imagine, was the original practice of the
Greeks (See Greek Section). Thus in Russe, ruk,
“ the hand nominative, gwe-ue, “ the hand genitive,
pdx-N' “of the hand,”■ &.c. See Les Elem. de la
2i9 Langue Russe par Charpentier. Nouns substantive are
Adjectives, reduced to four declensions, and adjectives make a filth.
These agree with their substantives in case, gender, and
number. They have three degrees of comparison, as is
common in other languages •, the positive, comparative,
and superlative. The comparative is formed from the
feminine of the nominative singular of the positive, by
changing a into te, that is, ate in English •, the superla¬
tive is made by prefixing pre, before the positive.
These rules are general ; lor the exceptions, recourse
must be had to the Russian grammar above mentioned.
The numeral adjectives in Russe have three genders
like the rest, and are declined accordingly. Their pro¬
nouns have nothing peculiar, and are divided and ar¬
ranged in the same manner as in other languages. Verbs
in the Russian language are comprehended under two
conjugations. The moods are only three } the indica¬
tive, tbe imperative, and the infinitive : the subjunctive
is formed by placing a particle before the indicative.
Its tenses are eight in number ; the present, the imper-
228
.Russian
noons.
LOGY. Sect. IX.
feet the preterite simple, the preterite compound, the Sclavonkn
pluperfect, the future indeterminate, the future simple, Language;
the future compound. TLhe verbs have their numbers
and persons as in other languages. To enter into a de¬
tail of their manner of conjugating their verbs would
neither be consistent with our plan, nor, we are persua¬
ded, of much consequence to our readers. Their other
parts of speech difler nothing from those of other lan¬
guages. Their syntax nearly resembles that of the
Greek and Latin. All these articles must be learned
from a grammar of the language. Whether theie is
any grammar of the Russian language composed in Eng¬
lish wre know not. Tdiat of Mons. Charpentier in
French, printed at Petersburg!! in 1768, is the only one
we have seen, and which appears to us a very excellent
one. We could wish to be able to gratify our readers
with a more authentic account of the origin of the Scla¬
vonian language j but this we find impossible, in conse¬
quence of the want of memorials relating to the state
of the ancient Sarmatse. Towards the era of the sub- 1
version of the western empire, the nations who inhabited
the countries in question were so blended and confound¬
ed with each other, and with Huns and other Scythiau
or Tartar emigrants, that we believe the most acute an¬
tiquarian would find it impossible to investigate their re¬
spective tongues, or even their original residence or ex¬
traction. We have selected the Russe as the most ge-*
nuine branch of the old Sclavonian, and to this predi¬
lection we were determined by the reasons above men¬
tioned. We are sorry that we are not so well acquaint¬
ed with the idiom of the Russian language as to be able
to compare it with thq,5e of the east} but upon such a
comparison, we are persuaded that the radical materials
of which it is composed would be found to have origi- 231 ,
nated in the oriental regions. The word Tsar, for ex- I’koeniclaj
ample, is probably the Phoenician and Chaldean Sar, or^thaM
Zar, “ a prince, a grandee.” Diodorus biculus calls .n
the queen of the Massagetae, who, according to Ctesias,
cut off Cyrus’s head, Zarina; which was not many
years ago the general title of the empress of all the
Russias. Herodotus calls the same prmcess Tomyris,
which is the very name of the famous T.imor or Tamur,
the conqueror of Asia. The former seems to have been
the title, and the latter the proper name, of the queen
of the Massagetse. In the old Persian or Pahlavi, the
word Gard signifies “ a city in Russian, Gorad or
Groc/intimates the very same idea: hence Constantinople
Verbs,
in old Russe is called Tsargrad or Tsargorad. These
are adduced as a specimen only 5 and able etymologists
might, we believe, discover a great number.
The Sclavonian language is spoken in Epirus, the
western part of iYIacedonia, in Bosnia, Servia, Bulga¬
ria, in part of Thrace, in Dalmatia, Croatia, in Poland,
Bohemia, Russia, and Miugrelia, in Asia, whence it is
frequently used in the seraglio at Constantinople. Ma¬
ny of the great men of Turkey understand it, and fre¬
quently use it •, and most of the janizaries having been
stationed in garrisons on the Turkish frontiers in Europe,
use it as their vulgar tongue. The Hungarians, how¬
ever, and the natives of Wallachia, speak a different
language : and this language bears evident signatures ot
the Tartarian dialect, which was the tongue of the origi¬
nal Huns. Upon the whole, the Sclavonian is by much
the most extensive language in Europe, and extends far
into Asia.,
s Sect-
Sect. X.
Modem
: Languages.
PHILO
Sect. X. Modern Languages.
L
II.
If we call all the different dialects of the various na¬
tions that now inhabit the known earth, languages, the
number is truly great; and vain would be his ambition
who should attempt to learn them, though but imper¬
fectly. We will begin with naming the principal of
them : There are four, which may be called original or
mother-languages, and which seem to have given birth
. to all that are now spoken in Europe. These are the
lectToV^'Ldtin, Celtic, Gothic, and Sclavonian. It will not, how-
Europe, ever’ imag'ne^5 from the term original given to these
with their languages, that we believe them to have come down to
respective us, without any alteration, from the confusion of tongues
Spring, at the building of the tower of Babel. We have re¬
peatedly declared our opinion, that there is but one tru¬
ly original language, from which all others are deriva¬
tives variously modified. The four languages just
mentioned are original only as being the immediate pa¬
rents of those which are now spoken in Europe.
I. From the Latin came,
1. The Portuguese.
2. Spanish.
3. French.
4. Italian.
From the Celtic,
5. The Erse, or Gaelic of the Highlands of Scotland.
6. The Welsh.
7. The Irish.
8. Basse Bretagne.
From-the Gothic,
9. The German.
10. The Low Saxon or Low German.
11. The Hutch.
12. The English ; in which almost all the noun-sub¬
stantives are German, and many of the verbs
French, Latin, &c. and which is enriched with
the spoils of all other languages.
13. The Danish.
14. The Norwegian.
15. Swedish.
16. Icelandic.
From the Sclavonian,
17. The Polonese.
18. The Lithuanian.
19. Bohemian.
20. Transylvanian.
21. Moravian.
22. The modern Vandalian, as it is still spoken in Lu-
satia, Prussian Vandalia, &c.
23. The Croatian.
24. The Russian or Muscovite ; which, as we have
seen, is the purest dialect of this language.
25. The language of the Calmucs and Cossacs.
26. Thirty-two different dialects of nations who inha¬
bit the north-eastern parts of Europe and Asia, and
who are descended from the Tartars and Huno-
Scythians. There are polyglott tables which con¬
tain not only the alphabets, but also the principal
distinct characters of all these languages.
° G Y. 365
The languages at present generally spoken in Modern
Asia are, Languages.
The Turkish and Tartarian, with their different'
dialects. . .
„ . Asiatic
J he Persian. T These languages are languages.
The Georgian or Iberian. / sP°keii by the Greek
„ The Albanian or Circassian, f "nder
3.. The Armenian. J ^
32. I he modern Indian.
}
27.
28.
29.
30
The Danish mission¬
aries who go to Tran-
quebar, print books at
Hall in these languages.
33. The Formosan.
34. The Indostanic.
35. The Malabarian.
36. The Warugian.
37* The Tamulic or Damulic.
38. The modern Arabic.
39. The Tangusian.
40. The Mungalic.
4I- The language of the Nigarian or Akar Nigarian.
42. Hie Grusinic or Grusinian.
43. The Ch inese.
44. The Japanese.
We have enumerated here those Asiatic languages
only of which we have some knowledge in Europe, and
even alphabets, grammars, or other books than can give
us information concerning them. There are doubtless
other tongues and dialects in those vast regions and ad¬
jacent islands; but of these we are not able to give any
account. ° J
III. The principal languages of Africa are,
45* The modern Egyptian.
234
African
languages.
46. The Fetuitic, or the language of the kingdom of
Fetu.
47. The Moroccan ; and,
48. The jargons ot those savage nations who inhabit the
desert and burning regions. The people on the
coast of Barbary speak a corrupt dialect of the
Arabic. To these may be added the Chilhic lan¬
guage, otherwise called Tama%eght; The Negri-
tian, and that of Guinea ; the Abyssinian ; and
the language of the Hottentots.
IV. The languages of the American nations are but American
little known in Europe. Every one of these, though languages,
distant but a few days journey from each other, have
their particular language or rather jargon. The lan¬
guages of the Mexicans and Peruvians seem to be the
most regular and polished. There is also one called
Poconchi or Pocomana, that is used in the bay of Hon¬
duras and towards Guatimal, the words and rules of
which are most known to us. The languages of North
America are in general the Algonhic, Apalachian, Mo-
hegic, Savanahamic, Virginic, and Mexican ; and in
South America, the Peruvian, Caribic, the language of
Chili, the Caine, the lucumanian, and the languages
used in Paraguay, Brasil, and Guiana.
^ . We have already said, that it would be a vain and General
senseless undertaking for a man of letters to attempt thereflectiom-
study of all these languages, and to make his head anonmodera
universal dictionary ; but it would be still more absurdlang,,aseSl
in us to attempt the analysis of them in this place :
some general reflections therefore must here suffice*.
Among the modern languages of Europe, the French
seems to merit great attention ; as it is elegant and
pleasing in itself; as it is become so general, that with
it we may travel from, one end of Europe to the other
without;
366 PHILO
y.o'lern without scat’cc having any occasion for an interpreter }
Ijangiuvit's, anti as in it are to be founil excellent works ot every
—' kind, both in verse and prose, usetul and agreeable.
There are, besides, grammars, and dictionaries ol this
language which give us every information concerning it,
and very able masters who teach it j especially such as
come from those parts of France where it is spoken cor¬
rectly ; for with all its advantages, the French language
has this inconvenience, that it is pronounced scaice any-
where purely but at Paris and on the bunks ol the Lone.
The language of the court, of the great world, and of
men of letters, is moreover very different from that of
the common people } and the French tongue, in geneia ,
is subject to great alteration and novelty. What pity it
is, that the style of the great Corneille, and that ol Mo-
Here, should already begin to be obsolete, and that it
will be but a little time before the inimitable c/nfs
(Poeuvres of those men of sublime genius will be no
longer seen on the stage : The most modern style ol
the French, moreover, does not seem to be the best.
We are inclined to think, that too much conciseness,
the epigrammatic point, the antithesis, the paradox, the
sententious expressions, &c. diminish its force; and that,
bv becoming more polished and refined, it loses much of
its energy. . .
VI. The German and Italian languges merit like¬
wise a particular application ; as does the English, pei-
haps above all, for its many and great excellencies (See
Language). Authors of great ability daily labour in
improving them ; and what language would not become
excellent, were men of exalted talents to make constant
rise of it in their works ! If we had in Iroquois books
like those which we have in English, Italian, trench,
and German, should we not be tempted to learn that
LOG Y. Sect- X'
lanrruaoe ? How glad should we he to Understand the Modern
Spanish tongue, though it were only to read the A rati- Languages, ,
cana of Don Alonzo D’Ercilia, Don Quixote, some v—'
dramatic pieces, and a small number of other Spanish
Works, in the original; or the poem of Camoens in Por¬
tuguese.
VII. The other languages of Europe have each their
beauties and excellencies. Kiri the greatest difficulty m
all living languages constantly Consists ill the pronuncia¬
tion, which it is scarce possible tor any one to attain un¬
less he be born or educated in the country where it is
spoken : and this is the only article for which a master
is necessary, as it cannot be learned but by teaching or
by conversation : all the rest may be acquired by a good
grammar and other books. In all languages whatevei,
the poetic style is niore difficult than the prosaic : in
every language we should endeavour to enrich our me¬
mories with gr eat store of Words {^eopia verboi'vm')^ and
to have them ready to produce on all occasions: in all
languages it is difficult to extend our knowledge so far
as to be able to form a critical judgment 0) them. All
living languages are pronounced rapidly, and without
dwelling on the long syllables (which the grammarians
call moram): almost all of them have articles which dis¬
tinguish the genders.
VIII. Those languages that are derived from the
Latin have this further advantage, that they adopt
without restraint, and without ollendmg the ear, La¬
tin and Greek words and expressions, and which by
the aid of a new termination appear to be natives ot
the language. This privilege is forbidden the Geimrins,
who in their best translations dare not use any foreign
word, unless it be some technical terms in case of great
necessity.
P H I
Philoma- PHILOMATHES, a lover of learning or science.
tiles, PHILOMELA, in fabulous history, was a daugh-
Pbilomela. 0f Pandion king of Athens, and sister to Procne,
W   ' wi10 lKUl married Tereus king of 'Hirace. Procne se¬
parated from Philomela, to whom she was much attach¬
ed, spent her time in great melancholy till she prevailed
upon her husband to go to Athens and bring her sister
to Thrace. Tereus obeyed ; but he had no sooner ob¬
tained Pandion’s permission to conduct Philomela to
Thrace, than he fell in love with her, and resolved to
gratify his passion. He dismissed the guards whom the
suspicions of Pandion had appointed to watch him ; of¬
fered violence to Philomela-, and afterwards cut out her
tongue, that she might not discover his barbarity, and
the indignities she had suffered. He confined her in a
lonely castle ; and having taken every precaution to^pre-
vent a discovery, he returned to I brace, and told l 10c-
ne that Philomela had died by the way, and that he had
paid the last offices to her remains. At this sad intelli¬
gence Procne put on mourning for the loss of Philome¬
la ; but a year had scarcely elap-ed before she was se¬
cretly informed that her sister Was not dead. Philomela,
in her captivity, described on a piece of tapestry her mis¬
fortunes and the brutality of Tereus, ami privately con¬
veyed it to Procne. She was going to celebrate the or-
put
gies of Bacchus when she received it, but she disguised Philomela,
her resentment; and as during those festivals she was v—'
permitted to rove about the country, she hastened to de¬
liver her sister Philomela from her confinement, and con¬
certed with her on the best measures of punishing the
cruelty of Tereus. She murdered her son Itylus, then
in the sixth year of his age, and served him up as food
before her husband during the festival. lereus, in the
midst of his repast, called for Itylus ; hut Procne im¬
mediately informed him that he was then feasting on his
flesh, when Philomela, by throwing on the table the
head of Itylus, convinced the monarch of the cruelty of
the scene. He drew his sword to puni-h Procne and
Philomela hut as he was going to stab them to the
heart, he was changed into a hoopoe, Philomela into a
nightingale, Procne into a swallow, and Itylus into, a
pheasant. This tragedy happened at Daubs in P hoc is;
but Pausatiias and Strabo, who mention the whole of the
story, are silent about the transformation; and the former
observes, that Tereus, after this bloody repast, fled to
Megara, where he laid violent hands on himsfelf. T he
inhabitants of the place raised a monument to his me¬
mory, where they offered yearly sacrifices, and placed
small pebbles instead of barley. It was on this monu¬
ment th*t the birds called hoopoes were first seen; hence
the
Pliiicraela
Ancient
Universal
Hislory,
tsI. vi.
P H I
tfie fable of bis metamorphosis.    ^
died through excessive grief and melancholy; and as
the nightingale’s and the swallow’s voice is peculiarly
plaintive and mournful, the poets have embellished the
fable by supposing that the two unfortunate sisters
were changed into birds.
PHILONIUM, in Pharmacy, a kind of anodyne
opiate, taking its name from Philo the inventor.
PHILOPOEMEN, a celebrated general of the A-
chsean league, was born in Megalopolis, a city of Ar¬
cadia-, in I eloponnesus ; and from his very' infancy dis¬
covered a strong inclination to the profession of arms.
Ho was nobly educated by Cassander of Mantinea ; a
man of great probity, and uncommon abilities. He was
no sooner able to bear arms than he entered among the
troops which the city of Megalopolis sent to make in¬
cursions into Laconia, and in these inroads never failed
to give some remarkable instance of his prudence and
valour. When there were no troops in the field, he
used to employ his leisure time in hunting and such other
manly exercises. When Cleomenes king of Sparta at¬
tacked Megalopolis, Philopoemen displayed much cou¬
rage and greatness of soul. He signalized himself no
less some time after, in the battle of Sellasia, where An-
tigonus gained a complete victory over Cleomenes. An-
tigonus, who had been an eye witness of his prudent and
intrepid behaviour, made very advantageous offers to
gain him over to his interest; but be rejected them, hav¬
ing an utter aversion to a court life, which he compared
to that of a slave, saying, that a courtier wras but a slave
of a better condition. As he could not live idle and in¬
active, he went to the isle of Crete, which was then en¬
gaged in war, and served there as a volunteer till he ac¬
quired a complete knowledge of the military art; for the
inhabitants of that island were in those days accounted
excellent warriors, being scarce ever at peace among
themselves. Philopcemen, having served some years
among the troops of that island, returned home, and was
upon his arrival appointed general of the horse; in which •
command he behaved so well, that the Achsean horse,
heretofore of no reputation, became in a short time fa¬
mous all over Greece. He was soon after appointed ge¬
neral of all the Achaean forces, when he applied himself
to the re-establishing of military discipline among the
troops of the republic, which he found in a very low
condition, and universally despised by their neighbours.
Aratus, indeed, was the first that raised the Achsean
state to that pitch of power and glory to which it arriv¬
ed ; but the success of his enterprises was not so much
owing to his courage and intrepidity as to his prudence
and politics. As he depended on the friendship of fo-
reign princes, and their powerful succours, he neglected
the military discipline at home ; but the instant Pbilo-
poemen was created praetor, or commander in chief, be
roused the courage of his countrymen, in order to put
them into a condition to defend themselves without the
assistance of foreign allies. With this view he made
great improvements in the Achaean discipline; changing
the manner of their exercise and their arms, which were
both very defective. He had thus, for the space of eight
months, exercised his troops every day, making them
perform all the motions and evolutions, and accustoming
them to manage with dexterity their arms, when news
was brought him that Machanidas was advancing, at
*be head of a numerous army, to invade Achaia. EIc
[ 367 1 PHI
Procne :ui<l Philomela was glad of elds opportunity to try how the troops had phiw.
profited by his discipline ; and accordingly, taking the men.
field, met the enemy in the territories of Mantinea,  
where a battle was fought. Pliiloposmen, having killed
Macbanidas with his own hand, struck off his head, and
carried it from rank to rank, to encourage his victorious-
Achceans, who continued the pursuit, with great slaugh-
tei, and incredible ardour, to the city of Pegea, which
they entered together with the fugitives. The Lacede¬
monians lost on this occasion above 8000 men, of which
4000 were killed on the spot, and as many taken pri¬
soners. I he loss of the Achaeans was very inconsider¬
able, and those that fell were mostly mercenaries. This
happened about the year before Christ 204.
. But what most of all raised the fame and reputation
of Philopoemen was his joining the powerful city of La-
4 ccdsemon to the Achaean commonwealth ; by which
means the Achaeans came to eclipse all the other states
ol Greece. Ibis memorable event happened in the year
I9I* this transaction we cannot help taking notice
of one circumstance, which, in our opinion, reflects great¬
er lustre on Philopoemen than all his warlike exploits.
The Lacedaemonians, overjoyed to see themselves de¬
livered from the oppressions they hud longgroaned under,
ordered the palace and furniture of Nabis to be sold; and
the sum accruing from thence, to the amount of J 20
talents, to be presented to Philopoemen, as a token of
their gratitude. Deputies therefore were to be appoint¬
ed, who should carry the money, and desire Pbilopoi-
men, in the name of the senate, to accept of the present.
On this occasion it was that the virtue of the generous
Achaean appeared in its greatest lustre ; for so great was
the opinion which the Spartans had of his probity and
disinterestedness, that no one could be found who would
take upon him to offer the present: struck with venera¬
tion, and fear of displeasing him, they all begged to be
excused. At last they obliged, by a public decree, one
.Fimolaus, who bad formerly been bis guest, to go to
Megalopolis, where Philopoemen lived, and offer him
this testimony of their regard. Timolaus, with great re¬
luctance, set out for Megalopolis, where be was kindly
received and entertained by Pliilopoemen. Here he had ;
an opportunity ol observing the strictness of bis whole
conduct, the greatness of his mind, the frugality of his
life, and the regularity of his manners ; which struck
him with such awe, that he did not dare once to men¬
tion the present he was come to offer ; insomuch that,
giving some other pretence to his journey, he returned
home with the money. The Lacedaemonians sent him
again ; but he could no more prevail upon himself now
than the first time to mention the true cause of bis jour¬
ney. At last, going a third time, be ventured, with
the utmost reluctance, to acquaint Philopoemen with the
oner he had to make in the name of the Lacedaemonians.
Philopoemen heard him with great calmness; but the in¬
stant be bad done speaking, he set out with him for
Sparta, where, after having acknowledged his obliga¬
tion to the Spartans, be advised them to lay out their -
money m reforming or purchasing those miscreants who
divided the citizens, and set them at variance by means
ol their seditious discourses ; to the end that, being paid
for their silence, they might not occasion so many di¬
stractions in the government: “for it is much more ad¬
visable (said he) to stop an enemy’s mouth than a
friend’s; as for me, I shall always be your friend, and
you i
P H I
t 368 ]
PHI
men.
(i
Pliiloso
plier’s
Stone.
Pliiloooe- you shall reap the benefit of my friendship without ex
' pence.” Such was the disinterestedness of this noble
AAbouYtwo years after this, the city of Messene with-
drew itself from the Achaean league. Philopcemen at¬
tacked them j but was wounded taken prisoner, am
poisoned by the magistrates. Ihus died one ot the
greatest heroes that Greece or any other country ever
produced. He was no way inferior in valour military
knowledge, and virtue, to any of the boasted heroes
Rome. Had Achaia been nearer to an equality with
Rome, he would have preserved his country
yoke which the Roman republic forced it to bea . Both
the Greek and Roman writers put him upon the le
with Hannibal and Scipio, who were his contemporaries,
and happehed to die the same. year. Ihey allow him
to have been not only one of the greatest commanders
but also one of the greatest statesmen of his age. lo
his valour and prudence Achaia owed her glory, which
upon his death began to decline, there being none after
him in that republic able to oppose her enemies with the
like steadiness and prudence ; whence 1 hilopcemen wa
called the last of the Greeks, as Brutus was afterwards
styled the last ot the Romans.
PHILOSOPHER, a person versed in philosophy ,
or one who makes profession of, or applies himseli to,
the study of nature.
Philosopher's Stone, the greatest object of alchemy,
is a long sought for preparation, which, when found, is
to convert all the true mercurial part ot metal into pure
.gold, better than any that is dug out ot mines or per¬
fected by the refiner’s art.
Some Greek writers in the fourth and fifth centuries
speak of this art as being then known *, and towards the
end of the 13th century, when the learning of the East
had been brought hither by the Arabians, the same pre¬
tensions began to spread through Europe. It is sup-
nosed that this art, called Alchemy, ^ of Egyptian
origin ; and that when the ancient Greek philosophers
travelled into Egypt, they brought back some o the al¬
legoric language of this Egyptian art ill understood,
which afterwards passed into their mythology. Alche¬
my was the earliest branch of chemistry, considered as
a philosophical science : in the other parts of cbem.ca
knowledge, facts preceded reasoning or speculation , but
alchemy was originally speculative. . . , ,
The alchemists supposed the general principle,
metals to be chiefly two substances, ^hich they cal ed
mercury and sulphur •, they apprehended also, that the
pure mercurial, sulphureous, or other principles of
which they imagined gold to be composed, were con-
taihed separately in other bodies j and these principles,
therefore, they endeavoured to collect, and to concoct
and incorporate by long digestions; and by thus con¬
joining the principles of gold, if they could be so pio-
duced and conjoined, it might be expected that gold
would be produced. But the alchemists pretend to a
product of a higher ov^y, called the elixir, the medicine
for metals, the tincture, the philosophers stone; which
by being projected on a large quantity of any of the in¬
ferior metals in fusion, should change them into fine
gold ; which being laid on a plate ot silver, copper, or
iron and moderately heated, should sink into the me¬
tal and change into gold all the parts to which it was
applied j which, on being properly heated with pure
Philoso¬
pher's
Stone.
gold, should change the gold into a substance of the
same nature and virtue with itself, so as thus to be sus¬
ceptible of perpetual multiplication *, and which, by con-1 
tinned coction, should have its power more and more
exalted, so as to be able to transmute greater and great¬
er quantities of the inferior metals, according to its dif¬
ferent degrees of perfection. .
Alchemists have attempted to arrive at the making
of gold by three methods : the first by separation ; tor
every metal vet known, it is affirmed, contains some
quantity of gold * only, in most, the quantity is so little
as not to defray the expence of getting it out.
The second is by maturation *, for the alchemists
think mercury is the basis and matter ot all metals 5
that quicksilver purged from all heterogeneous bodies
would be much heavier, denser, and simpler, than the
native quicksilver; and that by subtilizing, purifying,
and digesting it with much labour, and long operations,
it is possible to convert it into pure gold.
This method is only for mercury. W ith respect to
the other metals, it is ineffectual, 1. Because their mat¬
ter is not pure mercury, but has other heterogeneous
bodies adhering to it ; and, 2. Because the digestiorq
whereby mercury is turned into gold, would not succeed
in other metals, because they had not been long enough
in the mines. f e. . -v-r «
Weight is the inimitable character ot gold, &C. JNoW
mercury, they say, has always some impurities in it, and
these are lighter than mercury. Could they be puigt
away, which they think is not impossible, mercury
would be as heavy as gold, and what is as heavy as gold
is gold, or at least might very easily be made gold. .
The third method is by transmutation, or by Uunmg
all metals readily into pure gold, by melting them in
the fire, and casting a little quantity of a certain pre¬
paration into the fused matter ; upon which the faeces
retire, are volatilized and burnt, and carried off and
the rest of the mass is turned into pure gold. 1 hat
which Works this change in the metals is called t le
^Whether dlis third method be possible or not, it is
difficult to say. We have so many testimonies of it
from persons who on all other occasions speak tilth,
that it is hard to say they are guilty of direct fa -
hood, even when they say that they have been masters
of the secret. We are told, that it is only doing that
by art which nature does in many years am ag
For as lead and gold differ but little m weight, there¬
fore there is not much in lead beside mercury and
Lid. Now, if we had any body which would so agi¬
tate all the parts of lead as to burn all that is not me -
cYry therein, and had also some sulphur to fix the
meicury, would not the mass remaining ^ ^onjeite
into gold ? There is nothing in nature so hea y .
lead except gold, mercury, and platina, which
not known to these reasoners ; it is evident, therefore,
there is something in lead that comes very near to gold,
bT: lead .here8 Is likewise so.we he—ous¬
ter different both Iron, mercury am gold. If
.9 ounces of lead he dissolved by the fire and 8 ounce
be destroyed by these means, it is argued that we shat
i ve the rest good gold ; the ratio ot lead to gold bt-
W as ii to lY. If then the philosopher’s stone can
purify the mercurial matter in lead, so as that nothing
shall remain but the pure mercurial body, and you
Philoso¬
pher's
Stone.
PHI [ 369
fix and coagulate this by means of sulphur, out of 19
ounces of lead you will have 11 of gold : or, if you
j reduce the lead from 18 to 14, you will then have
converted it into mercury $ and if you farther purify
this mercury to the proper standard, you will have
gold ; provided you have but a sulphur with which to
fix and coagulate it. Such is the foundation of the
opinion of the philosopher’s stone 5 which the alche¬
mists contend to be a most subtile, fixed, concentrated
fire, which, as soon as it melts with any metal, does,
by a magnetic virtue, immediately unite itself to the
mercurial body of the metal, volatilize and cleanse off
all that is impure therein, and leave nothing but a
mass of pure gold. Many frauds and artifices have
unquestionably been practised in this operation, and
there might be political reasons why princes and others
should encourage those who pretended to a power of
furnishing this inexhaustible source of wealth j but it
would be wrong to censure as impostors all those who
have declared themselves convinced, from their own
experiments, of the transmutability of base metals in¬
to gold. There are strong reasons, however, to be¬
lieve that the authors have been deceived themselves by
fallacious appearances. Mr Boyle gives an account of
a process by which he imagines part of the substance
(if gold to have been transmuted into silver. He also
relates a very extraordinary experiment, under the title
of the degradation of gold by an anti-elixir, which was
published in his own life-time, and since reprinted in
1739. Hence many have been led to conclude in
favour of the alchemical doctrine of the transmutability
of metals. See an account of this experiment, with
lemarks upon it by Dr Lewis, in his Commerce of Arts.
sect. 1 2. p. 297, &c.
aracten “ The opinion (says Holt) that one metallic or
dQu!eS0tUeT .f°reign Sllbstan<fe might be changed into another,
was, it seems, at this time (reign of Henry V[. of
England) propagated by certain chemists, whose ob¬
servations on the surprising effects and alterations pro-
]
P H I
id Queens
England.
duced in.certain substances by the force of heat carried Pbiioso-
their imaginations beyond what sound judgment might pker’s
warrant. The first instance of which on record is Stone
in vol. xi. p. 68. of the Fccdera ; wherein Henry VI. ,.. H
grants a licence to John Cobbe, freely to work in me-
tals •, he having, by philosophical art, found out a me- L 
thod of transferring imperfect metals into perfect gold
and silver.
“ Ibis pretended secret, known afterwards bv the,
name of the Philosopher's stone or powder, was encou¬
raged by four licences, granted to different projectors
during this reign, and at sundry times after, during this
century particularly, and in succeeding times, all over
Europe. The frenzy has not entirely ceased even te
this day, although it meets with neither public encou¬
ragement nor countenance from men of sober reason ;
the projectors having yet found nothing from their airy
schemes in this mode ot search but certain ruin to their
property.” See Chemistry.
The same author, when speaking of the commerce
of the kingdom, and the wonderful increase and riches
of commercial cities, speaks thus : “ This is the true
philosopher’s stone, so much sought after in former
ages, the discovery of which has been reserved to ge¬
nius, when studying to improve the mechanic arts.
Hence a pound of raw materials is converted into stuffs
ot fifty times its original value. And the metals too
are not, indeed, transmuted into gold—they are more :
for the labour of man has been able to work the baser
metals, by the ingenuity of art, so as to become worth
more than many times its weight in gold.”
PHILOSOPHIC, or Philosophical, something
belonging to Philosophy.
I HILOSOPHICAL egg, among chemists, a thin
glass body or bubble, of the shape of an egg, with a long
neck or stem, used in digestions.
1 HILOSOPHIZING, rules of. See Newtonian
Philosophy, N° 16. and the following article.
PHILOSOPHY
1
finidons IS a word derived from the Greek, and literally
hioso- signifies the love of wisdom (a). In its usual ac¬
ceptation, however, it denotes a science, or collec¬
tion of sciences, of which the universe is the object j
and of the term thus employed many definitions have
been given, differing from one another according to
the different views of their several authors. By Py-
thagoras, philosophy is defined tTrufltt/en rm ofluiv, “ the
knowledge of things existing by Cicero, after Plato,
scicnha rerum divinarum el humanarum cum causis 5
and by the illustrious Bacon, interpretatio naturce.
Vhether any of these definitions be sufficiently pre¬
cise, and at the same time sufficiently comprehensive, History of
may be questioned; but if philosophy in its utmost1 bilosophy.
extent be capable of being adequately defined, it is y
not here that the definition should be given. “ Ex¬
planation (says an acute writer*), is the first of- * Tatham^
hce of a teacher; definition, if it be good, is the Chm-t and
last of the inquirer after truth ; but explanation is oneScale of
thing, and definition quite another.” It may be pro- Truth, v. t.
per, however, to observe, that the definition given by p 8’
Cicero is better than that of Pythagoras, because the
chief object of the philosopher is to ascertain the causes
of things; and in this consists the difference between
his
°r!gin attributed to the term philosophy has been already assigned in the article Philology.
^ . Uiauvm gives it a turn somewhat different. According to him, the term is derived from (piEix,, desire or study,
amt crop,* wisdom; and therefore he understands the word to mean the desire or study of wisdom : for (says he)
J hagoras, conceiving that the application of the human mind ought rather to be called study than science, set
aside the appellation ot wise as too assuming, and took that of philosopher.
Vol. XVI. Part I. x. c 1 2 a
370 PHILO
History of his studies and those of the natural historian, who mere-
Philosophy, ly enumerates phenomena, and arranges them into sepa-
iate classes.
. 2. The principal objects of philosophy are, God, nature,
Its objects. man< That par(. o{- it which treats of God is called
theology; that which treats of nature, physics and mcta-
physks; and that which treats of man, logic and ethics.
That these are not separate and independent sciences,
but, as Bacon expresses it (b), branches from the same
trunk, we shall endeavour to show, after we have given,
agreeably to our usual plan, a short history ot philosophy
from the earliest ages to the present day.
To attempt to assign an origin to philosophy, would
be ridiculous } for every man endeavours to ascertain the
causes of those changes which he observes in nature •,
and even children themselves are inquisitive after that
which produces the sound of their drums and their rat¬
tles. Children, therefore, and the most illiterate vul¬
gar, have in all ages been philosophers. But the first
people among whom philosophy was cultivated as a pro¬
fession, was probably the Chaldeans. We certainly read
of none earlier ; for though we have more authentic ac¬
counts of the Hebrews than of any other nation ot re¬
mote antiquity, and have reason to believe that no peo¬
ple was civilised before them, yet the peculiar circum¬
stances in which they were placed, rendered all philoso¬
phical investigation to them useless, and even tended to
suppress the very spirit of inquiry. rlhe Egyptians in¬
deed pretended to be the first of nations, and to have
spread the blessings of religion and the light ot science
among every other people but, from the earliest re¬
cords now extant, there is reason to believe that the
Chaldeans were a civilized and powerful nation betoie
, the Egyptian monarchy was founded.
Philosophy Of the Chaldean philosophy much has been said, but
’very little is known. Astronomy seems to have been
their favourite studv j and at the era of Alexander’s con¬
quest of their country, they boasted that their ancestors
had continued their astronomical observations through a
period of 470,000 years. Extravagant claims to anti¬
quity have been common in all nations (c). Calisthenes,
who attended the Macedonian conqueror, was requested
by Aristotle to inform himself concerning the origin ot
science in Chaldea j and upon examining into the
a-rounds of this report, he found that their observations
reached no farthei backwards than 1903 years, or 2234
years before the Christian era. Even this is a remoter
antiquity than Ptolemy allows to their science *, lor he
mentions no Chaldean observations prior to the era ot
Nabonassar,vor 747 years before Christ. 1 hat they cul¬
tivated something which they called philosophy at a
much earlier period than this, cannot be questioned } tor
Aristotle t, on the credit of the most ancient records,
SOPHY.
speaks of the Chaldean magi as prior to the Egyptian History «r
priests, who were certainly men of learning before the Plulosophy.
time of Moses. For any other science than that oi the
stars, we do not read that the Chaldeans were famous 5
and this seems to have been cultivated by them merely
as the foundation of judicial astrology. Persuading the
multitude that all human affairs are influenced by the
stars, and professing to be acquainted with the nature
and laws of this influence, their wise men pretended to
calculate nativities, and to predict good and bad ior-^
tune *. This was the source of idolatry and various su- - ^
perstitions •, and whilst the Chaldeans were given up to ^
such dotages, true science could not be much indebted ijb. 4. § 2>
to their labours. If any credit be due to Plutarch and Strabo,
Vitruvius, who quote Berosus, (see Berosus) ,t "'as '*
the opinion of the Chaldean wise men that an eclipse oi ^ ^ ^
the moon happens when that part of its body which is
destitute of fire is turned towards the earth. Iheu
cosmogony, as given by Berosus, and preserved by byn-
,, ° J . 1 . .1 •„ fTtino-s in the beimi-
of the Chal-,
deans.
\ Apucl
baert.
lib. 1. §
UOSIlIUUUiiy, ga.v...   7 y . 1 1 •
cellus, seems to be this, that all things in the begin¬
ning consisted of darkness and water; that a divine
power dividing this humid mass, formed the world j and
that the human mind is an emanation from the Hmne^^
nature f. , . 1 .1 H/st. PHI,
The large tract of country which comprehended the ^ol j
empires of Assyria and Chaldea, was the first peopled
region on earth. From that country, therefore, the ru¬
diments of science must have been propagated in every
direction through the rest of the world 5 but what parti¬
cular people made the earliest figure, after the Chalde¬
ans, in the history of philosophy, cannot be certain y
known. The claim of the Egyptians is probably best
founded ; but as their science was the immediate source
of that of the Greeks, we shall defer what we have to
say of it on account of the connection between the pa¬
rent and the offspring, and turn our attention from
Chaldean to Indian philosophy, as it has been cultivated
from a very earlv period by the Brachmans and Gym-
nosophists. We pass over Persia, because we know not
of any science peculiar to that kingdom, except the
doctrines of the magi, which were religious rather than
philosophical *, and of them the reader will find some
account under the words Magi, Polytheism, and Zo-
E0F™„“ vhatever quarter Mia received its "Mom, we Man jii-
are certain that its philosophers were held m high repute losop y
at a period of very remote antiquity, since they were vi¬
sited by Pythagoras and other sages ot ancient Greece,
who travelled in pursuit of knowledge. Yet they seem
to have been in that early age, as vvell as at present,
more distinguished for the severity of their manners than
for the acquisition of science *, and, as Dr Enfield ob¬
serves, to have more resembled modern monks than an-
’ cient
(b) Convenit igitur partiri pkilosophiam m doctrmas tres •, quae coeunt ad unum
nam de homine. Quoniam autem part.tiones f sunUinei^b ’ ^ tiani „0„nuUum
angulum •, sed potius ramis arborum, qui conyunguntur in uno trunco^qui etian ^
integer est et continuus, antequam se partiatur in ramos. ^ (ntg. * J u Co^temnamus Babylonios, et
(C) This claim of the Babylonians is thus rejected ; Condemnemes, in-
eos, qui * Cancaso cceh s.gna servantes, numeris et motibus stellarun J m0numentis com-
qnam, bos ant stultitke, autvamtatzs, aut imprudent quod de ipsis futurum sit,^r^*
prehensa continent, et mentiri judicemus, nzc seculorum rebquorum judiemm, quo i
cere. De Divinatione, lib. i. § 19.
History of cient philosophers. The hrathojans or bramins, it is
Philosophy, well known, are all of one tribe ; and the most learned
^ v 'of them are in their own language called Pundits or
Pandits. ibe Greek writers, however, mention a so¬
ciety called Samanceans, who, voluntarily devoting
themselves to the study of divine wisdom, gave up ail
private property, committed their children to the care
of the state, and their wives to the protection of their
relations. This society was supported at the public ex¬
pence j and its members spent their time in contempla¬
tion, in conversation on divine subjects, or in acts of re-
3 ligion.
Ingrafted The philosophy of the Indians has indeed from the
m. religion, beginning been engrafted on their religious dogmas,-
and seems to be a compound of fanatic metaphysics
and extiavagant superstition, without the smallest sea¬
soning of rational physics. Very unlike the philoso¬
phers of modern Europe, of whom a great part labour
to exclude the agency of mind from the universe, the
Pandits of Hindostan allow no powers whatever to mat¬
ter, but introduce the Supreme Being as the immedi¬
ate cause of every effect, however trivial. “ Brehm,
t/ie Spirit of God, (says one of their most revered Bra¬
mins), is absorbed in self-contemplation. The same
is the mighty lord, who is present in every part of
space, whose omnipresence, as expressed in theReigBeid
or Rigveda, I shall now explain. Brehm is one, and to
him there is no second 5 such is truly Brehm. His om¬
niscience is self-inspired or self-intelligent, and its com¬
prehension includes every possible species. To illustrate
this as far as I am able j the most comprehensive of all
comprehensive faculties is omniscience; and being self-
inspired, it is subject to none of the accidents of mortali¬
ty, conception, lirth, growth, decay, or death ; neither is
it subject to passion or vice. To it the three distinctions
of time, past, present, arid future, are not. To it the
three modes of being (d) are not. It is separated from
the universe, and independent of all. This omniscience
is named Brehm. By this omniscient Spirit the ope¬
rations of God are enlivened. By this Spirit also the
24 powers (e) of nature are animated P How is this ?
As the eye by the sun, as the pot by the fire, as iron
by the magnet (f), as variety of imitations by the mi¬
mic, as fire by the fuel, as the shadow by the man, as
dust by the wind, as the arrow by the spring of the
bow, and as the shade by the tree ; so by this Spirit
the world is endued with the powers of intellect, the
powers of the will, and the powers of action ; so that
if it emanates from the heart by the channel of the
ear, it causes the perception of sounds j if it emanates
trom the heart by the channel of the skin, it causes
the perception of touch ; if it emanates from the heart
by the channel of the eye, it causes the perception of
PHILOSOPHY. 37,
visible objects ; if it emanates from the heart by the Hktory ot
cnannel or the tongue, it causes the perception ofPhilosopiiy
taste j it it emanates from the heart by the channel of' —’
the nose, it causes the perception of smell. This also
invigorating the five members of action, and invigo¬
rating the five members of perception, and invigora¬
ting the five elements, and invigorating the five senses,
and invigorating the three dispositions of the mind,
&c. causes the creation or the annihilation of the uni¬
verse, while itself beholds every thing as an indifferent
spectator _ * Prelim-
From this passage it is plain that all the motions
in the universe, and all the perceptions of man, are, ^ lialhede
according to the Bramins, caused by the immediate £2°
agency ot the Spirit of God, which seems to be here 6
considered as the soul of the world. But it appears Admits not
from some papers in the Asiatic Researches, that thethe seP?-
most profound of these oriental philosophers, and even ^ceof^
the authors of their sacred books, believe not in the matter, and.
existence of matter as a separate substance, but hold an
opinion respecting it very similar to that of the celebra¬
ted Berkeley. The Vedantis (says Sir William Jones),
unable to form a distinct idea of brute matter indepen¬
dent of mind, or to conceive that the work of Supreme
Goodness was left a moment to itself, imagine that the
Deity is ever present to his work, and constantly sup¬
ports a series of perceptions, which in one sense they
call illusory, though they cannot but admit the reality
of all created forms, as far as the happiness of creatures
can be affected by them.
This is the very immaterialism of Berkeley ; and in
proof that it is the genuine doctrine of the Bramins,
the learned president quotes the Bhagavat, which is
believed to have been pronounced by the Supreme Be-
ing, and in which is the following sentence.
“ Except t\\e first cause, whatever may appear, and
may not appear, in the mind, know that to be the
mind’s Mdyd, or ‘ delusion,’ as light, as darkness.” ?
We have shown elsewhere (see Metaphysics, N° lYaches
269.) that the metaphysical doctrines of the Bramins, the me-
respecting the human soul, differ not from those of Py- tea,P’ycho'
thagoras and Plato j and that they believe it to be an
emanation from the great soul of the world, which, af¬
ter many transmigrations, will be finally absorbed in
its parent substance. In proof of their believing in the
metempsychosis, Mr Halhed gives us the following tran¬
slation of what (he says) is a beautiful stanza in the
Geeta : “As throwing aside his old clothes, a man puts
on others that are new j so our lives, quitting the old,
go to other newer animals.”
From the Bramins believing in the soul of the world physics uf
not only as the sole agent, but as the immediate cause of the Hia-
every motion in nature, we can hardly suppose tlienimins-
to
S 'ru be awake» t0 sleeP> and to be absorbed in a state of unconsciousness—a kind of trance.
r. K A4 °f "at^G according to the Bramins, are the five elements,air, earth, water, and
ration • thVfitp ^ ^ ^ T members of actl0n>the hand, foot, tongue, anus, and male organ ofigenc-
from the ^ 6 °rganS °f PercePt,°In’ the eor, e^, nose, mouth, and skin ; the five senses, which they distinguish
of consciousness. °f SenSatl0n ’ the three dlsP°sitions of the mind, desire, passion, and tranquillity; and the power
mils musVwvIT1' ^ wh.icb thl!ffx^act1 is T'oted be of as great antiquity as Mr Halhed supposes, the Bra-
6oIr7o1 ^ at “ mUCh ^ »''««•
3 A 2
,q2 PHILOSOPHY.
History of to have made any great progress in that science which
1 hiiosophy. in Europe is cultivated under the name ol physics.
'—-v They have no inducement to investigate the laws ot
^ . 1* a. _ Pi *«of T'.IPQ » nt
Lvc nu — 'F . . , p
because, according to the first principles oi
.. i i • t a... * E »4 Ii f 11 o i v rpl i fnnn.
nature ; because, i 1 . .
their philosophy, which, together with their religion,
they believe to have been revealed from heaven, every
phenomenon, however regular, or however anomalous
is produced by the voluntary act of an intelligent
mind. Yet if they were acquainted with the use ot
11 re-arms 4000 years ago, as Mr Halhed seems to be¬
lieve, he who made that discovery must have had a
very considerable knowledge of the powers ol nature j
lor though gunpowder may have been discovered by
accident in the East, as it certainly was in the West
many a^es afterwards, it is difficult to conceive how
9 mere accident could have led any man to the inven-
Theirastro-tion 0f a „un. In astronomy, geometry, and chrono-
noIuy- logy too, they appear to have made some proficiency
at a very early period. (See Astronomy, IS 4.).
Their chronology and astronomy are indeed lull ot
those extravagant fictions which seem to be essential to
all their systems •, but their calculation of eclipses, and
their computations of time, are conducted upon scienti-
* Asiatic “ It is sufficiently known (says Mr Davis *) that
■Researches, t|ie jjjntl0O division of the ecliptic into signs, degrees,
vo1 il &c. is the same as ours 5 that their astronomical year is
sidereal, or containing that space of time in which the
sun, departing from a star, returns to the same ; that
it commences on the instant of his entering the sign
\ries or rather the Hindoo constellation Mesha , that
;,mh ’astronomical month contains as many even days
and fractional parts as he stays m each sign j and
that the civil differs from the astronomical account ot
time only in rejecting those fractions, and beginning
the year and month at sunrise, instead of the intei me¬
diate instant of the artificial day or night. Hence
arises the unequal portion of time assigned ^to each
month dependent on the situation ot the suns apsis
and the distance of the vernal equinoctial coluie lion
the beginning of Mesha in the Hindoo sphere *, and
by these means they avoid those errors which Euro¬
peans, from a different method of adjusting heir ka-
lendar by intercalary days, have been subject to.
Mr Davis observes, that an explanation ol these mat¬
ters would have led him beyond his purpose, which was
only to give a general account of the method by whic
the^Hindoos compute eclipses, and to show that the sci¬
ence of astronomy is as well known among them now as
over it was among their ancestors. Hus he does very
completely 5 but in the present short historical sJyetclb
we can neither copy nor abridge his memo'r. Suffice it
to say, that he has shown the practical pint ot the I
doo astronomy to be founded on mathematical principles,
and that the learned Pandits appear to have truer no¬
tions of the form of the earth, and the economy ot the
universe, than those which are ascribed to their country-
“Thesam^writer shows likewise, that the prodigious
duration which the Hindoos attribute to the world, is
the result of a scientific calculation, founded indeed on
very whimsical principles. “ It has been common with
astronomers to fix on some epoch, from which, as from a
-adix to compute the planetary motions 5 and the an¬
cient Hindoos chose that point of time counted hack, History of
when, according to their motions as they bad deteimin-
ed them, they must have been in conjunction m the he- 'r~-'
ginning of Mesha or Aries, and coeval with which cir¬
cumstance they supposed the creation. This, as it con¬
cerned the planets only, would have produced a mode¬
rate term of years compared with the enormous antiqui¬
ty that will be hereafter stated : but having discovered
a slow motion of the nodes and apsides also, and taken
it into computation, they found it would require a
length of time corresponding with 1955884890 years
nowexpired, when they were so situated,and 23641151 io
years more before they would return to the same situation
again, forming together the grand anomalistick period
denominated a Culpa, and fancifully assigned as the day
of Brahma.”
But though the mathematical part of the astronomy
of the Pandits is undoubtedly respectable, their physical
notions of the universe are in the highest degree ridicu¬
lous and extravagant. In the Vedas and Puranas, wri¬
tings of which no devout Hindoo can dispute the divine
authority, eclipses are said to be occasioned by the in-
tervention of tlie monster Rahu-, and the earth to be .0
supported by a series of animals. “ 'I hey suppose (says ^
Mr Halhed) that there are 14 spheres, seven below and Averse,
and six above the earth. The seven inferior worlds are
said to be altogether inhabited by an infinite variety ot
serpents, described in every monstrous figure that the
imagination can suggest. The first sphere above the
earth is the immediate vault of the visible heavens, in
which the sun, moon, and stars, are placed The se¬
cond is the first paradise, and general receptacle oi those
who merit a removal from the lower earth. 1 he third
and fourth are inhabited by the souls ot those men who.
by the practice of virtue and dint of prayer, have ac¬
quired an extraordinary degree of sanctity. I he hith
is the reward of those who have all their lives performed
some wonderful act of penance and mortification, or
who have died martyrs for their religion. The highest
sphere is the residence of Brahma and Ins particular
favourites, such as those men who have never uttered a
falsehood during their whole lives, and those women who
have voluntarily burned themselves with their husbands.
All these are absorbed in the divine essence.” n
On ethics, the Hindoos have nothing that can beF.thicsoi
called philosophy. Their duties, moral, civil and re the Hiu-
lio-ious, are all laid down in their VedasanA chasters;^-
and enjoined by what they believe to be divine autho¬
rity which supersedes all reasoning concerning their,
fitness or utility. The business of their Pandits is to
interpret those books, which are extremely ancient, and
written in a language that has long been, unintelligible
to every other order of men y but no Pandit will alteri
the text, however impossible to be reconciled to princi¬
ples established in his own practice ot astronomy. Un
such occasions, the usual apology for their sacred books
is that “ such things may have been so formerly, and
’ v be so still ; but that for astronomical purposes, as- *
tronomical rules must be followed *.” TJie greattlut,es jfc
of morality have been prescribed in every religious code j geflrc^,,
and they are not overlooked in that of the Hindoos, voliii,
though the highest merit that a Bramin can have con-,
sists in voluntary acts of abstinence and mortification,
and in contempt of death.
T3
Early sci-
P HILO
History of Of the ancient philosophy of the Arabians and Chi-
Philosophy, nese nothing certain can be said ; and the narrow limits
" such an abstract as this, do not admit of our mention-
Philosophy *nS conjectures of the learned, which contradict each
of the Ar.i- other, and are all equally groundless,
bians and There is indeed sufficient evidence that both nations
Chinese. were at a very early period observers of the stars 5 and
that the Chinese had even a theory by which they fore¬
told eclipses (see Astronomy, N0 2, 3.) ; but there is
reason to believe that the Arabians, like other people
in their circumstances, were nothing more than judicial
astrologers, who possessed not the smallest portion of
astronomical science.
Pliny makes mention of their magi, whilst later wri¬
ters tell us, that they were famous for their ingenuity
jn solving enigmatical questions, and for their skill in
the arts of divination : but the authors of Greece are
silent concerning their philosophy 5 and there is not an
Arabian book of greater antiquity than the Koran ex¬
tant (see Philology,. Section II.).
Leaving therefore regions so barren of information,
Pl'ceid tl e *et -US *,aSS .to ^le Phoenicians,, whose commercial ce-
uians.11 Ichnty has induced many learned men to allow them
great credit for early science. If it be true, as seems
highly probable, that the ships of this nation had
doubled the Cape and almost encompassed the penin¬
sula of Africa long before the era of Solomon (See
Ophir, N ic.), we cannot doubt that the Phoenicians
bad made great proficiency in the art of navigation,
and in the science of astronomy, at a period of very re¬
mote antiquity. Nor were these the only sciences cul¬
tivated by that ancient people : the learned Cudworth
has, in our opinion, sufficiently proved that Moschus or
- Mochus a Phoenician, who, according to Strabo, flou¬
rished before the Trojan war, was the author of the
atomic philosophy afterwards adopted by Leucippus,
Democritus, and others among the Greeks; and that it
was with some of the successors of this sage that Pytha¬
goras, as Jamblichus tells us, conversed at Sidon, and
from them received his doctrine of Monads (See Py¬
thagoras). Another proof of the early progress of
the Phcenicians in philosophy may be found in the frag¬
ments of their historian Sanchoniatho which have been
Piep.Ev.preserved by Eusebius*. We are indeed aware that
men ot great celebrity have called in question the au¬
thenticity of those fragments, and even the very exist¬
ence of such a writer as Sanchoniatho; but for this
scepticism we can discover no foundation (See Sancho¬
niatho). His history may have been interpolated in
some places by the translator Philo-Byblius ; but Por¬
phyry, Eusebius, and Theodoret, speak of it as a work
of undoubted credit, and affirm that its author flourished
before the Trojan war. Now this ancient writer teaches
that, according to the ivtse men of his country, all things
arose at first from the necessary agency of an active
principle upon a passive chaotic mass which he calls mot.
This chaos Cudworth thinks was the same with the ele¬
mentary water of Thales, who was also of Phoenician
extraction ; but Mosheim justly observes that it was ra¬
ther dark air, since Philo translates it ct^ot fyfpcd'n. Be
this as it may, nothing can be more evident than that
the Phoenicians must have made some progress in what
must surely be considered as philosophy, however false,
so early as the era of Sanchoniatho ; for speculations
about the origin of the world never occur to untaught
S ° P 11 Y‘ 37J
bad> aria ns. Besides Mochus and Sanchoniatbc, Cad- < <•
 j  * ± History of
mus who introduced letters into Greece, may undouht- Philosophy,
edly he reckoned among the Phoenician philosophers * l—y——^
for though it is not pretended that the alphabet was of
his invention, and though it is by no means certain that
the Greeks, at the time of his arrival among them, were
wholly destitute of alphabetic characters (See Philo¬
logy, N° 130.) ; yet the man who could prevail with
illiterate savages to adopt the use of strange characters,
must have been a great master of the science of human
nature. Several other Phoenician philosophers are
mentioned by Strabo; but as they flourished at a la¬
ter period, and philosophized after the systematic mode
of the Greeks, they fall not properly under our no¬
tice. We pass on therefore to the philosophy of E-
gypt- J
It has been already observed that the Egyptians Egyptian
boasted of being the first of nations, and the authors philosophy.,
of all the science which in separate rays illuminated
the rest of the world. But though this claim was
undoubtedly ill-founded, their high antiquity and early
progress in the arts of civil life cannot be controverted.
Ihe Greeks with one voice confess that all their learn¬
ing and wisdom came from Egypt, either imported im¬
mediately by their own philosophers, or brought through
Phoenicia by the sages of the east; and we knew from
higher authority than the histories of Greece, that at a
period so remote as the birth of Moses, the wisdom of
the Egyptians was proverbially famous. Yet the his¬
tory ot Egyptian learning and philosophy, though men
of the first eminence both ancient and modern have be
stowed much pains in attempts to elucidate it, still re¬
mains involved in clouds of uncertainty. That they had
some knowledge of physiology, arithmetic, geometry,
and astronomy, are facts whickcannot be questioned;
bat there is reason to believe that even these sciences
were in Egypt pushed no farther than to the uses of life.
I hat they believed in the. existence of incorporeal sub*
stances is certain ; because Herodotus assures us that
they were the first assertors of the immortality, pre-ex¬
istence, and transmigration of human souls, which they
could not have been without holding those souls to be
at least incorporeal, if not. immaterial.
Ihe author of Egyptian learning is generally ac¬
knowledged to have been Thoth, Theut, or Taaut, call¬
ed by the Greeks Hermes, and by the Romans Mer¬
cury ; but of this personage very little is known. Dio¬
dorus Siculus says that he was chief minister to Osiris,
and that he improved language, invented letters, insti¬
tuted religious rites, and taught astronomy, music, and
other arts. The same thing is affirmed by Sanchonia¬
tho, whose antiquity has been already mentioned ; by
Manetho an Egyptian priest, who flourished during the
reign of Ptolemy Philadelphus; and by Plato, whose
authority, as he resided long in Egypt, and was him¬
self an eminent philosopher, is perhaps more to be de¬
pended upon than that of the other two. In the Phi-
lebus we are told that Thoth was the inventor of let¬
ters ; and lest we should suppose that by those letters
nothing more is meant than picture writing or symboli¬
cal hieroglyphics, it is added, that he distinguished be¬
tween vowels and consonants, determining the number
of each. The same philosopher, in his Phaedrus, at*
tributes to Thoth the invention of arithmetic, geometry,
astronomy, and hieroglyphic learning; and subjoins a.
disputation
374
PHILOSOPHY.
History of disputation said to have'been held between him and Tha-
rhilosophy. runs then king of Egypt, concerning the advantage amt
'   ' disadvantage of his newly invented letters. ihotli
boasted that the invention, by aiding, memory, would
greatly contribute to the progress of science-, whilst the
monarch contended, that it would enervate men’s natu¬
ral faculties by making them trust to written charac¬
ters without exerting the powers of their own minds.
All this, if real, must have happened before the era
of Moses-, and since it is almost certain that alphabeti¬
cal characters were in use prior to the exof/of the Israe¬
lites from Egypt (see Philology, N° 24, 25.) ue
may as well allow the invention to Thoth, as give it to
an earlier author of unknown name, lhat arithmetic,
geometry, and astronomy, were cultivated in Egypt
from the most remote antiquity, is affirmed by all the
-ancients, and made in the highest degree probable by
the situation of the country. The first elements ot as¬
tronomy have certainly been discovered by various na¬
tions, whose habits of life led them to the frequent ob¬
servation of the heavens; and it is observed by Cicero,
that the Egyptians and Babylonians, dwelling in open
plains where nothing intercepted the view of the hea¬
venly bodies, naturally devoted themselves to the study
of that science. The annual overflowing of the Nile,
which broke up the boundaries of their land, would toy
the Egyptians under the necessity of adopting some me¬
thod of settling those boundaries anew; and necessity vve
know to be the parent of invention. Hence their early
acquaintance with practical geometry cannot well be
doubted. Their custom of embalming their dead, and
the perfection to which they carried that art (g), shows
infallibly their-knowledge of the properties ot natural
substances, and gives some reason to believe that they
were net altogether, strangers to anatomy: hut if we al¬
low them to have been at this early period anatomists
acquainted with the power of drugs, we can hardly re¬
fuse them some skill in the art of physic,, which they
themselves traced up to tlreir gods and demigods, to oe-
rapts, Isis, and her son Roms or Apolio.
The. art of alchymy has been said to have been known
by the ancient Egyptians; and from the author ot the
Egyptian philosophy it has been called the Hermetic art.
But though this is unquestionably a fiction, there is evi¬
dence that they were possessed of one art which is even History cf
yet a desideratum in the practice of chemistry. “ Mo- Philosophy
(we are told *) took the golden calf, which his
brother had made for idolatrous purposes, and U-rni it
* Kjcod.
XXH. 2C»
in the fire, and ground it to powder, and strewed it. ou
the water, and made the children of Israel drink of it.”
Had this fact been related by Herodotus or Diodorus
Siculus, it would have been deemed sufficient evidence
that the Egyptians were even at that early period no
strangers to the art of chemistry : and surely the evi¬
dence should not be the worse for coming from the pen
of the Hebrew lawgiver, who was himself educated in
the court of Egypt. _ 15
But though it is thus evident that the rudiments ofNot carried
almost every useful science were known in Egypt 1'roni.5“c^per‘
the remotest antiquity, it does not appear that any of
them was carried to a great degree oi perfection, unless
perhaps chemistry alone must be excepted. One would
think that no science could have been more indispensably
requisite to them than geometry. And yet though Py¬
thagoras is said to have spent 22 years in Egypt study¬
ing that science and astronomy, he himself discovered
(h) the famous 47th Prop, of Euclid’s first book after
his return to Samos. I his, though a very useful, is yet
a simple theorem 5 and since it was not reached by the
Egyptian geometry, vve cannot suppose that those peo¬
ple had then advanced tar in such speculations, ihe
same conclusion must be drawn with respect to astrono¬
my; far Thales is said to have been the first that calcu¬
lated an eclipse of the sun ; and we nowhere read that
the Egyptians pretended to dispute that honour with T<;
him. To this it may be replied, that Pythagoras was Their
in Egypt undoubtedly taught the true constitution of^ed^
the solar system, and what is more extraordinary, the
doctrine of comets in particular, and of their revolutions,
like the other planets, round the sun (1). M e grant
that he was taught all this; but it was not scientifically,
but dogmatically, as facts which the priests had received
by tradition from their early ancestors, and of which
they had never questioned the truth nor enquired into
the reasons. Of this we need no better proof than that
the Pythagorean system of the sun was totally neglect¬
ed by the Greeks as soon as they began to frame hypo¬
theses and to speculate in philosophy (k).
But
rr-, It :s true that the dissection of some mummies has lessened the high opinion long entertained of the skill
controverted shiceT^ An excellent mathematician, however, has shown that the equal,ty between the sqnaKt
visionary speculations with which he delighted to instruct or amuse his disc,pies. bee Iransaetions oj
Royal Society of Edinburgh, vol. ii. Memoir xin. Physic Class. * • Marcellinus “ Stellas
fG This is recorded by Aristotle and Plutarch ; and thus expressed by Ammianus MarcellinHs. ^
quasdam, ceteris similes, quarum ortus orbitusque, quibus sint temponbus prcestituti humanis mentibu, g
llb(K) iWin supremis mundi partibus immotas persistere, et planetas his
pariter mover! cursu annuo, diurno vero circa axem propnam, et solem ceu focum umve^i m omnium ^
PHILO
! # /
idistory of But it may seem strange, and certainly is so, that the
Philosophy. Egyptian priests, in the days of Pythagoras, should
* have preserved so great a discovery of their ancestors,
and at the same time have totally forgotten the princi¬
ples and reasoning which led to a conclusion apparently
contrary to the evidence of sense. This is a difficulty
which we pretend not to remove, though the fact which
involves it seems to be beyond the reach of controversy.
Perhaps the following observations may throw upon it
* feeble light, According to Manetho, the written
monuments of the first Thoth were lost or neglected in
certain civil revolutions or natural calamities which be-
fel the kingdom of Egypt. After many ages great part
of them were recovered by an ingenious interpretation
of the symbols which he had inscribed upon ancient co¬
lumns : and the man who made this interpretation was
called the second Thoth or Hermes Trismegistus. But
thrice illustrious as this personage was, it is at least pos¬
sible that he may have been much inferior to the former
Hermes, and have read his writings and transcribed his
conclusions without being able to comprehend the prin¬
ciples or reasoning which led to those conclusions. Any
man who understands Latin might translate into his own
tongue the conclusions of Newton j but much more
would be requisite to make him comprehend the demon¬
strations of his sublime geometry. By what mode of
reasoning the first Hermes (l) was led to the true idea
of the solar system, or whether it was by reasoning at
all, cannot now be known j but it seems very evident,
that when the intercourse between the Egyptians and
Greeks first commenced, the wisdom of the former peo¬
ple consisted chiefly in tlffi science of legislation and civil
policy, and that the philosopher, the divine, the legisla¬
tor, and the poet, were all united in the same person.
Their cosmogony' (for all the ancients who pretended
to science framed cosmogonies) differed little from that
of the Phoenicians already mentioned. They held that
the world was produced from chaos by the energy of an
intelligent principle 5 and they likewise conceived that
there is in nature a continual tendency towards dissolu¬
tion. In Plato’s Timaeus, an Egyptian priest is intro¬
duced describing the destruction of the world, and as-
serti% that it will be effected by means of water and
s O P H Y. 375
fire. They conceived that the universe undergoes a pe- History of
riodical conflagration j after which all things are restor- Philosophy,
ed to their original form, to pass again through a simi-l—v-——'
lar succession of changes.
“Of preceptive doctrine the Egyptians had two Their'mo-
kinds, the one sacred, the other vulgar. The former, »al science,
which respected the ceremonies of religion and the du- Enfield's
ties of the priests, was doubtless written in die sacred
books of Hermes, but was too carefully concealed to l!
pass down to posterity. The latter consisted of maxims
and rules of virtue, prudence, or policy. Diodorus Si¬
culus relates many particulars concerning the laws, cus¬
toms, and manners of the Egyptians ; whence it appears
that superstition mingled with and corrupted their no¬
tions of morals. It is in vain to look for accurate prin¬
ciples of ethics among an ignorant and superstitious peo¬
ple. And that the ancient Egyptians merited this cha¬
racter is sufficiently evident from this single circum¬
stance, that they suffered themselves to be deceived by
impostors, particularly by the professors of the fanciful
art of astrology; concerning whom Sextus Empiricus
justly remarks, that they have done much mischief in
the world, by enslaving men to superstition, which will
not sufler them to follow the dictates of right reason.”
See Egypt, Mysteries, Mythology/&c.
From Egypt and Phoenicia philosophy passed into Grecian
Greece j where it was long taught without system^ as philosophy,
in the countries from which it wras derived. Phoroneus,
Lecrops, Cadmus, and Orpheus, were among the ear¬
liest instructors of the Greeks $ and they inculcated
Egyptian and Phoenician doctrines in detached maxims,
and enforced them, not by strength of argument, but
by the authority of tradition. Their cosmogonies were
wholly Phoenician or Egyptian, disguised under Grecian
names; and they taught a future state of reivards and
punishments. The planets and the moon Orpheus con¬
ceived to be habitable worlds, and the stars to be fiery
bodies like the sun : but he taught that they are all ani¬
mated by divinities; an opinion which prevailed both
in Egypt and the east: and it does not appear that he
gave any other proof of his doctrines than a confident
assertion that they were derived from some god. See
Orpheus.
Hitherto
cere, antiquissima fuit pliilosophantium sententia. Ab ^Egyptiis autem astrorum antiquissimis observationibus pro-
paga am esse lane sententiam verisimile est. Et etiam ab illis et a gentibus conterminis ad Graecos, gentem magis
pnilologicam quam philosoplneam, philosophia omnis antiquior juxta et senior manasse videtur. Subinde docuerunt
naxagoi as, emoentus, et alii nonnulli, terram io-e^ntro mundi immotam stare, et astra omnia in occasum, ali-
<iua ce erius, a tardius moveri, idque in spatiis liberrimis. Namque orbis solid! postea ab Eudoxo, Calippo, Ari-
S ° e e’ mfroducti sunt; dechnante indies philosophia primitus introducta, et novis Graecorum commentis paulatim
piaeva entibus. l\nhi\s vincuhs antiqui planetas in spatiis liberis retineri, deque cursu rectilineo perpetuo re¬
tract as m orbem regulanter agi docuere, non constat. Newton de Mundi Systemate.
(e) Some authors, deeply skilled in the Hebrew language, have thought that the true system of the sun and pla-
nets may e peicexved in the Scriptures of the Old lestament, and that it is only from ignorance or carelessness
0 tie translators that it does not appear in the English bible and other versions. The writer of this article con-
esses that his knowledge of the Hebrew is very limited, which is probably the reason that to him the arguments
0 nese men appear weak and their criticisms fanciful. No man, however, has a higher veneration than he for
he sacred volume, which he believes to have been given for nobler purposes that to teach its readers the science of
astronomy ; but could the principles of that science be found in it, he should be strongly inclined to think that the
hrst I both was Joseph, and that the monarch to whom he was minister was the far-famed Osiris. Were there any
solid foundation for this supposition, it would be easy to conceive how Thoth acquired his science, and how the
Egyptian priests might retain just notions of the solar system in general, long after they had forgotten the evidence
upon which he coimnumcated those notions to their ancestors.
T9 .
The Lome
school.
3j6 PHILO
History of Hitherto we have seen philosophy in its state ot in-
i hilosopliy. fancy ami childhood, consisting only ot a collection of
  sententious maxims and traditionary opinions j hut among
the Greeks, an ingenious and penetrating people, it soon
assumed the form of profound speculation and systematic
reasoning. Two eminent philosophers arose nearly at
the same period, who may be considered as the parents
not only of Grecian science, but of almost all the sci¬
ence which was cultivated in Europe prior to the era ot
the great Lord Bacon : These were Thales and Pytha¬
goras *, of whom the former founded the Ionic school
and the latter the Italic*, from which two sprung the
various sects into which the Greek philosophers were
afterwards divided. A bare enumeration of these sects
is all that our limits will admit of *, and we shall give it
in the perspicuous language and just arrangement ot Dr
Enheld, referring cur readers for a fuller account than
we can give of their respective merits to his abridged
translation of Bnicker’s history.
Of the Ionic School were, I. The Ionic sect pro¬
per, whose founder Thales had as his successors Anaxi¬
menes, Anaxagoras, Diogenes Apolloniates, and Ar-
chelans. 2. The Sou'atic school, founded by Socrates,
the principal of whose disciples were Xenophon, iEs-
chines, Simon, Cebes, Aristippus, Phaedo, Euclid, Pla¬
to, Antisthenes, Critias, and Alcibiades. 3. The Cy-
renaic sect, of which Aristippus was the author j his
followers were, his daughter Arete, Hegisias, Anicer
ris, Theodorus, and Bion. 4. The Megaric or Eristic
sect, formed by Euclid of Megara 5 to whom succeeded
Eubulides, Diodorus, and Stilpo, famous for their logi¬
cal subtlety. 5. The Eliac or Eretriac school, raised
by Pluedo of Elis, who, though he closely adhered to
the doctrine of Socrates, gave name to his school. His
successors w’ere Plistanus and Menedemus } the latter of
whom, being a native of Eretria, transferred the school
and name to his own country. 6. The Academic sect,
of which Plato was the founder. After his death, ma¬
ny of his disciples deviating from his doctrine, the school
was divided into the old, new, and middle academies.
*]. The Peripatetic sect, founded by Aristotle, whose
successors in the Lyceum were Theophrastus, Strato,
Lycon, Aristo, Critolaus, and Diodorus. Among the
Peripatetics, besides those who occupied the chair, were
also Dicasarchus, Eudemus, and Demetrius Phalereus.
8. The Cynic sect, ot which the author was Anti¬
sthenes, whom Diogenes, Onesicritus, Crates, Metro-
cles, Menippus, and Menedemus, succeeded. In the list
of Cynic philosophers must also be reckoned Hipparchia,
the wife of Crates. 9. The Stoic sect, of which Zeno
was the founder. His successors in the porch were Per-
soeus, Aristo of Chios, Herillus, Sphaerus, Cleanthus,
Chrysippus, Zeno of Tarsus, Diogenes the Babylonian,
Antipater, Panaetius, and Posidonius.
Of the Italic School were, 1. The Italic sect
proper: it was founded by Pythagoras, a disciple
of Pherecydes. The followers of Pythagoras were Ari-
sticus, Mnesarchus, Alcnueon, Ecphantus, Hippo, Em¬
pedocles, Epicharmus, Ocellus, Timaeus, Archytas,
Hippasus, Philolaus, and Eudoxus. 2. The Eleatic
sect, of which Xenophanes was the author: his succes¬
sors, Parmenides, Melissus, Zeno, belonged to the me¬
taphysical class of this sect} Leucippus, Democritus,
Protagoras, Diagoras, and Anaxarchus, to the physi¬
cal. 3. The Heraclxtean sect, which was founded by
4
SOPH Y.
Heraclitus, and soon afterwards expired: Zeno and History of
Hippocrates philosophised after the manner of Heracli-I‘hiIo>opby.
tus, and other philosophers borrowed freely from his * ~
system. 4. The Epicurean sect, a branch of the Elea¬
tic, had Epicurus for its author j among whose follow¬
ers were Metrodorus, Polyoenus, Hermachus, Polystra-
tus, Basilules, and Protarchus. I he Pyrrhonic or
Sceptic sect, the parent of which w as Pyrrho : his doc¬
trine was taught by rI imon the Phliasian ; and alter
some interval was continued by Ptolemy a Cyrencan,
and at Alexandria by ^Enesidemus.
Of the peculiar doctrines of these sects, the reader will
in this work find a short account either in the lives ot
their respective founders, or under the names ot the
sects themselves. We shall only observe at present,
that though many of them were undoubtedly absurd,
and many wicked, it would yet perhaps be going too
far to say writli some, that the philosophy ot Greece be¬
came impious under Diagoras, vicious under Epicurus,
HYPOCRITICAL UNDER Zeno, impudent under Dio¬
genes, covetous under Demochares, voluptuous under
Metrodprus, fantastical under Crates, scurrilous under
Menippus, licentious under Pyrrho, and quarrelsome
under Cleanthes. Of the truth of this heavy charge
every reader must judge for himself. We are strongly
inclined to think, that there were virtues and vices pe¬
culiar to each sect •, “ and that the sects themselves had Vaim's ^
an affinity more or less direct with the dillerent tempe-
cal Disser¬
tation, <^c.
20
The Italic
school.
raments of man } yvhence the choice of seetators often
depended on physical influence, or a peculiar disposition
of their organs. Nothing appears more natural than
that those men who were born with great force ot mind
and strong nerves should discover a predilection for stoi¬
cism y while mortals, endowed by nature with moie de¬
licacy of fibres and keener sensibility, fled for refuge to
the myrtles of Epicurus. People whose temperaments
partook of no extremes, were always inclined either tor
the Lyceum or the Academy. Such as possessed soli¬
dity of understanding ranged themselves with Aristotle ;
and those who had only genius, or even pretensions to
that endowment, went to augment the crowd of Plato-
nists.” 21
All the systematical philosophers, however, pursued Grecian
their inquiries into nature by nearly the same method, mode ot
Of their philosophy, as well as of ours, the universe, pM«s0P
with all that it contains, was the vast object 5 but^the
individuals things which compose the universe are in¬
finite in number and ever changing; and therefore,
according to an established maxim of theirs, incapable
of being the subjects of human science *. I 0 reduce
this infinitude, and to fix those fleeting beings, they ^
established certain definite arrangements or classes, to^ lib j,
some of which every thing past, present, or to come,
might be referred; and having ascertained, as they
thought, all that could be affirmed or denied of these
classes, they proved, by a very short process of syllo¬
gistic reasoning, that what is true ot the class must be
true of every individual comprehended under it. . Ihc
most celebrated of these arrangements is that which is
known by the name of categories; which Mr Harris
thinks at least as old as the era of Pythagoras, and to
the forming of which mankind would, in his opinion,
he necessarily led by the following considerations : ^
Every subject of human thought is either substance orThe£ate-
attribute ; but substance and attribute may each of them gories.
be
History of be modified under the different characters of universal
iphilosophy, or particular.. Hence there arises a quadruple arrano-e-
y ' ment of things into substance universal ^substance par¬
ticular; into attribute universal and attribute particular;
to some one of which four not only our words and
ideas, but every individual of that immense multitude
of things which compose the universe, may be deduced.
This arrangement, however, the learned author thinks
too limited ; and he is of opinion, that, by attending
to the substances with which they were surrounded,
the Grecian schools must soon have distinguished be¬
tween the attributes essential to all substances and those
which are only circumstantial; between the attributes
proper to natural substances or bodies, and those which
are peculiar to intelligible substances or minds. He
likewise thinks, that the time and place of the existence
of substances not present, must soon have attracted
their attention $ and that in considering the place of
this or that substance, they could hardly avoid think¬
ing of its position or situation. He is of opinion, that
the superinduction of one substance upon another wrould
inevitably suggest the idea of clothing or habit, and
that the vanety of co-existing substances and attributes
would discover to them another attribute, viz. that of
relation. Instead therefore of confining themselves to
the simple division of substance and attribute, they di¬
vided attribute itseM. into nine distinct sorts, some essen¬
tial and others circumstantial; and thus by setting sub¬
stance at their head, made ten comprehensive univer¬
sal genera, called, with reference to their Greek name
categories, and with reference to their Latin pre¬
dicaments. These categories are, substance, quali¬
ty, QUANTITY, RELATION, ACTION, PASSION, WHEN
where, position, and habit 5 which, according to
the systematic philosophy of the Greeks, comprehend
every human science and ev&ry subject of human
thought. History, natural and civil, springs, says Mr
Harris, out of substance ; mathematics out of quan-
ttpy; opfrcw out of quality and quantity; medicine
out of the same ; astronomy out of quantity and mo¬
tion; music and mechanics out of the same ; painting:
out of quality and site; ethics out of relation ;
chronology out of WHEN ; geography out of where ;
electricity, magnetism, attraction, out of action and
Passion ; and so in other instances.
To these categories, considered as a mere arrano-e-
ment of science, we are not inclined to make many ob¬
jections. The arrangement is certainly not complete :
but tins is a matter of comparatively small importance ;
23 » complete arrangement of science cannot, we be,
Lf*- ieV.e’ be.formed. Tire greatest objection to the cate-
• gones arises from the use that was made of them by
almost every philosopher of the Grecian schools ; for
those sages having reduced the objects of all human
science to ten general heads or general terms, instead of
setting themselves to inquire by a painful induction in¬
to the nature and properties of the real objects before
them, employed their time in conceiving what could
>e predicated of substance in general, of this or that
PHILOSOPHY.
377
quality, quantity, relation, &c. in the abstract: and they History of
soon found, that of such general conceptions as the ca- Philosophy
tegories there are but five predicables or classes of predi- ' Y—
cates m nature. The first class is that in which the
predicate is the genus of the subject; the second, that in
which it is the species of the subject; the third, is when
the predicate is the specific difference of the subject; the
fourth, when it is a property of the subject; and the
filth, when it is something accidental to the subject (see
Logic, Part II. chap. ii, and iii.). Having proceeded
thus far in their system, they had nothing to do with
individuals but to arrange them under their proper
categories, which was commonly done in a very arbi¬
trary manner; and then, with the formality of a syl¬
logism, to predicate of each the predicable of the ge¬
nus or species to which it belonged. But by this me¬
thod of proceeding, it is obvious that no progress what¬
ever could be made in physical, metaphysical, or ethi¬
cal science ; for if the individual truly belongs to the
category under which it is arranged, we add nothing to are no in¬
cur stock of knowledge by affirming or denying ofstruments
it what we had before affirmed or denied of the -whole ol science'
genus : and if it belong not to the category under which
we arrange it, our syllogising will only give the appear¬
ance of proof to what must, from the nature of things,
be an absolute falsehood. It is only by experiments
made on various substances apparently of the same kind
that they can be certainly known to belong to the same
category ; and, when this is done, all syllogistic reason¬
ing from the genus to the species, and from the species
to the individual, is but solemn trifling, as every pro-
position in this retrograde course takes for granted the
thing to be proved,
Yet this mode of philosophizing spread from Greece This^hi-
almost over the whole world. It was carried by Alex- losophy dis,
ander into Asia, by his successors into Egypt, and it seminMed
found its way to Rome after Greece became a province ,
of the empire. It was adopted by the Jews, by the world.' 0 °
fathers of the Christian church, by the Mahommedan
Arabs during the caliphate, and continued to be cul¬
tivated by the schoolmen through all Europe, till its
futility was exposed by Lord Bacon (m). The pro¬
fessors of this philosophy often displayed great acute¬
ness ; but their systems were built on mere hypotheses,
and supported by syllogistic wrangling. Now and
then indeed a superior genius, such as Alhazen and
our countryman Roger Bacon, broke through the
trammels of the schools, and, regardless of the authority
of the Stagyrite and his categories, made real discoveries
in physical science by experiments judiciously conduct¬
ed on individual substances (see Bacon, Roger; and
Optics, N° 6.); but the science in repute "still con¬
tinued to be that of Generals.
It was indeed a combination of absurd metaphysics
with more absurd theology ; and that which is proper¬
ly called physics, had in Europe no place in a liberal
education from the end of the eighth century to the
end of the fourteenth. Towards the beginning of this
period of darkness, the whole circle of instruction, or
the
addidernnlentl3e’ habemus’ .fere ^ Grsecis fluxerunt. Qua: enim scriptores Romani, aut Arabes, aut recentiores
sunt a GrEecf011 "z? & ^ maSI?1 moruenti sunt: et qualiacunque sint, fundata sunt super basin eorum quae inventa
Vol. XYI. Part L f ^ B
f
378
& O
History of
Philosophy.
16
exposed as
futile by
Hord Ba¬
con ;
Vj
who esta¬
blishes a
better me¬
thod of
inquiry.
1J H I L O
the liberal arts as they were called tonsisted of two
branches the trivium and the quadnvmm; of winch
the former comprehended grammar, rhetoric, d,a-
lectics; the latter music, arithmetic, geometry, arA
astronomy, to which was added, about the end of the
eleventh century, the study of a number of metaphysical
subtleties equally useless and un.ntelligible.
Hitherto the works of the ancient Greek p.n oso-
phers had been read only in imperfect Latin transla¬
tions • and before the scholastic system was complete y
established, Plato and Aristotle had been alternate y
looked up to as the oracle in science. Hie rig d
schoolmen, however, universally gave the preference tu
the Stagyritej because his analysis of body into m
ter and^orm is peculiarly calculated to keep in coun¬
tenance the most incredible doctrine ot the Romish
church (see TransuBSTANTIATION) : and upon the
revival of Greek learning, this preference was conti¬
nued after the school philosophy had begun to fall in¬
to contempt, on account of much usefm information
contained in some of his writings on subjects of natu¬
ral history, and his supposed merit as a natuial phi -
sonher. At last the intrepid spirit of Luther and his
associates set the minds of men free from the tyranny
of ancient names, as well in human science as in theo¬
logy •, and many philosophers sprung up m diftere
countries of Europe, who professed either to eclec¬
tics, or to study nature, regardless of every authority
but that of reason. Of these the most eminent be¬
yond all comparison was Irancis Bacon Lord eru-
^ This illustrious man having read with attention the
writings of the most celebrated ancients, and made
himself master of the sciences which were then culti¬
vated, soon discovered the absurdity of pretending to
account for the phenomena of nature by syUogistic
reasoning from hypothetical principles j and with a
boldness becoming a genius of the first order, under¬
took to give a new chart of human knowledge. Hus
he did in his two admirable works, intitled, t. De dig-
nitate et augmentis scientiarum ; and, 2. Novum orga-
num scientiarum, sive Judicia vera de interpretation*
Naturae. In the former of these works, he takes a very
minute survey of the whole circle of human science,
which he divides into three great branches, history, po¬
etry, and philosophy, corresponding to the three 1 acuities^
of the mind, memory, imagination, and reason. Each ot
these general heads is subdivided into minuter branches,
and reflections are made upon the whole, which, though
we can neither copy nor abridge them, will amply re¬
ward the perusal of the attentive reader. I he purpose
of the Novum Organum h to point out the proper me¬
thod of interpreting nature*, which the author shows
can never be done by the logic which was then in fa¬
shion, but only by a painful and fair induction. Ho¬
mo naturse minister (says he) et interpres tantum tacit
et intelligit, quantum de naturae ordine re, vel mente
observaverit *, nec amplius scit aut potest, byllogis-
mus ad principia scientiarum non adlnbetur, ad media
axiomata frustra adhibetur, cum sit subtilitati naturae
longe impar. Assensum itaque constringit, non res.
Syllogismus ex propositionibus constat, propositiones
ex verbis, verba notionum tesserae sunt. Itaque si no-
tiones ipsae (id quod basis rei est) confusae sint et te-
mere a rebus abstractae, nihil in iis quae superstruuntur,
P H Y.
est firmitudinis. Itaque spes est ona in inductione View of
v ^ Bacon’s
To hypotheses and preconceived opinions, which he
calls idola theatri, this great man was not less mimical
than to syllogisms *, and since his days almost every phi¬
losopher of eminence, except Descartes and his follow¬
ers (see Descartes and Cartesians) has professed
to study nature according to the method of induction so
accurately laid down in the Novum Organum. On this
method a few improvements have perhaps been made *,
but notwithstanding these, Lord Bacon must undoubt¬
edly he considered as the author of that philosophy
which is now cultivated in Europe, and which will con¬
tinue to be cultivated as long as men shall have more
regard for matters of fact than for hypothetical opinions.
Of this mode of philosophising we shall now give a short,
though we hope not inaccurate, view, by stating its ob¬
jects, comparing it with that which it superseded, ex¬
plaining its rules, and pointing out its uses $ and from
this view it will appear, that its author shares with
Aristotle the empire of science.
28
The universe, that unbounded object of the contem-view 0f his
plation, the curiosity, and the researches of man, may philosophy,
be considered in two different points of view.
In the first place, it may be considered merely as a
collection of existences, related to each other by means
of resemblances and distinction, situation, succession,
and derivation, as making parts of a whole. In this
view it is the subject of pure description.
To acquire an acquaintance with, or a knowledge of,
the universe in this point of view, we must enumerate
all the beings in it, mention all their sensible qualities,
and mark all these relations for each. But this would
be labour immense *, and when done, an umhstinguish-
able chaos. A book containing every word of a lan¬
guage would only giye us materials, so to speak, of
this language. To make it comprehensible, it must be
put into some form, which will comprehend the whole
in a small compass, and enable the mind to pass easily
from one word to another related to it. Of all rela¬
tions among words, the most obvious are those of re¬
semblance and derivation. An etymological dictionary,
therefore, in which words are classed in consequence ot
their resemblances, and arranged by means of their de¬
rivative distinctions, will greatly facilitate the acquisi¬
tion of the language.
Just so in nature: The objects around us may be
grouped by means of their resemblance, and then ar¬
ranged in those groups by means of their distinctions
and other relations. In this classification we are en¬
abled to proceed by means of our faculty of abstract¬
ing our attention from the circumstances in which
things differ, and turning it to those only in which
they agree. By the judicious employment of tins fa¬
culty we are able not only to distribute the individuals
into classes, but also to distribute those classes into
others still more comprehensive, by discovering circum¬
stances of resemblance among them : for the fewer the
circumstances are which concur to form that resemblance
which has engaged our attention, the greater is tbe
number of similar circumstances which are neglect¬
ed ; and the more extensive will he the class of m i*
viduals in which the resemblance is observed. _ ^Natural
a number of individuals resembling each other 1“h^®lustory*
View of single circumstance of life, composes the most extensive
Bacon’s KINGDOM of ANIMALS. If it be required, that they
Philosophy s},a]i further resemble in the circumstance of having
T " feathers, a prodigious number of animals are excluded,
and we form the inferior class of birds. We exclude
a great number of birds, by requiring a further simila¬
rity of web feet, and have the ot dcr of anseres. If we
add lingua ciliata, we confine the attention to the genus
of anates. In this manner may the whole objects of
the universe be grouped, and arranged into kingdoms,
classes, orders, genera, and species.
Such a classification and arrangement is called Na¬
tural History ; and must be considered as the only
foundation of any extensive knowledge of nature. To
the natural historian, therefore, the world is a collection
of existences, the subject of descriptive arrangement.
His aim is threefold.
1. Fo observe with care, and describe with accuracy,
the various objects of the universe.
2. To determine and enumerate all the great classes
of objects j to distribute and arrange them into all their
subordinate classes, through all degrees of subordination,
till he arrive at what are only accidental varieties,
which are susceptible of no farther distribution ; and to
mark with precision the principles of this distribution
and arrangement, and the characteristics of the various
assemblages.
3. To determine with certainty the particular group
to which any proposed Individual belongs.
Description, therefore, arrangement, and refe¬
rence, constitute the whole of his employment; and in
30 this consists all his science.
. Did the universe continue unchanged, this would con-
ailosophy. st*tut? tl,e w,10!e of knowledge of nature : but we
’ are witnesses of an uninterrupted succession of changes,
and our attention is continually-called to the events
which are incessantly happening around us. These
form a set of objects vastly more interesting to us than
the former; being the sources of almost all the pleasures
or pains we receive from external objects.
We are therefore much interested in the study of the
events which happen around us, and strongly incited to
prosecute it. but they are so numerous and so multifa¬
rious, that the study would be immense, without some
contrivance for abbreviating and facilitating the task.
The same help offers itself here as in the study of what
may be called quiescent nature. Events, like existences
are susceptible of classification, inconsequence of resem¬
blances and distinction ; and by attention to these, we
can acquire a very extensive acquaintance with active
nature. Our attention must be chiefly directed to those
circumstances in which many events resemble each
other, while they differ perhaps in a thousand others.
Ihen we must attend to their most general distinctions;
then to distinctions of smaller extent, and so on.
4 18 this way accordingly that we have advanced
m our knowledge of active nature, and are gradually,
and by no means slowly, forming assemblages of events
more and more extensive, and distributing these with
greater and greater precision into their different classes.
In the zealous and attentive prosecution of this task
a very remarkable and interesting observation occurs :
In describing those circumstances of similarity among
events, and particularly in distributing them according
to those similarities, it is impossible for us to overlook
PHILOSOPHY.
379
that constancy which is observed in the changes of na- view of
lure m the events which are the objects of our contem- Bacon’s
plation. Events which have once been observed to ac- Biii.'osophy.
company each other are observed always to do so. ‘
The rising of the sun is always accompanied by th- ConstLicy
light of day, and his setting by the darkness of night.in the
Sound argument is accompanied by conviction, impulse c*laI1Ses
by motion, kindness by a feeling of gratitude, and tbeDatum
perception of good by desire. The unexcepted experi¬
ence of mankind informs us, that the events of nature
go on in certain regular trains ; and if sometimes ex¬
ceptions seem to contradict this general affirmation,
more attentive observation never fails to remove the ex¬
ception. Most of the spontaneous events of nature are
very complicated; and it frequently requires great at¬
tention and penetration to discover the simple event
amidst a crowd of unessential circumstances which are
at once exhibited to our view. But when we succeed
in this discovery, we never fail to acknowledge the per¬
fect uniformity of the event to what has been formerly
observed.
But this is not all : Me firmly believe that this uni-un;VP'rsai^
formity will still continue; that fire will melt wax, will expected
burn paper, will harden clay, as we have formerly ob-
served it to do ; and whenever we have undoubted
proofs that the circumstances of situation are precisely
the same as in some former case, though but once ob¬
served, we expect with irresistible and unshaken confi¬
dence that the event will also be the same.
It is not surely necessary to adduce many proofs of
the universality of this law of human thought. The
whole language and actions of men are instances of
the fact. In all languages there is a mode of construc¬
tion which is used to express this relation as distinct
from all others, and the conversation of the most illite¬
rate never confounds them, except when the concep¬
tions themselves are confounded. The general em¬
ployment of the active and passive verb is regulated by
it. Turris eversa est a militibus; turn's eversa est terree
motu, express two relations, and no schoolboy will con¬
found them. The distinction therefore is perceived or
felt by all who can speak grammatically. Nor is any
language without general terms to express this relation,
cause—effect—to occasion. Nay, it is a fact in the
mind of brutes, who hourly show that they expect the
same uses of every subject which they formerly made
of it; and without this, animals would be incapable
of subsistence, and man incapable of all improvement.
From this alone memory derives all its value; and even
the constancy of natural operation would be useless if
not matched or adapted to our purposes by this expecta¬
tion of any confidence in that constancy.
After all the labours of ingenious men to discover the
foundation of this irresistible expectation, we must be
contented with saying that such is the constitution of the
human mind. It is an universal fact in human thought;
and for anything that has been yet discovered, it is an
ultimate fact, not included in any other still more gene¬
ral. We shall soon see that this is sufficient for making
it the foundation of true human knowledge; all of
which must in like manner be reduced to ultimate facts
in human thought.
We must consider this undoubted feeling, this per¬
suasion of the constancy of nature, as an instinctive
anticipation of events similar to those which we have
3 B 2 already
;8o
PHILOSOPHY.
yie,vof aiready experienced. The general analogy of nature of these laws, and of the exerted authority of the ma- Viewer
Bacon’s should have disposed philosophers to acquiesce in this
i i _ 1.1- „!T r»r» ilVCif onm
Philosophy, however unwelcome to their vanity. In no instance
' »'" 1 0f essential consequence to our safety or well-being are
We left to the guidance of our boasted reason *, God has
given us the surer conduct of natural instincts. No
case is so important as this: In none do we so much
stand in need of a guide which shall be powerful, in¬
fallible, and rapid "in its decisions. Without it we
must remain incapable of all instruction from experi¬
ence, and therefore of all improvement.
Our sensations are undoubtedly feelings of our mind.
But all those feelings are accompanied by an instinc¬
tive reference of them to something distinct from the
feelings themselves. Hence arises our perception of
external objects and our very notions of this externeity
(pardon the term). In like manner, this anticipation
of events, this irresistible connection of the idea of fire
with the idea of burning, is also a leeling of the mind :
and this feeling is by a law of human nature, referred,
without reasoning, to something external as its cause j
and, like our sensation, it is considered as a sign ol that
external something. It is like the conviction of the
truth of a mathematical proposition. Ihis is referred by
us to something existing in nature, to a necessary and
external relation subsisting between the ideas which are
the subjects of the proposition. The conviction is the
sign or indication of this relation by which it is brought
to our view. In precisely the same manner, the irre¬
sistible connection of ideas is interpreted as the sensa¬
tion or sign of a necessary connection of external things
or events. These are supposed to include something in
their nature which renders them inseparable companions.
To this bond of connection between external things we
give the name of Causation. All our knowledge of
this relation of cause and effect, is the knowledge, or
consciousness of what passes in our own minds during
the contemplation ot the phenomena ot nature. II we
adhere to this view of it, and put this branch of know¬
ledge on the same footing with those called the ab¬
stract sciences, considering only the relations of ideas,
we shall acquire demonstrative science. If we take
any other view of the matter, we shall be led into in¬
extricable mazes of uncertainty and error.
We see then that the natural procedure of our fa¬
culty of abstraction and arrangement, in order to ac¬
quire a more speedy and comprehensive knowledge of
natural events, presents them to our view in another
form. We not only see them as similar events, but as
events naturally and necessarily conjoined. And tne ex¬
pression of resemblance among events is also an expres¬
sion of concomitancy ; and this arrangement of events in
consequence of their resemblance is in fact the discovery
of those accompaniments. The trains of natural ap¬
pearance being considered as the appointments of the
Author of Nature, has occasioned them to be consi¬
dered also as consequences of laws imposed on his
works by their great author, and every thing is said
to be regulated by fixed laws. But this is the lan¬
guage of analogy.' When a sovereign determines on
certain trains of conduct lor his subjects, he issues Ins
orders. These orders are laws. He inforces the ob¬
servance of them by his authority ; and thus a cer¬
tain regularity and constancy of conduct is produced.
But should a stranger, ignorant of the promulgation
33
Our know¬
ledge of
causation.
34
Laws of
nature ex¬
plained.
gistrate, observe this uniformity of conduct, he would j|i.!|con’s
ascribe it to the genius and disposition of the people j ^ilosophy.
and his observation would be as useful to him for di¬
recting the tenor of bis own conduct, as the knowledge
of the subject himself of the real source ef this constan¬
cy is for directing his.
Just so in nature, while the theologian pretends, from
his discoveries concerning the existence and superin¬
tendance of God, to know that the constant accompa¬
niment of events is the consequence of laws which the
great Author and Governor of the universe has imposed
on his Avorks, the ordinary philosopher, a stranger to
this scene, and to the unsearchable operations of the
supreme MIND, must ascribe this constancy to the na¬
ture of the things. There is a great resemblance be¬
tween the expression natural law and grammatical rule.
Rule in strict language implies command •, but in gram¬
mar it expresses merely a generality oifact, whether of
flexion or construction. In like manner, a LAW OF
NATURE is to the philosopher nothing but the expres¬
sion of a generality of fact. A natural or physical laiv
is a generally observed factand wdienever Ave treat
any subject as a generally observed fact, Ave treat it
physically. It is a physical laAV of the understanding
that argument is accompanied by conviction j it is a
physical law of the affection that distress is accompa¬
nied by pity •, it is a physical laAV of the material Avorld
that impulse is accompanied by motion.
And thus we see that the arrangement of events, or
the discovery of those general points of resemblance, is
in fact the discovery of the Iravs of nature; and one of
the greatest and most important is, that the laivs of na¬
ture are constant.
There is no question that this view of the universe
is incomparably more interesting and important than
that which is taken by the natural historian j contem¬
plating every thing that is of value to us, and, in S™IrJ’ 35
the whole life and movement of the universe. This Object of
study, therefore, has been dignified Avith the name of philosophy,
philosophy and of SCIENCE ; and natural history has
been considered as of importance only in.so far as it was
conducive to the successful prosecution of philosophy.
But the philosopher claims a superiority on another
account: he considers himself as employed in the dis¬
covery of causes, saying that philosophy is the study of
the objects of the universe as related by causation, and
that it is by the discovery of these relations that he
communicates to the world such important knoAvledge,
Philosophy, he says, is the science of causes. The
vulgar are contented to consider the prior ot two inse¬
parably conjoined events as the cause of the other j the
stroke on a bell, for instance, as the cause of sound.
But it has been clearly shoAvn by the philosopher, that
between the blow on the bell and the sensation of sound
there are interposed a long train of events, jlhe blow
sets the bell a trembling; this agitates the air in con¬
tact Avith the bell j this agitates the air immediately be¬
yond it 5 and thus betAveen the hell and the ear may be ^
interposed a numberless series of events, and as many Causes,
more between the first impression on the ear and that
last impression on the nerve by which the mind is a
fected. He can no longer therefore follow the nomen¬
clature of the vulgar. Wbich of the events o t ns
train therefore is the cause of the sensation ? PMOAe o.
37
nferred
rom ef¬
fects.
PHILO
View of fhpm : It is that something which inseparably connects
Bacon’s any two of them, and constitutes their bond of union.
!philosophy- These bonds of union or causes he considers as residing
” in one or both of the connected objects: diversities in
this respect must therefore constitute the most important
distinctions between them. They are therefore with
great propriety called the qualities, the properties of
these respective subjects.
As the events from which we infer the existence of
these qualities of things resemble in many respects such
events as are the consequences of the exertion of our
own powers, these qualities are frequently denominated
POWERS, forces, energies. Thus, in the instance just
now given of the sound of a bell, we infer the powers
of impulse, elasticity, nervous irritability, and animal
sensibility.
In consequence of this inference of a necessary con¬
nection between the objects around us, we not only in¬
fer the posterior event from the prior, or, in common
language, the effect from the cause, but we also infer
the prior from the posterior, the cause from the effect.
We not only expect that the presence of a magnet will
be followed by certain motions in iron-filings, but when
we observe such motions, we infer the presence and
agency of a magnet. Joy is inferred from merriment,
poison from death, fire from smoke, and impulse from
motion. And thus the appearances of the universe are
the indications of the powers of the objects in it. Ap¬
pearances are the language of nature, informing us of
their causes. And as all our knowledge of the senti¬
ments of others is derived from our confidence in their
veracity j so all our knowledge of nature is derived
from our confidence in the constancy of natural opera¬
tions. A veracity and credulity necessarily resultino-
from that law of our mental constitution by which we
are capable of speech, conduct us in the one case j and
the constancy of nature, and the principle of induction,
by rvhich we infer general laws from particular facts,
conduct us in the other. As human sentiment is infer¬
red from language, and the existence of external things
from sensation; so are the laws of nature, and the
powers of natural objects, inferred from the phenomena.
It is by the successful study of this language of nature
that we derive useful knowledge. The knowledge of
the influence of motives on the mind of man enables
the statesman to govern kingdoms, and the knowledge
of the powers of magnetism enables the mariner to pi¬
lot a ship through the pathless ocean.
Such are the lofty pretensions of philosophy. It is
to be wished that they be well founded ; for we may be
persuaded that a mistake in this particular will be fatal
to the advancement of knowledge. An author of great
reputation f gives us an opportunity of deciding this
question in the way of experiment. He says that the
^ ancients were philosophers, employed in the discovery
scoveries °f causes, and that the moderns are only natural histo-
Anstotle I’ians, contenting themselves with observing the laws of
1 c^w* Nature, but paying no attention to the causes of tilings.
red.m II he speak of their professed aim, we apprehend that
the assertion is pretty just in general. With very few
exceptions indeed it may be affirmed of his favourite
Aristotle, the philosopher hut ’, and of Sir Isaac
Newton. We select these two instances, both because
they are set in continual opposition by this author, and
because it will be allowed that they were the most emi¬
nent students of nature (for w# must not yet call
3
SOPHY.
them philosophers) in ancient and modern times.
Ari-
38l
Ancient
etaphy-
'S.
38
stotle’s professed aim, in his most celebrated writings,
is the investigation of causes j and in the opinion of this
author, he has been so successful, that he has hardly left
any employment for his successors beside that of com¬
menting upon his works. We must on the other hand
acknowledge that Newton makes no such pretensions,
at least in that work which has immortalized his name,
and that his professed aim is merely to investigate the
general laws of the planetary motions, and to apply
these to the explanation of particular phenomena. Nor
will we say that he has left no employment for succeed¬
ing inquirers j but on the contrary, confess that he has
only begun the study, has discovered but one law, and
has enabled us to explain only the phenomena compre¬
hended in it alone. But he has not been unsuccessful;
his investigation has been complete ; and he has disco¬
vered, beyond all possibility of contradiction, n. fact
which is observed through the whole extent of the solar
system; namely, that everybody, nay, that every parti¬
cle in it, is continually deflected toward every other
body; and that every deflectionis, in every instance, pro¬
portional to the quantity of matter in that body toward
which the deflection is directed, and to the reciprocal of
the square of the distance from it. He has therefore
discovered a physical law of immense extent. Nor has
he been less successful in the explanation of particular
phenomena. Of this there cannot be given a better in¬
stance than the explanation of the lunar motions from
the theory of gravity begun by Newton “ Mathesi sua
facem piaeferente ; and now brought to such a degree
of perfection, that if the moon’s place be computed
from it for any moment within the period of two thou¬
sand years back, it will not be found to differ from the
place on which she was actually observed by one hun¬
dredth part of her own breadth.
Discimus hinc tandem qua causa argentea Phoebe
Passibus hand cequis eat, et cur, subdita nulli
Hactenus astronomo, numerorum frena recusal,
Qucr toties animos veterum torsere sophorum,
Quceque scho/as hodie rauco certamine ve.vant,
Obvia conspicimus, nubepellente mathesi-.
Qua superos penetrare domos, et ardua cedi
Newtojii auspiciisjam dat contingere templa.
We may now desire the champions of the science of
causes to name any one cause which has really been dis¬
covered by their great master, whether in the operations
of mind or of body. But they must not on this occa¬
sion adduce the investigation of anv natural law, in which
he has sometimes succeeded. With still greater confi¬
dence may we challenge them to produce any remark¬
able instance of the explanation of natural phenomena
either of mind or body. By explanation we mean an
account of the production, and an appreciation of all
the circumstances, susceptible of a scrupulous compari¬
son with fact, and perfectly consistent with it. It is
here that the weakness of this philosopher’s pretensions
is most conspicuous ; and his followers candidly acknow¬
ledge, that in the inquiries which proceed by experiment,
we. have not derived great assistance from Aristotle’s
philosophy.. But this, say they, does not derogate from
the pie eminence of Ins philosophy, because he has
shown that paTticularof observation are to be
cultivated only by means of experiment. But surely
every field of observation is particular. There is no
ahsirMet,
View of
Bacon’s
Philosophy.
382
View of
Bacon’s
Philosophy.
. 39 ,.
Philosophi
cal causes
discovered
40
in the e-
vents.
abstract object of philosophical research, the study of
which shall terminate in the philosophy of umyersals.
In every kind of inquiry, that cause alone must be sup¬
posed to act which we understand so far as to be able to
appreciate its effects in particular circumstances, and
compare them with fact, and see their perfect coinci¬
dence. If we have discovered causes, they are known
as far as they are discovered. Their genuine effects are
known, and therefore the phenomena which result from
their agency are understood. When therefore it is ac¬
knowledged, as it must be acknowledged, that mankind
have made but little advances in the knowledge of na¬
ture, notwithstanding the pretended discovery of causes
by Aristotle, and the conducting clue of his philosophy,
till of late years ; and when it is also allowed that now,
while we are every day making great additions to this
subordinate knowledge, the causes which Aristotle has
discovered are forgotten, and his philosophy is neglect¬
ed ; there is great room for suspecting (to say the least),
that either the causes which philosophy pretends to have
discovered are not real, or that Aristotle and Ins follow¬
ers have not aimed at the discovery of causes, but only
at the discovery of natural laws, and have failed in the
attempt. . r v
There seems here to be a previous question: Is it pos¬
sible to discover a philosophical cause, that something
which is neither the prior nor the posterior of the two
immediately adjoining events but their bond of union
and this distinct from the union itself? I is evident
that this is an inquiry purely experimental. It is of
human knowledge we speak. This must depend on the
nature of the human mind. This is a matter of con¬
tingency, known to us only by experiment and observa¬
tion. By observing all the feelings and operations of
the mind, and classing and arranging them ike any
other object of science, we discover the general laws o
human thought and human reasoning •, and this is all
the knowledge we can ever acquire of it, or of any
th Much has been written on this subject. The most
acute observation and sound judgment have been em¬
ployed in the study ; and we may venture to say, that
considerable progress has been made m pneumatology.
Many laws of human thought have been observed, and
very distinctly marked ; and philosophers are busily em¬
ployed, some of them with considerable success, in the
distribution of them into subordinate classes, so as to
know their comparative extent, and to mark then di¬
stinguishing characters with a precision similar to what
has been attained in botany and other parts of natural
history ; so that we may hope that this study will a -
vance like others. But in all these researches, no phe¬
nomena have occurred which look like the perception
or contemplation of these separate objects of thought,
these philosophical causes, this POWER in abstracto. JNo
philosopher has ever pretended to state such an objet
of the mind’s observation, or attempted to group them
into classes. ... i
We may say at once, without entering into any de¬
tail, that those causes, those bonds of necessary union
between the naturally conjoined events or objects, are
not only perceived by means of the events alone, but
are perceived solely in the events, and cannot be distin¬
guished from the conjunctions themselves. I hey aie
neither the objects of separate observation, nor the pro¬
ductions of memory, nor inferences drawn from reflec-
PHILOSOPHY.
tion on the laws by which the operation of our own View of
• ^ • nor can they be derived from tlacons
minds are regulated , nor can lu J Philosophy.
other perceptions in the way of argumentative inference. 
We cannot infer the paroxysm of terror from the appear¬
ance of impending destruction, or the fall ot a stone when
not supported, as we infer the incommensurabi ity of the
diagonal and side of a square. This last is implied in the
very conception or notion of a square *, not as a conse¬
quence of its other properties, but as one ol its essential
attributes: and the contrary proposition is not omy false,
but incapable of being distinctly conceived. I Ins is not
the case with the other phenomenon, or any matter 0
fact The proofs which are brought of a mathematical
proposition, are not the reason of its being true, but the
steps by which this truth is brought into our view •, and
frequently, as in the instance now given, this truth is
perceived, not directly, but consequentially, by the in¬
conceivableness of the contrary proposition. 4<
Mr Hume derives this irresistible expectation of ^ ^
events from the known effect of custom, the association^
of ideas. The corelated event is brought into the mind^c^
by this well known power of custom, with that vivacity
of conception which constitutes belief or expectation.
But without insisting on the tutihty of his theory of be¬
lief it is sufficient to observe, that this explanation
begs the very thing to be proved, when it ascribes to
custom * power of any kind. It is the origin of tins
very power which is the subject in dispute. Besides,
on the genuine principles of scepticism, this custom in¬
volves an acknowledgement of past events, of a some¬
thing different from present impressions, which, in tins
doctrine (if doctrine it can be called), are the only cer¬
tain existences in nature: and, lastly, it is known ja
0«e clear experience is a sufficient foundation for Ins
unshaken confidence and anticipation. Geneial custom
can never, on Mr Hume’s principles, give superior vi- ^
vacity to any particular idea.. , . (-Another
This certain nonentity of it as a separate object othvf)0l]iesifl
observation, and this impossibility to derive this notion ^peeling
of necessary and causal connection between the events casu^co.
of the universe from any source, have induced two of
the most acute philosophers of Europe, Mr Leibnitz
and Father Malebranche, to deny that there is any such
connection, and to assert that the events of the universe
go on in corresponding trains, but without any causal
connection, just as a well regulated clock will keep
time with the motions of the heavens without any
kind of dependence on them. This harmony of event*
was pre-established by the Author of the Universe m
subserviency to the purposes he had m view in its tor-
All those purposes which are cognisable by us, may
certainly be accomplished by this perfect adjustment.
But without insisting on the fantastic wildness of this
ingenious whim, it is quite enough to observe, that 1
also is a begoing of the question, because it supposes
causation when it ascribes all to the agency of the Deity
Thus have we searched every quarter, without bei g
able to find a source from which to derive this percep¬
tion of a necessary connection among the events of the
universe, or of this confident expectation of the con -
nuance of physical laws; and yet we are
feeline and of the persuasion, he its origin what it may •
for we speak intelligibly on this subject; we speak f -
miliarly of cause, ellect, power, energy, necessary coo
nection, motives and their influence, argument andcom
PHILO
View of vlctiofl, reasons and persuasion, allurements and emo-
Uacon's tions, of gravity, magnetism, irritability, &c. j and we
’Philosophy.carry otl conversations on these subjects with much en¬
tertainment and seeming instruction. Language is the
expression of thought, and every word expresses some
notion or conception of the mind j therefore it must be
allowed, that we have such notions as are expressed by
cause, power, energy. But it is here, as in many cases,
we pelceive a distinction without being able to exnress
it by a definition ; and that we do perceive the relation
of causation as distinct from all others, and in particular
as distinct from the relation of contiguity in time and
place, or the relation of agent, action, and patient,
must be concluded from the uniformity of language,
which never confounds them except on purpose, and
when it is perceived. But even here we shall find, that
none of the terms used for expressing those powers of
substance which are conceived as the causes of their cha¬
racteristic phenomena, really express any thing different
from the phenomena themselves. Let any person try
to define the terms gravity, elasticity, sensibility, and the
like, and he will find that the definition is nothing but
a description of the phenomenon itself. The words are
all derivatives, most of them verbal derivatives, imply¬
ing action, gravitation, &c. As the general resemblan¬
ces in shape, colour, &c. are expressed by the natural
historian by generic terms, so the general resemblances
in event are expressed by the philosopher in generic pro¬
positions, which, in the progress of cultivation, are also
abbreviated into generic terms.
This abundantly explains the consistency of our lan¬
guage on this subject, both with itself and with the ope¬
rations of nature, without however affording any argu¬
ment for the truth of the assumption, that causes are the
objects of philosophic research as separate existences ;
or that this supposed necessary connection is a necessary
truth, whether supreme or subordinate. But since the
perception of it has its foundation in the constitution of
the human mind, it seems intitled to the name of a first
principle. We are hardly allowed to doubt of “this,
when we consider the importance of it, and the care of
nature to secure us in all things essential to our safety
and well-being, from all danger, from inattention, igno¬
rance, or indolence, by an instinct infallible in its in¬
formation, and instantaneous in its decisions. “ It would
not be like her usual care (says Hume), if this opera¬
tion of the mind, by which we infer like effects from
like causes, and vice versa, were entrusted to the falla¬
cious deduction of our reason, which is slow in its ope¬
rations, appears not in any degree during the first years
of infancy, and in every age and period of human life
is extremely liable to error. It is more conformable to
her ordinary caution (mark the acknowledgement) to
secure so necessary an act of the mind by some instinct,
or blind tendency, which may be infallible and rapid in
all its operations, may discover itself at the first appear¬
ance of life, and may be independent of all the labour¬
ed deductions of reason. As she has taught us the use
of our limbs, without giving us any knowledge of
the nerves and muscles by which they are actuated 5
so she has implanted in us an instinct, which carries
forward the thought in a course conformable to that
established among external objects, though wre be igno¬
rant of the powers and forces on which this regularity
depends.”
43
ie per-
ption of
! s con-
ction a
i ;t prin-
le.
S O P H Y. 383
•Such a knowledge is quite unnecessary, and therefore View of
causes are no more cognisable by our intellectual Bacon’s
powers than colours by a man born blind ; nay, who- philosophy,
ever will be at the pains to consider this matter agree- v 1
ably to the received rules and maxims of logic, will find
that necessary connection, or the bond of causation, can
no more be the subject of philosophical discussion by
man, than the ultimate nature of truth. It is precisely
the same absurdity or incongruity, as to propose to exa¬
mine light with a microscope. Other rational creatures
may perceive them as easily as we hear sounds. All
that we can say is, that their existence is probable, but
by no means certain. Nay, it may be (and we may
never know it) that we are not the efficient causes of
our own actions, which may he effected by the Deity or
by ministering spirits ; and this may even be true in the
material world. But all this is indifferent to the real
occupation of the philosopher, and does not affect either
the certainty, the extent, or the utility of the knowledge
which he may acquire.
We are now able to appreciate the high pretensions The object
of the philosopher, and his claim to scientific superiority. °f the phi-
We now see that this can neither be founded on any sci-losoP^er
entific superiority of his object, nor of his employment.^ d^C0‘
His object is not causes; and his discoveries are nothing physical
but the discovery of general facts, the discovery of phy-laws.
sical laws: and his employment is the same with that of
the descriptive historian. He observes and describes
with care and accuracy the events of nature; and then
he groups them into classes, in consequence of resem¬
bling circumstances, detected in the midst of many
others which are dissimilar and occasional. By gradual¬
ly throwing out more circumstances of resemblance, he
renders his classes more extensive ; and, by carefully
marking those circumstances in which the resemblance
is observed, he characterises all the different classes: and,
by a comparison of these with each other, in respect to
the number of resembling circumstances, he distributes
his classes according to their generality and subordina¬
tion ; thus exhausting the whole assemblage, and leaving
nothing unarranged but accidental varieties. In this
procedure it is to be remarked, that every grouping of
similar events is, ipso facto, discovering a general fact,
a physical law ; and the expression of this assemblage is
the expression of the physical law. And as everv obser¬
vation of this constancy of fact affords an opportunity
for exerting the instinctive inference of natural connec¬
tion between the related subjects, every such observation
is the discovery of a power, property, or quality, of na¬
tural substance. And from what has been said, this ob¬
servation of event is all we know of the connection, all
we know of the natural power. And when the philoso¬
pher proceeds farther to the arrangement of events, ac¬
cording to their various degrees of complication, he is,
ipso facto, making an arrangement of all natural powers
according to their various degrees of suboi’dinate in¬
fluence. And thus his occupation is perfectly similar to
that of the descriptive historian, classification and ar¬
rangement ; and this constitutes all the science attain¬
able by both.
Philosophy may therefore be defined, the study ofPbUotophy
the phenomena of the universe, with a view to discover defined,
the general laws which indicate the powers of natural
substances, to explain subordinate phenomena, and to
improve
38+
View of
Bacon’s
Philosophy
46
The em¬
ployment
of the phi¬
losopher.
47
Phenome-
neology.
48
Investiga¬
tion.
PHILO
improve art: Or, in compliance with that natural in¬
stinct so much spoken of, Philosophy is the study of the
phenomena of the universe, with a view to discover their
causes, to explain subordinate phenomena, and to im-
* The task is undoubtedly difficult, a ml will exercise
our noblest powers. The employment is manly m i-
self, and the result of it important. It therefore us ly
merits the appellation of philosophy, although its objects
are nowise different from what occupy the attention ot
° ^Th(Ternployment of the philosopher, like that of the
natural historian,is threefold-, description, arrangk-
MENT and REFERENCE j while the objects are not thing
bUThe description, when employed about events, may
be more properly termed history. A philosophical his¬
tory of nature consists in a complete or copious enume¬
ration and narration of facts, properly selected, cleared
of all unnecessary or extraneous circumstances, and ac¬
curately narrated. This constitutes the materials ot
philosophy. We cannot give a better example of this
branch of philosophical occupation than astronomy.
From the beginning of the Alexandrian school to this
day, astronomers have been at immense pains in observ¬
ing the heavenly bodies, in order to detect their true
motions. This has been a work of prodigious difficulty,
for the appearances are such as might have been exhibit¬
ed although the real motions had been extremely diiler-
ent Not that our senses give us false information , bu
we form hasty, and frequently false judgments from
these informations 5 and call those things deceptm
sense, which are in fact errors of judgment. But the
true motions have at last been discovered, and have been
described with such accuracy, that the ^story may
considered as nearly complete. This is to be found in
the usual systems of astronomy, where the tables conta .
a most accurate and synoptical account of the motion ,
so that we can tell with precision in what point ot t
heavens a planet has been seen at any instant that ca
be ^m][egda'ac Newton!s Optics is such another perfect
model of philosophical history, as far as it goes. I his
part of philosophy may be called Phenomenolog y.
1 Having in this manner obtained the materials of phi¬
losophical description, we must put them into a compen¬
dious and perspicuous form, so that a general knouded^e
of the universe maybe easily acquired and firmly retam¬
ed. This is to be done by classification and arrange¬
ment, and this classification must proceed on resemblan¬
ces observed in the events 5 and the subsequent arrange¬
ment must be regulated by the distinctions of which
those resemblances are still susceptible. Tins assemblage
of events into groups must be expressed. _ They are facts,
therefore the expression must be propositions. 1 hese pro
positions must be what the logicians call /or «6-
stract propositions; for they express, not any individual
fact of the assemblage, but that circumstance in which
they all resemble. Such propositions are the following .
Proof is accompanied by belief j kindness is accompa¬
nied by gratitude •, impulse is accompanied by motion.
These are usually called general facts ; but there are
none such ; every fact is individual. This language,
however inaccurate, is very safe from misconstruction,
and we may use it without scruple. These proposi-
3
SOPHY. , , , v.
tlnns are NATURAL or PHYSICAL LAWS $ and then the \ lew of
detecting and marking those resemblances in event, is ph^ J
the investigation of physical laws j and we may deno-
initiate thbemployment of the philosopher Investiga-
TI In'the prosecution of this task, it will be found that
the similarities of fact are of various extent: and thus
we shall form physical laws of various extent; and we
shall also find that some are subordinate to others 5 tor
the resemblance of a number of facts in one circumstance
does not hinder a part of them from a so reaemblmg m
an ether circumstance: and thus we shall find subordina-
tions of fact in the same way as of quiescent qualities.
And it is found here, as in natural history, that our as¬
semblage of resembling events will be the more extensive
as the number of resembling circumstances is smaller 5
and thus we shall have kingdoms, classes, orders, genera,
and species of phenomena, which are expressed by phy¬
sical laws of all those different ranks.
It has been already observed, that this observation of
physical laws is always accompanied by a reference ot
that uniformity of event to a natural bond of union be¬
tween the concomitant facts which is conceived by us a3
the cause of this concomitancy -, and therefore this pro¬
cedure of the philosopher is considered as the d.scovery
of those causes, that is, the discovery of those powers of
natural substances which constitute their physical rela¬
tions and may justly be called their distinguishing qua-
/zS ox properties. This view of the matter gives rise-
to a new nomenclature and language. W e give to those
powers generic names, such ^sensibility, intelligence
irritability, gravity, elasticity, fluidity, magnetism, &c.
These terms, without exception, mark resembling ci£
cumstances of event -, and no other definition can be
given of them but a description of these circumstances.
In a few cases which have been the subjects of more
painful or refined discussion, we have proceeded farther
in this abbreviation of language.
We have framed the verb “ to gravitate,” and he
verbal noun “ gravitation,” which purely expresses the
fact, the phenomenon -, but is conceived to express the
operation or energy of the cause or natuia po .
if of importance to keep in mind this metaphysical ^
mark on these terms -, for a want of attention to the
pure meaning of the words has frequently occasioned
very great mistakes in philosophical science.
We may with propriety call this part of the p 11 -
pher’s employment AitioloGY. > AiLology
We shall give an instance of its most successful p-
plication to the class of events already adduced as an
example of philosophic history or phenomenology.
' Kepler, a celebrated Prussian astronomer, having ma¬
turely considered the phenomena recorded m the tables
and observations of his predeccssors discoveie , a 5^
all the varieties of the niotmns, ffirce encum K p
stances of resemblance, which are now y stance.
nanKe pCnetdS;scnbe ellipses, having the s„n in
one foe )1; • s describes b, a planet in the <hf-
ferentj parts of its orbit, are proportional to the times of
aescription. es ^ ^ periodic times are propor¬
tional to the cnbes of the mean distances from the
sun.
By
View of By this observation or discovery, the study of the pla-
Bacoii’s netary motions were greatly promoted, and the calcula-
riiilo-opliy. tion of their appearances was now made with a facility
L ’ and an accuracy which surpassed all hopes : for the cal¬
culation of the place of a planet at any proposed instant
was reduced to the geometrical problem of cutting off
an area from an ellipse of known dimensions, which
should bear the same proportion to the whole area, as
the time for whose duration the motion is required,
has to the known time of a complete revolution.
Long after this discovery of Kepler, Sir IsaacNewton
found that these lawTs of Kepler w’ere only particular
Compre- cases ot a fact or law still more general. He found that
Iiended un-the deflections 0f the planets from uniform rectilineal
more ffene motion were al! directed to the sun j and that thesimul-
ral law, taneous deflections were inversely proportional to the
squares of the distances from that body.
Ihus was established a physical law of vast extent:
but further observation showed him, that the motion of
every body of the solar system was compounded of an
original motion of projection, combined with a deflection
towards every other body; and that the simultaneous
deflections were proportional to the quantity of matter
in the body towards which they were directed, and to
the reciprocal of the square of the distance from it. Thus
W'as the law made still more general. He did not stop
here. He compared the deflection of the moon in her
orbit with the simultaneous deflection of a stone thrown
from the hand, and describing a parabola 5 and he found
that they followed the same Jaw, that is, that the de¬
flection of the moon in a second, wras to that of the stone
in the same time, as the square of the stone’s distance
from the centre of the earth, to the square of the moon’s
distance from it. Hence he concluded, that the deflec¬
tion of a stone from a straight line was just a particular
instance of the deflections which took place through the
whole solar system.
ailed gra- . The deflection of a stone is one of the indications it
itation. gives of its being or heavy j whence he calls it
gravitation. He therefore expresses the physical law
winch obtains through the whole solar system, by saying
that “ every body gravitates to every other body ; and
the gravitations are proportional to the quantity of mat¬
ter in that other body, and inversely proportional to the
square of the distance from it.”
Thus we see how the arrangement of the celestial
phenomena terminated in the discovery of physical laws j
and that the expression of this arrangement is the law
itself.
Since the fall of a heavy body is one instance of the
physical law, and since this fall is considered by all as
the eftect of its weighty and this weight is considered as
the cause of the fall, the same cause is assigned for all
the deflections observed in the solar system } and all the
matter in it is found to be under the influence of this
cause, or to be heavy: and thus his doctrine has been
denominated the system of universal gravitation.
Philosophers, have gone farther, and have supposed
that gravity is a power, property, or quality, residing
m all the bodies of the solar system. Sir Isaac Newton
does not expressly say so, at least in that work where lie
gives an account of these discoveries. He contents him¬
self with the immediate consequence of the first axiom
m natural philosophy, viz. that every body remains in a
state of rest, or of uniform rectilineal motion, unless af-
Vol. XVI. Part I. f
P H I L 0 S O P H Y
385
fected by some moving force. Since the bodies of the View of
solar system are neither in a state of rest, nor of uni- Bacon’s
form rectilineal motion, they must be considered as so Pbilosopl y.
affected ; that is, that there operates on every one of * v" J
them a moving force, directed towards all the others,
and having the proportions observed in the deflection. ^
Other philosophers have endeavoured to show, that Attempt*
this general fact, detected by Sir Isaac Newton, is in-to.indude
eluded in another still more general, viz. that every bo- ^ ,lafv
dy moves which is impelled by another body in motion, puise^1M
They assert, that all the bodies of the solar system are
continually impelled by a fluid which they call ether^
which is moving in all places, and in all directions, or
in circular vortices, and hurries along with it the planets
and all heavy bodies. It would seem that the familiari¬
ty of motion produced by impulse, at least in those in¬
stances in which our own exertions are most employed,
lias induced philosophers to adopt such notions; per¬
haps, too, they are influenced by an obscure and indi¬
stinct notion affixed to the term action, as applied to
changes in t*ie material world, and which has given rise
to an axiom, “ that a body cannot act at a distance, or
where it is not j” and thus have thought themselves ob¬
liged to look out for an immediate and contiguous agent
in all those phenomena.
But the philosophers who profess to be most scrupu¬
lous in their adherence to the rules of philosophic discus¬
sion, deny the legitimacy of this pretended investigation
of causes, saying that this doctrine is in direct opposi¬
tion to the procedure of the mind in acquiring the know¬
ledge of causes Since the/ac* of impulse is not really s,
observed in the celestial de flections, nor in the motions whilst im-
of heavy bodies, the law cannot be inferred. They say Pulse ltself
that it is not even necessary to show that the phenomena,s nc\er okr
of vhe celestial motions are unlike the phenomena of im-*50'6 ’
pulse, although this can be done in the completest man¬
ner. It is enough that neither the fluid nor the impulse
are observed and therefore they are in the right when
they assert, that there is inherent in, or accompanies all
the bodies of the system, a power by which they deflect
to one another. See Optics.
The debate is foreign to our present purpose, which
is only to show how the observation and arrangement of
phenomena terminates in the discovery of their causes,
or the discovery ot the powers or properties of natural
substances.
This is a task of great difficulty, as it is of great
importance. There are two chief causes of this diffi¬
culty.
I. In most of the spontaneous phenomena of nature
there is a complication of many events, and some of them
escape our observation. Attending only to the most ob¬
vious or remarkable, we conjoin these only in our ima¬
gination, and are apt to think these the concomit&iif
events in nature, the proper indication of the cause, and the difficul-
the subjects of this philosophical relation, and to suppose ty of philo-
that they are always conjoined by nature. Thus it was sophieal in-
thought that there resided in a vibrating chord a powerYeslisRtioH’
by which the sensation of sound was excited, or that a
chord had a sounding quality. But it appears clearly
from observation that there is an inconceivable number
of events interposed between the vibration of the chord
and the sensitive affection of our ear 5 and therefore, that
sound is not the effect of the vibration of the chord, but
of the very last event of this series: and this is coin-
3 ^ pletely
5*
Means oi
insuring
success.
386 PHILO
View of pletely demonstrated by showing that the vibration and
Bacon’s the sound are not necessarily connected, because they are
Philosophy. not always connected, but require the interposition ot
' air or of some other elastic body.
These observations show the necessity of the most ac¬
curate and minute observation of the phenomena, that
none of those intermediate events may escape us, and we
be thus exposed to the chance of imaginary connections
between events which are really far asunder in the pro¬
cedure of nature. As the study has improved, mistakes
of this kind have been corrected •, and philosophers are
careful to make their trains of events under one name as
short as possible. Thus, in medicine, a drug is no long¬
er considered as a specific remedy for the disease which
is sometimes cured when it has been used, but is deno¬
minated by its most immediate operation on the ani¬
mal frame : it is no longer called a. febrifuge, but a su-
dorific. . , . •
2. When many natural powers combine their in¬
fluence in a spontaneous phenomenon of nature, it is fre-
ciuently very difficult to discover what part of the com¬
plicated effect is the effect of each } and to state those
circumstances of similarity which are the foundation of a
physical law, or entitle us to infer the agency of any na¬
tural power. The most likely method for insuring suc¬
cess in such cases is to get rid of this complication o
event, by putting the subject into such a situation that
the operation of all the known powers of nature shall be
suspended, or so modified as we may perfectly understand
their effects. We can thus appreciate the effects ot
such as we could neither modify nor suspend, or we can
discover the existence of a new law, the operation ot a
new power. . , j * r u
This is called making an experiment; and is, of all,
the most effectual way of advancing in the knowledge
of nature, and has been called EXPERIMENTAL PHILO-
SOPHY. . .
It seems, however, at first sight, in direct opposition
to the procedure of nature in forming general laws.
These are formed by induction from multitudes oi mdi-
1 vidual facts, and must be affirmed to no greater extent
A seeming than the induction on which they are founded. Yet it
anomaly is a matter of fact, a physical law of human thought,
explained. t|iat one simple, clear, and unequivocal experiment,
gives us the most complete confidence in the truth ot a
general conclusion from it to every similar case. hence
This anomaly ? It is not an anomaly or contradiction of
the general maxim of philosophical investigation, but the
most refined application of it. There is no law more
general than this, that “ Nature is constant in all her
operations.” The judicious and simple form ot our ex¬
periment insures se (we imagine) in the complete know¬
ledge of all the circumstances of the event. Lpon this
supposition, and this alone, we consider the experiment
as the faithful representative of every possible case ot the
conjunction. This will be more minutely considered af¬
terwards. . . ,
The last branch of philosophic occupation is the ex-
i_ _f —o ompna. This IS nothlfll
SOPHY.
5*
Theory or
explanation planation of subordinate phenomena. This is nothing
*f subordi- more than the referring any particular phenomenon to
nate pheno-c|ass jn which it is included j or, in the language
of philosophy, it is the pointing out the general law, or
that general fact of which the phenomenon is a particu¬
lar instance. Thus the feeling of the obligations of vir¬
tue is thought to be explained, when it is shown to be a
4
saena.
particular case of that regard which every person has lor View of
his dearest interests. The rise of water in pumps is ex- ^Baeo.1,
plained, when we show it to be a particular case o ie ;
pressure of fluids, or of the air. The general law un¬
der which we show it to be properly arranged is called
the principle of the explanation, and the explanation
itself is called the theory of the phenomenon. I bus
Euler’s explanation of the lunar irregularities is called a
theory of the lunar motions on the principle of gravita¬
tion. , .
This may be done either in order to advance our own
knowledge of nature, or to communicate it to others.
If done with the first view, we must examine the pheno¬
menon minutely, and endeavour to detect every circum¬
stance in it, and thus discover all the known laws ot na¬
ture which concur in its production 5 we then appreciate
the operation of each according to the circumstances oi
its exertion ; we then combine all these, and compare
the result with the phenomenon. If they are similar,
we have explained the phenomenon. We cannot give a
better example than Franklin’s explanation ot the phe¬
nomena of thunder and lightning. See Lightning, and
Electricity Index. . .
If we explain a phenomenon from known principles,
we proceed synthetically from the general law already
established and known to exert its influence in the pre¬
sent instance. We state this influence both in kind and
degree according to the circumstances of the case j and
having combined them, we compare the result with the
phenomenon, and show their agreement, and thus it is
explained. Thus, because all the bodies of the solar sys¬
tem mutually gravitate, the moon gravitates to the sun
as well as to the earth, and is continually, and in a cer¬
tain determinate manner, deflected from that part which
she would describe did she gravitate only to the earth.
Her motion round the earth will be retarded during the
first and third quarters of her orbit, and accelerated du¬
ring the second and fourth. Her orbit and her period
will be increased during our winter, and diminished du¬
ring our summer. Her apogee will advance, and her
nodes will recede*, and the inclination of her orbit will
be greatest when the nodes are in syzigee, and least when
they are in quadrature. And all these variations will be
in certain precise degrees. Then we show that all these
things actually obtain the lunar motions, and they axe
considered as explained. < , , ,
This summary account of the object and employment
in all philosophical discussion is sufficient for pointing out
its place in the circle of the sciences, and will serve cO
direct us to the proper methods of prosecuting d W1 *
success. Events are its object *, and they are considered
as connected with each other by causation, which may
therefore be called the philosophical relation ot things.
The following may be adopted as the fundamental pro¬
position on which all philosophical discussion proceed ,
and under which every philosophical discussion or disco
"S' Zlfclmpt, we observe in tbe s,a,eor confnZ*
tion of things is cossidesed by us as an #cf>
eating the agency, characterising the kind, and de er losophi(;ai
minins the degree of its inferred cause. discussion
Z thW enounced, this proposition is ev.dently a pi y-
sical law of human thought. It may be enounced as
necessaryand independent truth, by every change
in the state and condition of things is an effect, & ^
PHILOS
Wou'ers of
Man.
View ct And accordingly it has been so enounced by Dr Reid* j
PMostnhy aiK^ *ts t‘t^e to t*“s has been abundantly
■ ‘ t '■ supported by him. But we have no occasion to consi-
n Essays der it as possessing this quality. We are speaking of
m the In- philosophy, which is something contingent, depending
elleetml on t]ie exjstence and constitution of an intellectual
being such as man ; and, in conformity to the view
which we have endeavoured to give of human knowledge
in the subjects of philosophical relation, it is quite suf¬
ficient for our purpose that we maintain its title to the
rank of an universal law of human thought. This will
make it a first principle, even although it may not be a
necessary truth.
All the proof necessary for this purpose is universa¬
lity of fact; and we believe this to be without excep¬
tion. We are not to expect that all mankind have made,
or will ever make, a formal declaration of their opinion 5
but we may venture to say that all have made it, and
continually do make it, virtually. What have the phi¬
losophers of all ages been employed about but the disco¬
very of the causes of those changes that are incessantly
going on ? Nil turpius plnjsico (says Cicero) quam fieri
sine causa quidquam dicere. Human curiosity has been
directed to nothing so powerfully and so constantly as to
this Many absurd causes have been assigned for the
phenomena of the universe ; but no set of men have
ever said that they happened without a cause. This is
so repugnant to all our propensities aud instincts, that
even the atheistical sect, who, of all others, would have
profited most by the doctrine, have never thought of
advancing it. To avoid so shocking an absurdity, they
have rather allowed that chance, that the concourse of
atoms, are the causes of the beautiful arrangements of
nature. The thoughtless vulgar are no less solicitous
than the philosophers to discover the cause of things ;
and the poet expresses the natural and instinctive pas¬
sion of all men, when he says,
Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas.
And this anxiety is not to nourish, but to get rid of su¬
perstitious fears : for thus
•    meins omnes, et incxorabile fatum
Subjecit pcdibus, strcpitumque Acherontis avari.
Had men never speculated, their conduct alone gives
sufficient evidence of the universality of the opinion.
The whole conduct of man is regulated by it, nay, al¬
most wholly proceeds upon it, in the most important
matters, and where experience seems to leave us in
doubt: and to act otherwise, as if any tiling whatever
happened without a cause, would be a declaration of in¬
sanity. Dr Reid has beautifully illustmted this truth,
by observing, that even a child will laugh at you if you
try to persuade him that the top, which he misses from
the place where he left it, was taken away by nobody.
^ on may persuade him that it was taken away by a
fairy or a spirit; but he believes no more about this no¬
body, than the master of the house when he is told that
nobody was the author of any piece of theft or mischief.
What opinion would be formed, says Dr Reid, of the
intellects of the juryman, on a trial for murder by per¬
sons unknown, who should say that the fractured skull,
the watch and money gone, and other like circum¬
stances, might possibly have no cause P he would be
pronounced insane or corrupted.
O P H Y. 387
We believe that Mr Hume is the first author who yjew 0f
has ventured to call the truth of this opinion in question ; Bacon’s
and even he does it only in the way of mere possibility. Philosophy.
He acknowledges the gcneralitij of the opinion ; and he v >
only objects to the foundation of this generality : and c0ntro-
he objects to it merely because it does not quadrate with verted by
his theory of belief 5 and therefore it may happen that Mr Hume
some men may have no such opinion. But it must be
observed on this occasion, that the opinion of a philoso¬
pher is of no greater weight in a case like this than that
of a plough boy. If it be a first principle, directing ths
opinions and actions of all, it must operate on the minds
of all. The philosopher is the only person who may
chance to be without it : for it requires much labour,
and long habits resolutely maintained, to warp our na¬
tural sentiments ; and experience shows us that they
may be warped if we are at sufficient pains. It is also
worthy of remark, that this philosopher seems as much
under the influence of this law as ordinary mortals. It
is only when he is aware of its not tallying with his 6
other doctrines that his scruples appear. Observe how with oreat
bespeaks when oft' his guard: “ As to those im pres-iaconsist-
sions which arise from the senses, their ultimate cause ency-
is, in my opinion, perfectly inexplicable by human rea¬
son ; and it will always be impossible to decide with
certainty whether they arise immediately from the ob¬
ject, are produced by the creative power of the mind,
or are derived from the Author of our being.”
Among these alternatives he never thought of their
not being derived from any cause.
But it is not enough to show that this is a physical
law of the human mind : we have assumed it as a first
principle, the foundation of a whole science ; therefore
not included in or derived from any thing more general.
Mr Hume’s endeavours to prove that it is not a neces¬
sary truth, show with sufficient evidence that most at¬
tempts to derive it in the way of argument are petitiones
pnncipii 5 a thing very commonly met with in all at- 6z
tempts to prove first principles. It cannot be proved This pro-
by induction of facts that every event has a cause, be-Poshion a
cause induction always supposes an observed fact or fifst Prin'
event. Now in by far the greatest number of events ^iVof
the causes are unknown. Perhaps in no event what-proof. °
ever do we know the real cause, or that power or
energy which, without any intervention, produces the
effect. No man can say, that in ‘the simplest event
which he ever observed, he was fully apprised of every
circumstance which concurred to its production. We
suppose that no event in nature can be adduced more
simple than the motion of a suspended glass ball when
gently struck by another glass ball ; and we, imagine
that most of our readers will say that he perfectly sees
every thing which happens in this phenomenon. We
believe, too, that most of our readers are of opinion
that a body is never put in motion but by the impulse
of another, except in the cases of animal motion ; and
that they are disposed to imagine that magnets put iron
in motion, and that an electrified body moves another,
by means of an interposed though invisible fluid some¬
how circulating round them. Now we must inform such
readers, that unless the stroke has been very smart, so
smart indeed as to shatter the glass balls, the motion of
the suspended ball was produced without impulse, that
is, the two balls were not in contact during the stroke ;
and the distance between them was not less than the
3 C 2 9000th
388 PHILO
View of 9000th part of an inch, and probably much greater.
Bacon’s \Ve must say farther, that it is not certain that even the
Philosophy m0st violent stroke, such as would shatter them to pieces,
v ' is enough to bring them into real contact. . The proofs
of this singular position are too long for this place 5 but
the evidence will be sufliciently seen by consulting the
article Optics.
Unless, therefore, our readers are willing to allow
that the suspended ball was put in motion by a repul¬
sive foice inherent in one or both balls, they must ac¬
knowledge that they do not tully know all the circum¬
stances of this so simple phenomenon, or all the train
of events which happen in it j and therefore they aie
reduced to the necessity of supposing, although they donot
see it, an intervening fluid or matter, by the immediate
action of whose orf/ozWwg particles the motion is produced.
This being the case in the simplest phenomenon that
we can pitch upon, what shall we say of the numberless
multitudeswhich are incomparably more complex: Must
we not acknowledge that the efficient causes, even in the
vulgar sense of the word, the immediately preceding
events, are unknown, because the conjunctions are not
observed ? and therefore it cannot be said that it is frona
experimental induction that this truth gains universal
belief. Experience, so far from supporting it as a direct
proof, seems rather the strongest argument against it j
for we have no experiment of unquestionable authority
but the narrow circle of our own power exerted on our
thoughts and actions. And even here there are perhaps
cases of change where we cannot say with certainty
that we perceive the efficient cause.
Nothing seems to remain, therefore, but to allow that
this physical law of human judgment is instinctive, a
constituent of the human soul, a first principle j and in¬
capable of any other proof than the appeal to the feel¬
ings of every man. .
Simply to say, that every change is considered as an
effect, is not giving the whole characters of this physical
law. 'The cause is not always, perhaps never, observed,
observed a but is inferred from the phenomena. The inference is
but inferred therefore in every instance dependant on the phenomenon,
from the The phenomenon is to us the language of nature : It is
phenomena tj]erefore tlie sole indication of the cause and of its agen-
whieh are _ ^ .g therefore the indication of the very cause, and
of no other. The observed change therefore character
ises the cause and marks its kind. This is confirmed by
everv word of philosophical language, where, as has al¬
ready been observed, the names of the interred powers
of nature are nothing but either abbreviated descriptions
of the phenomena, or terms which are defined sole y y
such descriptions. In like manner, the phenomenon de¬
termines the cause in a particular degree, and in no other *,
and we have no immediate measure ot the degree of the
cause but the phenomenon itself. We take many mea¬
sures of the cause, it is truebut on examination they
will be found not to be immediate measures ot the cause,
but of the effect. Assuming gravitation as the cause ot
the planetary deviations from uniform rectilineal motion,
we sav that the gravitation of the moon is but
part of the gravitation of a stone thrown from the hand,
but we say this only from observing that the deflection
of the stone is 3600 times greater than the simultaneous
deflection of the moon. In short, our whole knowledge
of the cause is not onlv founded on our knowledge of the
phenomenon, but it is the same. This will be found a
6.3
Causes not
observed j
the lan¬
guage of
suture.
SOPHY.
remark of immense consequence in the prosecution of view of
philosophical researches j and a strict attention to it will Bacon’s
not only guard us against a thousand mistakes into which Philosophy,
the reasoning pride of man would continually lead, us,
but will also enable us fully to detect many egregious
and fatal blunde-s made in consequence of this philoso¬
phical vanity. Nothing can be more evident than that
whenever we are puzzled, it would be folly to continue
groping among those obscure beings called causes, when
we have their prototypes, the phenomena themselves, in
our hands. . . ..
Such is the account which may be given ot philo¬
sophy, the study of the works of God, as related by
causation. It is of vast extent, reaching from an atom
to the glorious Author of the Universe, and contem-
platino- the whole connected chain of intelligent, sensi¬
tive, and inanimate beings. T-he philosopher makes use
of the descriptions and arrangements of the natural histo-
rian as of njighty use to himself in the beginning oi lu^
career, confiding in the uniformity of nature, and ex¬
pecting that similarity in the quiescent properties of
things will be accompanied by some resemblances m
those more important properties which constitute their
mutnal dependencies, linking them together in a great
and endlessly ramified chain of events. . .
We have endeavoured to ascertain with precision the
peculiar province of philosophy, both by means of its
object and its mode of procedure. Alter tins it will
not require many words to point out the methods tor
prosecuting the study with expedition and with successw
The rules of philosophizing, which Newton premises
to his account of the planetary motions, winch he so
scrupulously followed, and with a success which gives
them great authority, are all in strict conformity to t le
view we have now given ot the subject. ^
The chief rule is, that similar causes are to be assign-The chi£f
ed to similar phenomena. This is indeed the source otniie of phi
all our knowledge of connected nature 5 and without itlosophising
the universe would only present to us an mcomprehen-explain*.
sible chaos. It is by no means, however, necessary to
enjoin this as a maxim for our procedure : it is an in¬
stinctive propensity of the human mind. It is absolutely
necessary, on the contrary, to caution us in the applica¬
tion of this propensity. We must he extremely confident
in the certainty of the resemblance before we venture to
make any inference. We are prone to reason trom ana¬
logy : the very employment is agreeable ; and we are
ever disposed to embrace opportunities ot engaging m it.
For this reason we are satisfied with very slight resemb¬
lances, and eagerly run over the consequences, as it the
resemblance were complete •, and our researches irc-
quently terminate in falsehood. # . • i 1 1
This propensity to analogical reasoning is aided by
another equally strong, and equally useful, when pro¬
perly directed ^ we mean the propensity to form ge¬
neral laws : it is in fact a propensity to discover causes,
which is equivalent to the establishing of general laws.
It appears in another form, and is called a love o or
taste for simplicity j and this is encouraged or jus titled
as agreeable to the uniformity and simplicity ofnatme.
“ Natura semper sibi similis et consona,” says Newton ,
“ Frustra fit per plura, quo fieri potest per pauciora,
savs another. The beautiful the wise economwofina-
ture, are phrases in every body’s mouth j and N.e"t0"
enjoins us to adopt no more causes than are sufficient 0
«s
! true
i use ex-
.iued.
PHILO
i View of explain the phenomena. All this is very well, and is
Bacon s true in its own degree j but it is too frequently the sub-
jttilosophy. terfuge of human vanity and self-love. This inordinate
v admiration of the economy and simplicity of nature is
generally conjoined with a manifest love of system, and
with the actual production of some new system, where
from one general principle some extensive theory or ex¬
planation is deduced and offered to the world. The au¬
thor sees a sort of resemblance between a certain series
of phenomena and the consequences of some principle,
and thinks the principle adequate to their explanation.
Then, on the authority of the acknowledged simplicity
of nature, he roundly excludes all other principles of
explanation j because, says he, this principle is sufficient,
“ et frustra fit per plura,” &c. We could point out
many instances of this kind in the writings of perhaps
the first mathematician and the poorest philosopher of
this century $ where extensive theories are thus cava¬
lierly exhibited, which a few years examination have
shown to be nothing but analogies, indistinctly observ¬
ed, and, what is worse, inaccurately applied.
To regulate these hazardous propensities, and keep
philosophers in the right path, Newton inculcates an¬
other rule, or rather gives a modification of this injunc¬
tion ol simplicity. He enjoins that no cause shall be
admitted but what is real. His words are, that no causes
shall be admitted but such as are true, and sufficient to
account for the phenomena. We apprehend' that the
meaning ot this rule has been mistaken by manv philoso¬
phers, who imagine that by true he means causes which
really exist in nature, and are not mere creatures of the
imagination. We have met with some who would boggle
at the doctrines of Aristotle respecting the planetary
motions, viz. that they are carried along by conducting
intelligent minds, because we know of none such in the
universe j and who would nevertheless think the doctrine
of the Cartesian vortices deserving of at least an exami¬
nation, because we see such vortices exist, and produce
effects which have some resemblance to the planetary
motions, and have justly rejected them, solely because
this resemblance has been very imperfect. We appre¬
hend Newton’s meaning by these words is, that no cause
of any event shall be admitted, or even considered,
which we do not know to be actually concurring or ex¬
erting some influence in that very event. If this be his
meaning, he would reject the Cartesian vortices, and
the conducting spirits of Aristotle, for one and the same
reason ; not because they were not adequate to the ex¬
planation, nor because such causes do not exist in nature,
but because rve did not see them anyhow concerned in
the phenomenon under consideration. We neither see
a spirit nor a vortex, and therefore need not trouble
ourselves with enquiring what effects they would pro¬
duce. Now we know that this was his very conduct,
and what has distinguished him from all philosophers
who preceded him, though many, by following his
example, have also been rewarded by similar success.
This has procured to Newton the character of the mo¬
desty philosopher j and modest his procedure may, for
distinction’s sake, be called, because the contrary pro¬
cedure ot others did not originate so much from igno¬
rance as from vanity. Newton’s conductor in this was
not modesty, but sagacity, prudence, caution, and to
say it purely, it was sound judgment.
l or the bonds of nature, the supposed philosophical
2
SOPH Y.
.389
causes are not observed; they are inferred from the phe- view of
nomena. When two substances are observed, and on- Bacon’s
ly when they are observed, to be connected in any se- Philosophy,
lies of events, we infer that they are connected 'by a ’ 
natural power : but when one of the substances is not
seen, but fancied, no law of human thought produces
any inference whatever. For this reason alone New¬
ton stopped short at the last FACT which he could dis¬
cover in the solar system, that all bodies were deflected
to all other bodies, according to certain regulations of
distance and quantity of matter. When told that he
had done nothing in philosophy, that he had discovered
no cause, and that to merit any praise he must show how
this deflection was produced j—he said that he knetv
no moie than he had told them 5 that he saw nothino-
causing this deflection 5 and was contented with having-
discovered it so exactly, that a good mathematician could
now make tables of the planetary motions as accurate as
he pleased, and with hoping in a few years to have every
purpose of navigation and of philosophical curiosity com¬
pletely answered j and he was not disappointed. And
when philosophers on all sides were contriving hypothe¬
tical fluids and vortices which would produce these de¬
flections, he contented himself with showing the total
inconsistency of these explanations with the mechanical
principles acknowledged by their authors 5 showing that
they had transgressed both parts of his rule, their causes
neither being real nor sufficient for explaining the phe¬
nomena. A cause is sufficient for explaining a phenome¬
non only when its legitimate consequences are perfectly
agreeable to these phenomena.
Newton’s discoveries remain without any diminution
or change no philosopher has yet advanced a step fur¬
ther.
But let not the authority,, or even the success, ofxhis^doc
Newton be our guide. Is his rule founded in reason ? trine found-
It surely is. lor if philosophy be the only interpret a- ed in rea-
tion of nature’s language, the inference of causes from5011-
the phenomena, a fancied or hypothetical phenomenon
can produce nothing but a fanciful cause, and can make
no addition to our knowledge of real nature.
All hypotheses therefore must be banished from phi¬
losophical discussion as frivolous and useless, administer¬
ing to vanity alone. As the explanation of any appear¬
ance is nothing but the pointing out the general fact, of
which this is a particular instance, a hypothesis can give 67
no explanation : knowing nothing of cause and effect Danger of
but the conjunction of twro events, we see nothing 0f'iyPolheses.
causation where one of the events is hypothetical. ^Al-
though all the legitimate consequences of a hypothetical
principle should be perfectly similar to the phenomenon,
it is extremely dangerous to assume this principle as the
real cause. It is illogical to make use ol the economy
of nature as an argument for the truth of any hypothe¬
sis : for if true, it is a physical truth, a matter of fact,
and true only to the extent in which it is observed, and
we are not entitled to say that it is so one step farther j
therefore not in this case till it be observed. But the
proposition that nature is so economical is false j and it
is astonishing that it has been so lazily acquiesced in by
the readers of hypotheses : for it is not the authors who
are deceived by it, they are generally led by their own
vanity. Nothing is more observable than the prodigious
variety ol nature. rl hat the some phenomena may be
produced by different means is well known to the astro-
PHILOSOPHY.
39°
View of nomers, wlio mast all grant, that the appearances of
Bacon’s motion will be precisely the same whether the earth
I hilosophy. moves round the sun like the other planets, or whether
v the sun with his attendant planets moves round the
earth and that the demonstration of the first opinion is
had from a fact totally unconnected with all the deflec¬
tions or even with their causes : for it may be asserted,
that Dr Bradley’s discovery of the aberration of the
fixed stars, in consequence of the progressive motion of
light, wras the first thing which put the Copernican sy¬
stem beyond question j, and even this is still capable of
being explained in another way. The Authoi of Nature
seems to delight in variety j and there cannot be named
a single purpose on which the most inconceivable ferti¬
lity in resource is not observed. It is the most delight¬
ful occupation of the curious mind and the sensible heait
to contemplate the various contrivances of nature in ac¬
complishing similar ends.
As a principle therefore on which to found any maxim
of philosophical procedure, this is not only injudicious,
because imprudent and apt to mislead, but as false, and
almost sure to mislead. In conformity to this observa¬
tion, it must be added, that nothing has done so much
harm in philosophy as the introduction of hypotheses.
Authors have commonly been satisfied with very
slight resemblances, and readers are easily misled by the
appearances of reasoning which these resemblances have
countenanced. rI he ancients, and above all Aristotle,
were much given to this mode of explanation, and ha\e
filled philosophy with absurdities. The slightest resem¬
blances were with them sufficient foundations of theories.
It has been by very slow degrees that men have learned
caution in this respect •, and w’e are sorry to say that we
are not yet cured of the disease of hypothetical systema¬
tizing, and to see attempts made by ingenious men to
bring the frivolous theories of antiquity again into
credit. Nay, modern philosophers even of the greatest
name are by no means exempted from the reproach of
hypothetical theories. Their writings abound in ethers,
nervous fluids, animal spirits, vortices, vibrations, and
other invisible agents. We may affirm that all these at¬
tempts may be shown to be either unintelligible, fruit¬
less, or false. Either the hypothesis has been such that
no consequence can be distinctly drawn from it, on ac¬
count of its obscurity and total want of resemblance to
any thing we know *, or the just and legitimate conse¬
quences of the hypothesis are inconsistent with the phe¬
nomena (n). This is remarkably the case in the hypo- Viewef !
theses which have been introduced for the explanation of Bacons
the mechanical phenomena of the universe. These can Phll^uP|»:
be examined by accurate science, and the consequences
compared without any mistake j and nothing else but a
perfect agreement should induce us even to listen to any
hypothesis watever.
It may here be asked, Whether, in the case of the
most perfect agreement, after the most extensive com¬
parison, the hypothesis should be admitted ? We believe
that this must be left to the feelings of the mind. W hen
the belief is irresistible, we can reason no more. But
as there is no impossibility of as perfect an agreement
with some other hypothesis, it is evident that it does not
convey an irrefragable title to our hypothesis. It is
said, that such an agreement authorises the reception of
the hypothetical theory in the same manner as we must
admit that to be the true cypher of a letter which will
make perfect sense of it. But this is not true : in decy¬
phering a letter we know the sounds which must be re¬
presented by the characters, and that they are ically the
constituents of speech : but in hypothetical explanations
the first principle is not known to exist; nay, it is pos¬
sible to make two cyphers, each of which shall give a
meaning to the letter. Instances of this are to be seen
in treatises on the art of decyphering; and there has
been lately discovered a national character (the ogam
discovered in Ireland) which has this property.
We conclude our criticism on hypothetical explana¬
tions with this observation, that it is impossible that they
can give any addition of knowledge. In every hypothe¬
sis we thrust in an intermediate event between the phe¬
nomenon and some general law } and this event is not
seen, but supposed. Therefore, according to the true
maxims of philosophical investigation, we give no ex¬
planation j for we are not by this means enabled to as¬
sign the general law in which this particular phenome¬
non is included : nay, the hypothesis makes no addition
to our list of general laws } for our hypotheses must be
selected, in order to tally with all the phenomena. The
hypothesis therefore is understood only and m the
phenomena •, and it must not be made more general than
the phenomena themselves. The hypothesis gives no
generalisation of facts. Its very application is founded
on a great coincidence of facts and the hypothetica
fact is thrust in between two which we really observe to
be united by nature. The applicability therefore of the
hypothesis
(N) It has often been matter of amusement to us to examine the hypothetical theories 0 l"gTn,0U . ’
observe the power of nature even when we are transgressing her commands, Naturam expellafft* . ' (jq
revertitur. The hypothesis of an ingenious man is framed in perfect conformity to nature’s die ates ? for youwill
find that the hypothetical cause is touched and retouched, like the first sitting of a picture, i i »
semble the phenomena, and the cause is still inferred, nay explained in spite of all his ingenuity [rom the Ph -
nomenon j Ld then, instead of desiring the spectators to pay him his due praise, .^ saying that the pmt
like the man, he insists that they shall say, what gives him no credit, that the man is like the picture.
this is seldom the case : The picture is generally an anamorphosis, unlike any thing extant ^ is on
parts totally incongruous. We have seen such pictures, where a wood is standing on tlie ■ * b yan ,e.
the end of an elephant’s trunk ; and vet when this was viewed through a proper glass, the wood bee. „ >
brow to the eye, and the proboscis was a very pretty ringlet of hair. We beg indulgence for this piece of levity,
because it is I most apposite illustration of a hypothetical theory. The resemblance between the pnne pk and
phenomenon is true only in detached unconnected scraps, and the principle ltselff1*;^1 '"^ThrexpLnation is
But by a perversion of the rules of logic, all these inconsistencies are put out of vi i , * P
•something like the phenomenon.
View of
Bacon’s
iiilosopii)'
6S
bn what
Occasions
Ikey may
i ie useful.
09
: mode
:iiloso-
? Hi pro-
««'re.
Iiypotlicsis is not more extensive than the similarity of
facts which we observe, and the hypothetical law is not
more general than the observed law. Let us then throw
away entirely the hypothetical law, and insert the ob¬
served one in our list of general laws : it will be in dif¬
ferent language from the hypothetical law, but it will
express the same facts in nature.
It is in experimental philosophy alone that hypothe¬
ses can have any just claim to admission ; and here they
are not admitted as explanations, but as conjectures
serving to direct our line of experiments.
Effects only appear ; and by their appearance, and
the previous information of experience, causes are im¬
mediately ascertained by the perfect similarity of the
whole train of events to other trains formerly observed:
Or they are suggested by more imperfect resemblances
of the phenomena ; and these suggestions are made with
stronger or fainter evidence, according as the resem¬
blance is more or less perfect. These suggestions do
not amount to a confidential inference, and only raise a
conjecture. Wishing to verify or overturn this conjec¬
ture, we have recourse to experiment j and we put the
subject under consideration in such a situation, that we
can say what will be the effect of the conjectural cause
if real. If this tallies with the appearance, our conjec¬
ture has more probability of truth, and we vary the si¬
tuation, which will produce a new set of effects of the
conjectured cause, and so on. It is evident that the
probability of our conjecture will increase with the in¬
crease of the conformity of the legitimate effects of the
supposed cause with the phenomena, and that it will be
entirely destroyed by one disagreement. In this way
conjectures have their great use, and are the ordinary
means by which experimental philosophy is improved.
But conjectural systems are worse than nonsense, filling
the mind with false notions of nature, and generally
leading us into a course of improper conduct when they
become principles of action. This is acknowledged even
by the abbettors of hypothetical systems themselves when
employed in overturning those of their predecessors, and
establishing their own : witness the successive maintain-
ers of the many hypothetical systems in medicine, which
have had their short-lived course within these two last
centuries.
Let every person therefore who calls himself a philo¬
sopher resolutely determine to reject all temptations to
this kind ol system-making, and let him never consider
any composition of this kind as any thing better than
the amusement of an idle hour.
After these observations, it cannot require much dis¬
cussion to mark the mode of procedure which will insure
progress in all philosophical investigations.
The sphere of our intuitive knowledge is very limited 5
and we must he indebted for the greatest part of our
intellectual attainments to our rational powers, and it
must be deductive. In the spontaneous phenomena of
nature, whether of mind or body, it seldom happens
that the energy of that natural power, which is the
principle of explanation, is so immediately connected
with the phenomenon that we see the connection at
once. Its exertions are frequently concealed, and in all
cases modified, by the joint exertions of other natural
powers : the particular exertion of each must be consi¬
dered apart, and their mutual connection traced out. It
is only in this way that we can discover the perhaps long
PHILOSOPHY.
train of intermediate operations, and also see in what
391
F
D
G
manner and degree the real principle tif explanation
concurs in the ostensible process of nature.
In all such cases it is evident that our investigation
(and investigation it most strictly is) must proceed by
steps, conducted by the sure hand of logical method,
lo take an instance from the material world, let us
listen to Galileo while he is teaching his friends the
cause of the rise of water in a pump. He says that it
is owing to the pressure of the air. This is his princi¬
ple j and he announces it in all its extent. All matter,
says he, is heavy, and in particular air is heavy. He
then points out the connection of this general principle
with the phenomenon. Air be- ^
ing heavy, it must be supported; VP
it must lie and press on what sup¬
ports it ; it must press on the sur¬
face AB of the water in the cis¬
tern surrounding the pipe CD of
the pump; and also on the water
C within this pipe. He then
takes notice of another general
principle which exerts its subor¬
dinate influence in this process.
Water is a fluid ; a fluid is a bo¬
dy whose parts yield to the smal¬
lest impression ; and, by yielding,
are easily moved among them¬
selves 5 and no little parcel of the
fluid can remain at rest unless it
be equally pressed in every direc¬
tion, hut will recede from that
side where it sustains the greatest
pressure. In consequence of this
fluidity, known to he a property
of water, if any part of it is pres¬
sed, the pressure is propagated
through the whole ; and if not
resisted on every side, the water
will move to that side where the
propagated pressure is not resisted.
All these subordinate or collate¬
ral propositions are supposed to he
previously demonstrated or allow¬
ed. Water therefore must yield
to the pressure of the air unless
pressed by it on every side, and
must move to that side where it
is not withheld by some opposite
pressure. He then proceeds to
show, from the structure of the
pump, that there is no opposing pressure on the water
in the inside of the pump. “ For (says he) suppose the
piston thrust down till it touches the surface of the water
in the pipe ; suppose the piston now drawn up by a
power sufficient to lift it, and all the air incumbent on
it ; and suppose it drawn up a foot or fathom there
remains nothing now (says he) that I know of, to press
on the surface of the water. In short (says he), gen¬
tlemen, it appears to me, that the, water in the pump is
in the same situation that it would he in were there no
air at all, hut water poured into the cistern to a height
AF: such, that the column of water FABG presses
on the surface AB as much as the air does. Now in
this case we know that the water at C is pressed up¬
wards.
View of
Bacon's
Philosophy.
392
View of
Bacon’s
Pliilosophy.
70
The syn¬
thetic me¬
thod.
PHILO
wards with a force equal to tlie weight of a column of
water, having the section of the pipe for its base ant
CH for its height. The water below C therefore will
be pressed up into the pipe CD, and will rise to G so
that it is on a level with the external water \ G •, that
is, it will rise to H. This is a necessary consequence
of the weight and pressure of the incumbent column
FABG, and the fluidity of the water in the cistern.
Consequences perfectly similar must necessarily follow
from the weight and pressure of the air j and therefore
on drawing up the piston from the surface C of the
water, with which it was in contact, the water must
follow it till it attain that height which will make its
own weight a balance for the pressure of the circum¬
ambient air. Accordingly, gentlemen, the Italian
plumbers inform me, that a pump will not raise water
quite fifty palms 5 and from their information I con¬
clude, that a pillar of water fifty palms high is some¬
what heavier than a pillar of air of the^same base, and
reaching to the top of the atmosphere. #
Thus is the phenomenon explained. The rise of the
■water in the pump is shown to be a particular case o
the general fact in hydrostatics, that fluids m commu¬
nicating vessels will stand at heights which are inverse¬
ly as their densities, or that columns of equal weights
are in equilibrio. . .
This way of proceeding is called arguing a priori,
the synthetic method. It is founded on just principles j
and the great progress which we have made m the ma¬
thematical sciences by this mode of reasoning shows to
what length it may be carried with irresistible evi¬
dence. It has long been considered as the only inlet
to true knowledge ; and nothing was allowed to be
known with certainty which could not be demonstra¬
ted in this way to be true. Accordingly logic, or the
art of reasoning, which was also called the art of dis¬
covering truth, was nothing hut a set of rules for suc¬
cessfully conducting this mode of argument. _
Under the direction of this infallible guide, it is not
surely unreasonable to expect that philosophy has made
sure progress towards perfection 5 and as we know tiat
the brightest geniuses of Athens and of Rome were lor
ages solely occupied in philosophical researches in every
path of human knowledge, it is equally reasonable to
suppose that the progress has not only been sure but
great. ' We have seen that the explanation ot an ap¬
pearance in nature is nothipg but the arrangement of
it into that general class in which it is comprehended.
The class has its distinguishing mark, which, when it
is found in the phenomenon under consideration, fixes
it in its class, there to remain for ever an addition to
our stock of knowledge. Nothing can be lost any other
way but by forgetting it ; and the doctrines ot philoso¬
phers must be stable like the laws of nature.
We have seen, however, that the very reverse of
all this is the case *, that philosophy has but very lately
emerged from worse than total darkness and ignorance ;
that what passed under the name of philosophy was
nothing but systems of errors (if systems they could be
called), which were termed doctrines, delivered vyith
the most imposing apparatus of logical demonstration,
but belied in almost every instance by experience, and
affording us no assistance in the application of the powers
of nature to the purposes of life. Nor will this excite
much wonder in the mind of the enlightened reader of
s O P H Y.
the present day, who reflects on the use that in this dia- Vfcw ol!
lectic process was made of the categories, and the me- BaconV
thod in which those categories were formed. From first ph‘losom
principles so vague in themselves, and so gratuitously
assumed, ingenious men might deduce many different
conclusions all equally erroneous : and that this was ac¬
tually done, no surer evidence can be given, than that
hardly a lifetime elapsed in which the whole system of
doctrines which had captivated the minds of the most
penetrating, have been oftener than once exploded and
overturned by another system, which flourished lor a
while, and then was supplanted by a third which shared
the same fate. Here was an infHllible proof ol their
error, for instability is incompatible with truth.
It is allowed by all that this has been the case in those
branches of study at least which contemplate the philo¬
sophical relations of the material world, m astronomy,
in mechanical philosophy, in chemistry, in physiology,
in medicine, in agriculture. It is also acknowledged,
that in the course of less than two centuries hack we
have acquired much knowledge on these very subjects,
call it philosophy, or by what name you will, so much
more conformable to the natural course of things, that
the deductions made from it by the same rules of the
synthetic method are more conformable to fact, and
therefore better fitted to direct our conduct and im¬
prove our powers. It is also certain that these bodies
of doctrine which go by the name of philosophical sys¬
tems, have much more stability than in ancient times *,
and though sometimes in part superseded, are seldom
or never wholly exploded.
This cannot perhaps he affirmed with equal confidence
with respect to these speculations which have our intel¬
lect or propensities for their object: and we have not
perhaps attained such a representation of human nature
as will bear comparison with the original j nor will the
legitimate deductions from such doctrines be of much
more service to us for directing our conduct than those
of ancient times: and while we observe this difference
between these two general classes of speculations, we
may remark, that it is conjoined with a difference in
the manner of conducting the study. We have pro¬
ceeded in the old Aristotelian method when investigat¬
ing the nature of mind } hut we see the material philo¬
sophers running about, passing much of their time away
frem books in the shop of the artizan, or in the open
fields engaged in observation, labouring with their
hands, and busy with experiments. But the speculatist
on the intellect and the active powers of the human
soul seems unwilling to be indebted to any thing but Ins
own ingenuity, and his labours are confined to the closet.
In the first class, we have met with something like sue-
cess, and we have improved many arts: m the other’^tj1"
it is to be feared that we are not much wiser, or better,
or happier, for all our philosophic attainments.
Here, therefore, must surely have been some great,
some fatal mistake. There has indeed been a material
defect in our mode of procedure, in the employnient 0
this method of reasoning as an inlet to truth. Ihe tact
is, that philosophers have totally mistaken the road ot
discovery, and have pretended to set out in their in¬
vestigation from the very point where this journey
should have terminated. .. . . . ^
The Aristotelian logic, the syllogistic art, that art
so much boasted of as the only inlet to true knowledge.
\
PHILO
View of the Only means of discovery, is In direct opposition to
Bacon’s the ordinary procedure of nature, by which we every
!>llllosop 1-v; day> antl in every action of our lives, acquire know-
^ ledge and discover truth. It is not the art of discover-
But the ing truth, it is the art of communicating knowledge,
art of com- and of detecting error : it is nothing more than tiie apl
plication of this maxim, ‘ whatever is true of a whole
° 1 class of objects, is true of each individual of that class.’
Jjiis is not a just account of the art ol discovering truth,
noi is it a complete account of the art of reasoning.
Reasoning is the producing belief; and whatever mode
of argumentation invariably and irresistibly produces'be¬
lief, is reasoning. I he ancient logic supposes that all
the first principles are already known, and that nothing
is wanted but the application of them to particular facts.
But were this tiue, the application of them, as we have
aheady observed, can hardly be called a discovery 5 but
it is not true 5 and the fact is, that the first principles
are generally the chief objects ol our research, and that
they have come into view only now and then as it were
by accident, and never by the labour of the logician.
He indeed can tell us whether we have been mistaken j
for if our general principle be true, it must influence
every particular case. If, therefore, it be false in any
Cne of these, it is not a true principle. And it is here
that we discover the source of that fluctuation which is
so much complained of in philosophy. The authors of
systems give a set of consecutive propositions logically
deduced from a first principle, which has been hastily
adopted, and has no foundation in natute. This does
not hinder the amusement of framing a system from it,
tior this system from pleasing by its symmetry j and it
takes a run : but when some officious follower thinks of
making some use of it, Which requires the comparison
with experience and observation, they are found totally
unlike, and the whole fabric must be abandoned as un¬
sound : and thus the successive systems were continually
pushing out their predecessors, and presently met with
the same treatment.
How was this to be remedied P The ratiocination was
Seldom egregiously wrong; the syllogistic art had ere
now attained a degree of perfection which left little
room for improvement, and was so familiarly understood
by the philosophical practitioners, that they seldom com¬
mitted any great blunders. Must we examine the first
principles? This was a task quite new in science; and
there were hardly any rules in the received systems of
logic to direct us to the successful performance of it.
Aristotle, the sagacious inventor of those rules, had not
totally omitted it; hut in the fervour of philosophic spe¬
culation he had made little use of them. His fertile ge¬
nius never was at a loss for first principles, which an¬
swered the purpose of verbal disquisition without milch
risk of being belied on account of its dissimilitude to na¬
ture ; for there was frequently no prototype with which
his systematic doctrine could be compared. His enthu¬
siastic followers found abundant amusement iri following
Ins example; and philosophy, no longer in the hands
of men acquainted with the world, conversant in the
great hook of nature, was now confined almost entirely
to Vecluse monks, equally ignorant of men and of things.
But curiosity was awakened, and the men of genius
were fretted as well as disgusted with the disquisitions
of the schools, which one moment raised expectations bv
Vol. XVI. Part I. f
SOPH Y.
the symmetry of composition,
, S9S
. . , ;-r J And the next moment vw m-
blasted them by their inconsistency with experience. Bacon’s
icy saw that the best way was to begin r/e novo, to Philosophy.
throw away the first principles altogether, without ex-  
ception or examination, and endeavour to find out new
ones, which should stand the test of logic ; that is, should
in every casfe be agreeable to fact.
Philosophers began to reflect, that under the unno-The no¬
ticed tuition of kind nature we have acquired muchot'in-
uselul knowledge; It is therefore highly probable thafduc,ion
her method is the most proper for acquiring knowledge f°int*d °ut
and that by imitating her manner we shall have the like ' ^ ^
success. We are too apt to slight the occupations of
Children, whom we may observe continually busy turn¬
ing every thing over and over, putting them into every
situation, and at every distance. We excuse it, saying
that it is an innocent amusement; but we should say
with an ingenious philosopher (Dr Reid), that they are
most seriously and rationally employed : they are ac¬
quiring the habits of observation; and by merely indulg¬
ing an undetermined curiosity, they are making them¬
selves acquainted with surrounding objects: tiny arO
struck by similitudes, and amused with mere classifica¬
tion. If some new effect occurs from any of their little
plays, they are eager to repeat it. When a child has
for the first time tumbled a spoon from the table, and is
pleased with its jingling noise on the floor, if another
he within its reach, it is sure to share the same fate.
H the child be indulged in this diversion, it will repeat
it with greediness that deserves our attention. The very-
first eager repetit ion shows a confidence in the constancy
of natural operations, which we can hardly ascribe whol¬
ly to experience ; and its keenness to repeat the experi¬
ment, shows the interest which it takes in the exercise
of this most useful propensity. It is beginning the study
of nature; and its occupation is the same with that of a
Newton computing the motions of the moon by his sub¬
lime theory, and comparing his calculus with observa¬
tion. 1 he child and the philosopher are equally employ¬
ed in the contemplation of a similarity of event, and
are anxious that this similarity shall return. The child,
it is true, thinks not of this abstract object of contem¬
plation, but throws down the spoon again to have the
pleasure of hearing it jingle. The philosopher suspects
that the conjunction of events is the consequence of a
general law of nature, and tries an experiment where
this conjunction recurs. The child is happy, and eager
to enjoy a pleasure which to us appears highly frivolous;
but it has the same foundation with the pleasure of the
philosopher, who rejoices in the success of his experi¬
ment : and the fact, formerly a trifle to both, now ac¬
quires importance. Both go on repeating the experi¬
ment, till the fact ceases to be a novelty to either: the
child is satisfied, and the philosopher has now established
a new Jaw of nature.
Such (says this amiable philosopher) is the education
of "kind nature, who from the beginning to the end of
our lives makes the play of her scholars their most in¬
structive lessons, and has implanted in our mind the cu¬
riosity and the inductive propensity by which we are en¬
abled and disposed to learn them. The exercise of this
inductive principle, by which nature prompts us to in¬
fer general laws from the observation of particular facts,
gives us ai species of logic new in the schools, but old
3 H •>'.,as
394 PHILO
View of as human nature. It is certainly a method of discoveiy ,
Bacon’s for by these means general principles, formerly unknown,
Philosophy, have corne into view. „ . . - , ,
1 It is a just and rational logic j for it is founded on,
and indeed is only the habitual application of, this max¬
im “ That whatever is true with respect to every indi¬
vidual of a class of events, is true of the whole class.
This is just the inverse of the maxim on which the An-
stotelian logic wholly proceeds, and is of equal authority
in the court of reason. Indeed the expression of the ge¬
neral law is only the abbreviated expression ot every
PaTbis1 n^wto^c^therefore, or the logic of induction,
must not be considered as subordinate to the old, or
founded on it. See Logic, Part III. chap. 5. In fact,
the use and legitimacy of the Aristotelian logic is found¬
ed on the inductive,
AH animals are mortal j
All men are animals j therefore
All men are mortal.
This is no argument to any person who chooses to
deny the mortality of man ; even although he acknow-
ledges his animal nature, he will deny the major pro-
75
Its chief
xule
for disco
vering ge
It is beside our purpose to show, how a point so ge¬
neral, so congenial to man, and so familiar, remained
so long unnoticed, although the disquisition is curious
and satisfactory. It was not till within these two cen¬
turies that the increasing demand for practical know¬
ledge, particularly in the arts, made inquisitive men see
how useless and insufficient was the learning of the schools
in any road of investigation which was connected with
life and business j and observe that society had received
useful information chiefly from persons actually engaged
in the arts which the speculists were endeavouring to
illustrate; and that this knowledge consisted chiefly ot
experiments and observations, the only contributions
which their authors could make to science. <
The Novum Organum of Bacon, which points out the
true method of forming a body ot real and useful know¬
ledge, namely, the study of nature in the way of de¬
scription, observation, and experiment, is undoubtedly
the noblest present that science ever received, it may
be considered as the grammar of nature’s language, and
is a counter-part to the logic of Aristotle 5 not explod¬
ing it, but making it effectual. , , t>
As the logic of Aristotle had its rules, so has the Ba¬
conian or inductive ; and this work, ihz Novum Orga-
num Scientiarum, contains them all. 1 he duel rule,
and indeed the rule from which all the rest are but de¬
rivations, is, that “ the induction of particulars must
be carried as far as the general affirmation which is de¬
duced from them.” If this be not attended to, the
mind of man, which from his earliest years shows great
-venng ge- minu 01 nidu, .......     j .
neval prin- earrerness in searching for first principles, will frequently
ciples.  ■ 1 .i.„ nf a creneral Drincinle events
ascribe to the operation of a general principle events
which are merely accidental. Hence the popular belief
jn omens, palmistry, and all kinds of fortune-telling.
This rule must evidently give a new turn to the whole
track of philosophical investigation. In order to disco¬
ver first principles, we must make extensive and accu¬
rate observations, so as to have copious inductions of
facts, that we may not be deceived as to the extent of
the principle inferred from them. We must extend our
acquaintance with the phenomena, paying a minute at-
SOPHY.
tention to what is going on all around us ; and we must View
study nature, not shut up in our closet drawing the pic- Baco^
ture from our own fancy, but in the world, copying our
lines from her own features.
To delineate human nature, we must see how men act.
To give the philosophy of the material world, we must
notice its phenomena.
This method of studying nature has been prosecuted
during these two last centuries with great eagerness
and success. Philosophers have been busy m making
accurate observations of facts, and copious collections
of them. Men of genius have discovered points ot
resemblance, from which they have been able to infer
many general powers both of mind and body ; and re¬
semblances among these have suggested powers still more
general. , . .
By these efforts investigation became familiar *, phi¬
losophers studied the rules of the art, and became more
expert; hypotheses were banished, and nothing was
admitted as a principle which was not inferred from
the most copious induction. Conclusions from such
principles became every day more conformable to ex¬
perience. Mistakes sometimes happened j but recourse
beina- had to more accurate observation or more copi¬
ous induction, the mistakes were corrected. In the 77
present study of nature, our steps are more slow, a™andrect«-
hesitating and painful •, our conclusions are more limited
and modest, but our discoveries are more certain and
progressive, and the results are more applicable to the
purposes of life. This pre-eminence of modern philo¬
sophy over the ancient is seen in every path ot inquiry.
It was first remarkable in the study of the material
world j and there it still continues to be most conspicu¬
ous. But it is no less to be seen in the later perfor¬
mances of philosophers in metaphysics, pneumatology,
and ethics, where the mode of investigation by analysis
and experiment has been greatly adopted j and we may
add, that it is this juster view of the employment which
has restored philosophers to the world, to society.
They are no longer to be found only in the acade¬
mies of the sophists and the cloisters ot a convent, but
in the discharge of public and private duty. A Ph1*
losophic genius is a genius for observation as well as
reflection, and he says, Homo sum, humam a me nihil ^
^iTr saying so much on the nature of the employ-
ment, and the mode of procedure, it requires no deep ^
penetration to perceive the value of the philosophical racter.
character. If there is a propensity in the human mind
which distinguishes us from the inferior orders of sentient
beings, without the least circumstance of interference, a
propensity which alone may be taken for the character¬
istic of the species, and of which no trace is to be found
in any other, it is disinterested intellectual curiosity, a
love of discovery for its own sake, independent of all its
advantages. ... ^.
We think highly (and with great justice do we thinfc
so) of our rational powers j but we may carry tins too
far, as we do every ground of self-estimation. 10 every
man who enjoys tjie cheering thought of living under
the care of a wise Creator, this boasted prerogative will
be viewed with more modesty and diffidence j and He
has given us evident marks of the rank in which e
esteems the rational powers of man. In no case that is
of essential importance, of indispensable necessity, not on-
PHILO
View of ly to our wellbeing but to our very existence, has He
yacon’s left man to the care of his reason alone ; for in the first
Philosophy, irlstancej JJe l,ag given us reason
To guide the helm, while passion blows the gale.
God has not trusted either the preservation of the in¬
dividual or the continuance of the race to man’s no¬
tions of the importance of the task, but has committed
them to the surer guards of hunger and of sexual de¬
sire. In like manner, He has not left the improvement
of his noblest work, the intellectual powers of the soul
of man, to his own notions how important it is to his
comfort that he be thoroughly acquainted with the
objects around him. No : He has committed this also
to the sure hand of curiosity : and He has made this so
of oiir in- strong in a few superior souls, whom He has appointed
to give light and knowledge to the whole species, as to
abstract them from all other pursuits, and to engage
them in intellectual research with an ardour which no
attainment can ever quench, but, on the contrary, in¬
flames it the more by every draught of knowledge.
79
We should
think mo¬
destly of
our rational,
powers.
So
Importance
stmcti»e
principles.
Rut what need words
Si
ir dispo-
ion to
inement.
To paint its power ? I or this the daring youth
Breaks from his weeping mother’s folding arms
In foreign climes to rove. The pensive sage,
Heedless of sleep, or midnight’s hurtful vapour.
Hangs o’er the sickly taper.—Hence the scorn
Of all familiar prospects, though beheld
With transport once. Hence the attentive gaze
Of young astonishment.
Such is the bounteous providence of Heaven,
In every breast implanting the desire
Of objects new and strange, to urge us on
With unremitting labour to attain
The sacred stores that wait the rip’ning soul
In Truth’s exhaustless bosom. Aikenside.
But human life is not a situation of continual neees-
sity} this would ill suit the plans of its beneficent Au¬
thor: and it is from induction of phenomena totally
opposite to this, and from such induction alone, that
we have ever thought of a wise Creator. His wisdom
appears only in His beneficence. Human life is a scene
filled with enjoyment j and the soul of man is stored
with propensities and powers which have pleasui'e, in
direct terms, for their object. Another striking di¬
stinction of our nature is a continual disposition to re¬
finement, of which few traces are to be found in the
actions of other animals. There is hardly a gift of
nature so grateful in itself as to please the freakish
mind of man, till he has moulded it to his fancy. Not
contented with food, with raiment, and with shelter,
he must have nice cookery, ornamental dress, and ele¬
gant houses. He hunts when he is not hungry, and
he refines sexual appetite into a most elegant passion.
In like manner he has improved this anxious desire of
the knowledge of the objects around him, so as to derive
from them the means of subsistence and comfort, into
the most elegant and pleasing of all gratifications, the
accumulation of intellectual knowledge, independent of
all consideration of its advantages. And as every man
has a title to the enjoyment of such pleasures as he
can attain without injuring his neighbour j so it is al¬
lowable to such as have got the means of intellectual
improvement, without relinquishing the indispensable
S 0 P H Y- . 395
social duties, to push this advantage as far as it will go: View of
and, in all ages and countries, it has been considered Bacon’s
as forming the greatest distinction between men of easy Philosophy.
fortune and the poor, who must earn their subsistence by ' 'r~~J
the sweat of their brow. The plebeian must learn to
work, the gentleman must learn to think ; and nothino-
can he a surer mark of groveling soul than for a man
of fortune to have an uncultivated mind. gj
Bet us then cherish to the utmost this distinguishing Ought to
propensity of the human soul: but let us do even this be cherish-
like philosophers. Let us cultivate it as it is: as the—asffras
handmaid to the arts and duties of life j as the guide vient" to the
to something yet more excellent. A character is not to duties of
be estimated from what the person knows, hut from^e-
what he can perform. The accumulation of intellectual
knowledge is too apt to create an inordinate appetite
foi it: and the man habituated to speculation is, like
the miser, too apt to place that pleasure in the mere
possession, which he ought to look for only or chiefly in
the judicious use of his favourite object. Like the
miser, too, his habits of hoarding up generally unfit
him for the very enjoyment which at setting out he
proposed to himself. Seldom do we find the man, who
has devoted his life to scientific pursuits for their own
sake, possessed of that superiority of mind which the ac¬
tive employ to good purpose in times of perplexity ; and
much seldomer do we find him possessed of that promp¬
titude of apprehension, and that decision of purpose,
which are necessary for passing through the difficult
scenes of human life.
But we may use the good things of this life without
abusing them ; and by moderation here, as in all other
pursuits, derive those solid advantages which philoso¬
phy is able to bestow. And these advantages are great.
To enumerate and describe them would be to write a
great volume. We may just take notice of one, which
is an obvious consequence of that strict and simple view
which we have given of the subject; and this is a mo- S*
dest opinion of our attainments. Appearances are all I^nnits of
that we know; causes are for ever hid from our view;,ouf“novv"
the powers of our nature do not lead us so far. Let us cdsC’
therefore, without hesitation, relinquish all pursuits
which have such things as ultimate principles for objects
of examination. Let us attend to the subordinations of
things which it is our great business to explore. Among
these there is such a subordination as that of means to
ends, and of instruments to an operation. All will ac¬
knowledge the absurdity of the project of viewing light
with a microscope. It is equally absurd for us to ex¬
amine the nature of knowledge, of truth, of infinite wis¬
dom, by our intellectual powers. We have a wide field
of accessible knowledge in the works of God ; and one
of the greatest advantages, and of the most sublime plea¬
sures, which we can derive from the contemplation, is
the view which a judicious philosophical research will
most infallibly give us of a world, not consisting of a
number of detached objects, connected only by the fleet¬
ing tie of coexistence, but an universe, a system of beings,
all connected together by causation, with innumerable
degrees of subordination and subserviency, and all co¬
operating in the production of one great and glorious
purpose. The heart which has but a spark of sensibi¬
lity must he warned by such a prospect, must be pleased
to find itself an important part of this stupendous ma¬
chine ; and cannot but adore the incomprehensible Ar-
3 H 2 tist
396 PHILO
View of tist wlie contrived, created, and directs the whole. Let
Bacon’s us not listen, then, to the timid admonitions of theologi-
Philosophy. ca[ ignorance, which shrinks with superstitions horror
' ' 0V from the thoughts ot accounting tor every thing by the
Philosophi powers of nature, and considers these attempts as an ap-
cal disquisi- proach to atheism. Philosophical disc|insition will, on
tion gives the contrary, exhibit these general laws of the universe,
just notions |.|laj. won(jerful concatenation and adjustment of every
ofour ovm both material and intellectual, as the most stri-
souls, b.ing instance of incomprehensible wisdom ; which, by
means so few and so simple, can produce effects which
by their grandeur dazzle our imagination, and by their
multiplicity elude all possibility of enumeration. Of all
the obstacles which the weakness, the lolly, or the sin¬
ful vanity of men, has thrown in the way ot the theolo¬
gian, there is none so fatal, so hostile to all his endea¬
vours, as a cold and comfortless system of materialism,
which the reasoning pride of man first engendered,
which made a figure among a few speculatists in the last
century, but was soon forgotten by the philosophers
really busy with the observation of nature and of na¬
ture’s Gad. It lias of late reared up its head, being
pow cherished by all who wish to get rid of the stings
of remorse, as the only opinion compatible with the
peace of the licentious and the sensual j for we may say
SOPHY.
to them as Henry IV. said t6 the prince of Wales, view of
“ Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.” In Bacon’s
vain will the divine attempt to lay this devil with the Blnlosophy.
metaphysical exorcisms of the schools j it is philosophy
alone that can detect the cheat. Philosophy singles
out the characteristic phenomena which distinguish every
substance*, and philosophy never Avill hesitate in saying
that there is a set of phenomena which characterise
mind and another which characterise body, and that
these are toto codo different. Continually appealing to
fact, to the phenomena, for our knowledge of every cause,
we shall have no difficulty in deciding that thought,
memory, volition, joy, hope, are not compatible attri¬
butes with hulk, weight, elasticity, fluidity. Tula sub
cegide Pallas; philosophy will maintain the dignity of
human nature, will detect the sophisms of the material¬
ists, confute their arguments j and she alone will restore
to the countenance of nature that ineffable beauty, ot
which those would deprive her, who would take away
the supreme Mind which shines from within, and gives
life and expression to every feature.
For a view of the progress of modern philosophy,
see the Dissertations prefixed to the volumes of the
Supplement.
Philosophy
P H I
Natural Philosophy. See Natural Philosophy,
Philosophy, and Physics.
Experimental Philosophy. See Experimental
Philosophy.
Moral Philosophy. See Moral Philosophy.
PH1LOSTORGIUS, an ecclesiastical historian of
the 4th century, was born in Cappadocia, and wrote
an abridgement of ecclesiastical history, in which he
treats Athanasius with some severity. This work con¬
tains many curious and interesting particulars. The
best edition is that of , Henry de Valois in Greek and
Latin. There is also attributed to him a book against
Porphyry.
PHILOSTRATUS,Flavius, was an ancientGreek
author. He wrote the Life of Apollonius Tyanensis,
and some other things which have come down to our
time. Eusebius against Hierocles calls him an Atheni¬
an, because he taught at Athens 5 but Eunapius and
Suidas always speak of him as a Lemnian: and he hints,
in his Life of Apollonius, that he used to be at Lemnos
when he was young. He frequented the schools of the
sophists j and he mentions his having heard Damianus
of Ephesus, Proclus Naucratitas, and Hippodromus of
Larissa. This seems to prove that he lived in the reign
of the emperor Severus, from 193 to 212, when those
Sophists flourished. He became known afterwards to
Severus’s wife Julia Augusta, and was one of those
learned men whom this philosophic empress had conti¬
nually about her. It was by her command that he
wrote the Life of Apollonius Tyanensis, as he relates
himself in the same place where he informs us of his
connections with that learned lady. Suidas and Hesy-
chius say that he was a teacher of rhetoric, first at A-
tbens and.then at Rome, from the reign of Severus to
•that of Philippus, who obtained the empire in 244.
P H I
Philostratus’s celebrated work is his Life of Apol- Philostra
lonius j which has erroneously been attributed to Lu- tus-
clan, because it has been printed with some of that
author’s pieces. Philostratus endeavours, as Cyx*il ob¬
serves, to represent Apollonius as a wonderful and ex¬
traordinary person j rather to be admired and adored
as a god than to be considered as a mere man. Hence
Eunapius, in the preface to his Lives of the Sophists,
says that the proper title of that work would have been,
The Coming of a God to Men ; and Hierocles, in his
hook against theChristians which was called Philalethes,
and which was refuted by Eusebius in a work still ex¬
tant, among other things drew a comparison between
Apollonius and Jesus Christ. It has always been sup¬
posed that Philostratus composed his work with a view
to discredit the miracles and doctrines of our Lord,
by setting up other miracles and other doctrines against
them, and this supposition may be true *, but that Apol¬
lonius was really an impostor and magician may not be
so certain. He may, for what we know, have been a
wise and excellent person ; and it is remarkable, that
Eusebius, though he had the worst opinion of Philo¬
stratus’s history, says nothing ill of Apollonius. He
concluded that that history was written to oppose the
history of Jesus 5 and the use which the ancient infidels
made of it justifies his opinion ; but he draws no in¬
formation from it with regard to Apollonius. It would
have been improper to have done so; since the sophisti¬
cal and affected style of Philostratus, the sources from
whence he owns his materials to have been drawn, and,
above all, the absurdities and contradictions with which
he abounds, plainly show his history to be nothing but a
collection of fables, either invented or at least embellish¬
ed by himself.
The works of Philostratus, however, have engaged
the
phi r
I'hilosti'a-
tus,
I.Phiiotis.
the attention of^critics of the first class. Grsevius had
intended to have given a correct edition of them, as
appears from the preface of Meric Casaubon to a disser¬
tation upon an intended edition of Homer, printed at
London in 1658, 8vo. So had Bentley, who designed
to add a new Latin version of his notes; and Fahricius
says that he saw the first sheet of Bentley’s edition
printed at Leipsic in 1691. Both these designs were
dropped. A very exact and beautiful edition was
published at length at Leipsic, 1709, in folio, by Ole-
arms, professor of the Greek, and Latin tongues in that
university ; who has proved himself perfectly qualified
for the work he undertook, and shown all the judge¬
ment, learning, and industry, that are required in an ex¬
cellent editor.
■bApol- At the end of Apollonius’s Life there are 95 letters
lount^ which S° un(lei; his name. They are not, however,
'hades), believed to be lus ; the style of them being very affect¬
ed, and like that of a sophist, while they bear in other
respects all the marks of a forgery. Philostratus says
that he saw a collection of Apollonius’s Letters in Ha¬
drian’s library at Antium, but had not inserted them
all among these. They are short, and have in them
little else than moral sentences. The Lives of the So¬
phists contain many things which are to be met with no¬
where else. The Heroics of Philostratus are only a
dialogue between a vintner of Thracian Chersonesus and
a Phoenician, in which the former draws characters of
Homer’s heroes, and represents several things different¬
ly from that poet; and this upon the faith of Prote-
silaus’s ghost, who had lately visited his farm, which
was not far from the tomb of this hero. Olearius con¬
jectures, with much probability, that Philostratus’s de¬
sign in this dialogue was secretly to criticise some things
in Homer, which he durst not do openly on account of
the great veneration then paid to him, and for fear of
the odium which Zoilus and others had incurred by cen¬
suring him too freely. The images are elegant descrip¬
tions and illustrationsof some ancient paintings and other
particulars relating to the fine arts; to which Olearius has
subjoined the description of some statues by Callistratus;
for the same reason th ;t he subjoined Eusebius’s book
against Hierocles to the Life ami Letters of Apollonius,
namely, because the subjects of these respective works
are related to each other. The last piece is a collection
of Philostratus’s Letters ; but some of these, though it
is not easy to determine which, were written by a ne¬
phew to our Philostratus, of the same name, as were al¬
so the last eighteen in the book of images. This is the
reason why the title runs not Phi lost rati, but Philostrc-
ton/m quee supersunt omnia.
There were many persons of the name of Philostratus
among the ancients ; and there were many other works
of the f hilostratus here recorded, but no others are ex¬
tant besides those we have mentioned.
PHILOTfS, a servant maid at Rome, saved her
countrymen from destruction. After the siege of Rome
by the Gauls, the Fidenates assembled an army, and
marched against the capital, demanding all the wives
and daughters in the city as the only conditions of
peace. This demand astonished the senators ; and when
they refused to comply, Philotis'advised them to send
all the^ female slaves disguised in matrons clothes, and
she offered to march herself at the head. Her advice
was followed ; and when the Fidenates had feasted late.
397 f PHI
in the evening, and were quite intoxicated and fallen
asleep, Philotis lighted a torch as a signal for her coun¬
trymen to attack the enemy. The whole was success-
tul ; the kidenates were conquered ; and the senate, to
leward the fidelity of the female slaves, permitted them
to appear in the dress of the Roman matrons.
. j an officer of Alexander, who re¬
ceived Cilicia at the general division of the provinces.
-—A son of Ptolemy, who was given to Pelopidas as
an hostage. A dithyrambic poet of Cythera. He
enjoyed the favour of Dionysius tyrant of Sicily for
some time, till he offended him by seducing one of his
female singers. During his confinement Philoxcnus-
composed an allegorical poem called Cyclops ; in which
he had delineated the character of the tyrant under the
name of 1 olyphemus, and represented his mistress under
the name of Galatsea, and himself under that of Ulysses.
I he tyrant, who was fond of writing poetry, and of be¬
ing applauded, removed Philoxenus from his dungeon ;
but the poet refused to purchase his liberty by saving
things unworthy of himself, and applauding the wretch¬
ed verses of Dionysius, and therefore he was sent to the
quarries. Being set at liberty, be some time after was
asked Ins opinion at a feast about some verses winch Di¬
onysius had just repeated, and which the courtiers had
received with the greatest applause. Philoxenus gave
no answer, but he ordered tliig guards that surrounded
the tyrant’s table to take him hack to the quarries.
Dionysius was pleased with his pleasantry and with his
firmness, and immediately forgave him. Philoxenus
died at Ephesus about 380 years before Christ.
PHILTER, or Philter, {Philtrum), in Pharmacy,
&c. a strainer.
1]TfI.LTER’ a*so uset* f°r a drug or preparation,
which it is pretended will excite love.—The word is form¬
ed h-om the Greek (p.Asa, “ I love,” or cp^of, “ lover.”
Philters arc distinguished into true and spurious, and
were given by tbe Greeks and Romans to excite love.
Tlie spurious are spells or charms, supposed to have an
effect beyond the ordinary laws of nature by some ma¬
gic virtue ; such are those said to be given by old wo¬
men, witches, &c—I be true philters are those sup¬
posed to work their effect by some natural and magne-
tical power. I here are many grave authors who be¬
lieve the reality of these philters, and allege matter of
fact in confirmation of their sentiments : among the rest,
’V an Helmont, who says, that upon holding a certain
herb in his band for some time, and taking afterwards a
little dog by the foot with the same, hand, the dog fol¬
lowed him wherever he went, and quite deserted his
former master ; which he pretends to account for thus :
The heat communicated to the herb, not coming alone,
but animated by the emanations of tbe natural spirits^
determines the herb towards tbe man, and identifies it
to him : having then received this ferment, it attracts
the spirit of the other object magnetically, and gives it
an amorous motion. But this is mere cant ; and all
philters, whatever facts may be alleged, are mere chi¬
meras.
^ HFLYCA. See Phylica, Botany Index.
1 H1LYRA, in fabulous history, was one of the Q-
ceanides, whom Saturn met in Thrace. The god, to
escape from the vigilance of Rhea, changed himself into
a horse, to enjoy the company cf Philyra, by whom he
had a son half a man and half a hois’e.
called Chiron.
Pbilvra
PHI [ 398 ]
Pbilyra Phxlyra was so ashamed of giving birth to such a mon- in which
H ster, that she entreated the gods to change her nature.
Phinehas. was accordingly metamorphosed into a tree, called
» by her name among the Greeks.
PHIMOSIS, in Medicine, a disorder of the penis, in
which the prepuce is so strict or tense, that it cannot be
drawn back over the glans. See SURGERY.
PHINEHAS, or, as the Jew's pronounce itPiNEHAS,
was the son of Eleazar, and grandson of Aaron. He was
the third high-priest of the Jews, and discharged this
office from the year of the world 2571, till towards
the year 2590. He is particularly commended in
Scripture for the zeal he showed in vindicating the
glory of God, when the IVIidianites had sent their
daughters into the camp of Israel, to tempt the He¬
brews to fornication and idolatry. For Zimri having
publicly entered into the tent of a Midianitish w'oman
named Cozfo', Phinehas arose up from among the people
(Numb. xxv. 7, &c.), took a javelin in his hand, en¬
tered after Zimri into that infamous place, and stabbed
both man and woman at one blow, in those parts that
were chiefly concerned in this criminal commerce. Upon
which the plague or distemper ceased with which the
Xord had already begun to punish the Israelites. Ihis
happened in the year of the world 2553.
Then the Lord said to Moses, Phinehas the son of
Eleazar the high-priest has turned away my wrath Irom
the children of Israel, because he has been zealous in
my cause, and has hindered me from destroying them :
wherefore acquaint him, that I give him my covenant
of peace, and the priesthood shall be given to his po¬
sterity by a perpetual covenant, because he has been
zealous for his God, and has made atonement for the
crime of the children of Israel. This promise that the
Lord made to Phinehas, to give him the priesthood by
a perpetual covenant, interpreters observe, evidently in¬
cluded this tacit condition, that his children should con¬
tinue faithful and obedient j since we know that the priest¬
hood passed out of the family of Eleazar and Phinehas
to that of Ithamar, and that it returned not to the pos¬
terity of Eleazar till after about 150 years.
This is what we find concerning the translation of
the high-priesthood from one family to the other. This
dignity continued in the race of Phinehas, from Aaron
-down to the high-priest Eli, for about 353 years. See
Aaron.
The manner and causes of this change are unknown.
It re-entered again into the family of Eleazar, under
the reign of Saul, when this prince having put to
death Abimelech, and the other priests of Nob, he
gave the high-priesthood to Zadok, who was of the race
of Phinehas. At the same time, David had Abiathar
with him of the race of Eli, who performed the func¬
tions of high-priest. So that after the death of Saul,
David continued the priesthood to Zadok and Abiathar
.conjointly. But towards the end of David’s reign,
Abiathar having espoused the interest of Adonijah, to
the prejudice of Solomon, he was in disgrace, and Zadok
only Avas acknowledged as high-priest. The priesthood
continued in his family till after the captivity of Baby¬
lon, and even to the destruction of the temple. But
from the beginning of Zadok’s priesthood alone, and
the exclusion of Abiathar, to the ruin of the temple, is
3084 years.
We read of another memorable action of Phinehas,
J
PHI
   he still showed his zeal for the Lord. This
Avas Avhen the Israelites that were beyond Jordan had
raised upon the banks of this river a vast heap oi earth
(Josh. xxii. 30, 31.). Those on the other side fearing
they were going to forsake the Lord, and set up another
religion, deputed Phinehas and other chief men among
them, to go and inform themselves of the reason of erect¬
ing this monument. But A\'hen they had found that it
Avas in commemoration of their union and common ori¬
ginal, Phinehas took occasion from thence to praise the
Lord, saying, “ We knoAV that the Lord is AX'ith us, since
you are not guilty of that prevarication Ave suspected
you were.”
We do not exactly know the time of the death of
Phinehas. But as he lived after the death of Joshua,
and before the first servitude under Chushan-rishathaim,
during the time that there were neither kings nor judges
in the land, and every one did what was right in his
oAvn eyes (Judges xvii. 6. xviii. 1. xxi. 24.) j his death
is put about the year of the world 2590. It Avas under
his pontificate that the story of Micah happened, as also
that of the tribe of Dan, when they made a conquest of
Laish ; and the enormity that was committed upon the
Avife of the Levite of the mountain of Ephraim (Judges
xx. 28.'). Phinehas’s successor in the high-priesthood
Avas Abiezar, or Abisbuah.
The Rabbins allow a A’ery long life to Phinehas.
There are some who believe he lived to the time of
the high-priest Eli, or even to the time of Samson.
Others Avill have it, that he was the same as Eli, or ra¬
ther as the prophet Elias, which would still prolong his
life for several ages.
PHINEUS, in fabulous history, was a son of Age-
nor, king of Phoenicia, or according to some ot Nep¬
tune. He became king of Thrace, or, according to the
greater part of mythologists, of Bithynia. He married
Cleopatra the daughter of Boreas, called by some Cleo-
bula, by whom he had Plexippus and Pandion. After
her death, he married Idsea the daughter of Dardanus.
Idcea, jealous of his former wife’s children, accused
them of attempts upon their father’s life and croxvn, or,
as others assert, of attempts upon her virtue j on Avhich
they were condemned by Phineus to be deprived ot
their eves. This cruelty Avas soon after punished by the
gods 5 for Phineus suddenly became blind, and the Har¬
pies Avere sent by Jupiter to keep him in continual
alarm, and to spoil the meats which were placed on his
table. He was afterwards delivered from these danger¬
ous monsters by his brothers in-law Zetes and Calais,
AVho pursued them as far as the Strophades. He hke-
Avise recovered his sight by means of the Argonauts,
whom he had received with great hospitality, and Ayhom
he instructed in the easiest and speediest Avay of arriv'ing
in Colchis. The causes of the blindness of Phineus are
a matter of dispute among the ancients j some supposing
that this was inflicted by Boreas for his cruelty to his
grandsons j while others attribute it to the anger of Nep¬
tune, because he had directed the sons of Phryxus Iioav
to escape from Colchis to Greece. Many, however,
imagine that it proceeded from bis having rashly at¬
tempted to develope futurity j Avhile others assert that
Zetes and Calais put out his eyes on account of his cruel¬
ty to their nephews. The second wife of Phineus is
called by some Dia, Eurytia, Danae, and Idothea.—ns,
was killed b, Hercules. PHLEBOTOMY,
Plane!'*!
Phincui
1’He bo to
ray
II
Phlegon
P H L [ 3g9
PHLEBOTOMY, the opening of a vein with a
proper sharp-edged and pointed instrument, in order
to let out a certain quantity of blood either for the
preservation or recovery of a person’s health. See Sur¬
gery.
PHLEGM, in the animal economy, one of the four
humours whereof the ancients supposed the blood to be
composed. The chemists make phlegm or water an ele¬
mentary body ; the characters of which are fluidity, in¬
sipidity, and volatility.
PHLEGMAGOGUES, in Medicine^ a term an¬
ciently made use of for such medicines as were sup¬
posed to be endowed with the property of purging
off phlegm j such as hermodactyls, agaric, turbith, ja¬
lap, &c.
. PHLEGMATIC, among physicians, an appellation
given to that habit or temperament of body wherein
phlegm is predominant j which gives rise to catarrhs,
coughs, &c.
PHLEGMON, denotes an external inflammation
and tumour, attended with a burning heat.
PHLEGON, who was surnamed Trullianus, was
born in Trallis a city of Lydia. He was the empe¬
ror Hadrian’s freed man, and lived to the 18th year
of Antoninus Pius ; as is evident from his mentioning
the consuls of that year. He wrote several works of
great erudition, of which we have nothing left but
fragments. Among these was a History of the Olym¬
piads, A Treatise of Long-lived Persons, and another
of Wonderful Things j the short and broken remains
of which Xylander translated into Latin, and published
at Basil in 1568, with the Greek and with notes. Meur-
sius published a new edition of them with his notes at
Leyden, in 1622. The titles of part of the rest of
Phlegon’s writings are preserved by Suidas. It is sup¬
posed that the History of Hadrian, published under
Phlegar.’s name, was written by Hadrian himself, from
this passage of Spartianus : “ Hadrian thirsted so much
after fame (says he), that he gave the books of his
own life, drawn up by himself, to his freedmen, com¬
manding them to publish those books under their own
names; for we are told that Hadrian wrote Phlenon’s
books.”
Phlegon’s name has been more familiar among the
moderns, and his fragments have had a greater degree
ol regard paid to them than perhaps they deserve,
merely because he has been supposed to speak of the
darkness which prevailed during our Lord’s passion.
Ihe book in which the words are contained is lost j
but Eusebius has preserved them in his Chronicon.
They are these: “ In the 4th year of the 202d Olym¬
piad, there was a greater and more remarkable eclipse
of the sun than any that had ever happened before : for
at the sixth hour the day was so turned into the dark¬
ness of night, that the very stars in the firmament
were visible 5 and there was an earthquake in Bithynia
which threw down many houses in the city of Nicasa.”
Eusebius thinks that these words of Phlegon related
to the prodigies which accompanied Christ’s crucifixion j
and many other fathers of the church have thought the
same : but this opinion is liable to many difficulties j
for no man had ever a stronger desire than Phlegon to
compile marvellous events, and to observe the superna¬
tural circumstances in them. How was it then possible
that a man ol this turn of mind should not have taken
]
P H L
notice of the most surprising circumstance in the eclipse pm,,™,.
which it is imagined he hints at, viz. its happening on Phlogfstl
the day when the moon was at the full ? But had' v—»
1 hlegon done this, Eusebius would not have omitted it •
and Ongen would not have said that Phlegon had omit¬
ted this particular.
It was a matter of controversy some time ago, whe¬
ther Phlegon really spoke of the darkness at the time of
our Lord’s passion ; and many dissertations were writ¬
ten on both sides of the question. This dispute was oc¬
casioned by the above passage from Phlegon being left
out in an edition of Clarke’s Boyle’s Lectures, publish¬
ed alter his death, at the instance of Sykes, who had
suggested to Clarke, that an undue stress had been laid
upon it. Winston, who informs us of this affair, expresses
great displeasure against Sykes, and calls “ the sug¬
gestion groundless.” Upon this, Sykes published “ A
Dissertation on the Eclipse mentioned by Phlegon: or
An Inquiry whether that Eclipse had any relation to
the darkness which happened at our Saviour’s Passion;
Ii732n,L.8v°' SykeS conc,luIe3 it; t0 be most probable
that I hlegon had in view a natural eclipse which hap¬
pened November 24, in the first year of the 202d
Olympiad, and not in the 4th year of the Olympiad
in which Christ was crucified. Many pieces were
written against him, and to-some of them he replied j
but perhaps it is a controversy which concerns the
learned world merely, since the cause of religion is but
little affected by it.
Photius blames Phlegon for expatiating too much on
tnfles, and for collecting too great a number of answers
pronounced by the oracles. “ His style (he tells us) is
not altogether flat and mean, nor does it everywhere
imitate the attic manner of writing. But otherwise, the
over nice accuracy and care with which he computes
the Olympiads, and relates the names of the contests,
the transactions, and even oracles, is not only very tire¬
some to the reader, whereby a cloud is thrown over all
other particulars in that book, but the diction is thereby
rendered unpleasant and ungrateful 5 and indeed he is
every moment bringing in the answers pronounced by
all kinds of deities.”
PHLOGISTON, a term used by chemists to denote
a principle which was supposed to enter into the compo¬
sition of various bodies.
The bodies which were thought to contain it in the
largest quantity are such as are inflammable $ and the
property which these substances possess of being sus¬
ceptible of inflammation was thought to depend on this
principle j and hence it was sometimes called the Prin¬
ciple of Inflammability. Inflammation, according to
this doctrine, was the separation of this principle or
phlogiston from the other matter which composed the
combustible body. As its separation was always at¬
tended with the emission of light and heat, some che¬
mists concluded that it was light and heat combin¬
ed with other matter in a peculiar manner, or that
it was some highly elastic and very subtile matter,
on certain modifications of which heat and light de¬
pended.
Another class of bodies which were supposed to con¬
tain phlogiston are the metals; and the chemisls supposed
that the peculiar lustre of the metals depended on this
principle. Of this they thought themselves convinced
by the evidence of their senses in two ways; viz. first,
because
P H L
t r 460 ]
P H L
Flilocristai because bv exposing a metal to the action of a long con'
* ■ ■ ■ ^ —1 1 tinned beat, it lost its metallic lustre, and was conveited
into an eavtby-like substance called calx jnetallicus^ or
oxide; and secondly* because by mixing this oxide with
any inflammable substance'whatever, and subjecting the
mixture to certain operations, the inflammable matter
disappeared, and the metal was restored to its loitncr
state and lustre, without suffering much diminution in
quantity, especially it the processes had been conducted
with care and attention.
This fact relative to the metals was thought to be a
full demonstration ot itself, independent ot other pi oofs
which were brought to support the doctrine, i hese
Avere, that a combustible body, by the act of inflamma¬
tion (i. e. by the dissipation of its phlogiston in the form
of heat and light), was converted into a body that was
no longer combustible, but which might have its proper¬
ty of combustibility restored to it again by mixing the
incombustible remains with any kind oi inflammable
matter, and submitting the mixture to certain processes.
In this way the body was restored to its lormci state of
•inflammability.
They were also at some pains to prove that the/w/o-
giston or the principle oj inflammability was the same in
all inflammable bodies and in the metals. I his identity
of phlogiston they thought to he evident from the fact,
that the calx of a metal might he restored to its metallic
state, or that the remains after the combustion of a
combustible body might be restored to its original
state of combustibility by the addition of any inflamma¬
ble body whatever, taken cither from the animal, vege¬
table, or mineral kingdoms.
These and several other facts were brought to prove,
not only the existence of phlogistion, but its effects in
mixture with other substances j and the objections which
were made against the doctrine were removed with won¬
derful ingenuity. The chief objection against it was,
that if the inflammation of a combustible body, or the
conversion of a metal into calx, depends on the dissipa¬
tion or extrication of phlogiston 5 then it must follow7,
that the remains of a combustible body after inflamma¬
tion, and the calx of the metal, must be less than the
matter from which they were produced : but this is
contrary to fact; for when we collect with care all the
vapour into which the purest inflammable bodies aie
converted by combustion, these incombustible remains
are much heavier than the inflammable body was f 1 om
which they were produced, and the calx into w'hich a
metal is converted by long exposure to the action of
beat is heavier than the metal from which it w7as pro¬
duced. This consideration made several people doubt
of the truth of the doctrine *, but the objection was re¬
moved by saying, that phlogiston was so subtle, as not
only to have no weight, but to possess an absolute levi¬
ty; and that when it was taken from an absolutely heavy
body, that body must, by losing so much absolute levity,
become heavier, in the same maimer as the algebraists
say, that a positive quantity is augmented by the sub¬
struction of a negative quantity. This sophism satisfied
the minds of most of the chemists, especially those who
were algebraists.
The opinion that phlogiston was heat and light some¬
how combined with other matter, was proved, not only
by the fact, that heat and light were emitted from a
combustible body during its combustion, but from the
induction of certain metallic calces to the original me¬
tallic state again, at least in some degree, by simple ex-Pllltigistoiv
posure to heat and light. The white calx of silver, for ' r-~
instance, when exposed in close sealed glass vessels to
the light and heat of the sun, resumes a black tinge,
and is in part restored to its metallic lustre without
any addition whatever ; but then this restoration, like
the others above mentioned, is attended with a loss of
weight.
Besides constituting the principal part of inflamma¬
ble bodies and metals, phlogiston was thought to be the
cause ot colour in all vegetable anti animal substances.
This was concluded from the fact of plants growing
white when defended from the action of the sun’s rays,
and in having their green colour restored by exposure
to his rays again ; and so far did the chemists sutler
themselves to be deceived, that they actually thought
the green colouring matter, which they extracted from
fresh plants by certain chemical piocesses, to be an in¬
flammable substance. A very material objection was
made to this argument, viz if plants owe their colour
to phlogiston imparted by the sun’s rays, why do the
sun’s rays destroy vegetable colours that are exposed to
them ? for we know that the sun’s rays are very effec¬
tual in diminishing the lustre of the cloth dyed with ve¬
getable colours, and in bleaching or taking out various
stains from linen and other substances. All this was
removed by saying, that the sun’s rays possesseddiflerent
powers on living and on dead vegetable matter, and
that the living vegetables had the power of absorbing
phlogiston from the sun’s rays, which dead vegetaole
matter had not.
Since the existence of phlogiston, as a chemical prin¬
ciple in the composition of certain bodies, is now fully
proved to be false, we shall not trouble oui leaders with
any farther observations on it, except adding, that al¬
though the chemists were satisfied with the proofs they
gave of its reality, they were never able to exhibit it in
a separate state, or show it in a pure form, unmixcd
with other matter. t . .
Phlogiston seems to have been admitted as a princi¬
ple in the composition of certain bodies, and to have
been supposed the cause of certain modifications of mat¬
ter, merely with a view to explain some ot those natural
phenomena which the authors oi it were unable to ex¬
plain on other principles. Subsequent discoveries in na¬
tural philosophy and in chemistry have represented things
in a very diflerent light from that m which the old che¬
mists viewed them. Tl he old chemists knew nothing
but chemistry; they seldom extended their views to the
observation of objects beyond their laboratories, and
it was not till philosophers became chemists, and che¬
mists philosophers, that chemistry began to wear the
garb of science. The epoch in which this change be¬
gan was in the time of Lord ^ erulam, who first remov¬
ed the dimness from the chemist’s eyes, and to him suc¬
ceeded the honourable Mr Boyle. Sir Isaac Newton,
with the little assistance which his predecessors in tins
branch of science afforded him, is in reality the first
who established chemistry on scientific ground. It must,
however, be acknowledged, that although he made a
great progress, he left much undone ; and subsequent
chemists, who were less accurate observers of nature, ad¬
mitted principles unwarrantably. From the time ot 011
Isaac Newton till the middle of the 18th century, no
real improvement was made in scientific chemistry ; and
the progress this science has made since that period, is
1 ow mg.
P H O
phlogiston
1 Phocsea.
Vol,
Am >t
Vn> Hist.
owing to the important discovery of the existence of
heat in a state of composition with other matter. Heat
thus combined loses its activity or becomes insensible,
just in the same way as any other active substance loses
its apparent qualities in composition. Acids, for ex¬
ample, when combined in a certain proportion with sub¬
stances for which they have strong attraction, as alkalies
or absorbent earths, lose all their obvious acid qualities,
and the compound turns out mild, and totally conceals
the acid which it contains. In a similar manner, heat,
when combined in certain proportions with other mat¬
ter, loses its sensible qualities, and the compound con¬
ceals the heat which it contains. Heat, in this com¬
bined state, was called by its ingenious discoverer, Dr
Black, latent heat, and it was found to be very abundant
in the atmosphere, which owes its existence as an elastic
fluid to the quantity of latent heat that it contains. Af¬
ter this discovery w’as made, Dr Crawford, considering
that air was absorbed by a burning body, concluded
that the heat which appears in the combustion of a com¬
bustible body, is the heat that had before existed in the
air which was con-aimed by the burning body. JVf,
Lavoisier and others, prosecuting this inquiry, found
that the combustible body, while it is burning, unites
with the basis of the air, and that the heat which the
air contained, and which was the cause of the air exist-
ing in the state of air, is expelled. This absorption of
the basis of the air by the burning body, and the reduc¬
tion of this basis to a solid form, accounts for the in¬
crease of weight which a body acquires by burning; or,
in other words, gives a reason why the matter into
winch a combustible body is converted bv combustion
is heavier than the body from which it was produced.
Hie same absorption of air is observable, when a metal
is converted into a calx, and the additional weight of the
calx is found to be precisely equal to the weight of the
air absorbed during the calcination. On these prin-
ciplvs, therefore, we now explain the phenomena in a
much more satisfactory manner than by the supposition
ot phlogiston, or a principle of inflammability. See
Chemistry. j
PHLOMIS, the Sage-tree, or Jerusalem Sage; a
genus of plants belonging to the didynamia class." See
Botany Index.
PHLOX:, Lychnidea, ox Bastard Lychnis ; a ge¬
nus ot plants belonging to the pentandria class. See
Botany Index.
PHLYCTEN/E, in Medicine, small eruptions on
the skin. 1
PHOCA, agenus of quadrupeds of the order of fens,
oee Mammalia Index.
the last town of Ionia, (Mela, Pliny) :
ot A.oIis, (Ptolemy), because situated on the right or
north siue of the river Hermus, which he makes the
boundary of ^lolis to the south. It stood far in the
an , on a bay or arm of the sea ; had two very safe har-
Oours, the one called Lampter, the other Naustathmos,
v1Vy‘Y W.as a colony of lonians, situated in the ter¬
ritory of iEol is, (Herodotus). Massilia in Gaul was
again a colony from it. Phocceenses, the people, fLivv) ;
wcwcw.?, the epithet, (Lucan) ; applied to Marseilles.
^ was one of the 12 cities which assembled in the Pan-
lonium or general council of Ionia.
Some writers tell us, that while the foundations of
Vol^ XVI *]p kere aPPeare^ nea1' the shore a
[ 401 ]
P H O
great shoal of sea calves; whence it was called Phoccvet,
the word phoca signifying in Greek a sea-calf. Ptole¬
my, who makes the river Hermus the boundary be¬
tween TEolia and Ionia, places Phociea in iEolis ; but
a 1 other geographers reckon it among the cities of lo¬
rn*. It stood on the sea-coast, between Cu.na to the
north, and Smyrna to the south, not far from the Her¬
mus : ami in   .i- .1 ' ■ .
PI «cfca.
I • C • ’  v.n, XACl-
amJ was, in former times, one of the most wealthy
I  IIIU3L VYCUilllY
and powerful cities of all Asia ; but is now a poor beg¬
garly village, though the see of a bishop. The Phocie-
ans were expert mariners, and the first among the Greeks
that undertook long voyages; which they performed in
ga eys of fifty oars. As they applied themselves to
lac e and navigation, they became acquainted pretty
early with the coasts and islands of Europe, where they
aresatd to have founded several cities, namely, Veliain
..7 J Alalia, or rather Aleria, in Corsica ; and Mar-
seiHes m Gaul. Neither were they unacquainted with
Spam ; for Herodotus tells us, that in the time of Cyrus
the Great, the Phoeseans arriving at Sartessus, a city in
the bay of Cadiz, were treated with extraordinary kind¬
ness by Arganthonius king of that country; who, hear¬
ing that they were under no small apprehension of the
growing power of Cyrus, invited them to leave Ionia,
ami settle m what part of his kingdom they pleased.
1 he I hocaeans could not be prevailed upon to for¬
sake their country ; but accepted a large sum of money,
winch that prince generously presented them with, to de-
Iray the expence of building a strong wall round their
mty. I he wall they built on their return ; hut it was
unable to resist the mighty power of Cyrus, whose ge¬
neral Harpagus, investing the city with a numerous ar-
mv, soon reduced it to the utmost extremities. The
I hocaeans, having no hopes of any succour, offered to
capitulate ; but the conditions offered by Harnarrus
seeming severe, they begged he would allow them three
(lays to deliberate ; and in the mean time, withdraw his
orces. Harpagus, though not ignorant of their design,
complied with their request. The Phoejcans, taking
advantage of this condescension, put their wives, chil¬
dren, and all their most valuable effects, on board seve¬
ral vessels which they had ready equipped, and convey¬
ed them safe to the island of Chios, leaving the Persians
in possession of empty houses. Their design was to pur¬
chase the Oenessian islands, which belonged to the
- nans, and settle there. But the Chians not caring to
ha\e them so near, lest they should engross all the trade
to themselves, as they were a seafaring people, they put
to sea again ; and, having taken Phoesea, their native
country, by surprise, put all the Persians they found in
it to the sword. I hey went to Corsica ; great part of
them however returned very soon, as did the rest also
in a few years. They then lived in subjection either to
the iersians, or tyrants of their own. Among the lat¬
ter we find mention made ofLaodamns, who attended
Darius Hystaspisin his expedition against the Scythians;
and of Dionysius, who, joining Aristagoras, tyrant of
Miletus, and chief author of the Ionian rebellion re¬
tired, after the defeat of his countrymen, to Phoenicia
where he made an immense booty, seizing on all the
ships he met with trading to that country. From Phoe¬
nicia he sailed to Sicily, where he committed great de¬
predations on the Carthaginians and Tuscans ; hut is
said never to have molested the Greeks.
^ In the Lomnn times the city of Fhocaea sided with
3 E Antiechus
PllO'Rifl,
Pfaocas.
HO [ 402 ] P H O
whereupon it was besieged, ta- Narses, who then commanded the troops quartered on
y the frontiers of Persia, revolted. Phocas, however, ma¬
naged matters so as to gain him over to his interest, and
then treacherously and cruelly burnt him alive. He
endeavoured to strengthen his cause by respectable
alliances *, but his cruelty was such as to render him
generally hated, for he spared neither sex nor age, and
amongst others he murdered Constantina the widow of
Mauritius, and her daughters. These cruelties were
at length the cause of his downfall. He became uni¬
versally hateful j and persons in great authority near
his person conspired against him. This conspiracy,
however, was discovered, and the persons concerned in
it were all put to death. The following year, however,
Antiochus the Great ,  t ~
ken, and plundered by the Roman general ; but al ow-
' ed to be governed by its own laws. In the war which
Aristonicus brother to Attains, king of Pergamus, rais¬
ed against the Romans, they assisted the former to the
utmost of their power j a circumstance which so displeas¬
ed the senate, that they commanded the town to be de¬
molished, and the whole race of the Phocaeans to be ut¬
terly rooted out. This severe sentence would have been
put in execution, had not the Massilienses, a Phoceean
colony, interposed, and, with much difficulty, assuaged
the anger of the senate. Pompey declared Phocsea a
free city, and restored the inhabitants to all the privi¬
leges they had ever enjoyed j whence, under the first
& ^ . 1 1 __ _ - i* 4-K^. ■Mrwivicnino*
Phocas
II.
Phocion.
emperors, it was reckoned one of the most flourishing
cities of all Asia Minor. This is all we have been able
to collect from the ancients touching the particular his¬
tory of Phocaea. . . , .1
PHOCAS, a Roman centurion, was raised to tlie
dignity of emperor by the army, and was crowned at
Constantinople about the year 603. The emperor
Mauritius, who was thus deserted both by the aimy
and the people, fled to Chalcedon with his five children,
whom Phocas caused to be inhumanly murdered before
his eyes, and then he murdered Mauritius himself, his
brother, and several other persons who were attached
Ancient t0 Fhocas"'^^ proclaimed and acknowledged at Con-
Univ. Hist. stantinople, sent, according to custom, his own image
vo1, XV* and that of his wife Leontia to Rome, where they were
received with loud acclamations, the people there being
incensed against Mauritius on account of the cruel ex¬
actions of the exarchs, and his other ministers in Italy.
Gregory, surnamed the Great, then bishop of Rome,
caused the images to be lodged m the oratory of the
martyr Csesarius, and wrote letters to the new emperor,
congratulating him upon his advancemeut to the throne,
which he said was effected by a particular providence,
to deliver the people from the innumerable calamities
and heavy oppressions under which they had long groan¬
ed Had we no other character of Phocas and Leontia
but that which has been conveyed to us in Gregory s
letters we should rank him amongst the best princes
mentioned in history; but all other writers pn.nt.m,
in quite different colours •, and Ins actions, transmitted
to us by several historians, evidently speak him a irmst
cruel and blood-thirsty tyrant. He was of middling
stature, says Cedrenus, delormed, and of a terrible as¬
pect : his hair was red, his eye-brows met and one of
his cheeks was marked with a scar which when he
was in a passion, grew black and frightful . he was
greatly addicted to wine and women, blood-thnsty,
inexorable, bold in speech, a stranger to compassion,
in his principles a heretic. He endeavoured, in the
beginning of his reign, to gain the affections of ie
people by celebrating the Circensian games with extra¬
ordinary pomp, and distributing on that occasion large
sums among the people ; but finding that instead of
applauding they reviled him as a drunkard, he order¬
ed his guards to fall upon them. Some were killed,
many wounded, and great numbers were dragged to
prison: but the populace rising, set them at liberty,
and thenceforth conceived an irreconcileable aversion
to the tyrant. . .
As soon as the death of Mauritius was known,
610, he was overtaken by the fate he had so long de¬
served.
Heraclius, the son of the governor of Africa, who
bore the same name, taking upon him the title of em¬
peror, and being acknowledged as such by the people of
Africa, sailed from thence with a formidable fleet, and
a powerful army on board, for Constantinople, while
Nicetas marched thither by way of Alexandria and the
Pentapolis. Heraclius steered his course to Abydus,
where he was received with great demonstrations of joy
by several persons of rank, who had been banished by
Phocas. From Abydus he sailed to Constantinople,
where he engaged and utterly defeated the tyrant s
fleet. Phocas took refuge in the palace; but one
Photinus, whose wife he had formerly debauched, pur¬
suing him with a party of soldiers, forced the gates,
dragged the cowardly emperor from the throne, and
having stripped him of the imperial robes, and clothed
him with a black vest, carried him in chains to Hera-
clius, who commanded first his hands and feet, then his
arms, and at last his head, to be cut off: the remaining
part of his body was delivered up to the soldiers, who
burnt it in the forum. We are told, that Heraclius
having reproached him with his evil administration, he
answered, with great calmness, “ It is incumbent upon
you to govern better.” Such was the end of this cruel
tyrant, after he had reigned seven years and some
"'PHOCILTDES, a Greek poet and philosopher of
Miletus, flourished about 540 years before the Christian
era. The poetical piece now extant, attributed to him,
is not.of his composition, but of another poet who lived
in the reign of Adrian. 1
PHOCION was a distinguished Athenian general
and orator in the time of Philip II. of Macedon. His
character is thus described in the Ancient Umversa
History. “ He was too modest to solicit command, nor ^ ^
did he promote wars that he might raise his authority y yoj v
them ; though, taken either as a soldier, orator, states¬
man, or general, he was by far the most eminent Athe¬
nian of his time. As he was a most disinterested patri¬
ot he could entertain no great affection for Philip: hue
as’ he perfectly well knew the disposition of his country¬
men, and how unlikely they were long to support such
measures as were necessary to humble the Macedonia
power, he did not express himself vehemently, but chose
rather to cultivate the esteem which on all occasions
Philip showed for the state of Athens, as a niean ot
preserving her, when she should be reduced to that situ-
ation wllicli he conceived they wanted v.rtoe to prevent.
Front this character the reader w.ll "L.
J3 H O £ 403 J P H O
Phocion. Demosthenes and he could not well agree. The former til*.™ „„„ .
—v ' was always warm, his language copious, and his designs cestors when the ItTe 7 tI!]ieISepulchre. °f 1,,s an‘
extensive} and Phocion, on the other hand, was of a 7' Athenians shall become wiser.” It
mild temper, delivered his opinion in very few words the Athenians ] 010 7* opPort.un,t)r occurred. When
and proposed schemes at once'necessary and easy 0 be manfservic the^had " T *’ ^ remem,ber the
effected. Yet he seldom or never concurred with the Z7d h7m a stle n ArZ f 1001,00’ t,ie^ de-
people, but spoke as poignantly against their vices as brought back at the nuhlfr ’ 0rdered h'1S ,ones ,t0 be
Demdhenes himsdf, insomuch, that tl.i, orator once hiS aceusers should be pot toTal! IgnonTcK Ta
Phocidn,
■Phocis.
told him, ‘ The Athenians, Phocion, in some of their
mad fits, will murder thee.’ ‘ The same (answered he)
may fall to thee, Demosthenes, if ever they come to be
sober.’
He was afterwards appointed to command the army
which was sent to assist the Byzantines against Philip,
whom he obliged to return to his own dominions!
This truly great man, whom (though extremely poor)
no sum could bribe to betray his country, and who at
every lisk on all occasions gave them sound advice, was
at length accused by Ins ungrateful countrymen. This
event happened in the year before Christ 318. He
was sent to Athens by Polysperchon head of a faction in
Macedonia, together with his friends, chained in carts,
with this message, “ I hat though he was convinced
they were traitors, yet he left them to be judged by the
Athenians as a free people.” Phocion demanded whe¬
ther they intended to proceed against him by form of
law; and some crying out that they would, Phocion
demanded how that could be it they were not allowed
a fair hearing : but perceiving, by the clamour of the
people, that no such thing was to be expected, he ex¬
claimed, “ As for myself, I confess the crime objected
to me, and submit to the judgment of the law ; but
consider, O ye Athenians, what have these poor inno¬
cent men done that they should be involved in the same
calamity with me?” The people replied with great
vociferation,^ “ I hey are your accomplices, and that is
enough.” Then the decree was read, adjudging them
all to death, viz. Phocion, Nicocles, Aheudippus, Aga-
mon, and Pythocles ; these were present: Demetrius
Phalereus, Callimedon, Charicles, and others, were con¬
demned in their absence. Some moved that Phocion
might be tortured before he was put to death ; nay,
they were for bringing the rack into the assembly, and
torturing him there. Ihe majority, however, thought
it enough if he was put to death, for which the decree
was carried unanimously; some putting on garlands of
flowers when they gave their votes. As he was going
to execution, a person who was his intimate friend asked
him if he had any message for his son ? “ Yes,” re¬
plied Phocion ; “ tell him it is my last command that
he forget how ill the Athenians treated his father.”
The spleen of his enemies was not extinguished with
ms life : they passed a decree whereby his corpse was
banished the Athenian territories; they likewise forbade
any Athenians to furnish fire for his funeral pile. One
Conopian took up the corpse, and carried it beyond
Ueusina, where he borrowed some fire of a Megarian
woman and burned it. A Megarian matron, who at¬
tended with her maid, raised on the place an honorary
monument; and having gathered up the bones, carried
them home, and buried them under her own hearth ;
praying at the same time thus to the Penates : “ T0
you, O ye gods, guardians of this place, I commit the
precious remains of the most excellent Phocion. Pro¬
tect them, I beseech you, from all insults ; and deliver
. . a —   wnu
was prmcipa ly concerned in that tragedy, suffered; but
Ppicurus and Demophilus, who were also accomplices
m it, Hed. However, Phocion’s son met with them
and executed his revenge upon them; which was almost
the only good action he ever performed, as he had a
very small share of his father’s abilities, and not any of
his virtues. Such is the fickleness and such the injus¬
tice of popular governments; failings which, if we are
to judge from universal experience, are absolutely in¬
separable from them. J
(Demosthenes, Strabo, Pausanias); a
country of Greece, contained between Bceotia to the
east and Locns to the west, but extending formerly
from the Sinus Corinthiacus on the south to the sea of
Puboea on the north, and, according to Dionysius, as
far as Ihermopylae; but reduced afterwards to narrower
bounds. P/iocenses, the people ; P/iocicus, the epithet
(Justm) ; Be/h/m Phocicum, the sacred war which the
Ihebans and Philip of Macedon carried on against
them for plundering the temple at Delphi; and by
which Philip paved the way to the sovereignty of all
Greece, (Justin). It greatest length was from north
to south, that is, from 38° 45' to 390 20', or about 35
miles; but very narrow from east to west, not extending
to 30 miles, that is, from 230 10'to 230 40' at the
widest, but about 23 miles towards the Corinthian bay
and much narrower still towards the north. This coun- Ancient
try is generally allowed to have taken its name from Univ' Hist‘
Phocus the son of Ornytion, a native of Corinth ; biitVoL V’
having been soon after invaded by the Eginette, under
the conduct of another Phocus, who was the son of Ea-
cus king of Enopia, the memory of the first insensibly
gave way to that of the second. J
In Phocis there were many celebrated mountains,
such as Cythaeron, Helicon, and Parnassus. The
last two we have already noticed in the order of the al¬
phabet. Cythaeron was consecrated to the muses as
well as the other two, and was consequently much cele¬
brated by the poets. Both it and Helicon contend with
Mount Parnassus for height and magnitude. There
were no remarkable rivers in Phocis except Cepbisus,
which runs from the foot of Parnassus northward, and
empties itself into the Pindus, which was near the
boundary of that kingdom. It had several very consi¬
derable cities; such as Cyrra, Crissa, and Antecyra
which, according to Ptolemy, were on the sea coasts •!
and Pythia, Delphi, Daubs, Elatia, Ergosthenia, and
Bauha, which were inland towns. Elatia was the
largest and richest after Delphi.
Deucalion was king of that part of Phocis which lies
about Parnassus, at the time that Cecrops flourished
m Attica ; but the Phocians afterwards formed them¬
selves into a commonwealth, to be governed by their
genera] assemblies, the members of which were chosen
from among themselves, and were changed as often as
occasion required. Of the history of the Phocians but
little is known till the time of the holy war, of which
3 E 2 we
P H O
[ 4°4 1
P H O
Pliucis we Ifcivc the followJug account in the Ancient Uniter-
|| sal History. _ , ' . , T
Hiceuicia. “ The Pliocians having presumed to plough tne tert-
1 v ' ritories of the city of Cyrra, consecrated to the Delphic
nod, were summoned hy the other Grecians states before
the court of the Amphictyons, where a considerable hne
was imposed upon them tor their sacn ege. iey xe
fused to pay it, on pretence that it was too large j an
at the next assembly their dominions were adjudged con¬
fiscated to the use of the temple. This second sentence
exasperated the Phocians still more 5 who at the insti¬
gation of one Philomelas, or, as he is called by Plu¬
tarch, Philornedcs, seized upon the temple, plundeied it
of its treasure, and held the sacred depositum lor a con¬
siderable time. This second crime occasioned another
assembly of the Amphictyons, the result of which was
a formal declaration of war against the Phocians. The
quarrel being become more general, the several states
took part in it according to their inclinations or interest.
Athens, Sparta, and some others of the Peloponnesians,
declared for the Phocians > and the Thebans, Thessali¬
ans, Locrians, and other neighbouring states, against
them. A war was commenced with great fury on both
sides, and styled the holy rear, which lasted ten years
during which the Phocians, having hired a number of
foreign troops, made an obstinate defence and would in
ail probability have held out much longer had not 1 bi¬
lip of Macedon given the finishing stroke to their to a
defeat and punishment. The war being ended, the
arand council assembled again, and imposed an annual
fine of 60 talents upon the Phocians, to be paid to the
temple, and continued till they had fully repaired the
damage it had sustained from them ; and, till this repa¬
ration should be made, they were excluded from dwe 1-
ing in walled towns, and from having any vote in the
grand assembly. They did not, however, continue long
under this heavy sentence: their known bravery made
their assistance so necessary to the rest, that they were
glad to remit it •, after, which remission they continued
to behave with their usual courage and resolution, and
soon obliterated their former guilt.”
We cannot finish this article without mentioning
more particularly Daulis, rendered famous, not so much
for its extent or richness, as for the stature and prowess
of its inhabitants-, but still more for the inhuman repast
which was served up to Tereus king of 1 brace by the
women of this city, by whom he was soon after murder¬
ed for the double injury he had done to has sister-in law
Philomela, daughter of Pandion king of Athens, bee
Philomela.
PHOEBUS, one of the names given by ancient my-
thologists to the Sun, Sol, or Apollo. See Apollo.
PHOENICIA, or more properly Phoenice, the an¬
cient name of a country lying between the 34th and
36th degrees of north latitude j bounded by Syria on Plia-tiicu,
the north and east, by Judaea on the south, and by the '
Mediterranean on the west. Whence it borrowed its
name is not absolutely certain. Some derive it from^nciW*
one Phoenix others from the Greek word phoenix, sig-Univ- Hut.
nifying a palm or date, as that tree remarkably abound.™ - u-
ed in this country. Some again suppose that Phoenice
is originally a translation of the Hebrew word Edom,
from the Edomites who fled thither in the days of-Da¬
vid. By the contraction of Canaan it was also called
Chna, and anciently Rhabbothin and Colpitis (a). The
Jews commonly named it Canaan ; though some part of
it, at least, they knew by the name of Syrophccnice (b).
Bochart tells us that the most probable etymology is
Phene Anak, L e. “ the descendants of Anak.” Suck
were the names peculiar to this small country ; though
Phoenice was sometimes extended to all the maritime
countries of Syria and Judea, and Canaan to the Phili¬
stines, and even to the Amalekites. On the contrary,
these two names, and the rest, were most generally swal-
lowed up by those of Palestine and Syria (c).
There is some disagreement among authors with re-
spect to the northern limits of this country. Ptolemy
makes the river Eleutherus the boundary of Phoenice
to the north-, but Pliny, Mela, and Stephanns, place it
in the island of Aradus, lying north of that river.
Strabo observes, that some will have the river Eleuthe¬
rus to be the boundary of Seleueis, on the side of Phoe-
nice and Coelesyria. On the coast ol Phoenice, and
south of the river Eleutherus, stood the following cities:
Simyra, Orthosia, Trifolis, Botrys, Byblus, Palaeby-
blus, Berytus, Sidon, Sarepta, Tyrus, Palaetyrus.
Phoenice extended, according to Ptolemy, even be¬
yond Mount Carmel-, for that geographer places in
Phcenice not only Ecdippa and Ptolemais, but bycami-
num and Dsera, which stand south of that mountain.
These, however, properly speaking, belonged to I ale*
7 -w-r-r • 1 \ . a i_ _  .,0 4-#* rv-10 i>lr mil t hP*
stine We will not take upon us to mark out the
bounds of the midland Phcenice. Ptolemy reckons m
it the following towns j Area, Palsebyblus (Old Bya-
lus), Gabala, and Caesaria Pani*. This province was.
considerably extended in the times of Christianity v
when, being considered as a province of Syria, it inclu¬
ded not only Damascus but Palmyra also. .
The soil of this country is good, and productive ot
many necessaries for food and clothing. Ihe air is
wholesome, and the climate agreeable. It is plentifully
watered by small rivers; which, running down ironv
Mount Libanus, sometimes swell to an immoderate de¬
cree, either increased by the melting of the snows on
that mountain, or by heavy rams. Upon these occa¬
sions they overflow, to the great danger and hinderance
of the traveller and damage of the country. Among
these rivers is that of Adonis. j
(a) This last name is a translation of the first. Rab/*otse”1S YxttZ^ltlZ^rhablot/dn. Ko*™,
by changing the Hebrew ts into the Greek t, comes rabboten , an"; w'th ^ • a tvanslation olrabbothin.
eo/pos, is Greek also for a bay or gulf; whence it aPPe^s a Sjfrian-side, were called by the common
(b) Bochart supposes that the.borderersjioth upon the Phoenician ana oynan ,
name of Syrophcenicians, as partaking equally of both nations. each other, and particularly the two
IcJ Or rather Phcenice, Palestine, and Syria, were promiscuously used tor each other p aiready ob-
former. f Phcenice and Palestine, says Stephanos Byzantinus
served that in its largest extent it sometimes comprehended Phcenice and Lceiesyn
founds these three names | we mean, uses one for the other indifferently.
[ 405 1
t. It is universally allowed that the Phoenicians were
Canaanites (d) by descent: nothing is plainer or less
contested, and therefore it were time lost to prove it.
We shall only add, that their blood must have been
mixed with that of foreigners in process of time, as it
happens in all trading places 5 and that many strange
families must have settled among them, who could
consequently lay no claim to this remote origin, how
much soever they may have been called Phoenicians,
and reckoned of the same descent with the ancient
proprietors.
The Phoenicians were governed by kings; and their
territory, as small a slip as it was, included several king¬
doms j namely, those of Sidon, Tyre, Aradus, Berytus,
and Byblus. In this particular they imitated and ad¬
hered to the primitive government of their forefathers j
who, like the other Canaanites, were under many petty
princes, to whom they allowed the sovereign dignityr
reserving to themselves the natural rights and liberties
of mankind. Of their civil laws we have no particu¬
lar system.
With regard to religion, the Phoenicians were the
most gross and abominable idolaters. The Baal-berith,
Baalzebub, Baalsamen, &c. mentioned in Scripture,
were some of the Phoenician gods j as were also the
Moloch, Ashtaroth, and Thammuz, mentioned in the
sacred writings.—The word Baa/, in itself an appella¬
tive, was no doubt applied to the true God, until he
rejected it on account of its being so much profaned by
the idolaters. The name was not appropriated to any
particular deity among the idolatrous nations, but was
common to many j however, it w’as generally imagined
that one great God presided over all the rest. Among
the Phoenicians this deity was named Baal-samcn; whom
the Hebrews would have called Baal-skcmim, or the
God of heaven. In all probability this w'as also the
principal Carthaginian deity, though his Punic name is
unknown. We have many religious rites of the Car¬
thaginians handed down to us by the Greek and Roman
writers 5 but they alt bestowed names of their own gods
upon those of the Carthaginians, which leads us to a
knowledge of the correspondence between the characters
of the Phoenician and European deities. The principal
deity of Carthage, according to Diodorus Siculus, was
Chronus or Saturn. The sacrifices offered up to him
were children of the best families. Our author also tells
us, that the Carthaginians had a brazen statue or colos¬
sus of this god, the hands of which were extended in
act to receive, and bent downwards in such a manner,
that the child laid thereon immediately fell down into
a hollow where there was a fiery furnace. He adds
also, that this inhuman practice seemed to confirm a
tradition handed down to the Greeks from very ear¬
ly antiquity, viz. that Saturn devoured his own chil¬
dren.
The goddess Coelestis, or Urania, was held in the
P H o
highest veneration by the Carthaginians. She is p
thought to have been the same with the queen of hea-
ven mentioned in Jeremiah, the Juno Olympia of the
Greeks. According to Hesychius, the same word ap¬
plied m the Punic language both to Juno and Venus:
Psay, the ancient Greeks frequently confound Juno,
enus, and Diana or the moon, all together j which is
to be attributed to the Egyptians and Phoenicians, from
whom they received their system of religion j who seem
in the most ancient times to have had but one name for
them all. Besides these there were several other deities
of later date, who were worshipped among the Phoeni¬
cians, particularly those of Tyre, and consequently
among the Carthaginians also. These were Jupiter,
Apollo, Mars, and Bacchus. Jupiter was worshipped
under the name of Belus or Baal. To him they addres¬
sed their oaths j and placed him for the most part, as
there is reason to believe, at the head of their treaties.
The same name was also given to the other two, whence
they were frequently mistaken for one another. Apollo
or the sun, went either by this name simply, or by others
of which this made a part.
1 he Carthaginian superstition, however, was not con¬
fined to these deities alone. They worshipped also the
fire, air, and other elements 5 and had gods of rivers,
meads, &c. Nay, they paid divine honours to the spi¬
rits of their heroes, and even to men and women them¬
selves while yet in life } and in this adoration Hannibal
the Great had for some time a share, notwithstanding
the infamous conduct of his countrymen towards him
at last. In order to worship those gods with more con-
veniency on all occasions, the Carthaginians had a kind
of portable temples. These were only covered chariots,
in which were some small images representing their fa-*
vourite deities 5 and which were drawn by oxen. They
were also a kind of oracle y and their responses were un¬
derstood by the motion impressed upon the vehicle.
I his was likewise an Egyptian or Libyan custom $ and
Tacitus informs us that the ancient Germans had some¬
thing of the same kind. The tabernacle of Moloch is
thought to have been a machine of this kind; and it is
not improbable that the whole was derived from the ta¬
bernacle of the Jews in the wilderness.
Besides all the deities above mentioned, we still find
another, named the Vcemon or Genius of Carthage,
mentioned in the treaty made- by Philip of Macedon
and Hannibal. What this deity might be, we know’
not 5 however, it may be observed, that the pagan world
in general believed in the existence of daemons, or intel¬
ligences who had a kind of middle nature between gods
and men, and to whom the administration of the world
was in a great measure committed. Hence it is no
wronder that they should have received religious honours;
For when once mankind were possessed with the opinion
that they were the ministers of the gods, and trusted
with the dispensation of their favours, as well as the in¬
fliction
(d) Bochart insinuates that the Canaanites were ashamed of their name, on account of the curse denounced on
their progenitor, and terrified by the wars so vigorously and successfully waged on them by the Israelites, purely be¬
cause they were Canaanites; and that therefore, to avoid the ignominy of the one and the danger of the other.,
they abjured their old name, and changed it for Phoenicians, Syrians, Syrophoenicians, and Assyrians. Heidegger
conjectures also that they were ashamed of their ancestor Canaan.
P H O [4°
Phoenicia, fliction of their punishments, it is naturaHo suppose that
■ t < they would be desirous of making their addresses to
them. See Astarte and Polytheism.
Herodotus supposes the Phoenicians to have been
circumcised j but Josephus asserts, that none ol the
nations included under the vague name of Palestine
and Syria used that rite, the Jews excepted; so that it
the Phoenicians had anciently that custom, they came
in time to neglect it, and at length wholly laid it aside.
They abstained however from the flesh of swine.
Much is said of their arts, sciences, and manufac¬
tures j but as what we find concerning them is couched
in general terms only, we cannot descant on particulars.
The Sidonians, under which denomination we compre¬
hend the Phoenicians in general, were ot a most happy
genius. They were from the beginning addicted to
philosophical exercises of the mind j insomuch that a
Sidonian, by name Moschus, taught the doctrine of
atoms before the Trojan war: and Abomenus of Tyre
puzzled Solomon by the subtility of his questions.
Phoenice continued to be one ol the seats ot learning,
and both Tyre and Sidon produced their philosophers
of later ages ; namely, Boethus and Diodatus of Sidon,
Antipater of Tyre, and Apollonius of the same place ;
who gave an account of the writings and disciples of
Zeno. For their language, see Philology, N° 61.
As to their manufactures, the glass of Sidon, the purple
of Tyre, and the exceeding fine linen they wove, were
the product of their own country, and their own in¬
vention : and for their extraordinary skill in working
metals, in hewing timber and stone j in a word, for
their perfect knowledge of what was solid, great, and
ornamental in architecture—we need only put the read¬
er in mind of the large share they had in erecting and
decorating the temple at Jerusalem under their king
Hiram. Their fame for taste, design, and ingenious
invention, was such, that whatever was elegant, great,
or pleasing, whether in apparel, vessels, or toys, was
distinguished by way of excellence with the epithet of
Sidonian.
The Phoenicians were likewise celebrated merchants,
navigators, and planters of colonies in foreign parts. As
merchants, they may be said to have engrossed all the
commerce of the western world: as navigators, they
were the boldest, the most experienced, and greatest dis¬
coverers, of the ancient times : they had for many ages
no rivals. In planting colonies they exerted themselves
so much, that considering their habitation was little
more than the slip of ground between Mount Libanus
and the sea, it is surprising how they could furnish such
supplies of people, and not wholly depopulate their na¬
tive country.
It is generally supposed that the Phoenicians were in¬
duced to deal in foreign commodities by their neigh¬
bourhood with the Syrians, who were perhaps the
most ancient of those who carried on a considerable
and regular trade with the more eastern regions: and
this conjecture appears probable at least ; for their
own territory was but small, and little able to afiord
any considerable exports, if we except manufactures:
but that their manufactures were anyways considerable
till they began to turn all the channels of trade into their
own country, it is hard to believe. In Syria, which was
a large country, they found store of productions of the
natural growth of that soil, and many choice and use-
3
; ] P H O
ful commodities brought from the east. Thus, having Phoenicia)
a safe coast, with convenient harbours, on one side, and y—'
excellent materials for ship-building on the other j per¬
ceiving how acceptable many commodities that Syria
furnished would be in foreign parts, and being at the
same time, perhaps, shown the way by the Syrians them¬
selves, who may have navigated the Mediterranean—
they turned all their thoughts to trade and navigation,
and by an uncommon application soon eclipsed their ma¬
sters in that art.
It were in vain to talk of the Edomites, who fled hi¬
ther in David’s time j or to inquire why Herodotus sup¬
poses the Phoenicians came from the Bed sea: their ori¬
gin we have already seen. That some of the Edomites
fled into this country in the days of David, and that
they were a trading people, is very evident: what im¬
provements they brought with them into Phoenice, it is
hard to say j and by the way, it is as difficult to ascer¬
tain their numbers. In all probability they brought
with them a knowledge of the Red sea, and of the south
parts of Arabia, Egypt, and Ethiopia j and by their
information made the Phoenicians acquainted with those
coasts j by which means they were enabled to under¬
take voyages to those parts, for Solomon, and Pharaoh
Necho, king of Egypt.
Their whole thoughts were employed on schemes to
advance their commerce. They affected no empire but
that of the sea j and seemed to aim at nothing but the
peaceable enjoyment of their trade. This they extend¬
ed to all the known parts they could reach j to the
British isles, commonly understood by the Cassiterides;
to Spain, and other places in the ocean, both within
and without the straits of Gibraltar $ and, in gene¬
ral, to all the ports of the Mediterranean, the Black
sea, and the lake Maeotis. In all these parts they had
settlements and correspondents, from which they drew
what was useful to themselves, or might be so to others j
and thus they exercised the three great branches of
trade, as it is commonly divided into importation, expor¬
tation, and transportation, in full latitude. Such was
their sea-trade 5 and for that which they carried on by
land in Syria, Mesopotamia, Assyria, Babylonia, Per¬
sia, Arabia, and even in India, it was of no less extent,
and may give us an idea of what this people once w7as,
how rich and how deservedly their merchants are men¬
tioned in Scripture as equal to princes. Their coun¬
try was, at that time, the great warehouse, where every
thing that might either administer to the necessities or
luxury of mankind was to be found ; which they distri¬
buted as they judged w'ould be the best for their own
interest. The purple of Tyre, the glass of Sidon, and
the exceeding fine linen made in this country, together
with other curious pieces of art in metals and wood, al¬
ready mentioned, appear to have been the chief and al¬
most only commodities of Phoenice itself. Indeed their
territory was so small, that it is not to be imagined they
could afford to export any of their own growth ; it is
more likely that they rather wanted than abounded with
the fruits of the earth.
Having thus spoken in general terms of their trade,
we shall now touch upon their shipping and some things
remarkable in their navigation. Their larger embar¬
kations were of two sorts ; they divided them into round
ships or gaulij and long ships, galleys, or triremes.
When they drew up in line of battle, the gauli were dis¬
posed
P H O [ 407 ] P H O
lioenicia posed at a small distance from each other in the wings,
|] or in the van and the rear: their triremes were con-
Hioenix- tracted together in the centre. If, at any time, they
observed that a stranger kept them company in their
voyage, or followed in their track, they were sure to get
rid ot him if they could, or deceive him if possible j in
which policy they went so far, as to venture the loss of
their ships, and even their lives •, so jealous were they of
foreigners, and so tenaciously bent on keeping the whole
trade to themselves. In order to discourage other na¬
tions from engaging in commerce, they practised pi¬
racy, or pretended to be at war with such as they met
■ when they thought themselves strongest. This was but
a natural stroke of policy in people who grasped at the
whole commerce of the then known world. We must
not forget here the famous fishery of Tyre, which so re¬
markably enriched that city. See Astronomy, N° 7.
Gphir, and Tyre.
PHOENICOPTERUS, or Flamingo, a genus of
birds belonging to the order of grallae. See Ornitho¬
logy Index.
PHOENIX, in Astronomy. See Astronom y Index.
Phoenix, the Great Palm, ov Date tree, a genus of
plants belonging to the order of palmae. See Botany
Index. As the account of this valuable plant already
given in its proper place, under Botany, is rather short
to be satisfactory, we shall here enter a little more into
the detail of its natural history. There is only one
species, viz. the dactylifera, or common date-tree, a na¬
tive of Africa and eastern countries, where it grows to 50,
60, and 100 feet high. The trunk is round, upright,
and studded with protuberances, which are the vestiges
of the decayed leaves. From the top issues forth a
cluster of leaves or branches eight or nine feet long, ex¬
tending all around like an umbrella, and bending a lit¬
tle towards the earth. The bottom part produces a
number of stalks like those of the middle, but seldom
shooting so high as four or five feet. These stalks, says
Adanson, diffuse the tree very considerably j so that,
wherever it naturally grows in forests, it is extremely
difficult to open a passage through its prickly leaves.
The date-tree was introduced into Jamaica soon after
the conquest of the island by the Spaniards. There are,
however, but few of them in Jamaica at this time. The
fruit is somewhat in the shape of an acorn. It is com¬
posed of a thin, light, and glossy merbbrane, somewhat
pellucid and yellowish j which contains a fine, soft, and
pulpy fruit, which is firm, sweet, and somewhat vinous
to the taste, esculent, and wholesome ; and within this
is inclosed a solid, tough, and hard kernel, of a pale gray
colour on the outside, and finely marbled within like the
nutmeg. For medicinal use dates are to be chosen large,
full, fresh, yellow on the surface, soft and tender, not
too much wrinkled 5 such as have a vinous taste, and
do not rattle when shaken. They are produced in
many parts of Europe, but never ripen perfectly there.
The best are brought from Tunis ; they are also very
fine and good in Egypt and in many parts of the east.
Those of Spain and France look well j but are never
perfectly ripe, and very subject to decay. They are
preserved three different ways j some pressed and dry ;
others pressed more moderately, and again moistened
with their own juice; and others not px-essed at all, but
moistened with the juice of other dates, as they are
packed up, which is done in baskets or skins. Those
preserved in this last way are much the best. Dates Phoenix.
have always been esteemed moderately strengthening ' 
and astringent.
Though the date tree grows everywhere indiscrimi¬
nately on the northern coasts of Africa, it is not cul¬
tivated with care, except beyond Mount Atlas ; be¬
cause the heat is not sufficiently powerful along the
coasts to bring the fruits to proper maturity. We shall
here extract some observations fromMrDes Fontaines
respecting the manner of cultivating it in Barbary,
and on the different uses to which it is applied. All
that part of the Zaara which is near Mount Atlas,
and the only part of this vast desert which is. inhabi¬
ted, produces very little corn ; the soil being sandy,
and burnt up by the sun, is almost entirely unfit for
the cultivation of grain, its only productions of that
kind being a little barley, maize, and sox-go. The
date-tree, however, supplies the deficiency of corn to
the inhabitants of these countries, and furnishes them
with almost the whole of their subsistence. They have
flocks of sheep; but as they are not numerous, they
preserve them for the sake of their wool; besides, the
flesh of these animals is very unwholesome food in
countries that are excessively warm ; and these people,
though ignorant, have probably been enabled by ex¬
perience to know that it was salutary for them to ab¬
stain from it. The date trees are planted without any
ox-der, at the distance of 12 feet one from the other,
in the neighbourhood of rivulets and streams which
issue from the sand. Forests of them may be seen here
and there, some of which are seveial leagues in cir¬
cumference. The extent of these plantations depends
upon the quantity of water which can be procured to
water them: for they require much moisture. All
these forests ai-e intermixed with orange, almond, and
pomegranate trees, and with vines which twist round
the trunks of the date trees j and the heat is strong
enough to ripen the fruit, though they are never exposed
to the sun.
Along the rivulets and streams, dykes are erected'
to stop the course of their waters, in order that they
may be distributed amongst the date trees by means of
small canals. The number of canals is fixed for each
individual $ and in several cantons, to have a right to
them, the pxoprietors ax-e obliged to pay an annual sum
pi-oportionable to the number and extent of their planta¬
tions. Care is taken to till the earth well, and to raise
a circular border around the root of each tree, that the
water may remain longer and in larger quantity. The
date trees are watered in every season, but more parti¬
cularly during the gx-eat heats of summer.
It is generally in winter that new plantations of this
tree are formed. For this purpose those who cultivate
them take shoots of those which produce the best dates,
and plant them at a small distance one from the other.
At the end of three or four years these shoots, if they
have been properly taken care of, begin to bear fruit 5
but this fruit is as yet dry, without sweetness, and even
without keimels 5 they never reach the highest degree
of perfection of which they are susceptible till they are
about 15 or 20 years old.
These plants are however produced from the seeds
taken out of the fruit, provided they are fresh. They
should be sown in pots filled with light rich earth, and
plunged into a moderate hotbed of tanners bark, which
should
P H O [40
Jelioeiiix. should be kept in a moderate temperature of heat, and
'—v~“11 the earth frequently refreshed with water. When the
plants are come up to a proper size, they should be each
planted in a separate small pot, filled with the same
light earth, and plunged into a hotbed again, observing
to refresh them with water, as also to let them have air
in proportion to the warmth of the season and the bed
in which they are placed. During the summer time
they should remain in the same hotbed *, but in the be¬
ginning of August, they should have a great share of
air to harden them against the approach of winter •, for
if they are too much forced, they will be so tender as
not to be preserved through the winter without much
difficulty, especially if you have not the conveniency ol
a bark stove to keep them in. The soil in which these
plants should be placed, must be composed in the fol¬
lowing manner, viz. half of light fresh earth taken from
a pasture-ground, the other half sea sand and rotten
dung or tanners bark in equal proportion ^ these should
be carefully mixed, and laid in a heap three or four
months at least before it is used, but should be often
turned over to prevent the growth of weeds, and to
sweeten the earth.
The trees, however, which spring from seed never
produce so good dates as those that are raised from
shoots $ they being always poor and ill tasted. It is
undoubtedly by force of cultivation, and after several
generations, that they acquire a good quality.
The date trees which have been originally sown, grow
rapidly, and we have been assured that they bear fruit
in the fourth or fifth year. Care is taken to cut the in¬
ferior branches of the date tree in proportion as they
rise; and a piece of the root is always left of some inches
in length, which affords the easy means of climbing to
the summit. These trees live a long time, according
to the account of the Arabs *, and in order to prove it,
they say that when they have attained to their full
growth, no change is observed in them for the space of
three generations.
The number of females which are cultivated is much
superior to that of the males, because they are much
more profitable. The sexual organs of the date tree
grow, as is well known, upon different stalks, and these
trees flower in the months of April and May, at which
time the Arabs cut the male branches to impregnate the
female. For this purpose, they make an incision in the
trunk of each branch which they wish to produce fruit,
and place in it a stalk of male flowers j without this
precaution the date tree would produce only abortive
fruit (a). In some cantons the male branches are only
shaken over the female. The practice of impregnating
the date tree in this manner is very ancient. Pliny de-
8 ] P H O
Scribes it very accurately in that part of his work where PiioeaLv
he treats of the palm tree.
There is scarcely any part of the date tree which is
not useful. The wood, though of a spongy texture,
lasts such a number of years, that the inhabitants of
the country say it is incorruptible. They employ it
for making beams and instruments of husbandry it
burns slowly, but the coals which result from its com¬
bustion are very strong, and produce a great heat.
The Arabs strip the bark and fibrous parts from the
young date trees, and eat the substance which is in the
centre*, it is very nourishing, and has a sweet taste: it
is known by the name of the marrow of the date tree.
They eat also the leaves, when they are young and ten¬
der, with lemon juice } the old ones are laid out to dry,
and are employed for making mats and other works of
the same kind, which are much used, and with which
they carry on a considerable trade in the interior parts
of the country. From the sides of the stumps of the
branches which have been left, arise a great number of
delicate filaments, of which they make ropes, and which
might serve to fabricate cloth.
Of the fresh dates and sugar, says Hasselquist, the
Egyptians make a conserve, which has a very pleasant
taste In Egypt they use the leaves as fly-flaps, for
driving away the numerous insects which prove so
troublesome in hot countries. The hard boughs arc
used for fences and other purposes of husbandry ; the
principal stem for building. The fruit, before it rs
ripe, is somewhat astringent •, but when thoroughly
mature, is of the nature of the fig. The Senegal
dates are shorter than those of Egypt, but much thick¬
er in the pulp, which is said to have a sugary agree¬
able taste, superior to that of the best dates of the Le-
vant.
A white liquor, known by the name of milk, is drawn
also from the date tree. rI 0 obtain it, all the branches
are cut from the summit of one of these trees, and after
several incisions have been made in it, they are covered
with leaves, in order that the heat of the sun may not
dry it. ,
The sap drops down into a vessel placed to receive
it, at the bottom of a circular groove, made below the
incisions. The milk of the date tree has a sweet and
agreeable taste when it is new j it is very refreshing,
and it is even given to sick people to drink, but it ge¬
nerally turns sour at the end of 24 hours. Old trees
are chosen for this operation, because the cutting ofthe
branches, and the large quantify of sap which flows
from them, greatly exhaust them, and often cause them
to decay.
The male flowers of the date tree are also useful.
They
(a) The celebrated Linnaeus, in his Dissertation on the Sexes of Plants, speaking of the date tree, says, “ A
female date-bearing palm flowered many years at Berlin without producing any seeds j but the Berlin people taking
care to have some of the blossoms of the male tree, which was then flowering at Leipsic, sent to them by the post,
they obtained fruit by these means ; and some dates, the offspring of this impregnation, being planted in my gar¬
den, sprung up, and to this day continue to grow vigorously. Kcempfer formerly told us, how necessary it was
found by the oriental people, who live upon the produce of palm-trees, and are the true Lotophagi, to plant some
male trees among the females, if they hoped for any fruit} hence it is the practice of those who make war in that
part of the world to cut down all the male palms, that a famine may afflict their proprietors j sometimes even the
inhabitants themselves destroy the male trees when they dread an invasion, that their enemies may find no suste¬
nance in the country
PHD
.PWiiix. They are eaten when still tender, mixed up-with a little
v -lemon juice. They are reckoned to be very provoca¬
tive : the odour which they exhale is probably the cause
ol tins property being ascribed to them.
These date xtrees are very lucrative to the inhabi¬
tants of the desert. Some of them produce 20 bunches
of dates ; but care is always taken to lop off a part
ot them, that those which remain may become larger •
t o 01 12 bunches only are left on the most vigorous
-trees. ' °
It is reckoned that a good tree produces, one year
with another, about the value of io or 12 shillings to
the proprietor. A pretty considerable trade is carried
on with dates in the interior part of the country, and
-arge quantities of them are exported to France and Ita¬
ly. The crop is gathered towards the end of November.
When the bunches are taken from the tree, they are
hung up in some very dry place where they may be
sheltered and secure from insects.
Dates afford wholesome nourishment, and have a very
agreeable taste when they are fresh. The Arabs eat
them without seasoning. They dry and harden them in
the sun, to reduce them to a kind of meal, which they
lay up in store to supply themselves with food during
the long journeys which they often undertake across their
deserts. This simple food is sufficient to nourish them
for a long time.—The inhabitants of the Zaara procure
also from their dates a kind of honey which is exceed¬
ingly sweet. For this purpose they choose those which
Iiave the softest -pulp j and having put them into a
large jar with a hole in the bottom, they squeeze them
by placing over them a weight of eight or ten pounds.
— The most fluid part of the substance, which drops
through the hole, is what they call the honey of the
date.
Lven the stones, though very hard, are not thrown
awav. They give them to their camels and sheep as
food, after they have bruised them or laid them to soften
in water.
I he date, as well as other trees which are cultivated,
-exhibits great variety in its fruit, with respect to shape’
size, quality, and even colour. There are reckoned to
be at least twenty different kinds. Dates are very li¬
able to be pierced by worms, and they soon corrupt in
moist or rainy weather.
1'rom what has been said, it may easily be perceived,
that there is, perhaps, no tree whatever used for so ma¬
ny and so valuable purposes as the date tree.
Phoenix, in antiquity, a famous bird, which is ge¬
nerally looked upon by the moderns as fabulous. The
ancients speak of this bird as single, or the only one of
its kind ; they describe it as of the size of an eagle 3 its
head finely crested with a beautiful plumage, its neck
-covered with feathers of a gold colour, and the rest of
its body purple, only the tail white, and the eyes spark-
ling like stars : they hold, that it lives joo or 6oc
years in the wilderness 3 that when thus advanced in
age, it builds itself a pile of sweet wood and aromatic
gums, and fires it with the wafting of its wings, and
thus burns itself; and that from its ashes arises a worm,
which in time grows up to be a phoenix. Hence the
Phoenicians gave the name oiplmnir to the palm-tree.5
because when burnt down to the root it rises again fairer
than ever.
In the sixth book of the Annals of Tacitus, sect. 2$.
Vol. XVI. Part II. f
1 '4=>9 ] • P K ' O
it is observed that; in the year of Rome 787, -the nhoe- m -
»“ “T“'d Egypt i which occasioned omjg the lean)-
nrm 1 sPec.ufatlon- 1 his being is sacred to tbe sun. u—v 
Ut its longevity the accounts are various. The common
persuasion is, as we have mentioned above, that it lives
500 years 3 though by some the date is extended to
1401. he several eras when the phoenix has been seen
aie fixed by tradition. The first, we are told, was in
the reign of Sesostris ; the second is that of Amasis ;
and, in the period when Ptolemy the third of the Ma¬
cedonian race was seated on the throne of Egypt an
other phoenix directed its flight towards Heliopolis.
VV hen t0 t"ef circumstances are added the brilliant ap¬
pearance of the phoenix, and the tale that it makes fre¬
quent excursions with a load on its back, and that when
by having made the experiment through a long tract of
air, it gains sufficient confidence in its own vigour it
takes up the body of its father and flies with it to
the altar of the sun to be there consumed 3 it cannot
but appear probable, that the learned of Egypt had
enveloped under this allegory the philosophy of co-
Phoenix, son of Amyntor king of Argos by Cleo-
buleor H'ppodamm, was preceptor to young Achilles.
is father having proved faithless to his wife, through
fondness for a concubine called C/ytw, Cleobule, who
was jealous of him, persuaded her son Phoenix to ingra¬
tiate himself with his father’s mistress. Phcenix easily
succeeded; but Amyntor discovering his intrigues, he
drew a curse upon liim, and the sou was soon after de¬
prived of his sight by divine vengeance. Some say that
Amyntor himself put out his son’s eyes, which so cruelly
provoked him that he meditated the death .of his lather.
Reason and piety, however, prevailed over passion 5 and
that lie might not become a parricide, Phoenix fled from
Argos to die court of Peleus king of Phthia. Here he
was treated with tenderness 3 Peleus carried him to
Chiron, who restored his eyesight 3 soon after which he
was made preceptor to Achilles, his benefactor’s son.
He was also presented with the government of many ci¬
ties, and made king of the Dolopes. He, went with his
pupil to the Trojan war 3 and Achilles was ever grate¬
ful for the instructions and precepts which he had re¬
ceived from him. After the death of Achilles, Phoenix,
with others, was commissioned by the Greeks to return
into Greece, to bring to the war young Pyrrhus. This
commission he successfully performed 3 and after the fall
of l roy, fie returned with Pyrrhus, and died in Thrace.
He was buried, according to Strabo, near Trachinia,
where a small river in the neighbourhood received the
name of Phccnhr. There was another Phoenix, son of
Agenor, by a nymph who was called Telephassa, ac¬
cording to Apollodorus and Moschus, or, according to
others, Ppimcdusa^ Perimcda, or Agriopc. He was, like
his brother Cadmus, and Cilix, sent by his father in
pursuit of his sister Enropa, whom Jupiter had carried
away under the form of a bull j and w’hen his inquiries
proved unsuccessful, he settled in a country, which, ac¬
cording to some, was from him called Phoenicia. From
him, as some suppose, the Carthaginians were called
Pani.
I HOLAS, a genus of shell-fish belonging to the or¬
der of vermes testacea. See Conchology I?idex.
. T,ie W0I'<> pholas is derived from the Greek, and sig¬
nifies something which lies hid. This name they derive
3 I froni
P H O [4'
Photo, from ttiM property of making tkemselves Wes in the
*—v-1-' earth, sand, wood, or stone, and living in them, ihe
means of their getting there, however, are as yet en¬
tirely unknown. All that we can know with certainty
is, that they must have penetrated these substances when
very small *, because the entrance of the hole in which
the pholas lodges is always much less than the inner part
of it, and indeed than the shell of the pholas itself.
Hence some have supposed that they were hatched m
holes accidentally formed in stones, and that they na¬
turally grew of such a shape as was necessary to nil the
cavity. ..
The holes in which the pholades lodge are usually
twice as deep, at least, as the shells themselves are long j
the figure of the holes is that of a truncated cone, ex¬
cepting that they are terminated at the bottom by a
rounded cavity, and their position is usually somewhat
oblique to the horizon. The openings of these holes are
what betray the pholas being in the stone j but they are
always very small in proportion to the size ot the fish.
There seems to be no progressive motion of any animal
in nature so slow as that of the pholas j it is immersed
in the hole, and has no movement except a small one to¬
wards the centre of the earth j and this is only propor¬
tioned to the growth of the animal. Its work is very
difficult in its motion ; but it has great time to perform
it in, as it only moves downward, sinking itself deeper
in the stone as it increases itself in bulk. That part by
means of which it performs this, is a fleshy substance
placed near the lower extremity of the shell *, it is of the
shape of a lozenge, and is considerably large in propor¬
tion to the size of the animal; and though it be of a
soft substance, it is not to be wondered at that in so
long a time it is able, by constant work, to burrow into
A hard stone. The manner of their performing this may
be seen by taking one of them out of the stone, and pla¬
cing it upon some soft clay for they will immediately
get to work in bending and extending that part allotted
to dig for them, and in a few hours they will bury them¬
selves in the mud in as large a hole as they had taken
many years to make in the stone. They find little re¬
sistance in so soft a substance ; and the necessity of their
hiding themselves evidently makes them hasten their
work. The animal is lodged in the lower half of the
hole in the stone, and the upper half is filled up by a
pipe of a fleshy substance and conic figure, truncated at
the end : this they usually extend to the orifice of the
hole, and place on a level with the surface of the stone5
but they seldom extend it any farther than this. The
pipe, though it appears single, is in reality composed of
two pipes, or at least it is composed of two parts sepa¬
rated by a membrane. The use of this pipe or proboscis
is the same with that of the proboscis of other shell fish,
to take in sea-water into their bodies, and afterwards to
throw it out again. In the middle of their bodies they
have a small green vessel, the use of which has not yet
been discovered. This, when plunged in spirit-of-wine,
becomes of a purple colour j but its colour on linen
does not become purple in the sun like that of the
jnurex.
The pholas is remarkable for its luminous quality,
which was noticed by Pliny, who observes that it shines
in the mouth of the person who eats it : and if it touch
his hands or clothes, it makes them luminous. He also
says that the light depends upon its moisture. The light
o ] P H O
of this fish has furnislted matter for various observations PhoUj,
and experiments to M. Reaumur and the Bolognian aca- v—'
demicians, especially Beccarius, who took so much pains
with the subject of phosphoreal light.
M. Reaumur observes, that whereas other fishes give
light when they tend to putrescence, this is more lu¬
minous in proportion to its being fresh ; that when
they are dried, their light will revive if they be moist¬
ened either with fresh or salt water, but that brandy
immediately extinguishes it. He endeavoured to make
this light permanent, but none ol his schemes suc¬
ceeded. , .
The attention of the Bolognian academicians was en¬
gaged to this subject by M. F. Marsilius in 1744, who
brought a number of these fishes, and the stones in
which they were inclosed, to Bologna, on purpose loi
their examination. .
Beccarius observed, that though tins fish ceased to
shine when it became putrid, yet that in its most putrid
state it would shine, and make the water m which it was
immersed luminous when it was agitated. Galeatius and
Montius found that wine or vinegar extinguished this
light; that in common oil it continued some days, but
in rectified spirit of wine or urine hardly a minute.
In older to observe in what manner this light was af¬
fected by different degrees of heat, they made use of a
Reaumur’s thermometer, and found that water rendered
luminous bv those fishes increased in light till the beat
arrived to 450, but that it then became suddenly ex¬
tinct, and could not be revived again.
In the experiments of Beccarius, a solution of sea-salt
increased the light of the luminous water *, a solution of
nitre did not increase it quite so much. Sal ammoniac
diminished it a little, oil of tartar per deliquium nearly
extinguished it, and the acids entirely. This water,
poured upon fresh calcined gypsum, rock-crystal, ce¬
ruse, or sugar, became more luminous. He also tried
the effects of it when poured upon various other sub¬
stances, but there was nothing very remarkable in
Afterwards, using luminous milk, he found that oil ol
vitriol extinguished the light, but that of tartar in-
creased .
This gentleman had the curiosity to try how ^ffer'
ently coloured substances were affected by this kind ol
light j and having, for this purpose, dipped several rib¬
bons in it, the white came out the brightest, next to this
was the yellow, and then the green : the other colours
could hardly be perceived. It was not, however, any
particular colour, but only light, that was perceived in
this case. He then dipped hoards painted with the dii-
ferent colours, and also glass tubes filled with substances
of different colours, in water rendered luminous by the
fishes. In both these cases, the red was hardly visible,
the yellow was the brightest, and the violet the dullest.
But on the boards, the blue was nearly equal to the yel¬
low, and the green more languid; whereas in the glas¬
ses, the blue was inferior to the green.
Of all the liquors to which he put the pholades, milK
was rendered the most luminous. A single pholas made
seven ounces of milk so luminous, that the laces 0 per¬
sons might be distinguished by it, and it looked as it it
Were transparent. v
Air appeared to be necessary to this light: lor when
Beccarius put the luminous milk into glass tubes, no agi¬
tation would make it shine unless bubbles of air were mix-
5 3 *
P H O
’holas, e(^ with it. Also Montius and Galeatins found, that, in
"hoteys. an exhausted receiver, the pholas lost its light, but the
water was sometimes made more luminous : which they
ascribed to the rising of bubbles of air through it.
Beccarius, as well as Reaumur, had many schemes to
render the light of these pholades permanent. For this
purpose he kneaded the juice into a kind of paste with
flour, and found that it would give light when it was
immersed in warm water •, but it answered best to pre¬
serve the fish in honey. In any other method of preser¬
vation, the property of becoming luminous would not
continue longer than six months, but in honey it had
lasted above a year; and then it would, when plunged
in warm water, give as much light as ever it had done.
See Barbut’s Genera Vermium, p. 14. &c.
PHOLEYS, or Foulies, are a people of Africa,
of very peculiar mantle's. Some authors tell us, that
.the kingdom of Pholey, from whence they derive their
name, is divided from that of Jaloff by a lake called in
the language of the Mundingoes Ccnjor; and that it
stretches from east to west about 180 miles j but that,
though it extends a great way south, its limits in that
direction are not exactly ascertained
Mr Moore, however, gives a very different account,
and says, that the Pholeys live in clans, build towns,
and are in every kingdom and country on each side of
the river 5 yet are not subject to any of the kings of
the country, though they live in their territories j for
if they are used ill in one nation, they break up their
towns, and remove to another. They have chiefs of
their own, who rule with such moderation, that every
act of government seems rather an act of the people
than of one man. Ihis form of government is easily
administered, because the people are of a good and
quiet disposition, and so well instructed in what is just
and right, that a man who does ill exposes himself to
universal contempt.
'The natives of all these countries, not being avari¬
cious of land, desire no more than they can use j and
as they do not plough with horses or other cattle, they
can use but very little ; and hence the kings willingly
allow the Pholeys to live in their dominions, and cul¬
tivate the earth.
The Pholeys have in general a tawney complexion,
though many of them are of as deep a black as the
Mundingoes j and it is supposed that their alliances
with the Moors have given them the mixed colour be¬
tween the true olive and the black. They are rather
of a low stature, but have a genteel and easy shape,
with an air peculiarly delicate and agreeable.
Though they are strangers in the country, they are
the greatest planters in it. They are extremely indu¬
strious and frugal, and raise much more corn and cot¬
ton than they consume, which they sell at reasonable
rates ; and are so remarkable for their hospitality, that
o C t ri I4- n El a. _ I T'il 1
[ 41J ]
P H O
port the old, the blind, and the lame, equally with the
others.
These people are seldom angry 5 and Mr Moore ob¬
serves that he never heard them abuse each other; yet
this mildness is far from proceeding from want of cou-
rage, they being as brave as any people of Africa, and
very expert in the use of their arms, which are javelins,
cutlasses, bows and arrows, and upon occasion guns.
They usually settle near some Mundingo town, there
being scarce any of note up the river that has not a
Pholey town near it. Most of them speak Arabic,
which is taught in their schools j and they are able to
read the Koran in that language, though they have a
vulgar tongue called Pholey. They are strict Maho¬
metans, and scarce any of them will drink brandy, or
any thing stronger than sugar and water.
They are so skilful in the management of cattle, that
the Mundingoes leave theirs to their care. The whole
herd belonging to a town feed all day in the savannahs,
,and after the crop is ofl, in the rice-grounds. They
have a place without each town for their cattle, sur¬
rounded by a circular hedge, and within this enclosure
they raise a stage about eight feet high, and eight or ten
feet wide, covered with a thatched roof-, all the sides
are open, and they ascend to it by a ladder. Round this
stage they fix a number of stakes, and when the cattle
are brought up at night, each beast is tied to a separate
stake with a strong rope made of the bark of trees. The
cows are then milked, and four or five men stay upon the
stage all night with their arms to guard them from the
lions, tygers, and other wild beasts. Their houses are
built in a very regular manner, they being round struc¬
tures, placed in rows at a distance from each other to
avoid fire, and each of them has a thatched roof some¬
what resembling a high-crowned hat.
They are also great huntsmen, and not only kill lions,
tygers, and other wild beasts, but frequently go 20 or
30 in a company to hunt elephants j whose teeth they
sell, and whose flesh they smoke-dry and eat, keeping it
for several months together As the elephants here ge¬
nerally go in droves of 100 or 200, they do great mischief
by pulling up the trees by the roots, and trampling down
the corn j to prevent which, when the natives have any
suspicion of their coming, they make fires round their
corn to keep them out.
They are almost the only people who make butter,
and sell cattle at some distance up the river. They are
very particular in their dress, and never wear any other
clothes but long robes of white cotton, which they make
themselves. They are always very clean, especially the
women, who keep their houses exceedingly neat. They
are, however, in some particulars very superstitious: for
if they chance to know that any person who buys milk
of them boils it, they will from thenceforth on no con¬
sideration sell that person any more, from their imagin-
Pboleys,
Pholis.
, ' . . -—7 — —biueraiiou *eu uiai person any more, irom tnei
. e ,na. ives. esteem !t a blessing to have a Pholey town ing that boiling the milk makes the cows dry.
in their neighbourhood ; and their hehavlmir bae ‘prinT Ts  / tt-*   ij
in their neighbourhood j and their behaviour has gain¬
ed them such reputation, that it is esteemed infamous
for any one to treat them in an unhospitable manner.
Their humanity extends to all, but they are doubly
kind to people of their race j and if they know of any
one of their body being made a slave, they will rea¬
dily redeem him. As they have plenty of food, they
®ever suffer any of their own people to want} but sup¬
PHOLIS, in Natural History, is an old name for
gypsums or plaster-stones. The name is derived from
<paX»s, a scale or small flake, because they are composed
of particles of that form.
Pholis, in Ichthyology, is the name of a small an •
guilliform fish. The back is brown, the belly is white,
the whole back and sides are spotted, and the skin is
soft, free of scales, but with a tough mucilaginous mat-
3 F a ter
P H O [41
Pholeys ter like tlie eel. This species most of all approaches to
the alatida; and though usually larger, yet Mr Kay
1 •. _ vxr it in qiiv thmo* ps«
i
P H O
II the alauda; and thougn usuauy
Phormiurn. (|ouI)ts whether It really differs from it in any thing es
1 '(~~J sential j the distinction is its colour, which though a
very obvious is certainly a very precarious one.
PHONICS, the doctrine or science ol sound, other¬
wise called Acoustics, which see. '
PHORMIUM, Flax-plant, {Phortmum tciiax,
Forst.) is a name which we may give to a plant that
serves the inhabitants of New Zealand instead of hemp
and flax. Of this plant there are two sorts j the leaves
of both resemble those of flags, but the flowers are
smaller, and their clusters more numerous 5 in one kind
they are yellow, and in the other a deep red. Ot the
leaves of these plants, with very little preparation, they
make all their common apparel, and also their strings,
lines, and cordage, for every purpose *, which are so
much stronger than any thing we can make with hemp,
that they will not bear a comparison.—I rom the same
plant, by another preparation, they draw long slender
fibres, which shine like silk, and are as white as snow:
of these, which are very strong, they make their hnest
clothes j and of the leaves, without any other prepara¬
tion than splitting them into proper breadths, and tying
the strips together, they make their fishing-nets, some
of which are of an enormous size.
The seeds of this valuable plant were brought over
into England •, but, upon the first trial, appeared to
have lost their vegetating power. M e understand how¬
ever that it has since succeeded with the aid ot aititi-
The filamentous parts of different vegetables have
been employed in different countries for the same me¬
chanic uses as hemp and flax among us. 1 utrefaction,
and in some degree alkaline lixivia, destroy the pulpy
or fleshy matter, and leave the tough filaments entire.
By curiously putrefying the leaf of a plant in water, we
obtain the fine flexible fibres, which constituted the basis
of the ribs and minute veins, and which form as it were
a skeleton of the leaf. In Madagascar, different kinds
of cloth are prepared from the filaments of the bark ot
certain trees boiled in strong ley *, and some ot these
• cloths are very fine, and approach to the softness of silk,
but in durability come short of cotton : others are coarser
and stronger, and last thrice as long as cotton j and ot
these filaments they make sails and cordage to their ves¬
sels The stalks of nettles are sometimes used tor like
purposes, even in Fiance y and Sir Hans Sloane relates,
.in one of his letters to Mr Ray, that he has been inform¬
ed by several, that muslin and callico, and most ot Urn
Indian linens, are made of nettles. A strong kind ot
cloth is said to be prepared in some of the provinces ot
Sweden of hop-stalks j and in the Transactions ot the
Swedish Academy for 1750, we have an account ot an
experiment relating to this subject: A quantity of stalks
was gathered in autumn, which was equal m bulk to a
quantity of flax sufficient to yield a pound alter prepara¬
tion The stalks were put into water, and kept covered
with it during the winter. In March, they were taken
out, dried in a stove, and dressed as flax. 1 he prepared
filaments weighed nearly a pound, and proved hne, sott,
and white } they were spun and wove into six ells of hne
strong cloth. Unless the stalks are fully rotted, winch
will take much longer time than flax, the woody part
will not separate, and the cloth will prove neither white riiorni'iitH
nor fine.
r *lne* ! 1 pi •
PHOSPHATE is a saline body composed of phos- , 1
phone acid united to some base, as foi instance, hme,.
which is called phosphate ol lime. For an account of
the different phosphates, see Chemistry and Minera¬
logy Index.
PHOSPHORUS, a name given to certain substan¬
ces which shine in the dark without emitting heat. By
this circumstance they are distinguished from the pyro-
phori, which though they take fire on being exposed to
the air, are yet entirely destitute of light before this ex¬
posure.
Phosphori are divided into several kinds, known by
the names of Bolognian phosphorus, Air Canton's phos¬
phorus, Baldwin's phosphorus, phosphorus of urine, &c.
of which the last is by far the most remarkable both
with respect to the quantity of light which it emits, and
its property of taking fire and burning very fiercely up¬
on being slightly heated or rubbed. For the method of
preparing these, and for an account of their properties-
and combinations, see Chemistry Index.
PHOTINIANS, in ecclesiastical history, were a sect
of heretics in the fourth century who denied the divini¬
ty of our Lord. They derive their name from Phottnus
their founder, who was bishop ol Sirmium, and a dis¬
ciple of Marcellos. Photinus published in the year 343
his notions respecting the Deity, which were lepugnant
both to the orthodox and Arian systems. He asserted,
that Jesus, Christ was born of the Holy Ghost and the
Virgin Mary : that a certain divine emanation, which
be called the fiord, descended upon him-, and that be¬
cause of the union of the divine word with his human
nature, He was called the son of God and even God .
himself j and that the Holy Ghost was not a person, but
merely a celestial virtue proceeding from the Deity.
Both parties condemned the bishop in the cooncils ot
Antioch and Milan, held in the years 345 and 347.
He was condemned also by the council at Sirmium in
351, and was afterwards degraded from the episcopal
dignity, and at last died in exile in the year 372 or
375. His opinions were afterwards revived by Soci-
PHOTIUS, patriarch of Constantinople, was one ot
the finest geniuses of his time, and his merit raised him
to, the patriarchate 5 for Bardas having driven Ignatius
from the see, Photius was consecrated by Asbestus m
8 cn. He condemned Ignatius in a synod, whereupon
thei pope excommunicated him, and he, to balance tie
account, anathematized the pope. Basilius of Macedon,
the emperor whom Photius had reproved for the murder
of Michael the late emperor, expelled him, and restored
Ignatius but afterwards re-established Photius, upon
Ignatius’s death, in 878. At last, being wrongfully
accused of a conspiracy against the person of Leo the
philosopher, son and successor to Basihus, he was expel¬
led by him in 886, and is supposed to have died soon
after. He wrote a Bibliotheca, which contains an exa-
men of 280 authors: we have also 253 epistles of his i
the Nomacanon under 14 titles • an abridgement ot the
acts of several councils, &c. This great man was bom
in Constantinople, and was descended from a very illu¬
strious and noble family. His natural abilities weie
strious anu nuuio . --
very great, and he cultivated them with the greatest ss-
P H R [ 41
sicluity. There was no branch of literature, whether
sacred and profane, and scarcely any art or science, in
which he was not. deeply versed. Indeed he appears to
have been by far the greatest man of the age in which
he lived ; and was so intimately concerned in the chief
transactions of it, that ecclesiastical writers have on that
account called it Seculum Photianum. He was first
raised to the chief dignities of the empire, being made
principal secretary of state, captain of the guards, and a
senator. In all these stations he acquitted himself with
a distinction suitable to his great abilities, for he was a
refined statesmen, as well as a profound scholar. His
rise to the patriarchate was very quick ; for when he wras
chosen to that office he was only a layman ; but that he
might be as it were gradually raised to that dignity, he
was made monk the first day, reader the next, and the
following days sub-deacon, deacon, and priest. So that
in the space of six days he attained to the highest office
in the church. On the whole, however, his ardent love
of glory and unbounded ambition made him commit ex¬
cesses which rendered him a scourge to those about him.
Fabricius calls his Bibliotheca or library, non liber,
sed insignis thesaurus, “ not a book, but an illustrious
treasure,” in which are contained many curious things,
relating to authors, and many fragments of works w hich
^re no where else to be found. It was brought to light
by Andreas Scottus, and communicated by him to Da¬
vid Hoeschelius, who caused it to be printed in 1601.
Scottus, considering the great utility of this work,
translated it into Latin, and printed his translation
alone in 1606. The Greek text, together with the
translation, was afterwards printed at Geneva in 1611.
PHOTOMETER, an instrument for ascertaining
the intensity of light. See Optics Index.
PHRAATES, or Phrahates. There were four
kings of this name in Parthia. See ParthIa.
PHRASE, in Grammar, an elegant turn or man¬
ner of speech, peculiarly belonging to this or that oc¬
casion, this or that art. or this or that language. Thus
we say, an Italian phrase, an eastern phrase, a poeti¬
cal phrase, a rhetorical phrase.
Phrase is sometimes also used for a short sentence
or small set or circuit of words constructed together.
In this sense, Father Buffier divides phrases into com¬
plete and incomplete.
Phrases are complete where there is a noun and a
verb, each in its proper function ; i. e. where the noun
expresses a subject, and the verb the thing affirmed of it.
Incomplete phrases are those where the noun and the
verb together only do the office of a noun ; consisting
of several words without affirming any thing, and which
might be expressed in a single word. Thus, that which
is true, is an incomplete phrase, which might be ex¬
pressed in one word, truth ; as, that which is true sa¬
tisfies the mind, i. e. truth satisfies the mind.
PHRASEOLOGY, a collection of the phrases or
elegant expressions in any language. See Phrase.
PHREATIS, or Phreattium, in Grecian anti¬
quity, was a court belonging to the civil government of
Athens, situated upon the sea-shore, in the Piraeus.
Hie name is derived from xxo m Qgixios, because it
stood in a pit, or, as others suppose, from the hero
Phreatus. This court heard such causes as concerned
persons who had fled out of their own country for mur¬
der, or those that fled for involuntary murder, and who
.2
Phrase
, II
Phrygia.
3 ] P H R
had afterwards committed a deliberate and wilful mur¬
der. The first who was tried in this place was Teucer,
on a groundless suspicion that he had been accessory to
the death ol Ajax. The accused was not allowed to- ^" * *
come to land, or so much as to cast anchor, but pleaded
his cause in his bark ; and if found guilty, was commit¬
ted to the mercy ol the winds and waves, or, as some
say, suffered there condign punishment; if innocent, he
was only cleared of the second fact, and, according to
custom, underwent a twelvemonth’s banishment for the-
former. See Potter’s Gr. Antiq. vol. i. p. iij.
PHRLNITIC, a term used to denote those who,
without being absolutely mad, are subject to such strong
sallies ot imagination as in some measure pervert their
judgment, and cause them to act in a way different
from the more rational part of mankind.
PHRENITIS, the same with Phrensy y an in¬
flammation of the meninges of the brain, attended with
an acute fever and delirium. See Medicine, N° 176J
also an account of a strange degree of phrensy which
attacked Charles AI. of I ranee, in the article France.
N° 88, 90.
FHRYGANEA, a genus of insects, belonging to
the order neuroptera. See Entomology Index.
PHRYGIA, a country in Asia. From whence it
derived its name is not certain : some say it w'as from
the river Phryx (now Sarabat), which divides Phry¬
gia from Cana, and empties itself into the Hermus y Ancient
others from Phrygia, the daughter of Asopus and Eu- Universal
ropa. The Greek writers tell us, that the country took
its name from the inhabitants, and these from the town p. .i,"1, &c
of Brygium in Macedonia, from whence they first passed
into Asia, and gave the name of Phrygia or Brygia to
the country where they settled. Bochart is of opinion
that this tract was called Phrygia Rom the Greek verb
fQvym, “ to burn or parch j” which, according to him,
is a translation of its Hebrew napie, derived from a
verb of the same signification.
No less various are the opinions of authors as to the
exact boundaries of this country 5 an uncertainty which
gave rise to an observation made by Strabo, viz. that
the Phrygians and Mysians had distinct boundaries j but
that it was scarce possible to ascertain them. The same
writer adds, that the 7 rojans, Mysians, and Lydians,
are, by the poets, all blended under the common name
of Phrygians, which Claudian extends to the Pisidians,
Bithynians, and lonians. Phrygia Proper, according
to Ptolemy, whom we choose to follow, was bounded
on the north by Pontus and Bithynia ; on the west by
Mysia, Troas, the iEgean sea, Lydia, Mseonia, and
Caria; on the south by Lycia ; on the east by Pam-
phylia and Galatia. It lies between the 37th and 41st
degrees of north latitude, extending in longitude from
56 to 62 degrees. The inhabitants of this country,
mentioned by Ptolemy, are the Lycaones and Anthe-
misenii, towards Lycia y and Moccadelis or Mocca-
dine, the Cyddeses or Cydisses towards Bithynia ; and
between these the Peltini or Speltini, the Moxiani,
Phylacenses, and Hierapolitae. To these we may add
the Berecyntes mentioned by Strabo.
Phrygia is commonly divided into the Greater and
Lesser Phrygia, called also Troas. But this division
did not take place till Troas was subdued by the Phry¬
gians y and hence it is more considered by some Roman
writers as a part of Phrygia, than Bithynia, Cappado-
P H R
Phrygia, cia, or any other of the adjacent provinces
■-y —■ i» ages, the Great Phrygia was divided into two districts
or governments j one called Phrygia Pacatiana, from
Pacatianus, who, under Constantine, bore the great of¬
fice of the prsefectus pt setorio of the East $ the other
Phrygia Salularis, from some miraculous cures suppos¬
ed to have been performed there by the archangel Mi¬
chael.
This country, and indeed all Asia Minor, as lying
in the fifth and sixth northern climates, was in ancient
times greatly celebrated for its fertility. It abounded
• in all sorts of grain ; being, for the most part, a plain
country covered with a deep rich soil, and plentifully
watered by small rivers. It was in some parts produc¬
tive of bitumen and other combustible substances. It
was well stocked with cattle, having large plains and
pasture grounds. The air was anciently deemed most
pure and wholesome, though it is now in some parts
thought extremely gross, great part of the country ly¬
ing uncultivated.
In Phrygia Major were anciently several cities of
great celebrity j such as Apanea, Laodicea, Hiera-
POLIS, Gordium, &c.—There were also some famous
rivers j such as Marsyas, Mieander, &c. The Msean-
der is now called Madre or Mindre, and was much ce¬
lebrated by the ancients for its windings and turningsj
from whence all such windings and turnings have been
denominated mceanders.
The Phrygians accounted themselves the most an¬
cient people in the world. Their origin, however, is ex¬
tremely dark and uncertain. Josephus and St Jerome say,
they Were descended from Togarmah, one of Gomel’s
sons: and that they were known to the Hebrews under
the name of Tigrammanes. The Heathen authors derive
them from the Brygians, a people of Macedonia. But
this is but mere conjecture ; and it is a conjecture to¬
tally unsupported, except by the similarity of names.
Bochart thinks that the Phrygians were the offspring
of Gomer the eldest son of Japhet: the ivord Phrygia
being the Greek translation of his name. Josephus
makes Gomer the father of the Galatians ; but he, by
the Galatians, must necessarily mean the Phrygians in¬
habiting that part of Phrygia which the Galatians had
made themselves masters of-, the descendants of Gomer
being placed by Ezekiel northward of Judaea, near
Togarmah (which Bochart takes to be Cappadocia),
long before the Gauls passed over into Asia. We are
willing to let Gomer enjoy the fine country which Bo¬
chart is pleased to give him, and allow him the honour
of being the progenitor of the Phrygians, since we know
no other person on whom it can be conferred with any
degree of probability.
The ancient Phrygians are described as superstitious,
voluptuous, and effeminate, without any prudence or
foresight, and of such a servile temper, that nothing
but stripes and ill usage could make them comply with
their duty; which gave rise to several trite and well
I 4H ] P H R
In after known proverbs (a). They are said to have been the Pirygia.
first inventors of divination by the singing, flying, andv \r-~
feeding of birds. Their music, commonly called the
Phrtjgian mood, is alleged by some as an argument of
their effeminacy.
This government was certainly monarchical; for all
Phrygia was, during the reigns of some kings, subject to
one prince. Ninnacus, Midas, IManis, Gordius, and his
descendants, were undoubtedly sovereigns of all Phry¬
gia. But so#e time before the Trojan war, we find
this country divided into several petty kingdoms, and
read of divers princes reigning'at the same time. Apol-
lodorus mentions a king of Phrygia contemporary with
Ilus king of Troy. Eedrenus and others speak of one
Teuthrans, king of a small country in Phrygia, whose
territories were ravaged by Ajax, himself slain in single
combat, his royal seat laid in ashes, and his daughter,
by name Tecmessa, carried away captive by the con¬
queror. Homer makes mention of Phorcys and Ascani-
us, both princes and leaders of the Phrygian auxiliaries
that came to the relief of Troy. Tantalus was king of
Sipylus only, and its district j a prince no less famous
for his great wealth, than infamous for his covetousness
and other detestable vices. That Phrygia was subdued
either by Ninus, as Diodorus Siculus informs us, or by
the Amazons, as we read in Suidas, is not sufficiently
warranted. IMost authors that speak of Gordius tell
us, that the Phrygians having sent to consult an oracle
in order to know how they might put an end to the
intestine broils which rent their country into many fac¬
tions and parties, received for answer, that the most
effectual means to deliver themselves and their coun¬
try from the calamities they groaned under, was to
commit the government to a king. This advice they
followed accordingly, and placed Gordius on the
throne. _ .
Apamea was the chief emporium of all Asia Minor.
—Thither resorted merchants and traders from all parts
of Greece, Italy, and the neighbouring islands. Be¬
sides, we know from Syncellus, that the Phrygians
were for some time masters of the sea 5 and none but
trading nations ever prevailed on that element. The
country produced many choice and useful commodi¬
ties, which afforded considerable exports. They had
a safe coast, convenient harbours, and whatever may
incline us to think that they carried on a considerable
trade. But as most of the Phrygian records are lost,
we will not dwell on conjectures so difficult to be ascer¬
tained. _ ,
We have no set form of their laws j and as to their
learning, since we are told that for some time they
enjoyed the sovereignty of the sea, we may at least
allow them a competent skill in geography, geometry,
and astronomy; and add to these, from what we have
said above, a more than ordinary knowledge of music.
Some have been of opinion that the Phrygian lan¬
guage bore a great resemblance to the Greek; but
(a) “ Phryges sero sapiunt, Phryx verberatus melior, Phryx non minus quam Spyntharus, &c. . w nc 1 pro
verbs intimate their servile temper; and show that they were more fit to bewail misfortunes in an unman y 1
ner, than to prevent them by proper measures. Their music, too, was suited to their effeminate temper.
Doric mood was a kind of grave and solid music; the Lydian a doleful and lamentable harmony, u e
gian chiefly calculated to effeminate and enervate the mind. But this character is contradicted by 0 ers.
P H R
: Phrygia
li
iPhryne.
the Contrary is manifest from the few Phrygian words
which have beeq transmitted to us, and carefully col¬
lected by Bochart and Rudbechius. To the-se we may
add the authority of Strabo, who, after attempting to
derive the name of a Phrygian city from the Greek,
concludes, that it is a difficult matter to discover any
similitude between the barbarous words of the Phrygian
language and the Greek. The Phrygian tongue, after
the experiment made by Psammetichus king of Egypt,
was looked upon by the Egyptians as the most ancient
language of the world. But other nations, particular¬
ly the Scythians, refused to submit to their opinion, as
founded on an argument of no real weight. “ As the
two children (say they) had never heard the voice of
any human creature, the word bee, or bekkos, the first
they uttered, was only an imitation of the goats that had
suckled them, and happened to be a Phrygian word
signifying bread (b).
We have already said, that the Phrygians were super¬
stitious ; their idols were consequently very numerous.
The chief ol these was Cybele, who went by a variety
of names. (See Cybele). They also worshipped Bac¬
chus under the name of Subuxios ; and his priests they
called Sabot.
The history of their kings is dark and uncertain, and
the dates of their several reigns and actions cannot now
be fixed ; we shall refer such of our readers, therefore,
as wish to know what is certain respecting them, to the
Ancient Universal History, already quoted more than
once in the present article. See also Gordius, Midas,
&c. For Ph rygia Minor, see Troy.
PHRYGIAN stone, in Natural History, is the
name of a stone described by' the ancients, and used by
them in dyeing j perhaps from some vitriolic or alumi¬
nous salt contained in it, which served to enliven or fix
the colours used by the dyrers. It was light and spungy,
resembling a pumice ; and the whitest and lightest were
reckoned the best Pliny gives an account of the me¬
thod of preparing it for the purpose of dyeing, which
was by moistening it with urine, and then heating it
red hot, and suffering it to cool.—This calcination was
repeated three times, and the stone was then fit for use.
Dioscorides recommended it in medicine after burning j
he says it was drying and astringent.
PHRYGIANS, a Christian sect. See Cataphry-
gians and Montanists.
PHRYNE, was a famous prostitute, who flourished
at Athens about 328 years before the Christian era.
She was mistress of Praxiteles, who drew her picture,
which was one of his best pieces, and was placed in the
temple of Apollo at Delphi. We are told that Apelles
painted his Venus Anadyomene after he had seen
Phryne on the sea-shore naked, and with dishevelled
hair. Phryne became so very rich by the liberality of
her lovers, that she offered to rebuild Thebes at her
own expence, which Alexander had destroyed, provided
this inscription was placed on the walls : Alexander di-
viiil, sed meretnx Phryne refecit; which was refused.
See Phn. 34. c. 8. There was another of the same
name who was accused of impiety. When she found
f 41s ]
P H R
that she was going to be condemned, she unveiled her
bosom, which so influenced her judges, that she was im¬
mediately acquitted.
PHRYNICUS, a general of Samos, who endeavour¬
ed to betray his country, &c. A flatterer at Athens.
 A tragic poet of Athens, disciple to Thespis. He
was the first who introduced a female character on the
sta^e.
PHRYNIS w'as a musician of Mitylene. He was
the first who obtained a musical prize at the Panathentea
at Athens. He added two strings to the lyre, which
had always been used with seven by all his predecessors.
He flourished about 438 years before the Christian era.
We are told that he was originally a cook at the house
of Hiero king of Sicily. There was another of the
same name, a writer in the reign of Commodus, who
made a collection, in 36 books, ot phrases and sentences
from the best Greek authors, &c.
PHRYXUS, in fabulous history, was a son of Atha-
mas king ol Thebes, by Nephele. When his mother
was repudiated, he was persecuted with the most inve¬
terate fury by his step-mother Ino, because he was to sit
on the throne of Athamas, in preference to the children
of a second wife. His mother apprized him of Ino’s
intentions upon his life j or, according to others, his
preceptor j and the better to make his escape, he se¬
cured part of his father’s treasures, and privately left
Boeotia with his sister Helle, to go to their friend and
relation AEetes king of Colchis. They embarked on
board a ship, or, as we arc informed by the fabulous
account of the poets and mythologists, they mounted
on the back of a ram, whose fleece was of gold j and
proceeded on their journey through the air. The
height to which they were carried made Helle giddy,
and she fell into the sea. Phryxus gave his sister a
decent burial on the sea-shore, and after he had called
the place Hellespont from her name, he conlifiued his
flight, and arrived safe in the kingdom of iEetes,
wliere he offered the ram on the altar of Mars. The
king received him with great tenderness, and gave him
Chalciope his daughter in marriage. She had by him
Phrontis Melas, Argos Cylindrus, whom some call
Cytorus. He was afterwards murdered by his father-
in-law, who envied him the possession of the golden
fleece ; and Chalciope, to prevent her children from
sharing their father’s fate, sent them privately from
Colchis to Bceotia, as nothing was to be dreaded there
from the jealousy or resentment of Ino, who was then
dead. The fable of the flight of Phryxus to Colchis
on a ram has been explained by some, who observe,
that the ship on which he embarked was either called
by that name, or carried on her prow a figure of that
animal. The fleece of gold is accounted for, by ob¬
serving that Phryxus carried away immense treasures
from Thebes. Phryxus was placed among the constel¬
lations of heaven after death. The ram which carried
him to Asia is said to have been the fruit of Neptune’s
amour with Theophane the daughter of Altis. This
ram the gods had given to Athamas in order to reward
his piety and religious life j and Nephele procured it for
her
(b) Goropius Becanus makes use of the same argument, to prove that the High Dutch is the original or mother-
tongue of the world, because the word beker in that language signifies “ a baker.”
P H Y
t 4*6 ]
PHY
pliryxus her cliililren, just as they were going to he sacrificed to
II the jealousy of Ino. Phryxus’s murder was some time
1’hylaetery. after amply revenged by the Greeks 5 it having occa-
’ ^ ‘ sioned the famous expedition achieved under Jason
•and many of the princes ot Greece, which had lor its
object the recovery of the golden fleece, and the punish¬
ment of the king of Colchis for his cruelty to the son of
Athamas.
PHTHIRIASIS, the Lousy Evil, from <phi^ “ a
louse.” Children are frequently its subjects, but adults
are sometimes troubled with it. The increase ol lice,
when in a warm moist situation, is verw great; but a
cold and dry one soon destroys them, (^n the human
body four kinds office are distinguished : I. J be peril-
ruli, so called because they are more troublesome with
their feet than by their bite. These are in the heads of
children, especially if sore or scabby •, and often in those
of adults, if they are slothful and nasty. 2. Crab-lice.
3. Body lice*, these infest the body, and breed in the
clothes of the nasty and slothful. 4. A sort which breed
under the cuticle, and are found in the hands and feet :
they are of a round form, and so minute as often to
escape the sight: by creeping under the scarf-skin they
cause an intolerable itching; and ivlien the skin bursts
where they lodge, clusters of them are found there. See
Acarus.
A good diet and cleanliness conduce much to the de¬
struction of lice. When they are in the head, comb it
every day *, and, after each combing, sprinkle the pulv.
sem. staph, agr. or coccul. Ind. among the hairs every
night, and confine it with a tight cap.
Codrochius, in his treatise on lice, says, that the
powdered coc. Ind. exceeds all other means $ and that
it may be mixed in the pulp of apple, or in lard, and ap¬
plied every night to the hair. Some writers assert, that
if the pulv* cort. rad. sassafr. be sprinkled on the head,
. and confined with a handkerchief, it destroys the lice in
, one night.
The body-lice are destroyed by any bitter, sour, salt,
or mercurial medicine, it applied to the skin.
Black soap, and the flowers called cardamine or lady's
smock, are said to be specifics in all cases of lice on the
human body.
PHTHISIS, a species of consumption, occasioned by
an ulcer in the lungs. ' See Medicine Index.
, PHUL, or Pul, king of Assyria, is by some histori¬
ans said to be Ninus under another name, and the first
founder of that monarchy : A renowned rvarrior. He
invaded Israel in the reign of Menahem, who became
.tributary to him, and paid him iooc talents of silver for
a peace. Flourished 771 B.C.
PHUT, or Phwth, the third son of Ham (Gen. x.
6.). « Calmet is of opinion, that Phut peopled either the
canton of Phtemphu, Pbtempbuti, or Phtembnti, set
down in Pliny and Ptolemy, whose capital was Thar a in
Lower Egypt, inclining towards Libya, or tire canton
called Phtenotes, of which Buthus was the capital. The
prophets often spoke of Phut. In the time of Jeremiah,
Phut was under the obedience of Necho king of Egpyt.
Nahum (iii. 9.) reckons up his people in the number of
•those who ought to have come to the assistance of No-
ammon or Diospolis.
PHYLACETRY, in the general, was a name given
Jjy the ancients to all kinds of charms, spells, or cha-
Plivsical
racters, which they wore about them, as anrulets, to flivlaete,,
preserve them from danger or diseases.
PHYLACTERY particularly denoted a slip of parch¬
ment, wherein was written some text of Holy Scripture,
particularly of the decalogue, which the more devout
people among the Jews wore on the forehead, the breast,
or the neck, as a mark of their religion.
The primitive Christians also gave the name phylac¬
teries to the cases wherein they inclosed the relicks of
their dead.
Phylacteries are often mentioned in the New Testa¬
ment," and appear to have been very common among
the Pharisees in our Lord’s time.
PHYLICA, Bastard Alaternus; a genus of
plants belonging to the pentandria class. See Botany
-Index.
PHYLLANTHUS, Sea side Laurel; a genus of
plants belonging to the monoetia class. See Botany
index.
PHYLLIS, in fabulous history, was a daughter of
Sithon, or, according to others, of Lycurgus king of
Thrace, who received Demophoon the son of Theseus;
who, at his return from the Trojan war, had stopped on
her coasts. She became enamoured of him, and did not
find him insensible to her passion. After some months
t)f mutual tenderness and affection, Demophoon set sail
for Athens, where his domestic affairs recalled him.
He promised faithfully to return as soou as a month
was expired 5 but either his dislike for Phyllis, or the
■irreparable situation of his affairs, obliged him to vio¬
late his engagement: and the queen grown desperate
on account of his absence, hanged herself, or, accord¬
ing to others, threw herself down a precipice into the
sea and perished. Her friends raised a tomb over her
body, where there grew* up certain trees, whose leaves,
at a particular season of the year, suddenly became wet
as if shedding tears for the death of Phyllis. Accord¬
ing to an old tradition mentioned by Servius, Virgil’s
commentator, Phyllis was changed by the gods into
an almond tree, which is called pliylla by the Greeks.
Some days after this metamorphosis, Demophoon re¬
visited Thrace ; and when he heard of the fate of Pliyb
lis, he ran and clasped the tree, which, though at that
time stripped of its leaves, suddenly shot forth, and
blossomed as if still sensible of tenderness and love. The
absence of Demophoon from the house of Phyllis lias
given rise to a beautiful epistle of Ovid, supposed to
have been written by the Thracian 'queen about the
fourth month after her lover’s departure.—A country
woman introduced in Virgil’s eclogues.—The nurse ot
the emperor Domitian.—A country of Thrace near
Mount Pangeeus.
PHYSALIS, the Winter Cherry ; a genus of
plants belonging the pentandria class. See Botany
Index.
PHYSETER, or Spermaceti Whale, a genus
belonging to the order of cete. See CetologY
Index.
PHYSIC, or Physick, the art of healing; properly
called Medicine. The word in formed from the Greek
<pv<r<{, “ nature ;” in regard medicine consists princi¬
pally in the observation of nature. See Physics and
Medicine.
PHYSICAL, something belonging to, or really
existing
PHY
Physical, existing in, nature. In this sen^e we say a physical point,
hysician. jn opposition to a mathematical one, which only exists
>"""v in the imagination ; a physical substance or body, in op¬
position to spirit, or metaphysical substance, &c.
PHYSIC TAN, a person who professes medicine, or
the art of healing diseases. See Medicine.
1 417 1
PHY
Piiysictaxs, College of, in London^ Edinburgh, and phvsidars
Dublin.^ See College of_Physicians. Physico- '
PH\SICO mathematics, includes those branches niathema-
of physics which, uniting observation and experiment to , t'cs
mathematical calculation, undertake to explain the phe- v J
nomena of nature.
PHYSICS,
1
finidon nP^EN in its most enlarged sense, comprehends
■ pnysics. ^ tlie.who,e study of nature ; and Naturae Philo¬
sophy is a term of the same extent : but ordinary
language, and especially in this country, employs both
of these terms in a much narrower sense, which it ispro-
2 per in this place to determine with some precision,
rticular Under the article Philosophy, we gave a particu-
:pl™ aJon!ar account of that view of nature in which the ob-
theterm. jec^9 our attention are considered as connected by
causation j and we were at some pains to point out
the manner in which this study may be successfully
cultivated By a judicious employment of the means
pointed out in that article, we discover that the ob¬
jects of our contemplation compose an Universe,
which consists, not ot a number of independent ex¬
istences solitary and detached from each other, but
of a number of substances connected by a variety of
relations and dependencies, so as to form a whole which
may with great propriety be called the System of
Nature.
Ihis assembling of the individual objects which com¬
pose the universe into one system is by no means the
work of a hasty and warm fancy, but is the result of
sober contemplation. The natural historian attempts
in vain to describe objects, by only informing us of
their shape, colour, and other sensible qualities. He
finds himself obliged, in describing a piece of marble,
for instance, to tell us that it takes a fine polish ; that
it strikes fire with steel 5 that it burns to quicklime j that
it dissolves in aquafortis, and is precipitated by alkalies j
that with vitriolic acid it makes gypsum &c. &c. &c.
and thus it appears that even the description of any
thing, with the view of ascertaining its specific nature,
and with the sole purpose of discrimination, cannot be
accomplished without taking notice of its various rela¬
tions to other things. But what do we mean by the
nature of any thing ? We are ignorant of its essence, or
what makes it that thing and no other thing. We
must content ourselves with the discovery of its qualities
or properties / and it is the assemblage of these which
We call its nature. But this is very inaccurate. These
do not constitute its essence, but are the consequences
of it. Yet this is all we shall ever know of its nature.
Naw the term property is nothing but a name expres-
Sing some relation which the substance under considera¬
tion has to other things. This is true of all such terms.
Gravity, elasticity, sensibility, gratitude, and the like,
express nothing but certain matters offact, which may
be observed respecting the object of our contempla¬
tion in different circumstances of situation with regard
to other things. Our distinct notions of individuals,
therefore, imply their relations to other things.
The slightest observation of the universe shows an
eviffint connection between all its parts in their va-
Vol. XVI. Part II. f
nous properties. All things on this earth are connect-All parts of
ed with each other by the laws of motion and of mind, die uni-
We are connected with the whole of the solar system verse e'T-
by gravitation. If we extend our observations to the
fixed stars, the connection seems to fail •, but even here their va-
it may be observed. Their inconceivable distance, it rioiis pro-
is true, renders it impossible for us to obtain any exten- I!(:rties.
sive information as to their nature. But these bodies
are connected with the solar system by the sameness of
the light which they emit with that emitted by our sun
or any shining body. It moves with the same velocity,
it consists (in most of them ai least) of the same colours,
and it is reflected, refracted, and inflected, according to
the same Jaws.
In this unbounded scene of contemplation, our at- Onr atten-
tention will be directed to the different classes of ob-don natu-
jeets nearly in proportion to the interest we take inra^
them. There is nothing in which we are so much [he'firstln-
interested as our fellow men ; and one of the first steps *tance to
that we make in our knowledge of nature, is an ac- our feiiow
quaintance with them. We learn their distinctive na-men*
tore by attending to their characteristic appearances j
that is, by observing their actions. We observe them
continually producing, like ourselves, certain changes
in the situation or condition of surrounding objects j
and these changes are evidently directed to certain ends
which respect themselves. Observing this subserviency
of the effects which they produce to their own accom¬
modation, we consider this adjustment of means to ends
as the effect of an intention, as we experience it to
be in our own case, where we are conscious of this in¬
tention, and of these its effects. We therefore inter- 5
pret those actions of other men, where we observe this Js,atl]re
, . . » . 11
adjustment of means to ends, as marks or signs of in¬
tention in them similar to our own. And thus a qua¬
lity, or power, or faculty, is supposed in them by means
of its sign, although the quality itself is not immedi¬
ately cognisable by our senses. And as this intention
in ourselves is accompanied by perception of external
objects, knowledge of their properties, desire of good,
aversion from evil, volition and exertion, without all
of which we could not or would not perform the actions
which we daily perform, we suppose the same perception,
knowledge,desire,a version, volition, and exertion in them.
Thus, by the constitution of our mind, we consider
the employment of means, by which ends terminating in
the agent are gained, as the natural signs of design or
intention. Art, therefore, or the employment of means,
is the natural sign of intention j ami wherever we ob¬
serve th!s adjustment of means to ends, we infer the a-
gency of design.
A small acquaintance with the objects around us,
obliges us to extend this inference to a great number
of beings besides our fellow men, namely, to the whole
3 G animal
intention.
thinking
beings.
P H Y S
animal creation : for in all we observe the same sub¬
serviency to the ends of the agent in the changes which
we find them continually producing in the objects around
them. These changes are all adjusted to their own
well-being. In all such cases, therefore, we are forced,
by the constitution of our own minds, to infer the ex¬
istence of design or intention in these beings also.
But in numberless changes produced by external ob¬
jects on each other, we observe no such fitness in the
effects, no such subserviency to the well-being of the
agent. In such cases, therefore, we make no such in-
6 ference of thought or design.
All objects Thus, then, there is presented to our observation an
divided in- jmp0Vtant distinction, by which we arrange all exter-
to thinking nal objects into tw0 Giasses. The first resembles our¬
selves, in giving external marks of that thought or in¬
tention of which we are conscious } and we suppose in
them the other properties which we discover in our¬
selves, but cannot immediately observe in them, viz.
thought, perception, memory, foresight, and all that
collection of faculties which we feel in ourselves, and
which constitute the animal. The other class of objects
exhibits no such appearances, and we make no such in¬
ference. And thus we divide the whole of external nature
into the classes of THINKING and unthinking beings.
Our first judgments about these classes will be very
- inaccurate ; and we will naturally ascribe the differ-
of mind.° ences, which we do not very wrell understand, to the
differences in organical structure, which we clearly ob¬
serve. But when we have knocked down or perhaps
smothered an animal, we find that it no longer gives
the former mark of thought and intention, and that it
now resembles the class of unthinking beings : And yet
it still retains all that fitness of organical structure which
it had before } it seems only to want the intention and
the will. This obliges us to conclude that the distinc¬
tion does not arise from a difference in organical struc¬
ture, but from a distinct substance common to all think¬
ing beings, but separable from their organical frame.
To this substance we ascribe thought, intention, contriv¬
ance, and all that collection of faculties which we feel
in ourselves. To this substance in ourselves we refer all
sensations, pleasures, pains, remembrances, desires, pur¬
poses •, and to this aggregate, however imperfectly un¬
derstood, we give the name MIND. Our organical
frame, which seems to be only the instrument of infor-
8 mation and operation to the mind, we call our body.
The nature As the animating principle is not, like our body, the
of mind as immediate object of the senses, we naturally conceive
understood ^ to be a ^stance essentially different from those which
by mankind ^
v 4tin rvkio/vfc rtf mir cpns^S. The rudest neonle have
in rude
ages.
I C S.
7
How we
come to the
conceptions of things j and many who do not consider Introduc..
themselves as uncultivated, believe that the soul quits t tion.
the body along with the last breath. Among the Tar- 'r~“
tar nations hanging is considered with particular horror,
on account of the ungraceful and filthy exit which the
soul is obliged to make from the body. ?
But the observation of the same appearances of Their opi..
thought and intention in fishes and other animals nion not
which do not breathe, would soon show that this was^
but a rude conception. Very little refinement indeed
is necessary to convince us that air or breath cannot
be the substance which thinks, wishes, and designs j
and that the properties of this substance, whatever it
is, must be totally different from, and incompatible
with, any thing that we know of the immediate objects
of our senses. I0
Hence we are led to conclude that there are two Of the tii :
kinds of substances in nature : One, which is the prin- kinds of j
ciple of sensation j and therefore cannot be the object
of our senses, any more than light can be the object °f one
the microscope. This substance alone can feel, think, object of
desire, and propose, and is the object of reflection
The objects of our senses compose the other class, and
therefore can have none of the other properties which sen6es
are not cognoscible by the senses. These have all the
properties which our senses can discover j and we can
have no evidence of their having any other, nor indeed
any conception of their having them. I his class is
not confined to the unorganized masses of matter j for
we see that the bodies of animals lose after death that
organical form, and are assimilated to all the rest of
unthinking beings. It has arisen from such views as
this, that while all nations have agreed to call this
class of objects by the name BODY, which originally
expresses our organical frame, some nations, farther
advanced in cultivation or refinement, have contrived
an abstract term to express this general substance of
which all inanimate beings are composed. Such a term
we have in the words matei'ies, vAn. # , n
Matter, then, is that substance which is immediate- The dis-
ly cognoscible by our senses. Whatever, therefore, tinetionbj
is not thus immediately cognoscible by our senses
are the objects of our senses. The rudest people have
shown a disposition to form this conclusion. Observing
that animal life was connected with breathing, it was
natural to imagine that breathing was living, and that
breath was life. It is a remarkable fact, that in most
languages the term for expressing breath is at least one
of the terms for expressing the soul •, npi, Trvivpu, spi-
ritus, in the Hebrew, Greek and Latin, express both j
gheist, or ghost, in the Teutonic, comes from gheisen, to
“ breath or siglr,” ducha or duha, “ the soul,” in Scla¬
vonic, comes from duichat, u to breatheso in the
Gaelic does anal come from anam; and the same rela¬
tion is found between the two words in the Malay and
other eastern languages. We believe that most persons
can recollect some traces of this notion in their early
not material, and is expressed by a negative term, ani‘jmmateria
called immaterial: hence it is that mind is said to he su|Ktanc«
immaterial. It is of importance to keep in mind thisis very im
distinction, merely grammatical. Little more is ne-portant.
cessary for detecting the sophisms of Helvetius, Mira-
beau, and other sages of the Gallic school, who have
been anxious to remove the ties of moral and religious
obligation by lowering our conceptions of our intel¬
lectual nature. It will also serve to show how hastily
they have formed their opinions who have ascribed to
the immediate agency of mind all those relations which
are observed in the actions of bodies on each other at
a distance. The connecting principles of such rela¬
tions e distante (if there be any such), are not the im¬
mediate objects of our senses : they are therefore im¬
material. But it does not follow that they are minds.
There may be many immaterial substances which are
not minds. We know nothing of any object what¬
ever but by the observation of certain appearances,
which suggest to our minds the existence and agency
of its qualities or powers. Such phenomena are the
natural signs of these qualities, and it is to those signs
that we must always have recourse when we wish o
conceive
P H Y S
conceive without ambiguity concerning them. What
is the characteristic phenomenon of mind, or what is
the distinguishing quality which brings it into view ? It
is INTENTION : and it may be asserted with the utmost
confidence, that we have no other mark by which
mind is immediately suggested to us, or that would
ever have made us suppose that there existed another
mind besides our own. I he phenomenon by which this
quality is suggested to us is art, or the employment of
means to gain ends 5 and the mark of art is the sup¬
posed conduciveness of these ends to the well-being of
the agent. Where this train is not observed, design
or intention is never thought of j and therefore where
intention is not perceived in any immaterial substance,
if any such has ever been observed, it is an abuse of
language to call it mind. We do not think that even
perception and intelligence entitle us to give the name
mind to the substance m which they are inherent, be¬
cause it is fiom marks of intention alone that we infer
the existence of mind ; and although these must be
accompanied with perception and intelligence, it does
not follow that the substance which can perceive and
understand must also desire and propose. However
difficult we may find it to separate them, thev are evi¬
dently separable in imagination. And let not this asser¬
tion be too hastily objected to; for the separation has
been made by persons most eminent for their knowledge
and discernment. When Leibnitz ascribed to his mo-
NADEs, or what we call the ultimate atoms of matter,
a perception of their situation in the universe, and a mo¬
tion precisely suited to this perception, he was the far¬
thest in the world from supposing them animated or en¬
dowed with minds. It is true indeed, that others, who
think and call themselves philosophers, are much more
liberal in their application of this term. A modern au¬
thor of great metaphysical eminence says, “ I call that
inind which moves, and that body which is moved.”
This class of philosophers assert that no motion whatever
is begun except by the agency of an animating princi¬
ple, which (after Aristotle) they call Nature, and
which has in these days been exalted to the rank of a
god. All this jargon (for it is nothing else) has arisen
Irom the puzzle in which naturalists think themselves
involved in attempting to explain the production of mo¬
tion in a body at a distance from that body which is
conceived as the cause of this motion. After having
been reluctantly obliged, by the reasonings of Newton,
to abandon their methods of explaining such phenomena
by the impulses of an intervening fluid, nothing seem¬
ed left but the assertion that these motions were pro-
uced by minds, as in the case of our own exertions.
Ihese explanations (if they deserve the name) cannot
be objected to in any other way than as an abuse of
anguage, and as the introduction of an unmeaning jar¬
gon. We have, andean have, no notion of mind differ¬
ent from those of our own minds ; and we discover the
existence of other minds as we discover the existence of
bodies, by means of phenomena which are characteristic
ot minds, that is, which resemble those phenomena that
ollow the exertion of our own mental faculties, that is,
y the employment of means to attain selfish ends;
and where such appearances are not observed, no exist-
ence of a mind is inferred. When we see a man fall from
ic top of a house, and dash out his brains on the pave¬
ment, we never ascribe this motion to his mind. Al-
^ ^ 419
though the fitness of many of the celestial motions for introduc-
most important purposes make us suppose design and lion,
contrivance somewhere, and therefore a Supreme Mind, -v-’-—'
we no more think of inferring a mind in the earth from
the fitness of its motions for purposes most beneficial to
its inhabitants, than ol inferring a mind in a bit of
bread from its fitness for nourishing our bodies. It is
not from the mere motions of animals that their minds
are inferred, but from the conduciveness of these mo¬
tions to the well-being of the animal.
The term mind therefore, in the ordinary language miri[]
of all men, is applied to what desires and wills at the Is not that
same time that it perceives and understands. If Wewhich Pr°-
call that mind which produces motion, we must derive ducC!i mo~
our notions of its qualities or attributes from observing S which
theix effects. We must therefore discover the generakel “
laws by which they act, that is, the general laws ob-wi'ls-
served in those motions which we consider as their ef¬
fects. Now these are the general laws of motion ; and
in none of these can we find the least coincidence with
what we are accustomed to call the laws of mind. Nay
it has been the total want of similarity which has given
rise to the distinction which all men, in all ages and
countries, have made between mind and matter.& This
distinction is found in all languages ; and it is an unpar¬
donable liberty which men take with language when
they use a term of distinction, a specific term, to express
things of a different species. What these authors have
been pleased to call mind, the whole world besides have
called by another name, force ; which, though borrow¬
ed from our own exertions, is yet sufficiently distinctive,
and never leads us to confound things that are difler-
ent, except in the language of some modern philoso¬
phers, who apply it to the laws of the agency of mind ;
and, when speaking of the force of motives, &c. com¬
mit the same mistakes which the followers of Aristotle
commit in the use of the term mind. Force, in the lan¬
guage of these philosophers, means what connects the
operations of mind ; as mind, in the language of Lord
Monboddo, is that which connects the operations of
body.
Those are not less to blame who consider this Nature The prin-
°f Aiistotle, this principle of motion, as an existence ciple of
or substance different both from matter and from the moti°n n°t
minds of intelligent creatures. Aristotle calls it in some
places fiWeg He might with equal propriety, andan^Sd*
equal consistency with his other doctrines, have called
mind, uo-ttiq rsA«f, or an Besides, we
have no evidence for the separability of this
from body as we have for the separability of such minds
as. our own, the genuine Nay, his whole doc¬
trines, when maturely considered, assume their absolute
inseparability. z
This doctrine of elemental minds, therefore, as the Elemental
immediate causes of the phenomena of the material min(Is are
world, is an abuse of language. It is a jargon ; and itfn abuse of
is a frivolous abuse, for it offers no explanation what-langUaSe‘
ever. The phenomena are totally unlike the phenome¬
na of ordinary minds, and therefore receive no explana¬
tion from them ; and since our knowledge of these ytiasi
minds must be derived entirely from the phenomena, it
will be precisely the same, although we express it in
common language. We shall not indeed raise the won¬
der of our hearers, as those do who fill the world with
minds which they never suspected to exist; but we shall
3 G 2 not :
■physics.
The dread¬
ful conse¬
quences of
materia¬
lism.
16
The extent
■Of philoso¬
phical
study.
not bewilder their imaginations, confound the»r ideas,
and mislead their judgments.
We flatter ourselves that our readers will not think
these ebservations unseasonable or misp acei. a
mistakes that the naturalist can fall into, there is none
more fatal to his progress in knowledge than the con¬
founding things which are essentially different j and of
all the distinctions which can be made among the ob¬
jects of our contemplation, there is none o equa pu
losophical importance with this between mind and mat¬
ter : And when we consider the consequences winch na¬
turally follow from this confusion of ideas, and particu¬
larly those which follow from sinking the mental facili¬
ties'of man to a level with the operations of mechanics
or chemistry, consequences which the experience ot the
present eventful day shows to be destructive of all that
is noble or desirable in human nature, and of all that is
comfortable in this life, and which blasts every hope ot
future excellence—we cannot be too anxious to have
this capital distinction put in the plainest point of view
and expressed in the most familiar characters so that
he who runneth may read.” When we see the frenzy
which the reasoning pride of man has raised in our
neighbourhood, and hear the dictates of philosophy in¬
cessantly appealed to in defence of whatever our hearts
shudder at as shocking and abominable j and when we
see a man (a), of great reputation as a naturalist, and
of professed humanity and political moderation, congia-
tulating his countrymen on the rapid improvement an
almost perfection of philosophy *, and after giving a short
sketch of the constitution of the visib.e universe, sum¬
ming up all with a table of elective attractions, and that
particular combination and mode of crystallization which
constitutes God (horresco referens!)-* it not fu
lime for us to stop short, and to ask our own hearts
“ whither are you wandering ?”-But sound philosophy,
reasoning from effects to their causes will here listen to
the words of our sacred oracles: “ By their fruits ye
shall know them. Do men gather grapes of thorns, or
f,gs of thistles ?” The absurd consequences ot the scep-
tieal philosophy of Berkeley and Hume have been
thought, by men of undoubted discernment, sufficient
reasons for rejecting it without examination. Ihe o
less absurd and the shocking consequences of the mecha¬
nical philosophy now in vogue should give us the same
abhorrence •, and should make us abandon its blood-stam-
rd road, and return to the delightful paths of nature, to
survey the works of God, and feast our eyes with the
■displays of mind, which offer thenlselves on every hand
in designs of the most extensive influence and the most
beautiful contrivance. Following the guidance ol hea¬
venly wisdom, we shall indeed find, that all her
ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are
P Such is the scene of our observation, the subject of
philosophical studv. Its extent is almost unbounded,
reaching from an'atom to God himself. It is absolute¬
ly necessary for the successful cultivation of this immense
field of knowledge, that it he committed to the care ot
different cultivators, and that its various portions he
treated in different ways : and, accordingly, the various introduc
tastes of men have given this curiosity different direc- tion.
tions •, and the study, like all other tasks, has been pro- r-
moted by this division of labour.
Some philosophers have attended only to the appear¬
ances of fitness which are exhibited in every quarter of
the universe ; and by arranging these into different
classes, and interpreting them as indications of thought
and intention, have acquired the knowledge of many
classes of sentient and intelligent beings, actuated by
propensities, and directed by reason. 17
While the contemplation of these appearances indi-The nato
cates thought and design in any individual of one of*™ :
these classes, and brings its propensities and purposes
of action, and the ends gained by these actions, into
view, the contemplation of these propensities, purposes,
and ends, occasions an inference of a much more gene¬
ral kind. All these intelligent beings give indications
of knowledge and of power j but their knowledge
bears, in general, no proportion to their power of pro¬
ducing changes in nature, and of attaining important
ends j and their power is neither always, nor m the
most important cases, the consequence of their know¬
ledge. Where the effect of their actions is most emi¬
nently conducive to their important interests, the power
of attaining these valuable ends is generally independent
on anv attention to the fitness of the means, and the ex¬
ertion is frequently made without even thinking of the
important end. The well-being of the individual is se¬
cured against any danger from its ignorance, indolence,
or inattention, by an instinctive propensity, winch leads
it to the performance of the necessary action, which is
thus made immediately and ultimately desirable, with¬
out any regard to its ultimate and important end. Ihus,
in our own nature, the support of animal life, and the
improvement of the means of subsistence by a knowledge
of the objects which surround ns, are not entrusted to
our apprehensions of the importance of these ends, but
are eommitted to the surer guides of hunger and curio¬
sity. . l8.
The same observers discover a connection between There u\
the individuals of a class, different front that winch
arises from the mere resemblance ol their exteinal aP_ t],e ;n(jivi,
pearance, or even of their propensities and pursuits; dua|s 0fs
the very circumstances which produced the classifica-dassofa
tion. They observe, that these propensities are sucb,njf<itt
that while each individual seeks only its own enJ°y* t],at 0fre
ment these enjoyments are in general such as contri-st;nitianc
bute’to the support of the species and the enjoyment
of other individuals. Thus, in the classes of animals,
and in human nature, the continuance ol the race, and
the enjoyment of the whole, are not entrusted to the
apprehension we entertain of the importance of these
ends, but are produced by the operation ot sexual love
and the love of society- 19
lThe same observers fiotl thateven .he
of sentient beings are connected together .and connecti|
the whole of each class aim only at their own e'W'belween
ment, they contribute, in some way or other, t0 ™®«entientj
well-being of the other classes. Even man, the fj
(a) M. de la Metherie, editor of the Journal de Physique.
fanuary and July.
See bis prefaces to the volumes for 1792 and i793»
P H Y
(nirodtic- !01'J of this sublunary world, is not the unconnected
tion. inhabitant of it. He cannot, in every instance, reap
—■■{—* all the fruits of his situation, without contributing to
the enjoyment of thousands of the brute creation. Nay,
it may be proved to the satisfaction of every intelligent
man, that while one race of animals, in consequence of
its peculiar propensities, subsists by the destruction of
another, the sum total of animal life and enjoyment is
prodigiously increased. See a very judicious dissertation
on this curious and puzzling subject, entitled A Philo¬
sophical Survey of the Animal Creation; where it appears
that the increase of animal life and enjoyment which is
produced by this means, beyond what could possibly
obtain without it, is beyond all conception. See like¬
wise the last edition of King's Origin of Evil, by Dr Law,
20 late bishop of Carlisle.
'he end of Thus the whole assemblage seems connected, and
StiTis emPloyed in increasing the sum total of possible
ie accu- liappiness- This fitness of the various propensities of
Dilation of sentient and intelligent beings, this subserviency to a
appmess. general purpose, strikes these observers as a mark of
intention, evidently distinct from, and independent of,
all the particular intentions, and superior to them all ;
and thus it irresistibly leads them to infer the existence
of a supreme mind, directing the whole of this in¬
tellectual system, while the individuals of which
it consists appear the unconscious instruments in the
hand of a great Artist, with which he executes his grand
21 and beneficent purposes.
imatele* But .observatIon goes ypt further. The bodies
dinani- ^ie inanimatc creation are not only connected with
Rte, each other by a mutual dependence of properties, and
dun- the relation of causation, but they are also connected
conn*'t sen^*en^ l)eing3 by a subserviency to their
purposes of enjoyment. Ihe philosopher observes
that this connection is admirably kept up bv the con¬
stancy of natural operations and the expectations of
intelligent beings. Had either of these circumstances
been wanting, had either the operations of nature been
without rule, or had sentient beings no perception or
expectation of their uniformity ; the subserviency would
he totally at an end. This adjustment, this fitness, of
which the effect is the enjoyment of the sentient inha¬
bitants of the universe, appear to be the effect of an
intention of which this enjoyment is the final cause.
This constancy, therefore, in the operations of nature,
both in the intellectual and material world, and the
concomitant expectation of sentient beings, appear
the effects of laws imposed on the different parts of
the universe by the Supreme Mind, who has formed
otli these classes of beings so admirably suited to each
22 _ other.
< latural1 suc^ ^servers the world appears a work of art,
1 a System °f means employed for gaining certain pro¬
posed ends, and it carries the thoughts forward to an
artist j and we infer a degree of skill, power, and
good intention in this Artist, proportioned to the in¬
genuity, extent and happy effect which rue are able
to discern in his works. Such a contemplation of na-
ture therefore, terminates in Natural Theology,
c mode ^ ^le d*scovery of the existence and attributes of
0 ason- C,0D*
m the Our notions of this Supreme Mind are formed from
cl 5loas indications of design which we observe, and which
Wc interpret in the same way as in the. actions of fiien.
S ICS. 42I
I hese notions, therefore, will differ from eur notions ini10iuc-
°t other minds only in the degrees which we are able to tion.
observe, and which we assign to these faculties j for the vJ
phenomenon or the effect is not only the mark, but also
the measure of its supposed cause. These degrees must
be ascertained by our own capacity of appreciating the
extent, the multiplicity, and the variety of the contri¬
vance. Accordingly, the attributes of the Supreme
Mind, in the theological creed of a rude Indian, are
much more limited than in that of a European philoso¬
pher. In proportion as our understandings are enlar¬
ged, and as our acquaintance with the operations of na¬
ture around us is extended, we shall perceive higher de¬
grees of power, of skill, and of kind intention : and since
we find that the scene of observation is unbounded, we
cannot affix any boundaries to these attributes in our
own imagination, and we are ready to suppose that they
are infinite or unbounded m their own nature. When
our attentive survey of this universe, and a careful com¬
parison of all its parts, as lar as we can understand or.
appreciate them, have made us conclude that it is
one design, the work of one Artist; we are under the
necessity of inferring, that, with respect to this universe^
his power, wisdom, and benevolence, are indeed infi¬
nite.
AVhen men have been led to draw this conclusion from The system
the appearances of fitness which are observed every-ot' nature
where around them, they consider that constancy which*' Soveri1-
they observe in natural operations, whether in the ma-nera[^ws.
terial or the intellectual system, and that expectation of,
and confidence in, this constancy, which renders the
universe a source of enjoyment to its sentient inhabitants,
as the consequences of laws imposed by the Almighty
Artist on his works, in the same manner as they would
consider the constancy in the conduct of any people as
the consequences of laws promulgated and enforced by
the supreme magistrate.
There can he no doubt of this view of nature beingnature
extremely captivating, and likely to engage the curio-and pro
sity of speculative men; and it is not surprising thattU'ess of the
the phenomena of mind have been keenly studied in stl*^J
all ages. This part of the study of nature, like all”1111 ‘
others, avas first cultivated in subserviency to tlie wants
of social life ; and the general laws of moral sentiment
were the fiivt phenomena which were considered with
attention. This gradually ripened into a regular sys-rpta pp
tem of moral duty, accompanied by its congenial study, pioral sen-
tiie investigation or determ nation of the sutnmum bo- timentsand
num, or the constituents of human felicity ; and these oftnoia*
two branches of intellectual science were always kept in^Ut^* *
a state of association by the philosophers of antiquity.
Jurisprudence, the science of government, legislation,
and police, were also first cultivated as arts, or at least
in immediate subserviency to the demands of cultivated
society ; and all these so nearly related parts of the
study of human nature, had made a very considerable
p gress, in the form of maxims or precepts for direct¬
ing the conduct, before speculative men, out of mere
curiosity, treated them as subjects of philosophical
study. Our moral sentiments, always involving a feel¬
ing of obligation, are expressed in a language con¬
siderably different from the usual language of pure
philosophy, speaking of things which ought to he. rather
than of things which are; and this distinction of lan¬
guage was increased by the very aim of the writers,
which
27 .
The origin
sciences.
PHY
which was generally to influence the conduct as well
as the opinions of their scholars. It was reserved foi
modern times to bring this study into the pure foim
of philosophy, by a careful attention to the phenome¬
na of moral sentiment, and classing these according to
their generality, and ascertaining their respective ranks
by an appeal to experiment, that is, to the general
conduct of mankind : and thus it happens that in the
modern treatises on ethics, jurisprudence, &c. there is
less frequent reference made to the officio, or duties, or
to the constituents of the summum bonum, than among
the ancients, and a more accurate description of the
human mind, and discrimination of its various moral
feelings. . .
xne oi.giu It was hardly possible to proceed far in these dis-
of logic and ujsjtjons wlthout attending to the powers of the un-
other in- derstanjins. Differences of opinion were supported
tellectual reasoningSj 0r attempts to reasoning. Both sides
could not be in the right, and there must be some
court of appeals. Rules of argumentation behoved to
be acquiesced in by both parties ; and it could hardly
escape the notice of some curious minds, that there
were rules of truth and falsehood as well as of right
and wrong. Thus the human understanding became an
object of study, first in subserviency to the demands of
the moralists, but afterwards for its own sake ; and it
gradually grew up into the science of logic. Still
further refinement produced the science of metaphysics,
or the philosophy of universals. But all these were
in fact posterior 'to the doctrines of morals *, and dis¬
quisitions on beauty, the principles of taste, the pre¬
cepts of rhetoric and criticism, Avere the last additions
to the study of the phenomena of mind. And now,
since the world seems to have'acquiesced in the mode
of investigation of general laws by experiment and
observation, and to agree that this is all the know¬
ledge that we can acquire of any subject whatever, it
is to be expected that this branch of philosophical dis¬
cussion will attain the same degree of improvement
(estimated by the coincidence of the doctrines with
fact and experience) that has been attained by some
0tThe occupations, however, of ordinary life Rave
oftener directed our efforts towards material objects,
and engaged our attention on their properties and re¬
lations •, and as all sciences have arisen from arts, and
were originally implied in the maxims and precepts ol
those arts, till separated from them by the curious
speculatist, the knowledge of the material system ot
nature was possessed in detached scraps by the practi¬
tioners in the various arts of life long before the natu¬
ral philosopher thought of collecting them into a body
of scientific doctrines. But there have not been want¬
ing in all ages men of curiosity who have been struck
by the uniformity of the operations of nature in the
material world, and were eager to discover their
causes. . .
Accordingly, while the moralists and metaphysicians
turned their whole attention to the phenomena of
mind, and have produced the sciences ol pneumatolo-
gy, logic, ethics, jurisprudence, and natural theology,
these observers ot nature have found sufficient employ¬
ment in considering the phenomena of the material
world. . ■ .. .
The bodies of which it consists are evidently con-
3
sics.
aS
The par¬
tial prac¬
tice of na¬
tural phi¬
losophy
preceded
its study
as a sci¬
ence.
nected by means of those properties by which we introduce
observe that they produce changes in each other’s si- ^ Uon.
tuation. This assemblage of objects may therefore be v-—>
justly called a system. We may call it the material T}ie natuif
system. It is frequently termed NATURE j and lhe0fthema-
terms NATURAL APPEARANCES, NATURAL CAUSES,terial sy-
NATURAL LAWS, have been generally restricted to those ^-^th
which take place in the material system. i*us r®’nitionof
striction, however, is improper, because there is no dii-tilatand
ference in the manner in which we form our notions other
of those laws, and reason from them, both with re-ternr.
spect to mind and body. Or if there is to be any
restriction, and if any part of the study of the universe
is to be excluded in the application ol these terms, it
is that part only which considers moral obligation, and
rather treats of what ought to than of what is. As
has been already observed, there is a considerable dil-
ference in the language which must be employed 5 but
still there is none in the principles of investigation.
We have no proof for the extent of any moral law but
an appeal to the feelings of the hearts ol men, indi¬
cated by the general laws or lacts which are observed
in their actions. . tu, '3°
But this is only a question of the propriety of lan-theunre-
guage. And no great inconvenience would arise Irom ^ in
the restriction now mentioned it it were scrupulously whichsome
adhered to; but unfortunately this is not always the of these
case. Some authors use the term natural law to ex-terms are
press every coincidence of fact; and this is certainly^^
the proper use of the term. I he Trench wnters ge-
nerally use the term lay physique in this enlarged sense.
But many authors, misled by, or taking advantage of,
the ambiguity of language, after having established a
law founded on a copious and perhaps unexcepted in¬
duction of the phenomena of the material system (in
which case it must be considered in its restricted sense),
have, in their explanation of phenomena, extended
their principle much farther than the induction on
which they had founded the existence of the physical
law. They have extended it to the phenomena ot
mind, and have led their followers into great and dan¬
gerous mistakes. Languages, like every other pro¬
duction of human skill, are imperfect. I hey are de¬
ficient in terms, and are therefore figurative, ihe
most obvious, the most frequent, and the most inte¬
resting uses of language, have always produced the
appropriated terms, and the progress of cultivation has
never completely supplied new ones. There are cer¬
tain analogies or resemblances, or certain associations
of ideas, so plain, that a term appropriated to one
very familiar object will serve to suggest, another ana¬
logous to it, when aided by the concomitant .circum¬
stances of the discourse ; and this with sufficient pre¬
cision for the ordinary purposes ot social communica¬
tion, and without leading us into any considerable
mistakes : and it is only the rare and refined disquisi¬
tions of the curious speculatist that bring the poverty
and imperfection of language into view, and make us
wish for words as numerous as our thoughts. 1 here
is hardly a sentence, even of common discourse, in
which there are not several figures either ot sing e
words or of phrases; and when very accurate discrimi¬
nation is required, it is almost impossible to find words
or phrases to express distinctions which we clearly teel.
We believe it impossible to express, by the scanty vo^-
Introduc
tion.
31
uc term
tysics de-
Jed as it
general-
under-
lad in
ritain.
32
e phe-
nena of
mate-
system
ang-ed
3 two
ises.
Jjlmples
0 lose of
1 first
PHY
cabiilary of the Hebrews, the nice distinctions of
thought which are now familiar to the European phi¬
losopher. In nothing does this imperfection of lan¬
guage appear so remarkably as in what relates to mind.
Being a late subject of separate discussion, and interest¬
ing only to a few speculatists, we have no appropriated
vocabulary for it 5 and all our disquisitions concerning
its operations are in continual metaphor or figure, de¬
pending on very slight analogies or resemblances to
the phenomena of the material world. This makes
the utmost caution necessary 5 and it justifies the Bri¬
tish philosophers, who have been the most successful
in prosecuting the study of the intellectual system, for
having, almost without exception, restricted the terms,
natural laws, natural causes, natural philosophy, and
such like, to the material system. "With us pneuma-
tology makes no part of physics. And we may ven¬
ture to affirm, that the sciences have fared better by
die restriction of the terms. In no country has the
spmt of liberal discussion been more encouraged and
indulged than in Britain ; and her philosophers have
been equally eminent in both branches of science.
Their performances in ethics, jurisprudence, and na¬
tural theology, are considered by all our neighbours as
the fountains of knowledge on these subjects j and
Locke and Clarke are names no less familiar on the
continent than Newton. The licentious and degrading
doctrines of the Gallican school have as yet made little
impression here j and man is still considered among us
as a glorious creature, born to, and fitted for, the noblest
prospects.
Physics, then, is with us the study of the material
system, including both natural history and philosophy.
The term is not indeed very familiar in our language 5
and in place physicus and disciplinciphysteely we more
generally use the terms naturalist and natural know¬
ledge. The term natural philosophy, in its common ac¬
ceptation, is of less extent. The field of physical in¬
vestigation is still of prodigious extent; and its different
quarters require very different treatments, make very
different returns, and accordingly have engaged in their
particular cultivation persons of very different talents
and tastes. It is of some importance to perceive the
distinctions, and to see how the wants and propensities
of men have led them into the different paths of inves¬
tigation 5 for, as has been more than once observed, all
sciences have sprung from the humble arts of life, and
both go on improving by means of a close and constant
correspondence.
All the phenomena of the material system may
be arranged into two classes, distinguished both by
their objects and by the proper manner of treating
them. b
The first class comprehends all the appearances which
are exhibited in the sensible motions of bodies, and their
actions on each other producing sensible motion.
The second class comprehends the appearances which
are exhibited in the insensible motions and actions of
the invisible particles of matter.
. ^ t‘ie phenomena of the first class we have examples
in the planetary motions, the motions of heavy bodies,
the phenomena of impulse, the motions and actions of
machines, the pressure and motions of fluids, the sensible
actions of magnetical and electrical bodies, and the mo¬
tions of light.
^ ^ ^ 423
We j!3™ exanJP,e.s of 1,10 second class in the phene- intr0(]ac
mena of heat and mixture, and those exhibited in the tion.
growth of animals and vegetables, and many pheno-'    
mena of solid, fluid, magnetical, electrical, and lumi- 1-34
served13011168’ ^ Which n0 chanSe of P1^' can be ob-tWof
tm * •, , . . the second.
1 bus it appears that there is a distinction in the phe- 35
nomena sufficiently great to warrant a division of theTllisar’
study, ami to make us expect a more rapid iamrove-HET*
meut by tins dms.ou. Nay, the division has been
made by nature itself, m the acquaintance which ment,1ral-
have attained with her operations without study, be¬
fore science appeared, and while art constituted all our
knowledge.
Before man had recourse to agriculture as the most Of the nm
certain means of procuring subsistence, our acquaintance gress of
with external substances was principally that of the na-lsao'vlecJSe
tural historian ; consisting of a knowledge of their fitness ?n rude
for food, medicine, or accommodation, their places ofageS‘
growth or habitation, and the means of procuring them
depending on their manner of life or existence. It re-Th 37- •
quired a studied attention to these circumstances to give of agS
rise to agriculture, which therefore generally made its ture> pby-
appearance after men had been in the practice of keep-sic’ surgery»
ing flocks ; by which means they were more at their mil?6'
case, and had some leisure to attend to the objects 7’
around them, and in particular to those circumstances
of soil and weather which affected the growth of their
pasture. 0
V\ hen agriculture and a rude medicine were thus esta¬
blished, they were the first arts which had their founda¬
tion in a system of laws, by which the operations of na¬
ture were observed to be regulated ; and with these arts
tye may begin the general study of nature, which was
thus divided into two different branches.
The rude physician would be at first a collector of
specifics ; but by degrees he ivould observe resemblances
among the operations of his drugs, and would class them
according to these resemblances. He would thus come
to attend less to the drug than to its mode of operation :
and ivould naturally speculate concerning the connection
betAveen the operation and the economy of animal life.
His art now becomes a scientific system, connected by
principle and theory, all proceeding on the observation
of changes produced by one kind of matter on another,
but all out of sight. The frequent recourse to the vege¬
table kingdom for medicines Avould cause him to attend
much more minutely to the few plants which he has oc¬
casion to study than the husbandman can do to the mul¬
titude he is obliged to rear. The physician must learn
to think, the husbandman to work. An analogy be¬
tween the economy of animal and vegetable life could
hardly fail to engage the attention of the physician, and
would make him a botanist, both as a classifier of plants
and as a philosopher.
He would naturally expect to unite the services of his
drugs by combining them in his recipes, and would be
surprised at his disappointments. Curious and unexpect¬
ed changes would frequently occur in his manipulations :
the sensible qualities, and even the external appearances
of his simples, would be often changed, and even invert¬
ed by their mixture ; and their medicinal properties
Avould frequently vanish from the compound, and neAV
ones be induced. These are curious, and to him inte-
lesting facts j and he Avould naturally be inquisitWe af¬
ter
3s .
The origin
of the
knowledge
of the me¬
chanical
powers.
39 .
The o.igin
of malhe-
matics.
PHY
ter the principles which regulate these changes. His
skill in this would by degrees extend beyond the imme¬
diate use for the knowledge; and the more curious spe-
culatist would lay the foundations of a most extensive
and important science, comprehending all the pheno¬
mena of heat and mixture.
Along with this, and springing from the same source,
another science must arise, contemplating the appear¬
ances of animal and vegetable life, and founded on a
careful observation and accurate description ot the won¬
derful machine. The most incurious ot men have in all
aoes been affected by the displays of wisdom and contri¬
vance in the bodies of animals, and immediately enga¬
ged in investigation into the uses and functions of their
various parts and organs. The phenomena have been
gradually discriminated and arranged under the various
heads of nutrition, concoction, secretion, absorption, as¬
similation, rejection, growth, life, decay, disease, and
death ; and, in conformity to the doctrines which have
•with greater or less evidence been established on these
subjects, the action of medicines, and the whole practice
of physic and surgery, has been established in the ioim
of a liberal or scientific art. _
The husbandman in the mean time must labour the
ground which lies before him. He, too, is greatly in¬
terested in the knowledge of the vegetable economy, and
forms some systems on the subject by which he regulates
his labours : hut he sees, that whatever is the nature ot
vegetable life, he must w uk hard, and he searches a-
bout for every thing which can tend to diminish his la¬
bour. The properties of the lever, the wedge, and the
inclined plane, soon become familiar to him j and win-
out being able to tell on what the.r efficacy depends, he
uses them with a certain sagacity and effect. Ihe
strength of timber, the pressure and force of vyatei, aie
dailv°seen and employed by him and other artisans who
labour for their mutual accommodation-, and some rude
-principles on these subjects are committed to memory.
Many tools and simple machines are by this time fami¬
liar ; and thus the general properties ot matter, and the
o-eneral laws of the actions qf bodies on each other, be¬
come gradually matter of observation and reflection ;
and the practical mechanic will be frequently improving
his tools and machines. The general aim is to produce
a greater quantity of work by the same exertion. 1 he
attempts to improvement will he awkward, and frequent¬
ly unsuccessful. When a man finds, that by increasing
the length of his lever he increases his power ot over¬
coming a resistance, a small degree ot curiosity is suffi¬
cient to make him inquire in what proportion his advan¬
tage increases. When he finds that a double ength
o-ives him a double energy, he will be supnsed and mor¬
tified to find, that at the end ot the day he has not per¬
formed twice the quantity ot work : but, alter much ex¬
perience, he will learn that every increase of energy, by
means of a machine, is nearly compensated by an in¬
crease of time in the performance ot his task; and thus
one of the great and leading principles ot practical me¬
chanics was inculcated in a manner not to be forgotten,
and the practical mechanic was brought to speculate
about motion and force, and by gradual and easy steps
the general law- of simple motions were established.
It is evident that these speculations cannot be earned
on nor any considerable knowledge acquired, wnhout
some acquaintance with the art ot measurement: and
5
sics.
the very questions which the mechanic wishes to solve, Introdu
presuppose some advances in this art, which in process of bon.
time refined itself into mathematics, the most perfect of
all the sciences. All the phenomena of sensible motion
afford employment to the mathematician It is perform¬
ed in a double or triple time, through a double or triple
space, by a double or triple body, by the exertion of a
double or triple force, produces a double or triple effect,
is more to the right or to the left, upwards or down¬
wards, &c. In short, every affection ot motion is an
object of mathematical disc ussion. Such a science must
have appeared ere now in the form of an art, in conse¬
quence of the mutual transactions of men. These among
an uncultivated people are chiefly in the way ot barter.
It I want corn from a peasant, and have nothing to give
for it but the cloth which I have made, we must fall on
some way of adjusting our terms in respect of the quan¬
tity. We should soon discover that the length, and
breadth, and depth, of the box or bag, were equally
important; and it was not difficult to see that it any ot
them were doubled or tripled, the quantity ol gram
would be so too ; if two ot them were doubled, the gram
would be quadrupled ; and if all the three were doubled
the quantity of grain would be increased eight times:
the same thing would be observed with lespect to my
cloth. By such transactions as these, a tew of the pro¬
perties ot plane and solid numbers and figures would be¬
come known, and the operations of multiplication and
division, where arithmetic is combined with geometry:
and daily observation shows us, that the more abstruse
properties of number and figure, which to the generality
of mankind are so insignificant, lay hold on the fancy ot
some individuals with such force, as to abstract them
from every other intellectual entertainment, and are stu¬
died with a keenness and perseverance almost unequalled
in any other walk of science. To most men the per¬
formance of a machine is a more attractive object than
the properties of a figure, and the property ot a hgure
more entertaining than that of a number ; but the tact
seems to have been otherwise. Before Pythagoras had
invented the theorem that bears his name (see Tmixso-
FHY N° 15- and note h), and which is among the hist
elements of geometry, he had reformed the Grecian mu¬
sic by the addition of a note to their scale, and this addi¬
tion proceeds on a very refined speculation on the pro¬
perties of numbers; so that among the Greeks arithme¬
tic must have made considerable progress, while geome¬
try was yet in its cradle ; and we know to what astonish¬
ing length they prosecuted the science of pure geometry,
While their knowledge of mechanical principles was al¬
most nothing. Also the Arabs hardly made any addi¬
tion to the geometry of the Greeks i they did not la¬
ther almost completely forget it; whilst they improved
their arithmetic into algebra, the most refined and ab¬
stracted branch of human knowledge. T here is sue h a
distance, in point of simplicity, between pure mathema¬
tics and the most elementary mechanics, that the ioimei
continued to make rapid steps to improvement m moie
modern times, while the latter languished in *tsin ancy,
and hardly deserved the name ot science till very lately,
when the great demand for it, by the increase and im¬
provement in manufac tures, both interested many n the
study, and facilitated its progress, by the mu t.tude o
machines which were contnvmg on all bands by
manufacturers and artisans: and even at present it mu ^
. 4^
iie con-
■cting
inciple
concomi
PHY
Introduc- be acknowledged, that it is to them that wc are indebted
tio^ , f°r almost every new invention in mechanics, and that
* the speculatist seldom has done more than improve the
invention, by exhibiting its principles, and thus enabling
the artist to correct its imperfections; and now science
and art go haml in hand, mutually giving and receiving
assistance. The demands of the navigator for mathema¬
tical and astronomical knowledge have dignified these
sciences ; and they are no longer the means of elegant
amusement alone, but merit the munificence of princes,
who have erected observatories, and furnished voyages
of discovery, where the mathematical sciences are at
the same time cherished and applied to the most impor*
tant purposes.
This short sketch of what may be called the natural
history of physical sciences will not, we hope, be thought
improper or unprofitable. It tends to confirm an asser¬
tion often alluded to, that the prosecution of the study
of nature will be more successful, if we imitate her mode
of proceeding, and divide the labour. It will be still
further confirmed by attending to the scientific difl'er-
ence of the phenomena, which marks out a different
mode of proceeding, and a difference in the knowledge
which wre shall ultimately acquire, after our most suc¬
cessful researches.
In both classes of phenomena already distinguished
(N° 6.) we must grant, that the principle which con-
iimiuim- . the paiis of concomitant events, rendering the one
nt events the inseparable companion of the other, is totally un-
tetully known to us, because it is not the immediate object of
Known. our perception.
the first . But in the phenomena of the first class, w'e see the
M*, how- immediate exertion of this principle, whatever it may be •
Mie we can observe the exertion with accuracy; we can de-
(sprin- termine its kind and degree, which are the signs and
iemay m™sures of the kind and degree of the unperceived
cause. Ibis exertion, being always some modification
ot motion, allows us to call in the aid of mathematical
knowledge, and thus to ascertain with the precision pe¬
culiar to that science the energy of the cause, judging
ot the tendency and quantity by the tendency and the
quantity ol the observed effect.
B,e second class of phenomena the case is verv
COnd: d.lfferent- ln operations of chemistry, for instance,
the immediate exertion of the cause is not perceived : all
that we observe is the assemblage of particles which ob¬
tains before mixture, and that which takes place when
it is completed, and which we consider as its result.
I he procedure of nature in producing the change is un¬
seen and unknown. The steps are hid from our obser¬
vation. We are not only ignorant of the cause which
determines one particle of our food to become a part of
our body while others are rejected, but we do not see
the operation. We are not only ignorant of the cause
which determines a particle of vitriolic acid to quit the
tossil alkali with which it is united in Glauber salt, and
to attach itself to a particle of magnesia already united
With the muriatic acid, which also quits it to unite with
the alkali, but we do not see the operation. The par¬
ticles and their motions are not the objects of our senses ;
and all that we see is the Epsom salt and common salt
separated from the water in which yve had formerly dis-
s° ved the sal mirabile and the muriated magnesia. The
motions, which are the immediate effects of the changing
causes, and therefore their only indications, characterise
^ OL. XVI. Part II.
S I c s. 42.
“nd measures, fitted to show their nature, are hid ,nl„,Juc_
tion.
taccu
*iy ob
ved,
42
not in
from our view.
Our knowledge therefore of tliese phenomena must be » —
<rss perfect than that ot the phenomena of the former fl
class ; and w^e must here content ourselves with the dis- ^rC'
covery of more remote relations and remote causes, and phenome-
With our ignorance ot the very powers of nature by na of the
which these changes are brought about, and which ar€ second class
cognoscible only by their immediate effects, viz. the mo-fe !eSS,Un'
turns which they produce unseen. The knowledge^™00
which we do really acquire is somewhat similar to what
the mechanical philosopher has acquired when lie has
discovered, by many experiments and investigations, that
magnets attract each other by their dissimilar poles,
ami repel each other by their similar poles, and do not
act at ail on any bodies but loadstones and iron. Here
we leave undiscovered all that is most curious in the phe.
nomenon, viz. how these attractions and repulsions are
produced; and even here the magnetical philosopher
has the advantage of seeing the agents and the opera¬
tion. •
But philosophers attending to this circumstance, Tho&
t at, even in these cases, the changes are produced by SOiIie pkilo-
motions, or consist in motions, however unperceived s0Phers
these may be, have concluded, that the laws according!lave,atf
t0 which nature operates in producing these changes to explain
aie similar to the laws which regulate her operations in them by
the sensible actions of bodies, or are included in them ;th.e doc;
and that the motions, though unseen, and the movingtnn? ot
torces, are perfectly similar. They have therefore em .m° 1
ployed similar modes of investigation, applying the laws
of impulse, and calling in the aid of mathematical know¬
ledge. ,
Of this we have many examples in the w'ritings of
-Oi 1 reind, Keil, Bernouilli, Helsham, Boerhaave, Hart¬
ley, and others, who have delivered theories of fermen¬
tation, solution, precipitation, crystallization, nutrition,
secretion, muscular action, nay even of sensation and
intelligence, founded, as they think, on the laws of mo¬
tion, and illustrated and supported by mathematical rea¬
soning. . Lord Bacon himself, that careful and sagaci¬
ous distinguisher of intellectual operations, has gone in¬
to the same track in his explanation of the phenomena
of file and combustion : and Sir Isaac Newton lias
made several attempts of the same kind, although with
peculiarities which always characterize his discussions,
and make them very different from those of an inferior
class.
But the success of these philosophers has hithertobeen but their
very discouraging: indeed they had no title to expect attempts
any ; for their whole trains of reasoning have proceeded have beeu
on analogies which were not observed, but a-,sunied orl!n.success~
supposed without any authority. There is not that simi-iU ’
larity in the phenomenon, or in the visible effect, which
is absolutely necessary for a successful reasoning by ana¬
logy. We do not observe any local motion, any change
of place, which alone enables us to reason mathemati¬
cally on the subject. And to make ihe case desperate,
this ill-founded analogy has been mixed with hypotheses
completely gratuitous. Certain forms have been assign¬
ed to the particles, and certain modes of action have
been laid down for them, for whose reality we have not
the least argument or indication : and to complete the
matter, these fancied forms and laws of action have been
such.as are either self-contradictory and inconsistent, dr
f 3 H they
426
latrodu:
4g
The advan¬
tage de-
j-ived in
these spe¬
culations
from ma¬
thematical
philosophy.
PHY
they have been such as, if allowed to act in a way ana¬
logous to what we observe in the sensible motions of bo¬
dies, would produce effects totally different from those
which are observed. These atomical theories, as they
are called, transgress every ruled' philosophical discus¬
sion, and even the best of them are little better than
trifling amusements. By far the greatest part of them
only serve to raise a smile of pity and contempt in every
person at all acquainted with mechanical philosophy.
Whenever we see an author attempting to explain these
iiidden operations of nature by invisible fluids, by aethers,
by collisions, and vibrations, and particularly it we see
him introducing mathematical reasonings into such ex¬
planations—the best thing we can do is to shut the book,
and take to some other subject. That we may not be
thought to speak presumptuously on this occasion, we
only beg leave to remind our readers, that the united
knowledge of the most eminent mathematicians of Eu¬
rope has not yet been able to give any thing more than
an approximation to the solution of the problem ot three
bodies ; that is, to determine with accuracy the motions
of three particles of matter acting on each other in the
simplest of all possible manners, viz. by forces varying
as the squares of the distances inversely : and the vibra¬
tions of elastic bodies, of any hut the very simplest pos¬
sible forms, are to this day beyond the reach of investi-
aation. What then should be our expectations in cases
where millions of particles are acting at once, d iorms
unobserved, and with forces unknown, and where the
object is not a determination of an average result ot ma¬
ny, where the precise state of an individual article need
not be known, but where it is this very precise state ot
each single particle that we want to know ? W hat can
it be but uncertainty and mistake ?
vS I
lion.
c s.
tions. And a beautiful introduction to this new and al- introduc
most unbounded field of inquiry has been given us by
the celebrated Abbe Boscovich, in his Theory ot .Natu¬
ral Philosophy, where he has shown how such mutual
tendencies, similar in every ultimate particle ot matter,
and modified by conditions that are highly probable,
nay almost demonstrable, will not only produce the sen¬
sible forms of solidity, hardness, elasticity, ductility, flui¬
dity, and vapour, under an inconceivable variety oi sub¬
ordinate appearances, and the observed laws ot sensible
motion, but will go far to explain the phenomena ot tu-
sion, congelation, solution, crystallization, &.c. 6cc. 5cc.
both in chemistry and physiology. We earnestly recom¬
mend this work to the perusal of all who wish to obtain
a distinct notion of the internal constitution ot natural
bodies, and of the way in which the uniting forces pro¬
duce their ultimate and sensible effects. Any person,
possessed of a moderate share of mathematical know¬
ledge, will be convinced that the process ot nature is
not very different from what he describes; and that
much of what we observe must happen as he says, even
although the ultimate atoms of matter are not mextend-
ed mathematical points, accompanied with attracting
and repelling forces. . . . „ ^
But we have many steps to make before we begin thisOm^gno-
study : Nature opens to us an immense volume *, and vve^^ and
doubt not that our posterity will long find employmentt]ie pi.oba_
in the perusal, even though advancing with the eager-bleincrease
ness and success of the last century. W e have not yetol know-
arrived at the threshold in many parts of this research . mo*g po.
In many parts of chemistry, for instance, we are as jetsterit}.
uncertain with respect to' the phenomena themselves,
which are to he the subjects of this discussion. Hie
composition of bodies must be fully understood be lore we
be but uncertainty and mistake. , • t u 0f t|ie forr,es which unite their particles.
Notwithstanding these discouraging circumstances, w ® rniaL about their modes of action. As long as
must observe that this kind of inquiry laa grea y im- 01 p •. d as an element, we were ignorant
proved of late years, along with the improvement and
extension of mathematical philosophy, and since philo¬
sophers have given over their incessant attempts to ex¬
plain every thing by impulseand we need not despair
of making still farther advances, if we will content our¬
selves with going no farther than Newton has done in
his explanation of the planetary motions. He has im¬
mortalized his own name, and has added immensely to
our stock of useful knowledge : yet he has stopped short
at the discovery of the fact of universal gravitation •, and
all who have endeavoured to explain or account tor this
fact have only exposed themselves to pity. We may per¬
haps be one day able to demonstrate from the phenome¬
na that the particles of matter have certain mutual ten¬
dencies to or from each other, exerted according to fax¬
ed or inVaried rules-, and from these tendencies we may
be able to explain many other phenomena, and predict
the consequences, with as much certainty and ev^ence
as an astronomer calculates a future eclipse. 1 Ins would
be a great acquisition, and perhaps more is impossible :
and the road to this has been hinted by Sir Isaac New¬
ton, who has expressed his suspicion, that as the great
movements of the solar system are regulated by universal
gravitation, so the mutual actions of the particles 01 mat¬
ter are produced and regulated by tendencies of a similar
kind, equally but not more inexplicable, and of which
the laws of action are to be discovered by as careful an
attention to the phenomena, and by the same patient
thinking, which he has employed on the planetary mo-
UT     , -
water was considered as an element, we were ignorant
of the forces inherent in its particles j we are, perhaps,
still ignorant of this 5 hut we now know that they are
extremely different from what we formerly supposed them
to be. It is but in a very few, if in any, cases ot che¬
mical combination, that we even know what are the in¬
gredients : till we know this, it is too soon to speculate
about their mode of union. Our ignorance in the rea
events in the animal and vegetable economy is still
greater. Our first task therefore is to proceed, as we
are now doing, in the accurate examination and classih-
cation of the phenomena themselves and, without at¬
tempting to bring them within the pale of mathematica
philosophy, by attempting what are caUed mechanical
explanations, let us give up the consideration of these
hidden operations, and augment to the utmost our 1
of secondary laws of visible but remote connections. Al
the mechanical speculations oi the honourable hoUr
Boyle about the sensible qualities of things are now or-
gotten ; but his chemical experiments preserve all their
value, and are frequently referred to. 1 he same may
be said of the sagacious Dr Hales, whose fancifu no-
tions of internal conflicts, and colhsons, and yibiatiom.
tions ot internal ot-nui^,   f { 4S
derogate nothing from the value of the curious factsThepHrt
which he has established both in the animal and 'eg *culardn
, . sions of
ta ThiTdStion in the nature of the phenomena, ami
this difference in the nature of the knowledge w l cfa^.1
tins Ullieicm-c 111  - r cm J
is to be acquired, and the means winch aie 0 ^
P H Y S
ll&tntUic- ployed for tlie saccessful prosecution of these two branch-
tiiifi- es of general physics, has occasioned a still farther re-
striction (at least in Britain) of the term natuhai, pht-
losophy. It is particularly applied to the study of the
phenomena of the first class, while those of the second
have produced the sciences of chemistry and fpiysio-
IjQGY.
Natural philosophy and chemistry have generally
been made particular institutions in our seminaries of
learning, but physiology has more commonly been
taught in conjunction with anatomy, medicine, and bo¬
tany.
I he phenomena of the first class have been usually
Called MECHANICAL, in order to distinguish them from
those observed in the operations of chemistry, and in
the animal and vegetable economy; and the explanations
which have been attempted of some of the last, by ap¬
plying the laws observed in the phenomena of the first
class, have been called mechanical explanations.
As this first class is evidently but a part of gene-
rp-l physics, there is some impropriety in giving the
name natural philosophy to a course of doctrines which
is confined to these alone. Indeed at the first institu¬
tion of universities, the lectures given in the Schola
Physica were much more extensive, comprehending al¬
most all the phenomena of the material world : but as
all arts and sciences have improved most where the la¬
bour has been most divided, it was found more condu¬
cive to the advancement of knowledge that separate
institutions should be founded for the studies of natu¬
ral history, chemistry, physiology, &c. ; and thus the
phenomena, purely mechanical, and a few others in
magnetism, electricity, and optics, which either were
susceptible of mathematical treatment, or had little
connection with the studies of chemistry and physiology,
were left to the care of the professor of natural philo¬
sophy.
As the terms chemistry and physiology have been ap¬
plied to two very important branches of general phy¬
sics, we think that a more specific or characteristic
name might be appropriated to the other, and that
it might very properly be termed mechanical philo¬
sophy.
. ^ onjy remaijns.-to make a few observations on the
distinctive means ot prosecuting the studies with suc¬
cess, and to point out some of the advantages which
may reasonably be expected from a careful prosecution
of them : and as the second branch has been fully treated
under the several articles of Chemistry, Physiology,
etc. we shall confine ourselves to what is usually called
natural philosophy.
techani- Mechanical Philosophy may, ill conformity with
U philaso- the foregoing observations, be defined, “ the study of the
id itsne ’s®nf1^e motions of the bodies of the universe, and of
iinciples t'ieif actions producing sensible motions, with the view
plained. to discover their causes, to explain subordinate pheno¬
mena, and to improve art.”
The principle upon which all philosophical discussion
proceeds is, that every change which we observe in the
condition of things is considered by us as an effect, indi¬
cating the agency, characterising the kind, and measur¬
ing the degree, of its cause.
In the language of Riechanical philosophy, the cause
I c s.
427
of any change of motion is culled a moving or changing ^rccbanica)
FORCE. . Philosophy,
The disquisitions of natural philosophy must therefore '   
begin with the consideration of motion, carefully noti¬
cing every affection or quality of it, so as to establish
marks and measures of every change of which it is sus¬
ceptible ; for these are the only marks and measures of
the changing forces. This being done, it only remains
to apply them to the motions which we observe in the
universe.
From the general principle ofplulosophical discussion The laws
already mentioned, there flow directly two axioms. ot motion
1. Every body perseveres in a stateofrest, or of uniform andrtheV'
rectilineal motion, unless affected by some moving force* ■ *XXW'
2. Every change of motion is in the direction and in
the degree of the force impressed.
These are usually called the laws of motion. They
are more properly laws of human judgment, with respect
to motion. Perhaps they are necessary truths, unless it
be alleged that the general principle, of which they are
necessary consequences, is itself a contingent though uni¬
versal truth.
By these two axioms, applied in abstracto to every
variety of motion, we establish a system of general doc¬
trines concerning motions, according as they are simple
or compounded, accelerated, retarded, rectilineal, cur-
vilineal, in single bodies, or in systems of connected bo¬
dies 5 and we obtain corresponding characteristics and
measures of accelerating or retarding forces, centripetal
or centrifugal, simple or compound.
We have an illustrious example of this abstract system
of motion and moving forces in the first book of Sir Isaac
Newton’s Mathematical Principles of Natural Philo¬
sophy. Eu\er'sMechanica sive Scientia H lotus, Herman’s
Phoronomia sivede ViribusCorporum, and D’Alembert’s
Traite de Dynamique, are also excellent works of the
same kind. In this abstract system no regard is paid to
the casual differences of msving forces, or the sources
from which they arise. It is enough to characterise a
double accelerating force, for instance, that it produces
a double acceleration. It may be a weight, a stream of
watei, the pressure of a man ; and the force, of which it
is.said to be double, maybe the attraction of a magnet,
a current of air, or theaction of a spring.
Having established these general doctrines, the phi¬
losopher now applies them to the general phenomena of
the universe, in order to discover the nature of the forces
which really exist, and the laws by which their opera¬
tions are regulated, and to explain interesting but subor¬
dinate phenomena. This is the chief business of the me¬
chanical philosopher; and it may with some propriety
l>e called the mechanical history of nature.
Some method must be followed in this history of me-Of thtYr-
chanical nature. The phenomena must be classed by rangement
means of their resemblances, which infer a resemblance ot th? nic"
in their causes, and their classes must be arranged ac- ‘tenime
cording to some principle. We have seen no method naTthc"
which appears to us less exceptionable than the follow-“Averse-
The principle of arrangement is the generality of the The gene-
phenomena ; and the propriety of adopting this princi- ^bfy °f
pie , arises from the probability which it gives us of morethe P1^110'
readily discovering the most general actuating forces, ”5™‘Lthe
whose agency is implicated in all other phenomena of of anange-
3 H 2 Jess nient-
nrieal phe
noniena
g PHY
wechamcal less extent; ami therefore shoulil he previously ihscussed.
Philosophy. {[l;lt we may detect the discriminating circumstances
—' which serve to characterise the subordinate phenomena,
and are thus the marks of the distinguishing and interior
natural powers. . , ...
„„ ” , The most oeneeal of all phenomena is the curvilinear
moU™"” motion of bodies in free space; it is observed through
first applied whole extent of the solar system. _
to astrono- 'j]|ie mechanical history of nature begins thereto e
with astronomy. Here, from the general phenomena
of the planetary motions, is evinced the fact of the mu¬
tual deflection of every body towards every other body,
and this in the inverse proportion ol the squares of th
distance, and the direct proportion of the quantity o
matter. This is the fact of universal gravitaiion,
indicating the agency, and measuring the intensity, ot
the universal force of mutual gravity.
Having established this as an universal tact, tlie na¬
tural philosopher proceeds to point out all the particular
tacts which are comprehended under it, and whose pecu¬
liarities characterise the different movements of the t olar
system. That is, in the language of philosophy, he gives
a theory or explanation of the subordinate phenomena ;
the elliptical motions of the planets and comets, their
mutual disturbances; the lunar irregularities; the oblate
figure of the planets; the nutation of the earth s axis ,
the precession of the equinoxes ; and the phe no me mao
the tides and trade winds : and he concludes with
theory of the parabolic motion of bodies projected on
the surface of this globe, and the motion of pendu-
1U As he goes along, he takes notice of the applications
.,,:ch may be ma/e * ,he avtao f We 0 U,e vanou
54 V
The appli¬
cation of
t wlncn may oe maue iu , i
doctrines which are successively established; such as
euce t.0 the ciironology, astronomical calculation, dialling, naviga-
HfeS 0t tion, gunnery, and the measuring of time.
’ „ If a square parcel of sand be lying on the table, and
The nature t],e finger be applied to any part of it to push it along
of gravita- t|ie taye, that part is removed where you will, but the
,ion’ rest remains in its place; but if it is a piece of sand-stone
of the same materials and shape, and the finger is applied
as before, the whole is moved ; the other parts accom¬
pany the part impelled by the finger in all its motions
From the moon’s accompanying the earth in all it
motions round the sun, we infer a moving force which
connects the moon and earth. In like manner, we must
conclude that a moving force connects the particles ot
the stone; for we give the name force to every thing
which produces motion : We call it the force of cohe¬
sion ; a term which, like gravitation, expresses merely
Incfc* r* i * _
This seems to be the next phenomenon of the universe
in point of extent. , t.
Having, from the general phenomenon, establishe
the existence of this force, the philosopher proceeds o
tin? the ascertain the laws by which its exertions are regulated,
laws of CO- which is the ascertaining its distinctive nature an pro-
kesion- perties This he dofes in the same way that he ascer¬
tained the nature of planetary gravitation, viz. by ob-
servin-r more particularly the various phenomena.
' Here is opened a most extensive and varied held ot
observation, in which it must be acknowledged that very
Httle regular and marked progress has been made. 1 he
variety of the phenomena, and the consequent variety in
the nature of the connecting forces, appear as yet m-
4
this sci-
56
and of co¬
hesion.
57
Mode of
investiga¬
ting the
SICS.
conceivably great; and there seems little probability of Mechanical
our being able to detect in them all any sameness, com- philosophy.
bined with the other distinguishing circumstances, as we
have done in the case of gravity. Yet we should not
despair. Boscovich has shown, in the most unexcep¬
tionable manner, that although we shall suppose that
every atom of matter is endued with a perfectly similar
force, acting in a certain determined ratio ot the small
and imperceptible distances at which the particles ot
matter are arranged with respect to each other, the ex¬
ternal or sensible appearances may, and must, have all
that variety which we observe. He also shows very dis¬
tinctly how, from the operation ol this force, must anse
some of the most general and important phenomena
which characterise the different forms of tangible bodies.
We observe the chief varieties ol the action ol this
CORPUSCULAR force on the bodies which we denomi¬
nate hard, .soft, solid, fluid, vaporous, brittle, ductile,
elastic. We see instances where the parts ol bodies
avoid each other, and require external force to keep
them together, or at certain small distances from each
other. This.is familiar in air, vapours, and all com*
nressible and elastic bodies.
This is evidently a most curious and interesting sub¬
ject of investigation. On the nature and action ot these
corpuscular forces depends the strength or firmness ot
solids, their elasticity, their power of communicating
motion, the pressure, and motion, and impulse of flui s ,
nay, on the same actions depend all the chemical and
physiological phenomena of expansion, fusion, congela¬
tion, vaporisation, condensation, solution, precipitation,
absorption, secretion, fermentation, and animal an ve¬
getable concoction and assimilation. .
Out of this immense store of phenomena, this inex¬
haustible fund of employment for our powers «f
ligation, the natural philosopher selects those which lead
directly to the production or modification of sensihle
motion.
He will therefore consider, . , , i 5s
The communication of motion among detached and The.p.^.
free bodies, establishing the laws of impulse or colhsj«"- motionby
This has always been considered as the elementary doc ;nQpulse ],a
trine of mechanical philosophy, and as the most familiar
fact observed in the material world ; and in all ages thought t
philosophers have been anxious to reduce all ae^°nS fact«
bodies on each other to impulse, and have never thought
a phenomenon completely explained or accounted Ioe
till it has been shown to be a case of impulse. 11 is it
is which has given rise to the hypotheses of vortices
ethers, magnetic and electric fluids animal spirits, and
a multitude of fancied intermediums between the sensible
masses of matter, which are said m common language
to act on each other. A heavy body is supposed to foil
because it is impelled by a stream of
moving according to certain conditions suited to the case.
The filings of iron are supposed to he arrange roun
magnet, by means of a stream of magnetic fluid issuing
from one pole, circulating perpetually round the magnet,
we^observe th^ flote-grass^rtattgeid by ^current of a
b't; the pliilosoplier ^
But the plnlosopner wno . opiuion>
study of nature by the abstract doctrines of dynamics
sumy 01 .fie celestial phenome- . Jable
studv ot nature oy me    . very ilul
and made its first application to the celestial phenome-tionable
2, Ld who has attended carefully to the man^ ana-
PHYSIC S.
kfcthani-
•al Philo¬
sophy.
60
Motion
seems to be
produced
[iora the
equality of
action a«d
faction.
61
Of motion
as it re¬
spects the
theory of
machines,
See.
62
Mecha-
Sics.
63
The nature
ai'd defini-
hon of flui-
iity.
logies between the phenomena oi’ gravitation and cohe¬
sion, will be at least ready to entertain very different
notions of this matter. He will be so far from think¬
ing that the production of motion by impulse is the
most familiar fact in nature, that he will acknowledge
it to he comparatively very rare ; nay, there are some
appearances in the facts, which are usually considered
as instances of impulsion, which will lead him to doubt,
and almost to deny, that there has ever been observed an
instance of one body putting another in motion by com¬
ing into absolute contact with it, and striking it j and
he will be disposed to think that the production of mo¬
tion in this case is precisely similar to what we observe
when we gently push one floating magnet towards ano¬
ther, with their similar poles fronting each other. There
will be the same production of motion in the one and di¬
minution of it in the other, and the same uniform mo¬
tion of the common centre of gravity : and, in this case
of the magnets, he sees completely the necessity of a law
of motion, which is not an axiom, but is observed through
the whole of nature, and which receives no explanation
from any hypothesis of an intervening fluid, but is even
totally inconsistent with them. We mean, “ that every
action of one body on another is accompanied by an
equal and opposite action of that other on the first.”
This is usually called the equality of action and reaction:
it is not intuitive, but it is universal; and it is a neces¬
sary consequence of the perfect similarity of the corpus¬
cular forces of the same kinds of matter. This general
fact, unaccountable on the hypothesis of impelling fluids,
is considered in the planetary motions as the unequivocal
indication of the sameness of that gravity which regulates
them all. The rules of good reasoning should make us
draw the same conclusion here, that the particles of tan¬
gible matter are connected by equal and mutual forces,
which are the immediate causes of all their sensible ac¬
tions, and that these forces, like gravitation, vary with
everv change of distance and situation.
The laws of collision and impulsion being now esta¬
blished, either as original facts or as consequences of
the agency of equal and mutual forces which connect
the particles of matter, the philosopher considers,
2. The production of motion by the intervention of
solid bodies, where, by reason of the cohesion of mat¬
ter, some of the motions are necessarily confined to
certain determinate paths or directions. This is the
case in all motions round fixed points or axes, or along
planes or curves which ^j;e oblique to the action ol the
forces.
This part of the study contains the theory of ma¬
chines, pointing out the principles on which their ener¬
gy depends, and consequently furnishing maxims for
their construction and improvement. But these obser¬
vations do not complete the discussion of the mechanism
of solid bodies: they are not only solid and inert, but
they are also heavy ; therefore the action of gravity
must be combined with the consequences of solidity.
This will lead to discussions about the centre of gravity,
the theory and construction of arches and roofs, the
principles of stability and equilibrium, the attitudes of
animals, and many particulars of this kind.
3. The philosopher will now turn his attention to an*
other form, in which tangible matter exhibits many in¬
teresting phenomena, viz. fluidity. The first thing to
he attended to here is, What is that particular form of
429
existence? What is the precise phenomenon which cha- Mccliani-
racterises fluidity P What is the definition of a fluid ? cal Fhilo-
This is by no means an easy question, and considerable , s°phy.
objections may be stated against any definition that has v
been given of it. Sir Isaac Newton says, that a fluid
is a body whose particles yield to the smallest impression,
and by so yielding are easily moved among themselves.
It may be doubted whether this be sufficiently precise;
■what is meant by the smallest impression ? and what is
easily moving? Is there any precise degree of impression
to which they do not yield ; and do they oppose any re¬
sistance to motion ? And a stronger objection may be
made : It is not clear that a body so constituted will
exhibit all the appearances which a body acknowledged
to be fluid does really exhibit. Euler offers some very
plausible reasons for doubting whether it will account for
the horizontal surface, and the complete propagation of
pressure through the fluid in every direction; and there¬
fore prefers selecting this last phenomenon, the propaga¬
tion of pressure qudqtta versitm, as the characteristic of
fluidity, because a body having this constitution (on
whatever circumstance it may depend) will have every
other observed property of a fluid. But this definition
is hardly simple or perspicuous enough ; and we think
that the objections against Newton’s more simple and in*
telligible definition are not unanswerable. Boscovich de¬
fines a fluid to be, a body whose particles exert the same
mutual forces in all directions ; and shows, that such
particles must be indifferent, as to any position, with
respect to each other. If no external force act on them,
they will remain in every position, and will have no ten¬
dency to arrange themselves in one position rather than
another; differing in this respect from the particles of so¬
lid, or soft, or viscid bodies; which require some force to
change their respective positions, and which recover these
positions again when but gently disturbed. Heillustrates
this distinction very beautifully, by comparing a parcel
of balls thrown on quicksilver, and attracting each other,
with a parcel of magnets in the same situation. The balls
will stick together, but 'manyposition; whereas the mag¬
nets will always affect a particular arrangement. 64
When the characteristic phenomenon of fluidity has Of the pres-
been selected, the philosopher proceeds to combine thisSllre.
property with gravity, and establishes the doctrines of0f flUu]s>or
HYDROSTATICS, or of the pressure and equilibrium ofhydrosta-
heavy fluids, the propagation of this pressure in every tics,
direction ; and demonstrates the horizontality of surface
assumed by all perfect fluids.
These doctrines and principles enable us to determine
several vei*y interesting circumstances respecting the mu¬
tual pressure of solids and fluids on each other; the pres¬
sures exerted on the bottoms and sides of vessels; the sup¬
port and whole mechanism of floating bodies, &c. 6 .
He then considers how fluids will move when theirof the mo-
equilibrium of pressure is destroyed ; and establishes thetion of
doctrines of HYDRAULICS, containing all the modifica-fllll(ls> or
tions of this motion, arising from the form of the ves- f Iau 1CS'
sels, or from the intensity or direction of the pressure
which occasions it. And this subject is completed by
the consideration of the resistance whioh fluids oppose
to the motion of solid bodies through them, and their
impulse on bodies opposed to their action.
These are very important matters, being the founda¬
tions of many mechanical arts, and furnishing us with
some of our most convenient and efficacious powers for
impelling
4.'
P H Y S
They arc also of very difficult
tics.
Mechani- impelling machines.  — « .
cal Philo- discussion, and are by no means completely investi-
fophy. „atej or established. Much remains yet to be done
' both for perfecting the theories and for improving toe
The im- arts which depend upon them. _
portance It is evident, that on these doctrines depend the
aiddifficul-knowledge of the motions of rivers and 01 waves-, the
ty ofthese , ancy, enuilibrium, and stability of ships > the mo-
sciciicc S ° tion of ships through the waters •, the action ot the
winds on the sails and the whole arts of marine con¬
struction and seamanship.
The nature There is another general form of tangible matter
and defini- which exhibits very different phenomena, winch are also
tion ofva- extremely interesting-, we mean that ol vapour. A
pour. vapour is a fluid-, and all the vapours that we know are
heavy fluids: they are therefore subject to all the laws
X)f pressure and impulse, which have been considered
under the article Hydrodynamics. But they are
susceptible of great compression by the action of ex¬
ternal forces, and expand again when these forces are
removed. In consequence of this compression and ex¬
pansion, the general phenomena of fluidity receive great
and important modifications j and this class of fluids re¬
quires a particular consideration. As air is a familial
instance, this branch of mechanical philosophy has been
„ called PNEUMATICS.
The doc- Under this head we consider the pressure of the at-
trine of air mosphere, and its effects, both on solid and fluid bodies,
pneuma- produces the rise of waters or other fluids m pumps
and syphons, and gives Us the theory of their construc¬
tion : it explains many curious phenomena of nature,
such as the motions in the atmosphere, and their con¬
nection with the pressure of the air, and its effect on the
barometer or weather-glass. Air, when in motion, is
called wind; and it may be employed to impel bodies.
The theory of its action, and of its resistance to moving
bodies, are therefore to be considered in this place.
But besides their motions of progression, &c. such as
we observe in winds,compressible or elastic fluids are sus¬
ceptible of what may be termed internal mation; a kind
of undulation, where the contiguous parts are thrown
into tremulous vibrations, in which they are alternately
condensed and rarefied; and these undulations are pro¬
pagated along the mass of elastic fluid, much in the same
way in which we observe waves to spread on the suiface
of water. What makes this an interesting subject ot
consideration is, that these undulations are the more or¬
dinary causes of sound. A trembling chord, or spring,
or bell, agitates the air adjoining to it: these agita¬
tions are propagated along the air, and by its interven¬
tion agitate the organ of hearing. The mechanism ot
these undulations has been much studied, and furnishes
a very beautiful theory of musical harmony.
The philosopher examines the law of compressibility
of air and other elastic fluids ; aud thus gets the know¬
ledge of the constitution of the atmosphere, and of the
eJastie^ action 0f tl10Se fluids when employed to impel solid bo-
UI S’ ‘ dies. Gunpowder contains an immense quantity of per¬
manently elastic air, which may he set at liberty by^ in¬
flammation. When this is done at the bottom of a piece
of ordnance, it will impel a ball along the barrel, and
discharge it from the muzzle, in the same way that an
arrow is impelled by a bow. And thus having discovered
in what degree tills air presses in proportion to its expan¬
sion, we discover its action on the bail through the whole
2
I c s.
length of the piece, and the velocity which it will fi- Mtcliani.
nally communicate to it. Here then is contained a cai i iiiia
theory of artillery and of mines. _ , SOi’!iy,_,
Chemistry teaches us, that most bodies can he con¬
verted by fire into elastic fluids, which can be employed oft!
70
to act on other bodies in the way of pressure or impulse, version of
Thus they come under the review of the mechanical phi-
losopher; and they have become interesting by being em-
ployed as moving forces in some very powerful machines. fire-
These discussions will nearly exhaust all the general
mechanical phenomena. There remain some which are
much more limited, but furnish very curious and im¬
portant subjects of investigation. 7I
The phenomena exhibited between loadstones cr mag- of the phe-
nets and iron have long attracted attention ; and the use nomena of
to which the polarity of the.loadstone has been applied,loadstone.
namely, the directing the course of a ship through the^
69
Of the
compressi¬
bility of
clastic
its conse¬
quence.
1 if me i y ,   O * ^ .
pathless ocean, has rendered these phenomena extremely
interesting. They are specified by the term magnetism.
Considerable progress has been made in the arrangement
and generalization of them; but we have by no means
been able hitherto to bring them all under one simple
fact. The attention has been too much turned to the
discovery of the ultimate cause of magnetism ; whereas
we should have rather employed our ingenuity in discover¬
ing all the general laws, in the same manner as Kepler
and Newton did with respect to the celestial phenomena,
without troubling themselves with the cause oi gravita¬
tion. Dr Gilbert of Colchester was the first who con¬
sidered the magnetical phenomena in the truly philo¬
sophical manner; and his treatise De Magneie may be
considered as the first and one of the most perfect speci¬
mens of the Baconian or inductive logic. It is indeed
an excellent performance; and when we consider its date,
1580, it is a wonder. iBpinus’s Tentamen Theories
Magnetismi is a most valuable work, and contains all
the knowledge which we have as yet of the subject. 72
There is another class of mechanical phenomena which Of electri-
have a considerable affinity with the magnetical ; we
mean the phenomena called electrical. Certain bo¬
dies, when rubbed or otherwise treated, attract and repel
other bodies, and occasion a great variety ot sensible mo¬
tions in the neighbouring bodies. Philosophers have paid
much attention to these appearances of late years, and
established many general laws concerning them. But
we have not been more successful in bringing them all
under one fact, and thus establishing a complete theory
of them, than in the case of magnetism. Franklin and
iEpinus are the authors who have been most successful
in this respect. Dr Franklin in particular has acquired
great celebrity by his most sagacious comparison of the
phenomena; which has enabled him to establish a few
general laws, almost as precise as those of Kepler, and
of equally extensive influence. His discovery too ot the
identity of thunder and electricity has given an import¬
ance and dignity to the whole subject. . . ^
There are many phenomena of electricity which can- T]iese aiC
not be called mechanical, and are of the most curious not all me
and interesting kind. As these have little connectionchanical.
with any of the other great branches of physical science,
they have generally been considered in treatises of na¬
tural philosophy; and, along with inquiries into the ori¬
ginal cause of electricity in general, continue to engage
much of our attention.
The appearances, which are presented to us by our
rr sense
PHYSICS.
Mechani- sense of seeing form another class, which liave always
cal Philo been considered as making a branch of natural philoso-
sopliy. phy in all seminaries of learning. It does not, how-
ever, obviously appear, that they are mechanical phe-
Of tlwfphe-nomena* The intimate nature of light is still a secret,
nomena of fortunately it is not necessary to be known to give us
vision. a very perfect theory of the chief phenomena. The
general laws of optics are so few, so simple, and so
precise, that our theories are perhaps more perfect here
than in any other branch of physics j but these theories
are as yet far removed from the rank of primary facts.
Many unknown events happen before the phenomenon
comes under the hands of the ordinary optician, so as to
become the subjects of the simple laws of reflection and
It has been refraction. It may even be doubted, and has been doubt-
doubted
whether
light is
corporeal
ed, whether the phenomena of optics are cases of body
in motion ; whether all the lines winch the optician draws
are any thing but the directions along which certain qua¬
lities are exerted. The side of a ball which is next the
candle may be bright and the other side dark, just as the
side of a ball which is next the electrical globe is minus
and the other side plus ; and all this without any inter¬
vening medium. Apparition or visibility may be a qua¬
lity of a body, depending on the proximity and position
of another body, without any thing between them, just
as weight is ; and this quality may be cognizable by our
faculty of seeing alone, just as the pressure of a heavy
76 body is by our feeling alone.
How optics The first thing which made it probable that mechani-
caine to be Cal philosophy had any thing to do with the phenomena
asapart of°* °P.tlcs’ 'vas discovery of Mr lloemer, “ that ap-
mechanical Par^i°n was n°t instantaneous 5” that some time elapsed
philosophy, between the illumination of a body and its being seen at
a distance. He discovered, that it was not till 40 mi¬
nutes after the sun illuminated one of Jupiter’s satellites
that it was seen by the inhabitants of this globe. If there¬
fore a sun were just created, it would be 40 minutes be¬
fore Jupiter would be illuminated by him, and 200 be-
77 fore the Georgian planet would be illuminated. Here
The nature then is motion. It is therefore highly probable that
there is something moved j but it is still doubted whe¬
ther this something, which we call light, is a matter
emitted from the shining body, and moving with great
velocity, and acting on and aflected by other bodies, in
the various phenomena of optics, or whether it is ^certain
state of a medium which is thus propagated, as we see
that waves are propagated along the surface of water, or
sonorous undulations through the mass of air, while the
water or air itself is hardly moved out of its place. Ei¬
ther of these suppositions makes optics a legitimate branch
0} mechanical philosophy 5 and it is the philosopher’s bu¬
siness to examine both by the received laws of motion,
and see which of them gives consequences which tally
with the phenomena. This has been done j and we ima¬
gine that a complete incompatibility has been demon¬
strated between the consequences of the undulations of
an elastic medium, and the phenomena of optics j while
the consequences of the other or vulgar notion on this
subject are perfectly consistent with mechanical laws.
1 here are some things in this hypothesis very far beyond
our power to conceive distinctly 5 but they are all simi¬
lar in this respect to many facts acknowledged by all j
and there is no phenomenon that is inconsistent with the
legitimate consequences ef the hypothesis. This gives it
great probability $ and this probability is confirmed by
of liuht is
still unde
Utmitied.
451
many chemical facts, and by facts in the vegetable eco- Mechani-
nomy, which give strong and almost undeniable indica- cal Philo-
tions of light being a body capable of a chemical union sophy.
with the other ingredients of sublunary bodies, and of v 1 J
being afterwards set at liberty under its own form, as
the cause or medium of vision. 7g
But these are questions similar to those about the But this
cause of gravity, and totally unnecessary for establishing does 1101 af*
a complete theory of the optical phenomena, lor ex-te^t|ie
plaining the nature of vision, the effects of optical in-optics.60
struments, the cause of colours, the phenomena of the
rainbow, halos and parhelia, &c. &c. &c. Only all
this theory is unconnected with the principles called me¬
chanical. „„
Such is the field of observation to the mechanical phi-The pro-
losopher of the present day. We may hope to extend bable iu"
it, and by degrees apply its doctrines even to the unseen
motions which take place in chemistry and phisiology. extensive
But we must, in the first place, perfect our knowledge held of ob-
and description of the sensible motions and actions ofservatioIU
bodies. I hose of fluids still demand much investigation ;
and till these are thoroughly understood, it is not time
to attempt penetrating further into the recesses of na-
furc. go
In the prosecution of this study, it is found that every Investiga-
change which can be observed in the state of a body,tlon ot’the
with respect to motion by the action of another body, is *avv tbat ‘
accompanied by an equal and opposite change in theaj^ays1S
state of that other body. Thus, in the phenomena of equal and
gravitation, it is observed that the deflections of the sun opposite to
and planets are mutual. The same thing is observed inleac^0D‘
the actions of magnets on each other and on iron 5 it is
also observed in the attractions and repulsions of electri¬
cal bodies j and it also obtains in all the phenomena of
impulse and of corporeal pressure. It is therefore an uni-
vei-sal law of motion, that action is always equal and op¬
posite to reaction : but this must be considered merely as
a matter of fact, a contingent law of nature, like that
of gravitation. The contrary is perfectly conceivable,
and involves no contradiction. That this is so, is evident
from the proceedings of philosophers, who in every new
case make it their business to discover by experiment
whether this law was observed or not. It was among
the last discoveries made by Sir Isaac Newton in his
examination of the celestial motions. This being the
case, it should never be assumed as a principle of reason¬
ing till its operation has been ascertained by observation. 8r
It Iras been owing to this improper procedure that much The term
false reasoning has been introduced into mechanical phi- has
losophy, and particularly into the theory of impulsion or n,CuL^10ne<i
the communication of motion by impulse. In consider-wrangling
ing this subject, a term has been introduced which has and miscon-
occasioned much wrangling and misconception 5 we mean cePti*n 011
the term INERTIA. It serves indeed to abbreviate lan-^'jsub'
guage, but it has often misled the judgment. WhenJ C *
used with cautious attention to every circumstance, it
expresses nothing but the necessity of a cause to the pro¬
duction of any effect : but it is generally used as expres¬
sing a quality inherent in matter, by which it resists any
change of state, or by which it maintains its present state.
Matter is said to be inert ; and as every thing which
changes the motion of a body is called a force, and as
this inertia of A is supposed to change the motion of B,
it is called vis inertia;; and yet matter is said to be indif¬
ferent as to motion or rest, and to be inactive. Those
are
433
PHY
! are surely very incongruous expressions. This obscure
J’ri- dkcoujhas Lisen from the poverty of
*ophy. which are deficient in original terms, and theief
-4— pl0y figurative ones. Force, action, resistance, aie all
appropriated terms related to our own exertions ; and
some resemblance between the external effects o these
exertions and the effects of the connecting qualities of
natural bodies, has made us use them in our disquisitions
on these subjects. And as we are conscious that, in
der to prevent our being pushed hy another from our
place, we must resist, exerting force j and that our
sistance is the reason why this other man has not j-
complished his purpose, we say, that the quiescent body
3s being put in motion, and that its inertia is dis¬
covered by Sthe diminution made in the motion of the
impelling body : and upon the authority of this r,, in¬
ertia asSa first principle, the phenomena of impulsion
are explained, and the law of equal action and icaction
lb But all this procedure is in contradiction to the rules
of inductive logic > and the obscurity and confusion
which has arisen from this original misconception, the
consequent incongruity of language, and the awkwai
attempts that have been made to botch and accommo¬
date it to the real state of things, have occasioned a
dispute, and the only dispute, in natural philosophy
which has not yet been settled, and never can be set¬
tled, while such misconceptions are allowed to ie-
82 r m'jf the word inertia: be taken as expressing not a qua-
meaning^ lity of matter, but a law of human judgment respect-
with anex-ing matter, as expressing our necessity of inferring
amide. ° ncy ot a moving force whenever we observe a change
of motion, all difficulties will vanish, and the equality
of action and reaction will be inferred, as it should be,
front^the phenomena of collision. There will be infer¬
red a vis insita corpori impeHenti, not qua momnti b
Qud corpori; and this inference will carry us through all
the*mysteries of corporeal action, as it conducted Sir
Isaac Newton in his grand researches. _A_
Let us just consider how we reason 1,11
in a new ease. Let A and B be two
magnets fastened on the ends of two
long wooden laths AE, BE, which
.turn horizontally on pivots C, D, like
compass needles, with their north poles
fronting each other, 12 inches apart
and let A be pushed towards B, so
that it would move uniformly with the
velocity of two inches in a second.
The phenomena which have been ob¬
served are as follow : A will gradually
diminish its velocity •, and when it has
advanced about nine inches, will stop
completely. B, in the mean time
will gradually acquire motion*, and
i •. i .. oKm.it nine in
SICS.
Tlie vulgar say that B repels A; so say the dynamlsts Meck.m
The abettors of invisible fluids say, that a stream ot fluid c„ P,,„.
. . _• Ir, A *K« direction. All ^ *
83
D
will eratlually acquire ^ ^
when it has advanced about nine inches, will have a
velocity of about two inches per second, with which it
will continue to move uniformly. Now what is infer¬
red from these phenomena? Because the motion ot A is
gradually retarded, we infer that a retarding force, that
is a force in the direction BA, has acted on it. And
since this would not have happened if B had not been
there, and always happens when B is there, we intei
that B is either its cause or the occasion of its action.
lire aueuois ux iu.xo.u.v  
issuing from B impels A in the opposite direction. All
naturalists agree in saying, that an active force connect¬
ed with B has destroyed the motion of A, and consider
this curious phenomenon as the indication and character¬
istic of a discovery. The same inference is made from
the motion produced in B : it is considered by all as el-
fected by a force exerted or occasioned by the presence
of A ; and the dynamists and the vulgar say that A re¬
pels B And both parties conclude, from the equai
changes made on both bodies, that the changing forces
are equal*, here acknowledging, that they objvrvc an
equality of action and reaction ; and they add this to the
other instances of the extent of this law of motion.
All this while no one thinks of the inertia or inacti¬
vity of B, but, on the contrary, conclude this to he a
curious instance of its activity j and most people con¬
clude that both bodies carry about with them a vis in¬
sita both when at rest and when in motion.
If other phenomena give unquestionable evidence k
that in ordinary collisions, there is the same c mnges acUlaj con
of motion, produced without mathematical contact, thetaclhas
same inferences must be drawn *, and a scrupulous natu- ever been
ralist will doubt whether contact should make any change 0'stive .
in our reasonings on the subject, and whether actual
contact ever has been or can be observed. He will also
be convinced, that while this is the general, or perhaps
universal, process of nature in producing motion by im- ^
pulse all explanations of the action of bodies e distantly The fouy
L the intervention of ethers and other invisible fluids, of snppo-
L nothing but multiplying the.tlifficulties; tor to place
of one fact, the approach of one magnet (for instance) ethersg&(
to another, they substitute millions of unseen impulses,
each of which equally needs an explanation. And it
this fluid he supposed to produce its effects by pecu¬
liarity in its constitution, as in the case ot Newton s e a-
stic ether proposed by him to explain gravitation, the
hypothesis substitutes, in the most unqualified manner,
millions of similar phenomena for the one to be explain¬
ed ; for there is the same want of a second fluid in or¬
der to produce that mutual recess of the particles of the
ether which constitutes its elasticity. _ ... oj
And this seems to be the limit to our inquiries into The qualij
all the classes of natural phenomena. We find the mas- of bodies |
ses or the particles of matter entloetl in fact tvtth '*'2j
ties which affect the state of other particles or masses, at olherbodj
smaller or at greater distances from each other according is ,nscru_
to certain general rules or laws. This ultimate step in table by«
the constitution of things is inscrutable by us. It is ar¬
rogance in the highest degree for us to say, that because
we do not comprehend how there is inherent in a body
any quality by which another body may be affected at any
distance from it, therefore no such quality is possible. It
is no less so to say, that matter has no active property
but that of moving other matter by impulse *, and that
because it may be so moved, and also by the agency o
our own minds, therefore, when A is not moved by im¬
pulse, it is moved by minds. The same almighty fiat.
which brought a particle of matter into existence could
bring those qualities equally into existence j and the how
in both is equally beyond our comprehension.
But, on the other hand, we must guard against t ^ ^
incurious resting on this consideration as a stop to lui- ^ st(
tuPT inouirv. there may be species ot matter posses-lul.tlier i
85
)1&
are not
physical,
bat meta¬
physical.
PHY
Mechanical sett of the triechanical powers, and which notwithstand-
'hilosophy. ing is not cognisable by our senses. All the properties
of matter are not known to a person who is both deaf
and blind j and beings possessed of more senses may per¬
ceive matter where we do not; and many phenomena
may really be produced by the action of intervening
matter, which we, from indolence or from haste, ascribe
to the agency of inherent forces. The industry of phi¬
losophers has already discovered intermedia in some
Cases. It is now certain that air is the conveyor of sound,
and it is almost certain that there is such a thing as
light. Let us therefore indulge conjectures of this kind,
and examine the conjectures by the received laws of
motion, and reject them when we find the smallest in¬
consistency *, and always keep in mind that even the
most coincident with the phenomena is still but a pos-
sibility.
These ob- We may conclude the whole of these observations
servations wlth the remark, that these questions about the activity
or inactivity of matter are not physical, but metaphy¬
sical. Natural philosophy, it is true, commonly takes
it for granted that matter is wholly inactive $ but it is
not of any moment in physics whether this opinion be
true or false j whether matter be acted on according to
certain laws, or whether it act of itself according to
the same laws, makes no difference to the natural phi¬
losopher. It is his business to discover the laws which
really obtain, and to apply these to the solution of
subordinate phenomena: but whether these laws arise
from the nature of some agent external to matter, or
whether matter itself is the agent, are questions which
may be above his Comprehension, and do not immedi¬
ately concern his proper business.
The account we have now given of natural philoso¬
phy points out to us in the plainest manner the way in
which the study must be prosecuted, and the helps
which must be taken from other branches of human
knowledge.
The causes, powers, forces, or by whatever name we
choose to express them, which produce the mechanical
phenomena of the universe, are not observed, and are
(1 known to us only in the phenomena themselves. Our
knowledge of the mechanical powers of nature must
therefore keep pace with our knowledge of the motions,
and indeed is nothing different from it. In order to
discover and determine the forces by which the moon
is retained in her orbit round the earth, we must know
her motions. To a terrestrial spectator she appears to
describe an ellipse, having the earth in one focus 5 but,
in the mean time, the earth is carried round the sun,
and the moon’s real path, in absolute space, is a much
more complicated figure. Till we know this figure, and
the variations in the velocity with which it is described,
we know nothing of the forces which actuate the moon
9° in her orbit.
Jiemcan- When Newton says that the forces by which she is
terms used8 re^a'nec* 'n this elliptical orbit are directed to the earth,
!n speaking what does he mean P Only this, that the deflections from
of the ee- that uniform rectilineal motion which she would olher-
lious^ m°' W^se ^avt> performed afe al ways in this direction. In like
manner, when he says that these forces are inversely pro¬
portionate to the squares of her distances from the earth,
he only means that the deflections made in equal times
in different parts of her motion are in this proportion.
Vox.. XVI. Part II. t
88
The above
sccount
points out
:he best
method of
study.
.S9
This me-
ihod fur¬
ther ex¬
plained !
exempli-
icd.
S I G S. . . 433
These deflections are considered as the characteristics Mechanical
and measures of the forces. We imagine that we have Philosophy.
made all plain when we call this indicated cause a len- ' v—" ■'
dency to the earth ; but we have no notion of this ten¬
dency to the' earth different from the approach itself.
This word tendency, so fashionable among the followers
of Sir Isaac Newton, is perverted from its pure and ori¬
ginal sense. Tendere versus solem, is, in the language
of Rome and also of Newton, to go towards the sun j
but we now use the words tend, tendency, to signify, not
the approach, but the cause of this approach. And
when called upon to speak still plainer, we desert the
safe paths of plain language, and we express ourselves
by metaphor $ speaking of nisus, conatus sese mutUa
accedende, vis centi'ipeta, &c. When these expressions
have become familiar, the original sense of the word is
forgotten, and we take it for granted that the words ne¬
ver had another meaning j and this metaphor, sprung
from the poverty of language, becomes a fruitful source
of misconception and mistake. The only way to secure
ourselves against such mystical notions as are introduced
by these means into philosophy, is to have recourse to
the way in which we acquire the knowledge of these
fancied powers •, and then we see that their names are
only names for phenomena, and that universal gravita¬
tion is only an universal mutual approach among the
parts of the solar system.
There is one case in which We fondly imagine that The absur-
we know the cause independent of the effect, and that reai
We could have predicted the phenomenon a priori; we S°"-^ a
mean the case of impulse : and hence it is that we are^
so prone to reduce every thing to cases of impulsion,
and that we have fallen upon all these subterfuges of
ethers and other subtile fluids. But we might have
saved oui-selves all this trouble j for after having, by
much false reasoning and grat uitous assumptions, shown
that the phenomenon in question might have been pro*
duced by impulse, we are no nearer our purpose, be¬
cause that property by which matter in motion puts
other matter in motion, is known to us only by and in
the effect. 92
The fair and logical deduction from all this is, that We know
we must not expect any knowledge of the powers
nature, the immediate causes of the motions of bodies,
but by means of a knowledge of the motions them-of motions
selves; and that every mistake in the motions is ac-exceptbya
companied by a similar mistake in the causes. It is^“®^e^e
impossible to demonstrate or explain the gravitation 0fiionsthem-
the planets to him who is igi Grant of the properties of seives.
the ellipse, or the theory of gunnery to him who does
not know the parabola. ^
A notion has of late gained ground, that a man may A man caa-^
become a natural philosopherwithout mathematical know-not be a
ledge; but this is entertained by none who have any ma-fal° lYlow^.
thematics themselves; and surely those who are ignorant pi,er with-
of mathematics should not he sustained as judges in this out being a
matter. We need only appeal to fact. It is only mmathemati-
those parts of natural philosophy which have been ma-cian*
thematically treated, that the investigations have been
carried on with certainty, success, and utility. Without
this guide, we must expect nothing but a school-boy’s
knowledge, resembling that of the man who takes up
his religious creed on the authority of his priest, and can
neither give a reason for what he imagines that he be-
3 I lieves,
4.34
P H Y S
M< cliam- licves, nor apply it with conhilence to any valuaole pur-
cal Pliilo pose in life. We may read and be amused with the
sophy- trifling or vague writings of a Nollet, a Ferguson, or a
v Priestley 3 hut we shall not understand, or profit by the
truths communicated by a Newton, a D’Alembert, or
De la Grange.
These observations, on the other hand, show us the
nature of the knowledge which may be acquired, and
the rank which natural philosophy holds among the
94 sciences.
The mo- Motions are the real and only objects of our obser-
rT 0tn>0'vation, the only subjects of our discussion. In motion
only ob-C are included no ideas but those of space and time, the
jects of ob-subjects of pure mathematical disquisition. As soon,
servation, therefore, as we have discovered the fact, the motion,
arc sub- a|j our future reasonings about this motion are puiely
imrema- mathematical, depending only on the affections of fi-
thematical gure, number, and proportion, and must carry along
disquisition, with them that demonstration and irresistible evidence
which is the boast of that science. To this are we in¬
debted for that accuracy which is attained, and the pro¬
gress which has been made, in some branches of me¬
chanical philosophy ; for when the motions are distinct¬
ly and minutely understood, and then considered only
as mathematical quantities, independent of all physical
considerations, and we proceed according to the just
rules of mathematical reasoning, we need not fear any
intricacy of combination or multiplicity of steps •, we
are certain that truth will accompany us, even though
we do not always attend to it, and will emerge in our
final proposition, in the same manner as we see happen
95 in a long intricate algebraic analysis.
Mechani- Mechanical philosophy, therefore, which is cultivated
cal philo- jn way, is not a system of probable opinions, but
cultivated a disciplina accurata, a demonstrative science. To pos¬
ts a demon-sess it, however, in this form, requires considerable
strative preparation. The mere elements ot geometry and al¬
gebra are by no means sufficient. Newton could not
have proceeded sine “ sua mathesi facein preferente?'
and, in creating a new science of physics, he was ob¬
liged to search for and discover a new source of mathe¬
matical knowledge. It is to be lamented that the taste
for the mathematical sciences has so prodigiously de¬
clined in this country of late years; and that Britain,
which formerly took the lead in natural philosophy,
should now be the country where they are least culti¬
vated. Few among us know more than a few elemen¬
tary doctrines of equilibrium : while, on the continent,
Avc find many authors who cultivate the Newtonian phi¬
losophy with great assiduity and success, and whose
writings are consulted as the fountains of knowledge by
all our countrymen who have occasion to employ the
discoveries in natural philosophy in the arts ot life. It
is to the foreign writers that we have recourse in our
seminaries, even for elementary treatises ; and while
the continent has supplied us with most elaborate and
useful treatises on various articles, in physica^astrono-
my, practical mechanics, hydraulics, and optics, there
has not appeared in Britain half a dozen treatises worth
consulting for these last forty years ; and this notwith-
standing the unparalleled munificence of our present
the amplest goverejgnj who has given more liberal patronage to the
fncourage- cu]tivators 0f mathematical philosophy, and indeed of
“rovTn. science in general, than any prince in Europe. The
I c s.
magnificent establishments of Louis XIA . originated Medium,
from bis insatiable ambition and desire of universal in- cal thilo-
fluence, directed by the sagacious Colbert. And bis. S0P
patronage being exerted according to a regular pian m
the establishment ol pensioned academics, and in pro¬
curing the combined eflorts ol the most eminent ot all
countries, bis exertions made a conspicuous figure, and
filled all Europe with his eulogists. But all this was
done without the smallest sell-denial, or retrenchment
of bis own pleasures, the expences being furnished out
of the public revenues of a great and oppressed nation ;
whereas the voyages of discovery, the expensive obser¬
vations and geodetical operations in Britain, and the
numberless unheard-of pensions and encouragements
given to men of science and activity, were all furnished
out of the private estate of our excellent sovereign, who
seems to delight in repaying, by every service in his
power, the attachment of a loyal and happy nation. It
is therefore devoutly to be wished that bis patnotic ef¬
forts were properly seconded by those whom they are
intended to serve, and that the taste for the mathema¬
tical sciences may again turn the eyes of Europe to
this country for instruction and improvement. 1 he pre^
sent seems a most favourable era, while the amazing ad¬
vances in manufactures of every kind seem to call aloud
for the assistance of the philosopher. hat pleasure
would it have given to Newton or Halley to have se¬
conded the ingenious efforts of a Watt, a Boulton, a
Smeaton, an Arkwright, a Dollond ? and how mortify¬
ing is it to see them indebted to the services of a Beli-
dor, a Bossut, a Clairaut, a Boscovich ?
We hope to be pardoned for this digression, and re¬
turn to our subject. 98
science.
95
The la¬
mentable
decay of
mathema¬
tics in
.Britain,
91
notwith¬
standing
It appears from what has been said, that mechani-Mechani¬
cal philosophy is almost wholly a mathematical study, 1 a|_
and that it is to be successfully prosecuted only under moit whol
this form : but in our endeavours to initiate the young ]y a mathd
beginner, it will be often found to require more steadi-matical
ness of thought than can generally be expected forsludy-
keeping the mind engaged in such abstract specula¬
tions. The object presented to the mind is not readi¬
ly apprehended with that vivacity which is necessary
for enabling us to reason upon it with clearness and
steadiness, and it would be very desirable to have some
means of rendering the conception more easy, and the 99
attention more lively. This may be done by exhibit-^
ing to the eye an experiment, which, though but a howeTerj ’
single fact, gives us a sensible object of perception, necessaV}t
which we can contemplate and remember with much insure the
more steadiness than any mere creature of the imagi-a«enuou<
nation. We could, by an accurate description, give m;ncis.
such a conception of a room that the hearer should
perfectly comprehend our narration of any occurrence
in it: but one moment’s glance at the room would be
infinitely better. It is usual therefore to employ ex¬
periments to assist the imagination of the beginner ; and
most courses of natural philosophy are accompanied by
a series of such experiments. Such experiments, con¬
nected by a slight train of argumentative discourse, may
even serve to give a notion of the general doctrines,
sufficient for an elegant amusement, and even tending
to excite curiosity and engage in a serious prosecution
of the study. Such are the usual courses which go
by the name of experimental philosophy : but this
J is
P H Y S I
explained.
ioi
A good
Exped- is a great misapplication of the term ; such courses are
ftiental Phi-little more than illustrations of known doctrines by ex-
losophy. periments.
Experimental Philosophy is the investigation of
mental phi-general laws, as yet unknown, by experiment 5 and it
losophyde- ljas been observed, under the article Philosophy,
ailed an< tjjat jg tjie JnfaHible (and indeed the sole)
way of arriving at the knowledge of them. This is
the Novum Organum Seievtiarum strongly recommend¬
ed by Lord Bacon. It was new in his time, though not
altogether without example 5 for it is the procedure
of nature, and is followed whenever curiosity is excited.
There was even extant in his time a very beautiful ex¬
ample of this method, viz. the Treatise of the Load¬
stone, by Dr Gilbert of Colchester; a work which has
hardly been excelled by any, and which, when we con¬
sider its date, about the year 1580, is really a wonderful
performance.
The most perfect model of this method is the Optics
of Sir Isaac Newton. Dr Black’s Essay on Magnesia
is another very perfect example. Dr Franklin’s Theory
of Electricity is another example of great merit. That
the investigation is not complete, nor the conclusions
certain, is not an objection. The method is without
fault; and a proper direction is given to the mind for
the experiments which are still necessary for establishing
the general laws.
It were much to be wished that some person of
the*methodt^ents an^ of extensive knowledge would give a trea-
'jfinquiry ti86 011 the method of inquiry by experiment. Although
Ay expeii- many beautiful and successful examples have been given
nem very as particular branches of inquiry, we have but too
|pecessary. mafly Instances of very inaccurate and inconclusive in¬
vestigations. Experiments made at random, almost
without a view, serve but little to advance our know¬
ledge. They are like shapeless lumps of stone merely
detached from the rock, but still wanting the skill of
the builder to select them for the different purposes
which they may chance to serve ; while well contrived
experiments are blocks cut out by a skilful workman,
according as the quarry could furnish them, and of
forms suited to certain determined uses in the future
edifice. Every little series of experiments by Margraaf
terminates in a general law, while hardly any general
conclusion can be drawn from the numberless experi¬
ments of Pott. Lord Bacon has written much on this
subject, and with great judgment and acuteness of di¬
stinction ^ but he has exceeded in this, and has fatigued
his readers by his numerous rules 5 and there is in all
his philosophical works, and particularly in this, a
quaintness and affectation that greatly obscure his mean¬
ing, so that this most valuable part of his writings is very
little read.
uu iu ex A formidable objection has been made to this me-
enmental ^od of inquiry. Since a physical law is only the
iquiry. expression of a general fact, and is established only in
consequence of our having observed a similarity in a
great number of particular facts ; and since the great
rule of inductive logic is to give the law no greater ex¬
tent than thd induction on which it is founded—how
comes it that a few experiments must be received as the
foundation of a general inference? This has been an¬
swered in very general terms in the article Philosophy.
But it will be of use to consider the subject a little more
102
objec
on to ex-
. c s- . 435
particularly. Our observations on this subject are taken Experi-
Irom the dissertation on evidence by Dr Campbell in his menial Plii-
Philosopby of Rhetoric. losophy.
An attentive consideration of the objects around us, ~_
will inform us that they are generally of a complicatedT]1C ^jcc.
nature, not only as consisting of a complication of those tion an-
qualities of things called accidents, such as gravity, svyercd,
mobility, colour, figure, solidity, which are common Wll5f ex“
to all bodies : but also as consisting of a mixture of a si'1,*, win "-the
variety of substances, very different in their nature and nature and
properties 5 and each of these is perhaps compounded of certainty of
ingredients more simple. this mode
Moreover, the farther tve advance in the knowledge ot inqmr'V‘
of nature, we find the more reason to be convinced of
her constancy in all her operations. Like causes have
always produced like effects, and like effects have always
been preceded by like causes. Inconstancy sometimes
appears in Nature’s works at first sight; but a more re¬
fined experience shows us that this is but an appearance,
and that there is no inconstancy : and we explain it to
our satisfaction in this way.
Most of the objects being of a complicated nature,
we find, on an accurate scrutiny, that the effects ascri¬
bed to them ought often to he solely ascribed to one
or more of these component parts, while the others
either do not contribute to them, or hinder their pro¬
duction ; and the variety of nature is so great, that hard-
ly any two individuals of the same species are in every
respect like any other. On all these accounts we ex¬
pect dissimilitudes in the phenomena accompanying per¬
fectly similar treatment of different subjects of the same
kind ; but we find, that whenever we can be assured
that the two substances are perfectly alike, the pheno¬
mena arising from similar treatment are the same : and
long and extensive observation teaches us, that there
are certain circumstances which insure us in the perfect
similarity of constitution of some things. Whenever we
observe the effect of any natural agent on one, and but
one, of these, we invariably expect that the same will
be produced on any other.
Should a botanist meet with a plant new to him, and
observe that it has seven monopetalous flowers, he will
conclude with the utmost confidence that every plant of
this species will have monopetalous flowers 5 but he will
not suppose that it will have seven, and no more than
seven, flowers. Now these two facts seem to have no
difference to warrant such a difference in the conclusion;
which may therefore seem capricious, since there is but
one example of both.
But it is not from this example only that he draws
the conclusion. Had he never before taken notice of
any plant, he would not have reasoned at all from
these remarks. But his mind runs immediately from
this unknown species to all the known species of this
genus, and to all the genera of the same order; and
having experienced in the figure of the flower an uni¬
formity in every species, genus, and order, which admits
of no exception, but, in the number of flowers, a variety
as boundless as are the circumstances of soil, climate, age,
and culture, he learns to mark the difference, and draws
the above-mentioned conclusions. Tims we learn, that
perfect uniformity is not to be expected in anyinst? ce
whatever, because in no instance is the simplicity of con¬
stitution sufficiently great to give us assurance of perfect
uniformity in the circumstances of the case; and the ut-
3 I 2 most
436
PHY
Experimen
tal Philo¬
sophy.
104
Mathema¬
tics do not
supersede
the use of
experi¬
ment.
most that our experience can teach us is a quick discri¬
mination of those circumstances which produce the oc¬
casional varieties. # .
The nearer that our investigations carry us to the
knowledge of elementary natures, the more are we con¬
vinced by general experience of the uniformity 01 the
operations of real elements ; and although it may per¬
haps be impossible for us ever to arrive at the know¬
ledge of the simplest elements of any body, yet when
any thing appears simple, or rather so exactly umiorm,
as that we have invariably observed it to produce simi¬
lar effects, on discovering any new effect ot this sub¬
stance, we conclude, from a general experience ot the
efficient, a like constancy in the energy as to the rest.
Fire consumes wood, melts lead, and hardens c ay. n
these instances it acts uniformly, but not in these only.
We have always found, that whatever of any species is
consumed by it in one instance, has been consumed by
it on trial at any time. If therefore a trial be made
for the first time of its influence on any particular sub¬
stance, he who makes it is warranted to conclude that
the effect, whatever it may be, is a faithful representa¬
tive of its effects on this substance in all past and tu-
ture ages. This conclusion is not founded on this single
instance, but upon this instance combined with the ge¬
neral experience of the regularity of this element in its
^This general conclusion, therefore, drawn from one
experiment, is by no means in opposition to the great
rule of inductive logic, but, on the contrary, it is the
most general and refined application of it. General
laws are here the real subject of consideration j and a
law still more general, viz. that nature is constant in
all its operations, is the inference which is here appbed
as a principle of explanation of a phenomenon which is
itself a general law, viz. that nature is constant in this
operation. . „
The foundation of this general inference from one
experiment being so firmly established, it is evident
that experiments must be an infallible method ot attain¬
ing to the knowledge of nature j and we need only be
solicitous that we proceed in a way agreeable to the
o-reat rule of inductive logic j that is, the subject must
be cleared of every accidental and unknown circum¬
stance, and put into a situation that will reduce the
interesting circumstance to a state of the greatest pos¬
sible simplicity. Thus we may be certain that the
event will be a faithful representative of every similar
case : and unless this be done in the preparation, no¬
thing can result from the most numerous experiments
but uncertainty and mistakes. _ 1 • 1
The account which has been given of mechanical
philosophy would seem to indicate that experiment was
not of much use in the farther prosecution ot it, 1 he
two laws of motion, with the assistance of mathematics,
seem fully adequate to the explanation of every pheno¬
menon •, and so they are to a certain degree. _ But this
degree is as yet very limited. Our mathematical know¬
ledge, great as it is in comparison with that of former
times, is still insufficient for giving accurate solutions
even of very simple (comparatively speaking) questions.
We can tell, with the utmost precision, what will be the
even 01 very  ^
We can tell, with the utmost precision, what will be the
motions of two particles of matter, or two bodies, which
act on each other with forces proportioned to the squares
of the distances inversely J hut if we add a third par-
S I c s.
tide, or a third body, acting by the same law, the um-ExpeiW
ted science of all Europe can only give an approxima-
tion to the solution. . »
What is to be done then in the cases which come
continually before us, where millions of particles are Experimew
acting at once on each other in every variety of situ-is often tb
ation and distance? How shall we determine, for jn-only re.
stance, the motion of water through a pipe or sluice *omce.
when urged by a piston or by its own weight ? what will
be its velocity and direction ? It is impossible, in the
present state of mathematical knowledge, to tell with
any precision or certainty. And here we must have
recourse to experiment. But if this be the case, must
the experiment be made in every possible variety of si¬
tuation, depth, figure, pressure ? or is it possible to find
out any general rules, founded on the general laws of
motion, and rationally deduced from them ? Or, it this
cannot be accomplished, will experiment itself furnish
any general coincidences which show such mutual de¬
pendences, that we may consider them as indications ot
general principles, though subordinate, complicated,
and perhaps inscrutable ? This can be discovered by
experiment alone. , 106
The attention of philosophers has been directed toAccurate
each of these three chances, and considerable progress experi-
has been made in them all. Numerous experiments menU^
have been made, almost sufficient to direct the practice^ ma(]e;
in many important cases, without the help of any rule
or principle whatever. But there are many cases, and
these of by far the greatest importance, such as the
motion of a ship impelled by the winds, resisted by the
water, and tossed by the waves, where distinct expen-
ments cannot be made. , 107
Newton, Bernouilli, d’Alembert, and others, have Exampie (
laboured hard to deduce from the laws of motion rules the neem
for determining what maybe called the average mo-
tion of water in these circumstances, without attempt¬
ing to define the path or motion of any individual par¬
ticle ; and they have actually deduced many rules which
have a great'degree of probability. It may here be
asked, why do you say probability ? the rules, as far as
they go, should be certain. So they are: they are strict
deductions from their premisses. But the premisses are
only suppositions, of various degrees ot probability, as¬
sumed in order to simplify the circumstances of the case,
and to give room for mathematical reasoning j therefore
these deductions, these rules, must be examined by ex¬
periment. Some of the suppositions are such as can
hardlv be refused, and the rules deduced from them are
found to tally precisely with the phenomena. Such is
this “ that the velocities of issuing water in similar cir¬
cumstances are in the sub-duplicate ratio of the pres¬
sures.” And this rule gives a most important and ex¬
tensive information to the engineer. Other suppositions
are more gratuitous, and the rules deduced from them
are less coincident with the phenomena. The patient
and sagacious Newton has repeatedly failed m his at¬
tempts to determine what is the absolute velocity of wa-
ter issuing from a hole in the bottom oi the vessel when
urged by its weight alone, and the attempts of
others have hardly succeeded better Experiment is
therefore absolutely necessary on this bead.
Those who have aimed at the discovery of pure¬
ly experimental on this subject, have also been pretty
successful i and the Chevalier Buat has* from a Compaq
Experi¬
mental Phi¬
losophy.
108
The ad van-
tages de¬
rived from
the study
of philoso¬
phy
109
in naviga¬
tion.
no
in architec
lure,
|
m
lI> gunnery
and other
engines,
kc,
PHY
son of an immense variety of experiments made by him¬
self and various authors deduced an empirical rule,
which will not be found to deviate from truth above one
part in ten in any case which has yet come to our know¬
ledge.
This instance may serve to show the use of experi¬
ments in mechanical philosophy. It is proper in all
cases by way of illustration •, and it is absolutely neces¬
sary in most, either as the foundation of a characteristic
of a particular class of phenomena, or as argument in
support of a particular doctrine. Hydrostatics, hydrau¬
lics, pneumatics, magnetism, electricity, and optics, can
hardly be studied in any other way j and they are at
present in an imperfect state, and receiving continual
improvement by the labours of experimental philosophers
in all quarters of the world.
Having in the preceding paragraphs given a pretty
full enumeration of the diflerent subjects which are to
be considered in the study of natural philosophy, it
will not be necessary to spend much time in a detail of
the advantages which may reasonably be expected from
a successful prosecution of this study. It stands in no
need of panegyric : its intimate connection with the
arts gives it a sufficient recommendation to the atten¬
tion of every person. It is the foundation of many
arts, and it gives liberal assistance to all. Indebted to
them for its origin and birth, it has ever retained its
filial attachment, and repaid all their favours with the
most partial affection.
To this science the navigator must have recourse
for that astronomical knowledge which enables him
to find his place in the trackless ocean ”, and although
very small scraps of this knowledge are sufficient for the
mere pilot, it is necessary that the study be prosecuted
to the utmost by some persons, that the unlearned pilot
may get that scanty pittance which must direct his
routine. The few pages of tables of the sun’s decli¬
nation, which he uses every day to find his latitude,
required the successive and united labours of all the
astronomers of Europe to make them tolerably exact:
and in order to ascertain his longitude with precision,
it required all the genius of a Newton to detect the
lunar irregularities, and bring them within the power
of the calculator; and, till this was done, the respective
position of the different parts of the earth could not be
ascertained. Vain would have been the attempt to do
this by geodaetical surveys independent of astronomical
observation. It is only from the most refined mecha¬
nics that we can hope for sure principles to direct us
in the construction and management of a ship, the
boast of human art, and the great means of union and
communication between the different quarters of the
globe.
A knowledge of mechanics not much inferior to
this is necessary for enabling the architect to execute
some of his greatest works, such as the erection of domes
and arches, which depend on the nicest adjustment of
equilibrium. W ithout this he cannot unite economy
with strength; and his works must either he clumsy mas¬
ses or flimsy shells.
The effects of artillery cannot he understood or se¬
cured without the same knowledge.
The whole employment of the engineer, civil or mi¬
litary, is a continual application of almost every branch
of mechanical knowledge; and while the promises of
SICS. 437
a Smeaton, a Wfatt, a Belidor, may be confided in as Experi-
if already performed, the numberless failures and disap-mental Phi-
pointments in the most important and costly projects losophy.
show us daily the ignorance of the pretending crowd ' ' v
of engineers.
The microscope, the steam engine, the thunder-rod,
are presents which the world has received from the na¬
tural philosopher; and although the compass and tele¬
scope were the productions of chance, they would have
been of little service had they not been studied and im¬
proved by Gilbert, Halley, and Dollond.
But it is not in the arts alone that the influence of
natural philosophy is perceived : it lends its aid to every
science, and in every study.
It is often necessary to have recourse to the philo-in law,
sopher in disputes concerning property; and many ex¬
amples might be given where great injustice has been
the consequence of the ignorance of the judges. Know¬
ledge of nature might have prevented many disgraceful
condemnations for sorcery. xtj
The historian who is ignorant of natural philosophy in history,
easily admits the miraculous into his narrations, accom¬
panies these with his reflections, draws consequences
from them, and fills his pages with prodigies, fables, and
absurdity. ^
It is almost needless to speak of the advantages in medi-
which will accrue to the physician from this study. So cine’
close is the connection between it and medicine, that
our language has given but one name to the naturalist
and to the medical philosopher. Indeed, the whole
of his study is a close observation of the laws of mate¬
rial nature, in order to draw from them precepts to
direct his practice in the noble art of healing. Du¬
ring the immaturity of general knowledge, while na¬
tural philosophy was the only study which had acquired
any just pretension to certitude either in its principles
or method of investigation, the physicians endeavoured
to bring the objects of their study within its province,
hoping by this means to get a more distinct view of it;
and they endeavoured to explain the abstruse pheno¬
mena of the animal functions by reducing them all to
motions, vibrations, collisions, impulses, hydrostatic
and hydraulic pressures and actions, with which the
mechanical philosophers were so ardently occupied at
that time. But unfortunately their acquaintance with
nature was then very limited, and they were but little
habituated to the rules of just reasoning; and their
attempts to explain the economy of animal life by the
laws of mechanics did them but little service either for
the knowledge of diseases or of the methods of cure.
The mechanical theories of medicine, which had consi¬
derable reputation about the end of the 17th century,
were many of them very ingenious, and had an imposing-
appearance of symmetry and connection ; but are now
forgotten, having all been formed on the narrow sup¬
position that matter was subject only to mechanical
laws.
But the discovery of error diminishes the chance of
again going wrong, especially when the cause of error
has been discovered, and the means pointed out of de¬
tecting the mistakes; and the vital principle must com¬
bine its influence with, or operate on, the properties of
rude matter. It appears therefore evident that a know¬
ledge of the mechanical laws of the material world is
not only a convenient, but a necessary, accomplishment
t©
438
Experi¬
mental Phi
losophy
IT5
in religion,
* Fergu¬
son’s Lec¬
tures on
Lthics.
PHY
to the physician. "We are fully justified in this opinion,
by observing medical authors ot the present day intro¬
ducing into medicine theories borrowed from mechani¬
cal philosophy, which they do not understand, and which
they continually misapply. Appearance of reasoning
frequently conceals the eirors in principle, and seldom
fails to mislead.
But there is no class ot men to whom this science
is of more service than to those who hold the honour¬
able office of the teachers of religion. Their know¬
ledge in their own science, and their public utility,
are prodigiously hurt by ignorance of th? general frame
and constitution of nature ; and it is much to be la¬
mented that this science is so generally neglected by
them, or considered only as an elegant accomplishment.
nay, it is too frequently shunned as a dangerous attain¬
ment, as likely to unhinge their own faith, and taint
the minds of their hearers. We hope, however, that
few are either so feebly rooted in the belief of the great
doctrines of religion as to fear this, or ot minds so base
and corrupted as to adopt and inculcate a belief which
they have any suspicion of being ill-founded. But
many have a sort of horror at all attempts to account
for the events of nature by the intervention of general
causes, and think this procedure derogatory to the
Divine nature, and inconsistent with the doctrine ol
iiis particular providence } believing, that “ a sparrow
does not fall to the ground without the knowledge of
our heavenly Father.” Their limited conceptions can¬
not perceive, that, in forming the general law, the
Great Artist did at one glance see it in its remotest and
-most minute consequence, and adjust the vast assemblage
so as completely to answer every purpose of His pro¬
vidence. There never vTas a more eager enquirer into
the laws of nature, or more ardent admirer its glo¬
rious Author, than the Hon. IXobert Boyle. This gen¬
tleman says, that he will always think more highly of
the skill and power of that artist who should construct
a machine, which, being once set a going, would of it¬
self continue its motion tor ages, and from its inheient
principles continue to answer all the purposes for which
it was first contrived, than of him whose machine re¬
quired the continual aid of the hand which first con¬
structed it. It is owing to great inattention that this
aversion to the operation of secondary causes has any
influence on our mind. What do we mean by the in¬
troduction of secondary causes ? How do we infer the
•agency of any cause whatever ? Would we ever have
■supposed any cause of the operations of nature, had they
gone on without any order or regularity ? Or would
such a chaos of events, any more than a chaos of exist¬
ences, have given us any notion of a forming and direct¬
ing- hand ? No surely. We see the hand of God in the
regular and unvaried course of nature, only because it
is regular and unvaried. The philosopher expresses this
by saying, that the phenomena proceed by unalter¬
able laws. Greatly mistaken therefore are they who
think that we supersede the existence ot mind and of
providence when we trace things to their causes. A
physical law being an unvaried fact, is an indication,
and the strongest possible indication, ol an unerring
mind, who is incapable of change, and must do to day
what He always did : for to change is to deviate from
what is best *. The operations of unerring mind will
therefore be regular and invariable. Physical laws,
SICS.
therefore, or secondary causes, are the best proofs ot Expeti-
unerring wisdom. Such regularity of conduct is univer- mm*1 Phi.
sally considered as an indication of wisdom among men. , J
The wise man is known by the constancy of his con¬
duct, while no man can depend on the iutuie conduct
of a fool.
And what astonishing evidences of wisdom do we
tiot observe in the general laws of the material world t
They will ever be considered by the intelligent philo¬
sopher as the most glorious display of inconceivable
wisdom, which has been able, by means so few and so
simple, to produce effects which by their grandeur asto¬
nish our feeble understandings, and by their inexhausti¬
ble variety elude all possibility of enumeration.
While the teachers of religion remain ignorant ot
the beautiful laws of nature, the great characteristics
of the wisdom and goodness of the Almighty Creatoi,
their hearers are deprived of much sublime pleasure }
God is robbed of that praise which he would have re¬
ceived from an enlightened people •, and the only wor¬
ship he receives is tainted with mean notions ot his at¬
tributes, and groundless fears of lus power.
But besides these advantages which accrue to diffe¬
rent classes of men from this study, there are some ef¬
fects winch are general, and are too important to be
passed over unnoticed. _ 11 ^
That spirit of dispassionate experimental enquiry and in o-
which has so greatly promoted this study, will carry
with it, into every subject of enquiry, that precision
and that constant appeal to fact and experience which
characterize it. And we may venture to assert, that
the superior good order and method which distinguish
some of the later productions in other sciences, have
been in a great measure owing to this mathematical
spirit, the success of which in natural philosophy has
gained it credit, and thus given it an unperceived
influence even over those who have not made it their
study. _ _ 117
The truths also which the naturalist discovers are More ge-
such as do not in general affect the passions of men, nera^ad^
and have therefore a good chance of meeting with »'^opiy
candid reception. Those whose interest it is to keep1
men in political or religious ignorance, cannot easily
suspect bad consequences from improvements in this
science ; and if they did, have hardly any pretext for
checking its progress. And discoveries accustom the
mind to novelty, and it will no longer be startled by
any consequences, however contrary to common opinion.
Thus the way is paved for a rational and discreet scep¬
ticism, and a free enquiry on other subjects. Experi¬
ment, not authority, will be considered as the test of
truth } and under the guidance of fair experience we
need fear no ill as long as the laws 01 nature remain as
they are.
Lastly, since It is the business (>f philosophy to ue-
scribe the phenomena of nature, to discover their cau¬
ses, to trace the connection and subordination ot these
causes, and thus obtain a view of the whole constitu¬
tion of nature ^ it is plain that it aflords the suiest path
for arriving at the knowledge ol the great cause of all,
of God himself, and for forming proper conceptions
of him and of our relations to him : notions infinitely
more just than can ever be entertained by the careless
spectator of his works. Things which to this man ap¬
pear solitary and detached, having no other connec-
r tion
P H Y
Experi- tion with the rest of the universe but the shadowy and
nental Phi-fleeting relation of co-existence, will, to the diligent
losophy. philosopher, declare themselves to be parts of a great
an(i harmonious whole, connected by the general laws
of nature, and tending to one grand and beneficent
purpose. Such a contemplation is in the highest degree
pleasant and cheering, and cannot fail of impressing us
with the wish to co-operate in this glorious plan, by act¬
ing worthy of the place we hold among the works of
SICS. 439
God, and with the hopes of one day enjoying all the sa- Exp^ri-
tisfaction that can arise from conscious worth and con-mental Phi-
summate knowledge ; and this is the worship which God , losoi)hy .
will approve. “ This universe (says Boyle) is the mag¬
nificent temple of its great Author ; and man is ordain¬
ed, by his powers and qualifications, the high priest of
nature, to celebrate divine service in this temple of the
universe.
■
'
PHYSIOGNOMONICS, among physicians, denote and mind : and hence the art of reducing these signs to
such signs as, being taken from the countenance, serve practice is termed physiognomy.
to indicate the state, disposition, &c. both of the body
PHYSIOGNOMY
Parlous de- JS a word formed from the Greek nature, and
jinitions of yivucncco, I know. It is the name of a science which
ihysiegno- 0CCUpietl much of the attention of ancient philoso-
n^aacient p]iers^ an(j wl,icl1} since the revival of learning, has in
ern. a great degree been disregarded. Till of late it has
seldom in modern times been mentioned, except in
conjunction with the exploded arts of magic, alchemy,
and judicial astrology. Within the last two centuries,
no doubt, the bounds of human knowledge have been
greatly extended by means of the patient pursuit of
fact and experiment, instead of the hasty adoption of
conjecture and hypothesis. We have certainly disco¬
vered many of the ancient systems to be merely crea¬
tures of imagination. Perhaps, however, in some in¬
stances, we have decided too rapidly, and rejected real
knowledge, which we would have found it tedious and
troublesome to acquire. Such has been the fate of the
science of physiognomy j which certainly merits to he
considered in a light very different from alchemy and
those other fanciful studies with which it had acciden¬
tally been coupled. The work lately published by
M. Lavater on the subject has indeed excited attention,
and may perhaps tend to replace physiognomy in that
rank in the circle of the sciences to which it seems to
be intitled.
It does not appear that the ancients extended the
compass of physiognomy beyond man, or at least ani¬
mated nature : But the study of that art was revived
in the middle ages, when, misled probably by the com¬
prehensiveness of the etymological meaning of the
word, or incited by the prevalent taste for the mar¬
vellous, those who treated of the subject stretched the
range of their speculation far beyond the ancient li¬
mits. The extension of the signification of the term
was adopted universally by those naturalists who ad¬
mitted the theory of signatures (see Signature) ; and
physiognomy came thus to mean, the knowledge of the
internal properties of any corporeal existence from the
external appearances. Joannes Baptista Porta, for in¬
stance, who was a physiognomist and philosopher of con¬
siderable eminence, wrote a treatise on the physiogno¬
my of plants (philognomonica), in which he employs
physiognomy as the generic term. There is a treatise
likewise De Physiogno?nia Avium, written, we believe,
by the same person. In the Mugia Physiognomica of
Caspar Schottus, physiognomia hutnana is made a sub¬
division of the science.
Boyle too adopts the extensive signification men¬
tioned, which indeed seems to have been at one time
the usual acceptation of the word (a). At present
physiognomy seems to mean no more than “ a know¬
ledge of the moral character and extent of intellectual
poAvers of human beings, from their external appear¬
ance and manners.” In the Berlin Transactions for
the years 1769 and 1770 there appears a long contro¬
versial discussion on the subject of the definition of phy¬
siognomy between M. Pernetty and M. Le Cat, two
modern authors ot some note. Pernetty contends that
all knowledge whatever is physiognomy j Le Cat con¬
fines the subject to the human face. Neither seems to
have hit the medium of truth. Soon after the cele¬
brated book of Lavater appeared. He indeed defines
physiognomy to be “ the art of discovering the interior
of man by means of his exterior ; but in different pas¬
sages of his work he evidently favours the extended
signification of Pernetty. This work gave occasion
to M. Formey’s attack upon the science itself in the
same Berlin Transactions for 1775. Formey strenuous¬
ly controverts the extent assigned by Lavater to his fa¬
vourite science. 4
Before the era of Pythagoras the Greeks had little or pyt]jagora3
no science, and of course could not be scientifical physi-probably
ognomists. Physiognomy, however, was much cultiva- brought
ted in Egypt and India ; and from these countries the [|)11^IeeLnf}Ce
sage
(a) They’ll find i’ the physiognomies
O’ th-1 planets all men’s destinies.
Hudibras.
440
' 3
It was a
profession
in the time
Of Socrates.
4
General
outline of
Aristotle’s
opinion on
this sub¬
ject.
P H
sage of Samos probably introduced the rudiments of this
science, as he did those of many others, generally deem¬
ed more important into Greece.
In the time of Socrates it appears even to have been
adopted as a profession. Of this the well-known anec¬
dote of the decision of Zopyrus, on the real character
of Socrates himself, judging from his countenance, is
sufficient evidence. Plato mentions the subject •, and
by Aristotle it is formally treated of in a book allotted
to the purpose. # .
It may be worth while to give a brier outline ot An-
stotles sentiments on the subject.
Physiognomy, he in substance observes, had been
treated of in three ways. Some philosophers classed
animals into genera, and ascribed to each genus a cer-
. i i• • a*   —♦hnir rnvnn-
YS10GN0MY.
tic, tvas inimical to the subject; which, to he made
clearly comprehensible, must require frequent para¬
phrases. Aristotle’s performance, however, such as it
is, has been taken as the groundwork and model of
every physiognomical treatise that has since appeared.
The imitators of this great man in the i6th and 17th
centuries, have even copied his language and manner,
which are sententious, indiscriminate, and obscure.
His comparative physiognomy of men with beasts has
been frequently though not universally adopted, lie-
sides his treatise expressly on the subject, many inci¬
dental observations on physiognomy will be found inter¬
spersed through his other works, particularly in his
history of animals. 5
Next after Aristotle, his disciple and successor 1 he-Theophra*
animals into genera, and ascribed to eacn genus a cci- mentionedt«s’s ethic
tain mental disposition corresponding to their corpo- ophrastus would deserve to be particular^ mentione
real appearance. Others made a farther distinction of as a writer on the subject in question. His ethic ch form an
form an
<10 y**x  j   jl iuim ciu
tl.P o-enert into snecies. Among men, for racters, a singular and entertaining performance, com-impoi.taIlt
dividing the gei « P , . ° ,1 o 1 t tv,e on-e of 00 form a distinct treatise on abranchof
niosgimportant0bl’iinch of physiognomy^ (/if, ^J's^»u-P|l31'0Sn0'
characteristics.888^! third set of physiognomist^ judged we do greater justice than Would otherwise be in our
of the actions and manners of the individual, and pre^ power, both to Theophrastus and ^ 0U[ rea
tbii rpvtain manners nroceeded from certain cannot, however, omit obseivmg, that the accur y
't'nnci But the method of treating the subject observation and liveliness of description displayed m the
Z TZ Aristotle himself was this f A peculiar work of Theophrastus will preserve it high m classi-
f rm of bodv is invariably accompanied by a peculiar cal rank, while the science ot man and the piominen
dislition oTf mindTa human3lect is ne'ver Lnd in characteristics of human society continue to be objects ^
the corporeal form of a beast. The mind and body re- of attention-
thus in intoxication and
Polemon of Athens, Adamantius the soplust, atld se-Other ^
r„Z. avT&c. et b dy displays the affections^ the „d. Lately there Was .published a col ec.mn of aM the tU,
in teai, joy, <xc. me y Greek authors On physiognomy : the book is entitled,ject.
'"'From such facts he argues, that when in man a par- Physiognomic?, veteris scriptorcs Grjea, G?’* ^ ^ 7.
ticular bodily character appears which by prior experi- Franzio -J70’ j1 nmch cultivated was Ihen
ence and observation has been found uniformly accom- authors, it appeals that the science was rnn. coupled
panied by a certain mental disposition, with which there- in Greece j but the professors seem 0 Thjs we with some,
fm-p It must have been necessarily connected •, we are netted with It something of the mar e • ..thing ofthl
intUkd^n8 alVIuchcas^t^lnfeJ the disposition from have cause to suspect from the story told by Apion ofmamlloui
' ental character, rehqmritqyemdam exf iciehominum addituid) {q •
. 7   ±\ rri/t Tlltlll'fP, mortis
as a lion possesses one bodily form and mental
a hare anothet, the corporeal characteristics of the lion,
such as strong hair, deep voice, large extremities, dis¬
cernible in a human Creature, denote the strength and
courage of that noble animal *, while the slender extre¬
mities, soft down, and other features of the hare, visible
in a man, betray the mental character of that pusillani¬
mous creature.
Upon this principle Aristotle treats of the corporeal
features of man, and the Correspondent dispositions, so far
as observed : he illustratesthemby the analogy just men¬
tioned, and in some instances attempts to account for
them by physiological reasoning.
At the early period in which Aristotle Wrote, bis tlu>
ory, plausible certainly, and even probable, displays his
usual penetration, and a considerable degree of know¬
ledge. He distinctly notices individual physiognomy
nielaposcopos vacant) ex Us dixisse aut future? mortis
annas, out preeteritee *. The noviciates of the Pytha- *T>hny
gorean school were subjected to the physiognomic oh-
servation of their teachers, and it is probable the first $
physiognomists by profession among the Greeks were /
of this sect. They, too, to whom, from the nature ot
their doctrines and discipline, mystery was familiar,
were the first, it is likely, who exposed the science of
physiognomy in Greece to disgrace, by bencingwi 1
it the art of divinatioil. . . The 0bsci
From the period of which we have been ti eating nat;onsoi
the close of the Roman republic, nothing worthy otRomaI1ai
remark occurs in the literary history of physiognomy, other wn
About the last-mentioned era, however, and from thence ei .
to the decline of the empire under the later emperors,
the science appears to have been cultivated as an im¬
portant branch of erudition, and assumed as a proles-
national physiognomy, and comparative physiognomy, portant branch o eruuum.., • ; L^-ledge
The state of knowledge in his time did not admit of a sion by persons who had acqui o> p
complete elucidation of his general principles ; on that in it. n „n{i Galen manY phr-
account his enumeration of particular observations and In the works of Hippo appears to have
precepts is by no means so well founded or so accurate as siognomical observations occur Cicero appears to
his method of study. Even his style, concise and energe- been peculiarly attached to t
3
In his ora¬
tion
44*
PHYSIOGNOMY.
Tlii
pire.
Tion against Pist>, atul in that in favour of lioscius, the
reader will at the same time perceive in what manner
the orator employs physiognomy to his purposes, and
find a curious instance of the ancient manner of oratori¬
cal abu.se.
Many physiognomical remarks are to be found like¬
wise in the writings of Sallust, Suetonius, Seneca, Pliny,
Aulus Gellius, Petrouius, Plutarch, and others.
That in the Roman empire the science was practised
as a profession, ample evidence appears in the writings
of several of the authors just mentioned. Suetonius,
for instance, in his Life of Titus, mentions that Nar¬
cissus employed & physiognomist to examine the features
of Britannicus, who predicted that Britannicus would
not succeed, but that the empire would devolve on
Titus.
The science of physiognomy shared the same fate with
science fell all others, when the Roman empire was overthrown by
with the jj]e northern barbarians. About the beginning of the
Itoniinem- j century Jt began again to be noticed.—From that
time till the close of the 17th, it was one of the most
fashionable studies. Within that space have appear¬
ed almost all the approved modern authors on the sub¬
ject (b).
It has been unfortunate for physiognomy, that by ma¬
ny of these writers it was held to be connected with
doctrines of which the philosophy of the present day
would be ashamed. With these doctrines it had al¬
most sunk into oblivion.
In every period of the history of literature there may
^ easily be marked a prevalence of particular studies. In
liarly pre-* ^ie earty Peri0(l> f°r instance, of Grecian literature, mij-
vailed at thological morality claimed the chief attention of the phi¬
losophers. In the more advanced state of learning in
Greece and in Rome, poetry, history, and oratory, held
the pre-eminence. Under the latter emperors, and for
some time afterwards, the history of theological contro¬
versies occupied the greatest part of works of the learn¬
ed. Next succeeded metaphysics, and metaphysical theo¬
logy. These gave place to alchemy, magic, judicial
astrology, the doctrine of signatures and sympathies, the
mystic, theosophic, and Rosicrucian theology, with phy¬
siognomy. Such were the pursuits contemporary w ith
the science which is the object of our present inquiry.
It is no matter of surprise, that, so associated, it should
have fallen into contempt. It is not unusual for man¬
kind hastily to reject valuable opinions, when acciden¬
tally or artificially connected with others which are ab¬
surd and untenable. Of the truth of this remark, the
history of theology, and the present tone of theological
opinions in Europe, furnish a pregnant example.
To physiognomy, and the exploded sciences last men¬
tioned, succeeded classic philology ; w hich gave place to
modern poetry and natural philosophy ; to which recent¬
ly have been added the studies of rational theology, che-
Tarticular
studies
particular
times.
mistry, the philosophy of history, the history of man, and
the science of politics. Ir
About the commencement of the 1 8th century, and The obsev-
thenceforward, the occult sciences, as they are termed, v:tt*on® 01
had declined very considerably in the estimation of the
learned •, and those who treated of physiognomy forbore sent cenfii-
to disgrace it by a connection with those branches of ry on this
ideal learning with which formerly it had been invari-subJect-
ably conjoined. In Britain, Dr Gwither noticed it with
approbation.—His remarks are published in the Philo¬
sophical Transactions, vol. xviii.j and Dr Parsons chose
it for the subject of the Croonean lectures, published at
first in the second supplement to the 44th volume of the
Philosophical Transactions, and afterwards (1747) in
a separate treatise, entitled Human Thysiognomy ex¬
plained.
The observations, however, of these writers, as well
as of Lancisius, Haller, and Buffon, relate rather to the
transient expression of the passions than to the perma¬
nent features of the face and body. The well-known
characters of Le Brim likewise are illustrative of the
transient physiognomy, or (as it is termed) pathogno-
my.—See Passions in Painting. t
During the present century, although physiognomy We find
has been now and then attended to, nothing of import- nothing
ance appeared on the subject till the discussion already vcry Im~
mentioned between Pernetty and Le Cat, in the Berlin
Transactions. The sentiments of these authors, in so far controver-
as relates to the definition of physiognomy, have been sy between
above noticed. Their essays are, besides, employed in l>ernelty
discussing the following questions: 1st, Whether kali<lLeCat-
would or would not be advantageous to society, were
the character, disposition, and abilities, of each indi¬
vidual so marked in his appearance as to be discover¬
ed with certainty ?
2dly, Whether, on the supposition that by the high¬
est possible proficiency in physiognomy, we could attain
a knowledge in part only of the internal character, it
would be advantageous to society to cultivate the stu¬
dy, mankind being in general imperfect physiogno¬
mists ?
No reasoning a priori can possibly determine these
questions. Time and experience alone must ascertain
the degree of influence which any particular acquisition
of knowledge would have on the manners and charac¬
ters of mankind j but it is difficult to conceive how the
result of any portion of knowledge, formerly unknown,
and which mankind would be permitted to discover,
could be any thing but beneficial. }
Soon after this controversy in the Berlin Transactions, LavateTs
appeared the great work of M. Lavater, dean of Zurich, celebrated
which has excited no inconsiderable portion of attention Wor“-
in the literary world. The work itself is magnificent:
That circumstance, as well as the nature of the subject,
which was supposed to be fanciful, have contributed to
extend
(b) They are, Bartholem. Codes, Baptista Porta, Honoratus Nuquetius, Jacobus de Indagine, Alstedius, MU
chad Schottus, Caspar Schottus, Cardan, Taisnierus, Fludd, Behmen, Barclay, Claromontius, Conringius,
the commentaries of Augustin Niphus, and Camillus Balbus, on the Physiognomica of Aristotle,—Spontanus,
Andreas Henricus, Joannes Digander, Rud. Goclenius, Alex. Achillinus, Joh. Praetorius, Jo. Belot, Gulid. Grn-
talorus, &c. They are noticed in the Polyhistor of Morhoff, vol. i. lib. i. cap. 15. § 4. and vol. ii. lib. iii.
cap. i. §-4.
Vol. XVI. Part II. ; ' - t /
44.2
PHYSIO
extend its fame > and certainly, if Ave may judge, the
hock, though many faults may be detected in it, is the
most important of any that has appeared on the sub¬
ject since the days of Aristotle. Lavater professes not
ro give a complete synthetical treatise on physiognomy,
but, aware that the science is yet in its infancy, he ex¬
hibits fragments only, illustrative of its different parts.
His performance is no doubt desultory and unconnect¬
ed. It contains, however, many particulars much supe¬
rior to any thing that had over before appeared on the
5 J With the scholastic and systematic method adopted, by
the physiognomists of the last and preceding centuries,
Lavater has rejected their manner of writing, which was
■dry, concise, indeterminate, and general: His remarks,
on the contrary, are, for the most part, precise and pai-
ticular, frequently founded on distinctions extremely
acute He has omitted entirely (as was to be expected
from a writer ef the present day) the astrological reve¬
ries and such like, which deform the writings of former
physiognomists and he has with much propriety dedu¬
ced his physiognomical observations but seldom from
anatomical or physiological reasoning. Such reasoning
may perhaps at some future period become impoitant,
tat at present our knowledge of facts, although exten-
sive, is not so universal, as to become the stable lounda-
lion of particular deductions. Lavater has illustrated
his remarks by engravings; a method first adopted by
Baptista Porta.—Lavater’s engravings are very nume¬
rous, often expressive, and tolerably executed.
The opinions of this celebrated physiognomist are eyi-
SnXc demly the result of actual observation. He
result of deed to have made the science his peculiar study, and
observa- he nd piirsuit of his life. His performance exhibits
an extended comprehension of the subject, by a particu¬
lar attention to osseal physiognomy, and the effect of
profiles and contours. His style in general is forcible and
lively although somewhat declamatory and digressive.
His expressions are frequently precise, and strikingly cha¬
racteristic-, and the spirit of piety and benevolence winch
pervades the whole performance renders it highly in-
»7
tion
The defects of the work, however, detract much from
ituon the weight which Lavadr’s opinions might otherwrse
challenge. _ His i;-gina.iot, has taque^y so finj^
jms, now- challenge, xiis i.uaguinno.. ..w- j
ever, often . ^ t^gment, that an ordinary reader would ol-
outstnpt 1: J . .1., cwitrtpm as the extravagant
r d- ten he apt reject the whole system as the extravagant
reverie of an ingenious theorist. He has clothed his fa¬
vourite science in that affected mysterious air of import¬
ance, which was so usual with his predecessors and de¬
scribes the whole material world to be objects of the
*Vel.i. universal dominion of physiognomy . P6 whim^ca y
g. 33 -38- conceives it necessary for a physiognomist to be a well-
voL iL shaped handsome man +. He employs a language w nc i
V s9- is often much too peremptory and decisive, dispropoi-
? tinned to the real substance of his remarks, or to the
transla- tinned to tn remarks themselves
lion. occasion of making them. xne icmai
tVol i are frequently opposite in appearance to common ob-
P- i*6- servation, and yet unsupported by any illustrations
ether6 lu Lavater certainly errs in placing too great a reh-
weaknesses ance on single features, as the foundation of decision on
this character. His opinions on the physiognomy of the
great phy - ” 1 c 1 ~c *'— cTipr-ips on
great phy Q ™ hands, nails, and feet of the human species, on
iiognonust. on the physiognomy of birds, insects, rep-
G N O M Y.
tiles, and fishes, are obviously premature, as hitherto no
sufficient number of accurate observationshasbeen made,
in regard to either of these particulars, to authorise any
conclusion. He has erred in the opposite extreme, when
treating of the important topic of national physiognomy,
where he has by no means prosecuted the subject so far
as facts might have warranted. We must farther take
the liberty to object to the frequent introduction of the
author’s own physiognomy throughout the course of bis
work. His singular remarks on his own face do not
serve to prejudice the reader in favour of his judgment,
however much his character may justify the truth of
them. Wre must regret likewise, for the credit of the
science, that the author’s singularly fanciful theory of
apparitions should so nearly resemble a revival of the an¬
tiquated opinions of the sympathists.
To theae blemishes, which we have reluctantly enu¬
merated, perhaps may be added that high impassioned
tone of enthusiasm in favour of his science everywhere
displayed throughout the work of this author, which is
certainly very opposite to the cool patient investigation
befitting philosophy. To that enthusiasm, however, it
is probable that in this instance (as is, indeed, no unfre¬
quent effect of enthusiasm) we are indebted for the ex¬
cellency which the author has attained in his pursuit •,
and it possesses the salutary tendency of putting us on our
guard against a too implicit acquiescense m his physiog¬
nomical decisions.
In the Berlin Transactions for 1775, there appears a His work
formal attack upon Lavater’s vvork t»y M. Forme,.™.urf
This essay we have already mentioned. After disputing |ii r|m
the propriety of the extensive signification applied by 3nransac.
Lavater and Pernetty to the term physiognomy, M. tions by Ml
Formey adopts nearly the same definition which we con- Fonuey.
ceive to be the most proper, and which we have put
down as such near the beginning of this article. He al¬
lows that the mental character is intimately connected
with, and sensibly influenced by, every fibre of the bo¬
dy; hut his principal argument against physiognomy is,
that the human frame is liable to innumerable accidents,
by which it may be changed in its external appearance,
without any correspondent change of the disposition*, so
that it surpasses the extent of the skill of mortals to di¬
stinguish the modifications of feature that are natural,
from those which may be accidental. Although, there¬
fore, the science of physiognomy may be founded m
truth, he infers that the Deity only can exercise it.
M. Formey further contends, that education, diet,
climate, and sudden emotions, nay even the tempera¬
ments of ancestors, affect the cast of human features j
so that the influence of mental character on these iea-
tures may be so involved with, or hidden by, accidental
circumstances, that the study of physiognomy must ever
he attended by hopeless uncertainty. Ihese objections
are worthy of notice, hut they are by no means conclu-
SlV0« f ^ ^
We shall give a specimen of M. Lavater’s manner ot £aVatei i
treating the subject on the opposite side of the question t mwkrf
A specimen, not in Lavater’s precise words, hut c<,uvey hi!S„|,jei
Ing more shortly an idea at once of his sentiments, and
ofills manner of expressing them. _ 19
No study, says he, excepting mathematics, more just- physiog-
ly deserves7 tote termed a than physiognomy,
It is a department of physics, including theology and;
belles lettres, and in the same manner with these eace.
443
PHYSIOGNOMY.
may I>e re3uce<l U rule. It may acquire a fixed and
appropriate character: It may be communicated and
taught.
Truth or knowledge, explained by fixed principles,
becomes science. Words, lines, rules, definitions, are
the medium of communication. The question, then, with
respect to physiognomy, will thus be fairly stated. Can
the striking and marked differences which are visible be¬
tween one human face, one human form, and another,
be explained, not by obscure and confused conceptions,
but by certain characters, signs, and expressions ? Are
these signs capable of communicating the vigour or im¬
becility, the sickness or health, of the body j the wis¬
dom, the folly, the magnanimity, the meanness, the vir-
40 tue, or the vice, of the mind ?
ijcperi- It is only to a certain extent that even the experimen-
ment is li- tal philosopher can pursue his researches. The active
noted ia an(j vigorous mind, employed in such studies, will often
extent. form conceptions which he shall be incapable of expres¬
sing in words, so as to communicate his ideas to the
feebler mind, which was itself unable to make the dis¬
covery : But the lofty, the exalted mind, which soars
beyond all written rule, which possesses feelings and
energies reducible to no law, must be pronounced unsci-
2i entific.
mical°truth ^ ^ admitted, then, that to a certain degree
may be de- pVs*°Snom’ca^ truth may as a science be defined and
fined and communicated. Of the truth of the science, there can-
eommuni- not exist a doubt. Every countenance, every form, eve-
cated to a jy created existence, is individually distinct, as well as
length different, in respect of class, race, and kind. No one
being in nature is precisely similar to another. This pro¬
position, in so far as regards man, is the foundation-
stone of physiognomy. There may exist an intimate
analogy, a striking similarity, between two men, who
yet being brought together, and accurately compared,
will appear to be remarkably different. No two minds
perfectly resemble each other. Now, is it possible to
doubt that there must be a certain native analogy be¬
tween the external varieties of countenance and form and
the internal varieties of the mind? By anger the muscles
are rendered protuberant : Are not, then, the angry
mind, and the protuberant muscles, as cause and effect ?
The man of acute wit has frequently a quick and lively
eye. Is it possible to resist the conclusion, that between
such a mind and such a countenance there is a determi-
nate relation ?
Every thing in nature is estimated by its physiogno¬
my j that is, its external appearance. The trader judges
by the colour, the fineness, the exterior, the physiogno¬
my of every article of traffic ; and he at once decides
that the buyer “ has an honest look,” or “ a pleasing
or forbidding countenance.
That knowledge and science are detrimental to man,
ver impio. a state of rudeness and ignorance are preferable and
«1, would productive of more happiness, are tenets now deservedly
ot be de- exploded. They do not merit serious opposition. The
bm!n extensi°n an3 increase of knowledge, then, is an object
of importance to man : And what object can be so im¬
portant as the knowdedge of man himself? If know¬
ledge can influence his happiness, the knowledge of
himself must influence it the most. This useful know¬
ledge is the peculiar province of the science of physiog¬
nomy. To conceive a just idea of the advantages of
physiognomy, let us for a moment suppose that all phy¬
22
'liis know-
s<%e, how-
siognomical knowledge were totally forgotten among
men j what confusion, what uncertainty, what number¬
less mistakes, would be the consequence ? Men destined
to live in society must hold mutual intercourse. The
knowledge of man imparts to this intercourse its spirit,
its pleasures, its advantages.
Physiognomy is a source of pure and exalted mental It affords
gratification. It affords a new view of the perfection ofSrcat mea-
l)eity 5 it displays a new scene of harmony and beauty ^lt.^atlfi'
in his works j it reveals internal motives, which without
it would only have been discovered in the world to come.
The physiognomist distinguishes accurately the perma¬
nent from the habitual, the habitual from the accidental,
in character. Difficulties, no doubt, attend the study
of this science. The most minute shades, scarcely dis- DifilciiltiVf
cernible to the unexperienced eye, denote often total op-in the stu-
position of character. A small inflexion, diminution,^-
lengthening or sharpening, even though but of a hair’s-
breadth, may alter in an astonishing degree the expres¬
sion of countenance and character. How difficult then,
how impossible indeed, must this variety of the same-
countenance render precision ? The seat of character is'
often so hidden, so masked, that it can only be detected
in certain, perhaps uncommon, positions of countenance.
These positions may be so quickly changed, the signs
may so instantaneously disappear, and their impression on
the mind of the observer may be so slight, or these di¬
stinguishing traits themselves so difficult to seize, that it
shall be impossible to paint them or describe them in lan¬
guage. Innumerable great and small accidents, whe¬
ther physical or moral, various incidents and passions,
the diversity of dress, of position, of light or shade, tend
to display the countenance often in so disadvantageous a
point of view, that the physiognomist is betrayed int<*
an erroneous judgment of the true qualities of the
countenance and character. Such causes often occasion
him to overlook the essential traits of character, and to
form a decision on what is purely accidental.—How sur¬
prisingly, for instance, may the smallpox disfigure the
countenance, and destroy or confound, or render imper¬
ceptible, traits otherwise the most decisive ? 2 „
We shall, then, continues Lavater, grant to the op-May one
poser of phiosognomy all he can ask; and yet we do notday ob-
live without hopes that many of the difficulties shall be Vlatei}-
resolved which at first appeared inexplicable.
He then proceeds to a specific illustration of his sub-The nature
ject under a great variety of titles, in which he treats ofof Tava-
human nature in general, and of each particular feature ^er s 'v6rk-
separately.
To enumerate the different divisions of his book would
not be more satisfactory to our readers than the perusal
of the contents of the book itself; and an attempt to
epitomize even the essential substance of the vast multi¬
plicity of matter contained in his essays, (which are yet
only fragments, and to which indeed he himself does not
pretend to give any higher appellation), would extend
this article to a disproportionate length. Such an
abridgement, after all, would convey no solid informa¬
tion on a subject which merits all the time and study
that an attentive perusal of Lavater’s works at large
would require. Probable
From the historical deduction of the literary progress causes of
of physiognomy which we have thus attempted to laylhe d!sre'
before ourreaders, it appears, that although the science whkhthis
has fallen into disrepute, there can scarcely he mention-science ha?
3 K 2 ' . ed fallen.
444
PHYSIO
ed a period in which any cultivation of science took
place when physiognomy was not likewise the study, nay
sometimes even the profession, of men of the most emi¬
nent abilities and the greatest learning. #
The reasons why at present so little attention is paid
to the subject probably are, . .. .
ist, That it has been treated m conjunction with sub¬
jects now with propriety exploded : And,
2dly That it has been injured by the injudicious as¬
sertions and arguments of those who have undertaken its
Sometimes, however, the wise and the learned may
err. The use of any thing must not be rejected for no
better reason than that it is capable ol abuse. 1 erhaps
the era is not distant when physiognomy shall be rein¬
stated in the rank which she merits among the valuable
branches of human knowledge, and be studied with
that degree of attention and perseverance which a sub¬
ject deserves so essentially connected with toe science of
Thereis a ^That there is an intimate relation between the dispo-
relationbe-sitions 0f the mind and the features of the countenance
tween the ig a fact which cannot be questioned. Ide who is sin v-
dispositions under a load of grjef for the death of an affectionate
and thela wife or a dutiful child, has a very different cast of fea¬
tures of the tures from the man who is happy in the piospect o
face. meeting his mistress. A person boiling with anger has
a threatening air in his countenance, which the most
heedless observer never mistakes *, and if any paiticu ar
disposition be indulged till it become habitual, there
cannot be a doubt but that the corresponding races
Will be so fixed in the face as to be discernible by the
skilful physiognomist, under every effort made to dis-
c-uise them. But when we attempt to decide on a man s
intellectual powers by the rules of this science, we are
often deceived; and in this respect we have reason to
believe that Lavater himself has fallen into the grossest
traniogno- ""connected with physiognomy, we may consider the
mic system cranioiinomic system of Dr Call of Vienna, w ic _
ofDrQalL ca]je(]f because, from the exterior form of the cranium,
he infers the powers and dispositions of the mind. J he
brain, he observes, is the material organ of the action of
the mind', and as it increases in direct proportion to he
faculties of animals, he has endeavoured to prove, that
' the faculties are distinct and independent on each otner ,
that each has its proper material organ ^ ^ the
expansion of the organ is in proportion to the strei g h
of the faculty. This system is attempted to be establish
ed bv the following reasoning. ,
“The internal faculties, (saysDr Bojanus, the author
of a view of this system), do not always exist in the same
proportion to each other. There are some men who have
a meat deal of genius without having a memory, who
have courage without circumspection, and who possess a
metaphysical spirit without being good observers.
“ Besides, the phenomena of dreaming, of somnambu¬
lism, of delirium, &c. prove to us that the internal
faculties do not always act together j that there is o -
ten a very great activity of one, while the rest are not
* "‘Thus, in old age, and sometimes in disease, such,
for example as madness, several faculties are lost, while
others subsist •, besides a continued employment of the
same faculty sensibly diminishes its energy : If we em-
2
G N O M Y.
ploy another, we find it has all the force of which it is
susceptible j and if we return to the former faculty, it is
observed that it has resumed its usual vigour. It is thus
that, when fatigued writh reading an abstract philosophi¬
cal work, we proceed with pleasure to a poetical one,
and then resume with the same attention our former oc
cupation.”
“ All these phenomena prove that the faculties are
distinct and independent of each other, and we are in¬
clined to believe that the case is the same with their
material organs.”
“ [We do not entirely agree with this idea ol Ur
Gall, and we believe, on the contrary, that the separa¬
tion of the material organs ought to be considered as the
cause of the distinction of the internal faculties. It ap¬
pears, to us at least, that by supposing the faculties
themselves as originally separated, we cannot save our¬
selves from falling into materialism, which exists when
the mind is no longer considered as unity.]
“ The expansion of the organs contained in the cra¬
nium is in the direct ratio of the force of their corre¬
sponding faculties.'"
“ This principle, dictated by analogy, rests on this
axiom, that throughout all nature the faculties are al¬
ways found to be proportioned to their relative organs •,
and the truth of it is proved in a special manner by the
particular observations of Dr Gall.
“ It is however to be remarked, that exercise has a
great influence on the force of the faculties, and that an
organ moderately expanded, but often exercised, can
crive a faculty superior to that which accompanies a ve¬
ry extensive organ never put in action j as we see that a
man of a weak "conformation acquires, by continued ex¬
ercise, strength superior to another of a more athletic
structure. .
“ [We must here mention an opinion which seems to
result immediately from this principle, and which, how¬
ever, is false : It is, that the volume of the brain, in ge¬
neral, is in the direct ratio of the energy of its faculties.
Observation has proved to Dr Gall, that we cannot
judge of the strength of the faculties but by the deve-
lopement of the separate organs which form distinct emi¬
nences in the cranium ? and that a cranium perfectly
round, of whatever size it may be, is never a proof of
many or of great faculties.]
“ We do not recollect to have heard the reason assigned
by Dr Gall j but in our opinion, these brains may be
considered as in a state analogous to obesity j and as we
do not judge of the muscular force of a man or an ani¬
mal by the volume of their members, but by the deye-
lopement of the muscles in particular, one would think
we ought, in like manner, to judge of the strength of the
faculties by the developement of the relative organs.
“ In the last place, the 4th principle, the most im¬
portant for praclice in regard to the system of Dr Gall,
18 “ We may judge of these different organs, and of their
faculties by the exterior form of the cranium.
“ The truth of this principle is founded upon another,
viz. that the conformation of the cranium depends on
that of the brain j a truth generally acknowledged, and
proved by the anterior part of the brain, by the impres¬
sions in the anterior part of the cranium, and by other
^rThere are skulls, it is true, in which an external
L protuberance
PHYSIOGNOMY.
protuberance of tbe bone corresponds to an interior one;
and this irregularity, which is found sometimes as a dis¬
ease, and most commonly at an advanced age, when the
cerebral organs do not oppose the same resistance to the
cranium, renders the practice of Dr Gall’s system, in
some measure, uncertain.]
“ Guided by these principles, Dr Gall examines the
nature of the skull, compares the crania of animals and
those of men analogous and different in faculties. His
researches have proved to him, in a manner almost in¬
contestable, not only the above truths, but that the fa¬
culties of animals are analogous to those of man ; that
what we call instinct in animals is found also in the lat¬
ter, such as attachment, cunning, circumspection, cou¬
rage, &c.; that the quantity of the organs fixes the
difference of the genus of animals, their reciprocal pro¬
portion that of individuals; that the disposition original¬
ly given to each faculty by nature may be called forth
by exercise and favourable circumstances, and sometimes
by disease, but that it never can be created in the case
where it has not been given by nature (c) ; that the ac¬
cumulation of the organs takes place in a constant man¬
ner from the hind part forwards, from the bottom to
the top, in such a manner, that animals in proportion
as they approach man in the quantity of their faculties
have the superior and anterior part of the brain more
expanded ; and, in the last place, that in the most per¬
fect animal, man, there are organs in the anterior and
superior parts of the frontal bone, and of the parietals,
destined for faculties which belong to them exclusively.
It is under the latter point of view that the discoveries
of Dr Gall agree perfectly with the theory of the facial
angle, which seems still further to establish the truth
of them.”
Most of our readers will probably be satisfied with the
short view which we have now given of this fanciful'*
and visionary system ; but such as wish for a fuller ex¬
position of it, may consult the.Philosophical Magazine,
vol. xiv. p. 77. from which the above is extracted. We
shall only add the names of a few of the organs, which
the author of the system thinks he has discovered. Or¬
gan of the tenacity of life. Organ of music. Organ
of fighting. Organ of murder. Organ of cunning. Or¬
gan of arithmetic. Organ of thieving, &c.
44 S
PHYSIOLOGY.
INTRODUCTION.
Definition
md objects
if physiolo-
4
livisions.
! listorical
j i%sioIog-y.
4
3hilosophi-
tal pliysio-
1. "DHYSIOLOGY is that part of physical science
which treats of the nature, properties, and func¬
tions of living bodies ; comprehending under this term,
animals and vegetables. The word is derived from
<pvs-(j, “ nature,” and Xoyos, u a discourse ; and signi¬
fied originally what we may call natural knowledge.
The object of this science is to examine and com¬
pare the phenomena of life; to discover the properties,
powers, and operations of the bodies that are actuated
by this principle, and to pursue the developement, pro¬
gress, and decay of vital energy, from brute matter,
which possesses no portion of vitality, to the most per¬
fect animal, which seems to have it in the greatest per¬
fection.
2. Physiology may be considered under three heads ;
historical, 'philosophical or rational, and practical phy¬
siology. ,
3. Historical physiology is occupied in giving a simple
relation of the facts and phenomena that take place in
living bodies ; in bringing them together, and compar¬
ing those which succeed each other without interruption
during the existence of vitality.
4. It is the business of philosophical physiology to
consider the nature of these phenomena, and endeavour
to deduce from them some general conclusions, by which
they may be explained or elucidated; to draw from
them natural consequences, and unfold successively their
analogies and relations ; to arrange, distribute, and clas-
, 5
sify them, and thus acquire sufficient data by which to Practical
discover the causes which produce them. physiology.
The practical part of physiology is intended to point
out the application of the principles of the science to the
useful purposes of life, especially to medicine and agri¬
culture. Of these divisions the first is the most import¬
ant, as, until we have acquired a pretty complete know¬
ledge of the facts relating to living beings, and arrang¬
ed these in a natural manner, it cannot be expected
that we should make any great progress in explaining
them, or investigating their causes. From the multi¬
tude, variety, and complex nature of these phenomena,
a complete view of them is extremely difficult, and re¬
quires the united efforts of genius, dexterity, patience,
and discernment. 6
Physiology is intimately related to several other de-^e^afi°ns
partments of natural knowledge. Its relation to anato-to anatom.vr
my is the most strict and natural; and indeed the know¬
ledge of the structure of living bodies is a necessary in¬
troduction to that of their properties and functions. So
close is the union between these two sciences, that it is
generally thought that the study of them should go hand
in hand. Certain it is, that, without physiology, ana¬
tomy is a dry and uninteresting study ; while, on the
other hand, physiology, unaided by anatomy, is obscure
and uncertain. It is by means of anatomy that we learn
the structure and organization of the animal machine ;
the disposition and form of its several members ; the
parts that concur in the composition of them ; the ar¬
rangement and the connection of these : it is by means
of anatomy that we know how to estimate the advanta¬
ges
(c) The germ of every organ must exist in embryo, if the'expansion of that organ is to be afterwards called
forth.
446
P H Y S I
chemistry,
Introduc- gcs of any particular conformation •, that we estimate
tion. the proportion between the solid and fluid parts of the
1 v—”' body, and the adaptation of the organs to the various
uses for which they are destined. But we must remem¬
ber, that the aid of anatomy in physiological researches,
extends no farther than to the mechanical arrangement
and relation of the several parts of the body ; it teaches
us nothing of its intimate composition, and much less
docs it inform us respecting the vital powers and mental
energies displayed by the living body. The most accu¬
rate inspection of the brain will aftbrd us no light re¬
specting the obscure function of sensation, and the hid¬
den operation of thought and judgment j nor will the
nicest dissection of the eye, or of the tongue shew us
how the former is unable to convey to us the ideas of
external objects, or how the latter imparts to us the
thousand varied flavours of sapid bodies. In short, we
may conclude, that the more the exercise of any func¬
tion depends on the structure and organization of the
organs that perform it, the more capable is it of illus¬
tration from anatomy.
The science of chemistry has proved of eminent use
in explaining several functions of the animal economy,
which, without its assistance, would have been very im¬
perfectly understood. The action of the air on the
blood during respiration, and the digestion of food in the
stomach, are found to depend chiefly on chemical opera¬
tions •, while this science has explained to us, in a most
satisfactory manner, the nature, composition, and reci¬
procal action of the component principles of organized
beings, and the nature of several changes which they
undergo, both in the living and the dead state. But if
we extend the application of chemistry too far, and ima¬
gine, as some of our modern chemical physiologists have
done, that it is capable of explaining life, motion, and
even sensation, we shall only betray our own presumption
and our ignorance of vital phenomena. When the per¬
formance of any function depends on the intimate com¬
position of its organs, or the combinations and decom¬
positions that take place among their component prin¬
ciples-, then, and then only, is it susceptible of chemical
illustration.
-mechanical Mechanical philosophy is employed with advantage
philosophy, in explaining some of the phenomena that take place in
living beings. The strength and solidity of the bony
compages $ the force and direction of the muscular mo¬
tions ; the propagation, direction, and mechanical effect
of light, sound, odours ; the effects of the gravity and
elasticity of atmospheric air, and a few other circum¬
stances, may be submitted to calculation, and illustrated
on physical principles : but the laws of mechanical and
of vital action are, in general, so different, and even
the most mechanical phenomena of living beings are of¬
ten so modified and counteracted by the agency ot the
vital powers, that, on the whole, we must consider ge¬
neral physics as one of the least useful auxiliaries of
physiological researches.
Of all the branches of physical science, physiology
certainly makes the nearest approach to the region of
metaphysics-, but yet there is a difference between these,
though it may not be very easy to point out the precise
line of termination. Physiology, as already defined, be¬
ing that science which has for its object the organical
economy of living bodies, the word organical, we think,
here should mark the distinction.
5
8
9
metaphy-
nics,
O L O G Y.
Whenever the economy of living bodies indicates de- In trod tie-
sign, and cannot result from any combination or struc- | tlon-
ture of organs, it must he supposed the eflect of some- 'r'"‘
thing different from matter, and whose explanation be¬
longs to that science which is called metaphysics, or
which we might term the philosophy of the mind. By
ascribing, indeed, to the glandular contents within the
cranium, and to that fiction animal spirits, the motives
of action, the superficial and ill-informed may have been
led to an opinion that perception, memory, and imagina¬
tion, are the functions of the cerebrum, the medulla ob¬
longata, and cerebellum ; that the soul is a consequence
of organization-, and the science which treats of it only
a particular branch of physiology. But mind and its
faculties are now- so well understood and investigated,
that this opinion can seldom prevail but where penetra¬
tion is not remarkable for its acuteness, or where re¬
flection, reading, and research, have long been confined
within the limits of a narrow circle.
Some metaphysical physiologists contend, that every
living system of organs supposes mind, and indeed in
the study of such systems the physiologist must often
meet with many phenomena that are less singular than
simple perception, and yet for which he cannot account
by any knowledge he possesses of organic powers. This
truth we partly acknowledge, when, like ancient Athens
erecting her altars to unknown gods, we retreat to those
asylums of ignorance, the vis insita, the vis nervea, the
vis vilalis, the vis medicatrix, and a number of others
of the same kind. to
Physiology, in the general sense in which we have and natnr
defined it, is a science that investigates the nature andh,story-
the functions of all living beings. It is, therefore, rea¬
sonable to suppose that it must have an intimate connec¬
tion with natural history, and in fact, it is to this branch
of physics that it has been perhaps more indebted than
to any other. A comparative view of the various gra¬
dations among organized beings has taught us to appre¬
ciate the value of the several functions that characterise
vitality, and has shewn us, that in proportion as the
structure is more complex, the functions are more nu¬
merous, and more complete. Repeated observations,
and multiplied experiments on various tribes of anima¬
ted nature have cleared up many doubtful and obscure
phenomena in the economy of man, and a continuation
of this truly philosophical method of research promises
to place physiology on the solid basis of experience, and
enable us to reason, where only we can reason with safe¬
ty, by a deduction from facts. The more numerous
these facts, and the more complete their arrangement,
the more extensive and the more secure will be the
foundation which they afford for physiological conclu¬
sions. In short, (to use the language of Dumas, who
has illustrated this relation at great length), “ the phy¬
siologist who is conversant with natural history, is so
much the better fortified against uncertain opinions, in¬
asmuch as he has more fully observed the operations of
nature in connection and in detail. An hypothesis
which to others appears perfectly adequate to the object
in view, is not convincing to him. He rises above the
particular object to which itis accommodated, in order to
appreciate its value; and it is often among circumstances
which are foreign to the original subject, that he seeks
for exceptions or contradictions that overturn the hy¬
pothesis. Every thing that may serve to complete the
knowledge
P H Y S I
i fiitnxluc- knowledge of the animal economy enters into his plan ;
lion and as the nature of man is so much the less incompre-
- r—* hensible as we employ a greater number of comparative
'{’rincvpcl “*eas ‘ts exposition, it is doubtless in the power of
ie Physio- natural history to elucidate that subject, by revealing a
iogie, tom.i. multitude of unknown relations between man and those
?• 231, beings which resemble or which differ from him *.”
f ortance imP0l t;ance an^ utility of physiology will scarce-
f!nd utility ^ questioned, and need therefore but little illustra-
afphysiolo- tion. To all who desire to become acquainted with
jy- the operations that take place in the animal economy,
or to trace the progress of vegetation, and examine the
various changes produced on the seed or bud from the
action of air, heat, and moisture, (and what studies can
be more deserving of a rational and an enlightened
mind ?) physiology must afford the most interesting sub¬
jects of contemplation. To the anatomist and the bo¬
tanist, it relieves the tedium of dry description and severe
classification j to the physician it holds out the surest
lights to direct his researches into the circumstances that
are favourable to life and health, into the nature and
phenomena of death, and of course, the means of avoid¬
ing or delaying its attack; to the agriculturist it fur¬
nishes some of the most certain principles to direct him
(with the aid of chemistry) in the choice of soils and the
application of manures 5 while to the genuine naturalist,
no subject presents such a field of amusement and in¬
struction. When it shall have been rendered as complete
as the state of contemporary science will allow, it will
exhibit the general result of all those experiments and
observations that have purposely been made to illustrate
the phenomena of animated matter, or have accidentally
contributed to that illustration $ and when it shall reach
that summit of perfection to which the efforts of genius
may carry it, it may diffuse a light, of which at the pre¬
sent day we can form no just or adequate conception.
On many occasions it may introduce order for confu¬
sion, certainty for doubt 5 and may establish science, in
various departments that are now occupied by fancy and
conjecture.
After having pointed out the nature, divisions, rela¬
tions, and utility of physiology, it may not be improper
to make a few remarks on the best methods of pursuing
the study of it, and the works that are most worthy of
ie a perusal.
'lethoJs of From what has been said of the relations between
tudying physiology and other sciences, it will be inferred that
Cynology, the student of our present subject should come prepared
with a moderate share of knowledge in anatomy, both
human and comparative, of chemistry, of mechanical
philosophy, especially dynamics, optics, pneumatics, and
acoustics ; and natural history, especially zoology and
botany. At least the rudiments of these branches should
be well understood, and the student will then have laid
a foundation on which to raise a firm and durable su-?
perstructure.
He has now to make himself acquainted with what is
already known j and in this inquiry it is of much conse¬
quence that he should select those works that embrace
the whole subject, without being too diffuse on the one
band or too brief and general on the other. The 1'de-
menta Pkysiologice of Haller contains a mass of infor¬
mation that will ever render it valuable as a book of re¬
ference, though it will scarcely at the present day be
studied as a system of physiology. His Primce Linece
O L O G Y. 44;
Physiologic, though first written, is chiefly a com- Introduc-
pendium of the larger work, and is better adapted t*011
to the general student, though, from its not containing *
the later discoveries in the science, it is far from com¬
plete. The Institutiones Physiologic ol Blumenbach is
a useful work, though it has now given place to the later
and more accurate publications of Cuvier and Dumas.
1 he Anatomic Comparee of the former writer contains an
excellent digest of comparative physiology, and the pre¬
liminary observations prefixed to the anatomical details
contained in this work, may be read with considerable
advantage. Probably, however, the Principes de Phy¬
siologic of Dumas is the most perfect and scientific mo¬
dern production that has appeared on the subject. We
cannot say so much of the Elements oj Physiology late¬
ly published by Richerand, and translated into English
by Mr Kerrison ■, for although it contains considerable
information, and a great display of reading, and even of
original observation and experiment, it is neither scien¬
tific nor always very accurate. The works of Bichat,
especially \\\% Anatomie Generale, Anatomie Descriptive,
and his llecherches Physiologiques sur la Vie et la Mart,
abound with excellent physiological remarks, and, al¬
lowing for the great extent to which he has carried some .
peculiar doctrines, are among the best that have appear¬
ed on the animal economv.
In our own country, we have many valuable treatises
and papers on different parts of physiology, and the
names of Ilunter, IMonro, Home, Cooper, Abernethv,
Carlisle, Sanders, Barclay, Jones, and many others, will
ever reflect honour on the country and on the age in
which they lived. We can scarcely, however, point
out a complete work in our language on the general
subject of physiology, though we doubt not that many
will be disposed to consider the Zoonomia of Dr Darwin
as entitled to that appellation. We allow that this is a
stupendous monument of the genius and industry of its
author, and it contains an ample store of valuable facts,
which, if they could be divested of the hypothesis with
which they are so much blended, would be extremely
useful to the cause of physiological science. At present
many of them tend to mislead, by a shew of metaphysi¬
cal acuteness, and by the new sense in which several
terms are employed. Another of Dr Darwin’s works,
not less valuable, in a physiological point of view, is his »
Phytologia, in which he treats of the economv of vege¬
tation with ability and success.
He who is desirous of advancing and improving the Means*of
science of physiology, must, in the first place, have re-advancing
course to a patient, and, as far as may be, an accurateand ?m'
observation of the phenomena that take place in oi-p*h°vinf
ganized beings j but the multitude, the variety* andphy‘10 °S'V’
complicated nature of these phenomena, place in his way
obstacles that it is difficult to surmount. It is only
through time, and patience, and assiduityj that he can
attain his object; and it requires considerable dexterity
and acuteness to detect the appearances under which
these phenomena sometimes present themselves, to pierce
through the obscurity in which they are often involved,
and to avoid, in a route so uncertain, both the illusions
of sense and the errors of genius. The living body has
properties peculiar to itself, while it also possesses others
that are common to it with brute matter. The pheno¬
mena by which it manifests these two orders of proper
ties, are therefore of two kinds, as they relate particu¬
larly y
J4 ,
Observa¬
tion.
IS
Experi¬
ment.
16
Cautions.
larly to tlie state of vitality, anti as they are found in
every object that exists. These latter are subject to
the general laws of matter, are confounded with the
phenomena of universal nature, and may be denominated
physical phenomena. Among the former, some are con¬
fined to the arrangement or disposition of the parts in
organs, and depend on the structure or form of these
organs. These may be called organic phenomena.
Others depend on the particular laws that govern vital
beings, and are not the result of any peculiar organiza¬
tion ; these are vital phenomena.
Observation alone is sufficient to indicate the presence
or the existence of these phenomena j but to unveil
them fully there is required an unceasing attention,
that is resolved to pursue them through the changes
produced by age, sex, climate, situation, and all those
circumstances that can aflect the living system.
' To observation, he must add, wherever this can be
done with a chance of accuracy, a patient investigation
of nature by experiment. From the experiments ot
Spallanzani and Stevens on digestion-, of Goodwin,
Menzies, Spallanzani, and Davy on respiration ot
Monro, Galvani, Volta, and a hundred others on ani¬
mal irritability, with many other experiments made both
at home and abroad, more light has been thrown on
the economy of living bodies, than by all the hypotheses
and theories that the most ingenious speculatists have
contrived since the first dawn of infant science.
In following out Bacon’s great plan of observation
and experiment, we must, however, take care in physi¬
ological, as in all other physical inquiries, not to be too
hasty in our conclusions, and not to suppose that we
have reached the bottom of the well of truth, when we
have barely got within its verge. Further observations
on this subject are unnecessary here, as we have already
treated it at some length in the articles Philosophy
and Physics.
We shall conclude these introductory remarks with
a brief sketch of the principal arrangements of modern
physiologists, and a tabular outline of the subject as we
propose to treat it in the following pages.
There are two modes of arrangement that have usual-
of arrange- ly been adopted in treating physiology \ one according to
n,ent‘ the order of the functions, and another according to that.
of the organs by which these are performed. The latter
of these was adopted by Haller-, the former is that o
Dumas, Cuvier, and most of our later physiologists. >
Dumas, after a long introductory discourse, in which
he treats of the best method of pursuing^ the study of
anatomy and physiology, divides his subject into six
parts. In the first of these he offers some general views
respecting anatomy, physiology, and all the branches ot
physics which are employed in illustrating the nature
and properties of organized and living beings. In this
part he gives a compendious history of the piopessive
improvements in anatomy and physiology, points out
the relations that take place between these sciences, and
the auxiliary branches of mathematics, mechanical phi¬
losophy, chemistry, and natural history-, he considers
the principal difierences that distinguish organized from
inorganic matter-, the nature, effects, and duration of
life, and of the general and particular powers or facul¬
ties of nature, both in living and brute matter.
In the second part he lays down the fundamental
principles on which the physical constitution and par-
17
Modern
arrange¬
ments.
18
Two modes
19
Arrange
mtYit of
Dumas..
PHYSIOLOGY.
. cular economy of man depend j treats of man consider- Introduc¬
ed individually -, of his formation, structure, and varie- tion.
ties \ of the modifications produced in the nature ol man Y'—’
by age, sex, habit, and temperament; of the relations
between man and external objects ; ot the action and re¬
action of the organic systems on each other ; of the or¬
ganic structure of man, and of its several varieties in the
different parts and organs -, of the natural composition
of the different fluids and solids of the human body : and
gives a methodical division of the functions, wntli a cii-
tical examination of the modes of classilication common¬
ly received. .
In the third part he treats of the phenomena ot the
animal economy, in the relation which they bear to the
perpetual commerce established between man and the
organs that surround him, or of sensation and motion.
Here he considers the action of external objects upon
man, whence result the phenomena ot sensation, and the
action of man on external objects, from which arise the
phenomena of motion.
In the fourth part he treats of the phenomena ot the
animal economy, in the relation which they bear to the
consistence of the fluids, the cohesion of its solids, and
the temperature of the whole system. Here he con¬
siders the mutual action between the vessels and the
blood, from which result, both in the solids and fluids,
that degree of cohesion and pliability that favours the
necessary expansibility of the living body, or the func¬
tion of circulation ; the action of the air, and of calouc,
on the solids and fluids, from which results the degree ot
expansion necessary to life, or the function of respiration.
In the fifth part he treats of the phenomena ot the
animal economy in the. relation which they bear to the
healthy and entire state of the material substance ant
composition of the body. Here he considers the action
of alimentary substances on the human body, in repair¬
ing its loss, and preserving its substance, from which
result the phenomena of digestion, absorption, and
nutrition -, and of the action of pertain organs on the
fluids of the body, in separating those which do not serve
the purposes of nutrition, from which result the pheno¬
mena of secretion and excretion.
In the sixth and last part, he treats of the phenomena
of the animal economy in the relation which they bear
to the commerce established between the individual and
, tbe species. Here he considers the mutual physical ac¬
tion of the two sexes, from which arise the phenomena
of generation 5 and the mutual moral action of several
individuals, from which result the phenomena of speech,
and mutual intelligence.
From this sketch of the arrangement ol Dumas it
will be seen, that although he_takes a very extensive
view of the subject, his observations are chiefly confined
to the human body.
the lectures of Cuvier do not contain a Arrange-
JLilOUprl cue iCGLUico wa nf
complete system of physiology, the anatomical matter
them is, however, so much blended with observations on
the animal economy, that it will be of importance ter
the physiological student to be acquainted with his ar*
lalTh«Twhole work is divided into 30 lectures : the first
of which is occupied with preliminary observations on
the animal economy, comprehending, a general view ot
the functions of animal bodies -, a general idea ot the
organs of which the animal body is composed 5 a view
P H Y S I
Introduc- ^ie Principal differences exhibited by these organs,
tion. and of the relations which exist among those variations,
» together with a division of animals founded on their or¬
ganization. The second lecture treats of the organs of
motion in general j the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth
lectures are merely anatomical, exhibiting a comparative
view of these organs in the several classes of animals.
The seventh lecture is strictly physiological, and treats
of the organs of motion considered in the several actions
of standing, walking, seizing and climbing, leaping,
swimming, and flying.
The eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth,
fourteenth, and fifteenth lectures, are occupied in con¬
sidering the anatomy and physiology of the function of
sensation. Of these, part of the ninth treats of the
nervous system in general, and of its action j part of the
twelfth gives the physiology of vision 5 part of the
thirteenth, that 0('hearing •, part of the fourteenth, that of
touch; and part of the fifteenth, that of smell and taste.
The sixteenth, seventeenth, eighteenth, nineteenth,
twentieth, and twenty-first lectures treat of the organs
and phenomena of digestion, mastication, insalivation,
and deglutition. The twenty-second lecture treats of
what have been called the assistant chylopoietic viscera,
namely, the liver, the pancreas, the spleen, and their
offices. The twenty-fourth treats of the organs and
phenomena of circulation in general ; the twenty-sixth
of those of respiration in general ; the twenty-eighth of
the organs of voice.
The twenty-ninth treats of the organs and phenome¬
na of generation, and the thirtieth, of those of excre¬
tion, comprehending a general view, both of secretion
it and excretion.
Bichat. Subjoined to Bichat’s introduction to his Anatomic
Generate, there is a tabular view of physiology, in which,
after some preliminary outline of tl;e general structure of
the organs and of the phenomena of vitality, he divides
the functions into classes, orders, and genera.
The first class consists of the functions that relate to
the individual ; the first order of which, comprising the
functions of animal life, comprehends five genera, viz.
sensations, cerebral functions, locomotion, voice, and ner¬
vous transmission, besides steep. The second order of
this class contains the functions of organic life, and
comprehends eight genera, viz. digestion, respiration,
circulation, exhalation, absorption, secretion, nutrition, '
and calorification.
The second class contains the functions that relate to
the species in general, and is divided into three orders.
The first of these, comprising the functions peculiar to
the male, comprehends only one genus, viz. the produc¬
tion of the seminal fluid. The second comprises the
functions peculiar to the female, and contains three ge¬
nera, viz. menstruation, the production of milk, ami of the
female generative fluids. The third order comprises the
functions that relate to the union of the two sexes, and
the product of that union ; and it comprehends also
three genera, viz. generation, gestation, and delivery.
Respecting the peculiar doctrines of this writer we
22 shall speak hereafter.
oological There is still another mode of arranging the pheno-
mcna of living bodies, that deserves to be noticed, name¬
ly, that in which they are arranged according to the ar¬
tificial systems of natural history. This mode of ar-
Vol. XVI. Part II. " T
o L O G Y.
rangement, though of infinite advantage to the zoolo¬
gist, by showing him at once the extent of his subject,
and giving to his memory a power of recollection which
it could not otherwise possess, is yet not such as the
physiologist would wfisb to be observed. Zoological ar¬
rangements are useful chiefly as they facilitate the study
of the manners, dispositions, and habits of different ani¬
mals ; and all that part of the outward economy which
indicates something of the wisdom and design displayed
by the Creator, in their structure and adaptation to the
modes of life which they are intended to pursue ; but
they do not sufficiently illustrate the internal structure
on which this outward economy depends, nor do they
sufficiently explain the more secret functions, which be¬
ing independent of the will of the creature, only dis¬
play the power and omniscience of him who made it.
Ibis will be readily conceived from considering the dif¬
ference between zoology and physiology, as we have de¬
fined it. Zoology is chiefly led to examine the animal
kingdom as it usually presents itself to the eye, includ¬
ing a great variety of objects ; physiology examines on¬
ly that part of the animal economy which is principally
made known by anatomy and chemistry. Zoology has
been accustomed to divide its kingdom into so many
classes or orders of animals ; physiology would naturally
divide its economy into so many functions. Zoology
has usually subdivided its classes by certain obvious ex¬
ternal marks, as the teeth and claws; physiology would
naturally subdivide its functions by the varieties of those
organs which are destined to perform them, as the se¬
veral kinds of lungs and stomachs. Zoology mentions
the functions only in a cursory manner, as forming a
part of the history of animals ; physiology takes notice
of animals, only when they are of use to illustrate the
functions. To these differences w'e may add another ;
that physiology, in the extended sense which we have
given it, goes beyond zoology in comprehending the
economy of the vegetable creation. From this compari¬
son it will be admitted, that things which are primary
in a zoological method, will often be secondary in a
physiological arrangement, and vice versa. This is very
conspicuously the case in one of the grand divisions of
Linnaeus, viz. mammalia, wdiere the important secretorv
organs of the milky fluid are noticed only like the
colour of the hair, or the length of the tail, as a good
outward mark of distinction, and likewise in the excel-
449
Introduc¬
tion.
lent table by D’Aubenton in his introductory view of
natural history, in the Encyclopedic Methodicjue, in
which the function of digestion is not even mentioned.
It is, bow’ever, extremely useful, both to the natural-Utility of
ist and physiologist, that the arrangements of both sci-lhe appli-
ences should be, as far as possible, adapted to each c!ltl0.n °*.
other, by marking; the relative importance of the seve- P„?!)0 °“1'
ix* * • 1 f* 1 * * * • cal to zoo-
ral junctions in the various classes or living beings, logical ar-
This has been very ably performed by Vieq d’Azvr, arangement.
modification of whose table has been given in the com¬
parative part of our Anatomy. See Vol. II. p. 280.
With respect to all physiological arrangements we 24
may observe, that as the phenomena of living beings are
so intimately dependent on each other, as to form the
links of one continued chain, it is of little consequence
which of the (unctions or phenomena w’e make the point
from which we set out in our examination. But as the
organs of sensation in most animals, and those of diges-
3 L tion
45®
physiology.
Introduc¬
tion.
25
Arrange¬
ment of the
present ar¬
ticle.
26
Tabular
outline.
tion in almost all living creatures, are among he fiist
that are evolved, it appears most convenient to begin
with one of these. The following is the arrangement
that we shall adopt in the present article.
After giving a sketch of the progress ot physiological
iisLJs and opinion,, we shall div.de the re.a.mng
part of the article into 16 chapters. In the first o
these we shall treat of the characteristic marks, genera
phenomena, duration, and principle of life. In the
second we shall consider the phenomena of sensation, the
action of the nervous system, and the externa senses^
feeling, tasting, smelling, hearing, and sigh .
third and fourth chapters we shalf treat of irntabil y,
and the phenomena of motion. In the fifth we bl h
treat of digestion; in the sixth of absorption , m e
seventh of circulation j in the eighth ot respiration and
voice • and in the ninth of nutrition, as completed by
the successive performance of the four PI“ed,nf
tions. In the tenth chapter we shall treat of the pi
nomena of secretion •, and in the eleventh, of those of Introduc-
excretion. In the twelfth we shall consider the van- Uou
ous means by which living beings-defend themselves' /—
from external injury, or the phenomena that attend the
evolution and change of the integuments, to which tunc-
tion we shall give the name ot intcgumahon. In he
thirteenth chapter we shall consider the transformations
that take place in some tribes ot living beings, especial-
ll insect, and reptiles. In the fourteenth we shall
briefly examine the phenomena of reproduction, and
the hypotheses to which they have given bir 1. _
fifteenth we shall consider the nature of sleep, and the
phenomena of dreams ; and in the sixteenth we shall
terminate our inquiries by a few observations on the
“S fotlo^TaWelsIntded to erhihit an ont-
line of the principal circumstances attending the pheno¬
mena of life, in the order in which we have enumciat
them.
1, Life—is either «
r Universally diffused through the body. Polypi, &c.
s ^ ^ ^
   about a year. Annual plants.
two years. Biennial plants.
t> / /r. Inn t c mid \
several yearn” '' pelennial plants, and most animals.
. about a century. Elephants, pikes, &c.
. several centuries. Oaks, chesnuts, occ.
2. Sensibility—
Appears to
3. Irritability—
Affected by
4,, Motion—Per¬
formed by
Exist in a very low degree in plants. Sensitivity.
Exists in a greater or ^gUd tstm'"'^ voophytes.
S^d dt'^rse"^ of smelling, sight and hearing.
.Appears farther extended by an addtttonal sense. Bats.
'Stimulants invisible.
    unknown.
  ■ unthought of.
The nervous influence.
Light.
Heat. C Y
Moisture.
Electricity.
Salts.
Gases. .
Bodies that act mechanically*
Legs.
Wings.
Fins.
{ ]'he taU* ,. , fn11 nnt ^operlv under these descriptions, bats, flying opossums,
5. Digestion—
5. Digestion—
Performed by an all- <
raentary canal.
6. Absorption^-
Performed by
7. Circulation—
Performed by a sy¬
stem with
8. Respiration—
Performed by organs
PHYSIOLOGY.
'Without teeth.
With teeth in the mouth.
 —in the stomach.
 stones or artificial teeth in the stomach.
   glands in the mouth for secreting a liquor to be mixed with the food,
   pouches in the mouth ivhere the food is kept and moistened.
 a sac or bag where the food is kept and moistened.
 a membranous stomach.
 a muscular stomach.
— an intermediate stomach.
Without a ccecum or blind gut.
With a coecum. ")
  two cceca. / These parts, as well as ruminating stomachs and their oesophagus,
— three coeca. j have antiperistaltic motions.
— four cceca. J
  one entrance or mouth.
— many entrances by absorbents.
Plants have many alimentary canals.
Some polypes have alimentary canals that branch through the body.
The alimentary canals of plants and worms distribute the fluids without the aid of a cir¬
culating system.
f \ essels beginning from the alimentary canal.
|  ———— - 1 1 the cavities.
<{ ■■ -■ -    ' the surface.
| Veins in the penis and placenta.
^Re-absorbents originating from all the parts of the system.
One heart.
A heart for distributing the blood through the respiratory organs, and an artery for
distributing it through the system.
One heart for the respiratory organs, and one for the system, both in one capsule.
Two hearts for the respiratory organs, and one for the system.
A pulmonary heart, or a heart for the respiratory organs in the course of circulation.
A pulmonary heart within or without the course of circulation at pleasure,
A heart situated in the breast.
 near to the head.
— in the opposite extremity.
Some animals and all plants have no circulating system.
' Diffused through the system.
Confined to one place.
Situated externally.
   internally.
In the course of the circulation.
Not in the course of the circulation.
Within or without the course of circulation at pleasure.
Without tracheae.
With tracheae ramified through the system where the respiratory organs are generally
diffused.
-   —  not ramified through the system where the respiratory organs are confined.
■■■   formed by rings.
by segments of rings on one side, and a membrane on the other.
 by contiguous rings running spirally like a screw.
admitting air by one entrance.
by several entrances.
— wholly concealed in the body.
— partly projecting from the body.
——— opening at the head.
*    at the opposite extremity.
—    upon one side.
■•■■■■  -  ——  both sides.
3 L 2
Nutrition-
9. Nutrition—
Food prepared by
io. Secretion—
Performed by
ii. Excretion—
Excrementitious
matters thrown
out by
12. Integumation—
Some living bodies
have integuments ^
which are
PHYSIOLOGY.
'The alimentary canal.
The lacteals.
The respiratory organs.
The circulating system.
The cellular membrane.
The glands. . . • m i
^ And by the several parts in which it becomes finally assimilated.
'Vessels.
Exhaling vessels.
Excretory organs.
Organic pores.
Glands.
And by all the parts of which the system is composed.
The integuments chiefly.
The common opening of the alimentary canal.
Two openings of this tube.
By the lungs and other emunctories.
Scaly.
Shelly.
Membranous.
Corneous.
Cretaceous.
Ligneous.
Covered with down.
, hair.
    prickles.
feathers,
a viscid matter.
f
Change their colour.
 - their covering.
Changed themselves.
By a change of proportion among the parts.
- of their form.
13. Transforma¬
tion—Takes place
14. Generation—
Performed by
15. Sleep—Natu¬
ral sleep is oc¬
casioned by
16. Death. See Life.
— throwing off old parts.
 an addition of new ones of a different use, structure, and form.
 a change of the whole form together.
- of qualities, propensities, manners.
The temporary union of two sexes.
The spontaneous separation of parts.
Organs situated in the breast.
— in the side.
- — near to the head.
  — in the opposite extremity.
An intrant organ of the male, and a recipient organ of the fema e.
An intrant organ of the female, and a recipient organ of the male.
The stamina and pistils of flowers. . . - ,
The seminal secretion of the male thrown into the organs of the temale.
  .   sprinkled at the entrance of the female organs.
^ thrown upon them from a distance.
transported to them by the winds.,
sprinkled on the embryo after emission.
dissolved in a fluid secreted by the female before it can rightly
perform its office. , r v •
     dissolved perhaps sometimes in air, as in the case of dioicous
plants, where it probably acts like an aroma.
Quietness.
The absence of stimuli.
The sameness of stimuli when long continued.
Deficient trritabUity”* which is owing sometimes to the weokoess, inattention, or coo-
fined powers of the mental principle.
HISTORY.
PHYSIOLOGY.
[History.
HISTORY.
*7 The early history of physiology can be little more
| itility of t|ian au account of the opinions of the ancient philoso-
6hvsiolo-P^ers respecting the nature and functions of the human
ft body $ but as their opinions reflect considerable light on
the progressive improvement of the philosophy of man,
the history of physiology, even in its early stages, is cu-
2g rious and interesting.
ipinions of Of the origin of physiology as a science we know no-
ythagoras thing. On examining the writings of the earliest philo-
;speeUng gophers, we meet with little more than a collection of
abstract principles and hypothetical reasonings, especial¬
ly previous to Pythagoras. He considered man as a
microcosm, or an epitome of the universe, in which were
produced the same phenomena as in the larger world,
only to a less extent. He admitted more than one in¬
telligent principle, conducting all the operations of the
human body. He supposed that the human soul,
nourished by the blood, fixed by the veins, the arteries,
and the nerves, as so many visible situations, became
obedient to the general laws of universal harmony. He
did not pretend that the eternal power of numbers had
prescribed all the phenomena of nature, and that the force
of numerical harmonies regulated the motions of the
bodies which filled the universe, though he has been
made so to express himself by bis disciples. He was
contented with asserting, that every thing in nature was
brought about according to the qualities and proportions
of numbers, without attributing to them an intrinsic
virtue and a positive existence. He perceived that the
phenomena of the animal economy succeeded each other
with a strict regularity, by which they concurred in
maintaining order j and in this order he found the prin¬
ciple of the existence and preservation of all beings ; a
principle without which they could not exist. He con¬
sidered the souls of men as emanations from the general
soul of the universe, or anima mundi.
Alcmaeon considered the brain as the seat of the soul.
He supposed sound to be produced by the reverberation
of the air within the cavity of the ear*, and he thought
that taste was owing to the moisture of the tongue. He
compared the body of a foetus to a sponge, which ob¬
tained its nourishment by the suction established over
every part of its substance. According to him, the mo¬
tion of the blood was the essential principle of life $ and
he supposed that the stagnation of this fluid in the veins
produced sleep, and its active expansion brought back
the waking state of the body. Health consisted in the
equilibrium and well proportioned mixture of certain
primary qualities ; and that whenever any of these be¬
came too predominant, disease was the consequence.
Empedocles involved himself in a multitude of ab-
Jcles and surd hypotheses, in order to explain the formation of
naxago. man, and the combination of the elements from which
he was produced. He too, like the disciples of Pytha¬
goras, sought among the properties of numbers, for the
general principles both of physical and moral science.
In uniformity with this system it was, that he reckoned
the four elements, and admitted among the particles of
these material principles a kind of affection and aver¬
sion, of desire and antipathy, capable of separating and
reuniting them, as occasion might require. He be¬
lieved that respiration commenced within the uterus,
where the infant was provided from each parent with
29
'f Alcmte-
30
f Empe-
certain organic particles, which tended to unite into one
uniform whole. Anaxagoras, convinced that we must
attribute the arrangement of matter to the intelligence
of a superintending being, imagined that the body of
every animal was formed of homogeneous particles,
which were brought together by a sort of affinity. It
appeared to him, that bodies which were endowed with
thought, were composed of sensible elements j that these
elements remained unalterable, and that no power in
nature could exert any action on them. 31
Democritus dedicated his life to repeated experiments Democri-
on plants and animals. He explained the principal phe-tus'
nomena of organized bodies by the action and reaction
of atoms, which he supposed to be endowed with powers
essentially active, and susceptible of repelling and at¬
tracting each other. According to him, generation con¬
sisted in the cohesion of homogeneous atoms. He con¬
ceived the heat inherent in the elements of the body to
be the sole active principle with which man was anima¬
ted ; and that by increase of this he became capable of
life and motion. He compared the organs of the senses
to mirrors, on which were painted the images of tilings,
and he reduced all sensations to the sense of feeling,
which he supposed to be more or less delicate according
to circumstances. 2g
These philosophers, who lived before the time of Hip-Hippocra-
pocrates, had, as we see, but very rude and indistinct ^
notions of the animal economy $ nor were those of the
great father of physic much superior. Excellent as was
his practice, and acute his knowledge of the symptoms
and progress of diseases, the physiology of Hippocrates
was very lame and defective. He seems, indeed, to
have understood the functions of nutrition better than
most others j he traces the aliment into the stomach*
seems aware of the processes it has to undergo there, and
hazards a conjecture that part of the chyle is taken up
immediately by the pores of the cellular texture j and
that the juices admitted into this membrane, served for
the production of milk, the matter of which is after-
terwards transported, and laid up within the breasts.
He attributes to each vital part an attractive force,
which it exerts on the nutritious particles, in order to
incorporate and appropriate to itself those which bear to
it a certain analogy. He thought that the heat generat¬
ed in a living body was kept up entirely by powers of
vitality j and that the external air introduced by respi¬
ration, served rather to check it, by exerting a cooling
effect on the pulmonary organs. He represents the hu¬
man body as agitated in all its parts by an alternate
flux and reflux, which carried the matters from within
outwards, or brought them from without inwards. From
this some have supposed that he understood the circula¬
tion of the blood, a supposition made two hundred years
ago, and lately again brought forward by the French
physiologists. We shall not at jiresent stay to canvass
this opinion, which, however, we conceive to be found¬
ed on very unsatisfactory arguments.
After Hippocrates, the science of man was again left p]at0’‘
to the schools of philosophy, from which he had first se¬
parated it. Plato is the first philosopher whose opinions
merit peculiar notice. He wrote on the physiology
of man with his accustomed elegance and splendour of
diction ; and he assumed the tone of an inspired prophet
in decribing, with the force of enthusiasm, the grand
images that suggested themselves to his mind. Ac¬
cording
34
Aristotle,
cording to him, the human body does not contain with¬
in itself the cause of the phenomena which are the con¬
sequence or the attendants of life. It is only a passive
subject, on which the soul expresses the series of its func¬
tions, like the canvas on which the painter traces the
conceptions of his inventions. He distinguishes two
principles of action in man, a rational soul, on which de¬
pend reflection and intelligence, and an irrational soul,
on which depend life and motion. 1 he latter is dif¬
fused through every part of the body •, and it is. by
means of these parts that it feels, suffers pain, or enjoys
pleasure. Thus it is by means of the heart it is suscepti¬
ble of courage and of passion j by the liver of desire. I he
head is the seat of reason •, the chest, and especially the
heart, the seat of strength and anger*, the lungs, the
general coolers of the body. One division of the ina-
tional soul, which possesses an appetite for food, and all
the necessary refreshments of the body, resides in the
epigastric region j which, in the language of Plato, is
a sort of stable, in which resides a voracious animal.
During nutrition, the vital parts assimilate to then-
substance the aliments which are presented to them *,
and this assimilation is the consequence of an affinity
that takes place between these parts and the nutritious
juices. He thus seems to regard nutrition as the effect
of a combat between the aliments and the parts of the
animal. A young animal will receive more nourish¬
ment than one which is old, because the force of its
body has more effect in overcoming the force of the nu¬
tritious substances.
As the reciprocal action of the soul and the body on
each other did not appear to him capable of being ex¬
plained on the supposition of immateriality, he proposed
the idea of a yi/a.s'ffc nature, which he supposed to be
an intermediate principle connecting the soul and the
body.
The human body, which is entirely spongy, is expo¬
sed through every part to opposite currents of air and
Jire, which traverse and penetrate it, being introduced
alternately by the lungs and by the skin. Hot, cold,
dense, rare, and the other sensible properties of bodies,
arc only the causes of the phenomena which we per¬
ceive, and are, as it were, the occasions or accidents
that are required to keep in play the intelligent force
disseminated through nature.
, Aristotle, the disciple of Plato, for a long time dis¬
puted with him the palm of genius and celebrity, but,
as his physiological doctrines differed very little from
those of his master, it is unnecessary to detail them, ex¬
cept to remark, that he attributed to the soul three fa¬
culties, a nutritive, a sensitive, and a rational faculty j
in the first of which life is the only principle *, in the
second, feeling is produced ; and the third is peculiar to
man, and is that part of him which knows or judges.
This part is either an active or a passive intellect, of
which the first may be separated from the body, and is
immortal ; whereas the second perishes together with
the body. Life, according to this philosopher, is a
permanence nf the soul, retained by the natural heat,
the principle of which resides in the heart.
About the period which we are now considering,
philosophy was divided into two sects ; the material¬
ists, who attributed the formation of all beings to the
fortuitous concourse of atoms *, and the spiritualists,
who held that the soul enjoyed an existence anterior to
■4
PHYSIOLOGY.
that of the body, which was no other than a passive or- History,
gan, in which the phenomena that previously existed 1 * —'
in the soul, in an abstract, latent manner, became evi¬
dent and sensible. To the former sect belonged De¬
mocritus and Epicurus j to the latter, Zeno and Plato. ^
The professors of the Alexandrian school, though Herophilm.
they did much for the improvement of anatomy, added
little to physiology. Of these Herophilus brought to
some degree of perfection the doctrine of the pulse,
and seems to have understood the action of the pulmo¬
nary organs more correctly than his predecessors, attri¬
buting to them a sort of natural appetite, by which
they attracted and rejected the matter of respiration.
He considered the nerves, the muscles, and the arte¬
ries, as the moving powers of the body. -g
In Galen, also a disciple of this school, we find the Galen,
most scientific physiologist that has yet come under our
notice. He seems first to have ascertained by experi¬
ment, that the arteries contain blood, and not air, as
had been the opinion of Herophilus and his predeces¬
sors : and that they possessed a moving force, indepen¬
dent of that which the heart exercises on the mass oi
blood, and he found that the contraction of the heart al¬
ways alternated with a proportional dilatation. He even
tried some delicate experiments, in order to ascertain the
influence of the nervous system upon the sensitive and
motive powers of the body, by which he found, that
when a nerve was intercepted with a ligature, the pait
to which it led became deprived of sense and motion.
He believed that the stomach, in a state of contrac¬
tion, applied itself to the aliment that had been taken
in *, that the mesenteric veins absorbed a portion of the
chyle prepared in the intestines *, that the ductus chok-
dochus carried the bile from the gall bladder into the
duodenum *, that the kidneys separated a part of the
urine : and he supposed, that another part of this fluid
passed immediately from the stomach to the bladder,
through some unknown passage. He believed that the
lungs transmitted to the blood contained within them,
an aerial principle, destined to tree them from fuligi¬
nous vapours, and to temper the excess of heat genera¬
ted within the body. The obscure function of genera¬
tion did not entirely escape his researches*, and he
made some curious attempts to find out how the sexual
organs prepared the seminal fluid, and how this acted
in reproduction. .
For more respecting the doctrines of Galen, see the
History of Medicine. . ^
The commencement of the 13th century is the epoch The che-
of a material revolution in physiology. Chemistry ha-mis •
ving penetrated into Europe, soon exerted its influence
on most of the sciences, and especially on those connect¬
ed with medicine, the doctrines of which were totally
changed from their ancient simplicity, and became
rago of the most wild and fanciful opinions. The Peri¬
patetics and theGalenists sunk into oblivion*, and the pri¬
mitive qualities and occult faculties of the ancient school
gave way to the fermentations and effervescences of the
chemists. Albertus Magnus and Roger Bacon, when
they introduced the science of chemistry,scarcelydream-
ed of applying it to medicine *, but Arnoldus de \ 1 la
Nova undertook this application, and sought for the
foundation of medical theory amid the processes of Ins
laboratory. Paracelsus followed, and surpassed him in
this chemical delirium. An enlightened chemist and a
credulous
P H Y S 1
History, credulous astrologer, his head burning with the fire of
•—•w'——' his furnaces, and his imagination filled with magical re¬
veries, he believed himself capable of constructing a new
system of philosophy, from examining the course of the
stars, and the products of his alembics. With the
daring assurance of inspiration, he declared man to be
composed of sulphur, mercury, and salt •, and, having
traced the origin of all diseases to certain chemical ope¬
rations, he flattered himself, that by means of his arca¬
na he could preserve health, and prolong, to an in^
definite extent, the natural duration of human exist-
cnee.
Pan Hel- Van Helmont, the disciple of Paracelsus, not less fan-
iiont. ciful, but more scientific than his master, saw the neces¬
sity of something more than chemical principles to ex¬
plain the functions of the animal machine. He there¬
fore introduced his arc/ueus, au intelligent being who
established his throne in the epigastric region, having se¬
veral subaltern ministers under him, who presided over
the several functions of the body, and whose chief seats
39 were, the head, the chest, and the belly.
)es Cartes. In the philosophy of Des Cartes, the separate exist¬
ence of the vital principle is entirely rejected. He avail¬
ed himself of the progress that had been made by Willis,
and some other anatomists, in the investigation of the
nervous system, to form an hypothesis of the vital func¬
tions, founded on the supposition of the nervous fluid,
or what was then called the animal spirits; and this ner¬
vous fluid was assumed independently of the sensitive
soul, to explain the appearances of sensation and volun¬
tary motion.
The discovery of the valves in the veins by Fabri-
cius ; of the lymphatics by Rudbeck and Bartholin j
of the lacteals by Asellius, and of the circulation of the
blood by Harvey, all of which took place during the
17th century, gave to physiology an interest and a
clearness which it never possessed before that period*.
Some account of the discoveries- in the circulating and
absorbing systems, hath been already given under Ana¬
tomy 5 but as these discoveries have been productive of
great advantages, both in general physiology, and in
medicine, it will be worth while briefly to trace their
40 origin and progress.
liscovery To begin with the circulation of the blood. Hippo-
thecir- crates speaks of the usual and constant motion of the
ilation. bloody 0f the veins and arteries as the fountains of hu¬
man nature, as-the rivers that water the whole bodv,
and which if they be dried up man dies. He says, that
the blood-vessels are, for this reason, everywhere dis¬
persed through the whole body ; that they give spirits,
moisture, and motion ; that they all spring from one j
and that this one has no beginning and no end, for
where there is a circle there is no beginning. In such
language was the prince of physicians accustomed to ex¬
press his vague ideas of a circulation j for so far was he
from having acquired accurate conceptions on this sub¬
ject, that when he saw the motions of the heart, he be¬
lieved that the auricles were two bellows to draw in air,
and to ventilate the blood.
When after his time anatomy came to be more stu¬
died, the notions of. the ancients respecting the blood
were better defined j and, however chimerical they may
seem to us, they were partly derived from dissection and
experiment. On opening dead bodies, they found that
the arteries were almost empty, and that very nearly the
O L O G Y.
whole of the blood was collected in the veins, and in
the right auricle and ventricle of the heart. They there¬
fore concluded that the right ventricle was a sort of la¬
boratory } that it attracted the blood from the cava; ;
by some operation rendered it lit for the purpose of nu¬
trition, and then returned it by the way that it came.
I rom the almost empty state of the arteries, they were
led to suppose that the right ventricle prepared air, and
that this air was conveyed by the arteries to temper tire
heat of the several parts to which the branches of the
veins were distributed.
To this last notion, entertained by Erasistratus, Ga¬
len added an important discovery. By certain experi¬
ments, he proved, that the arteries contained blood a-s
well as the veins. But this discovery was the occasion
of some embarrassment. How was" the blood to get
from the right to the lelt ventricle ? To solve the diffi¬
culty in which this new discovery bad involved him, he
supposed that the branches of the veins and arteries ana¬
stomosed y that when the blood was carried to the lungs
by the pulmonary vein, it was partly prevented by the
valves from returning ; that therefore during the con¬
traction of the thorax it passed through the small inoscu¬
lating branches to the pulmonary vein, and was thence
conveyed along with the air to the left ventricle to flow
in the aorta. This opinion, so agreeable to fact, unfoi*-
tuirately afterwards gave place to another that was thfe
result of mere speculation. This notion was that the
left ventricle received air by the pulmonary vein j and
that all its blood was derived through pores in the sep¬
tum-of the hearti
The passage through the septum being once suggest¬
ed, and happening to be more easily conceived than one
through the lungs, it was generally supposed the only
one for a number of centuries; and supported likewise,
as it was thought, by- Galen’s authority, it was deemed
blasphemy in the schools of medicine to talk of another.
I543» however, Vesalius having published his immor¬
tal work upon the structure of the human body, and gi¬
ven his reasons in the sixth book why he ventured to
dissent from Galen, he particularly shewed how it was
impossible that the blood could pass through the septum
of the heart. His reasoning roused the attention of ana¬
tomists ; and every one grew eager to discover the real
passage which the blood must take in going from the
right to the left ventricle. The discovery of this was
first made by Michael Servede, a Spanish physician,
who published his opinion in 15^3. He expressly says,
that the blood does not pass through the septum of the
heart, as is commonly believed, but is conveyed by an
admirable contrivance from the right ventricle of the
heart, by a long passage through the 1 ngs. This opi¬
nion was deemed heretic, and Servede’s book was sup*
pressed by public authority. Soon after, however, the
same discovery was made by Realdus Columbus, an Ita¬
lian professor, who published his account in 1559. It
farther appears, that Andreas Cassalpinus, who publish¬
ed in 1571, and again- in 1593, was acquainted, not
only with the lesser circulation, but observed, that the
blood sometimes flowed from the branches of the veins
towards their trunks *, and that when a vein was tied
with a ligature, it swelled between the ligature and the
distant extremity of the vein, and not between the liga¬
ture and the heart. He thence inferred, that the veins
and arteries opened into each other, and ventured to as¬
sert.
455
TJistory.
456
History.
sert tliat the blood could not return by the arteries to
the left ventricle of the heart. He did not, however,
discover the true circulation, but most unaccountably
maintained with Aristotle, of whom he was a zealous
disciple, that the blood flowed like the tides of .Luripus,
backward and forward in the same channel, and suppo¬
sed that it flowed from the arteries into the veins during
sleep, and back again from the veins into the arteries
till the waking state. , .
In 1574, Hieronymus Fabncius ab Aquapendente,
while he was seeking for a cause by which to explain the
various swellings of some veins, which had arisen from
friction and ligature, he, to his great joy and astonish¬
ment, discovered their valves in one of his dissections •,
and here again the true theory of circulation seemed al¬
most unavoidable. Yet whoever reads the small treatise
He Venarum Ostiolis, first printed by Fabricius in 1603,
will soon perceive that he was as far from entertaining
a just notion of the circulation as his predecessors. Not¬
withstanding all that he saw, he still was of opinion that
the blood flowed from the heart to the extremities even
in the veins. He thought that the valves were intended
by nature only to check and moderate its force. He
calls them an instance of admirable wisdom, and mis¬
takes his own awkward conjecture for one of the designs
of infinite intelligence. In another respect, it must be
confessed that he bore no inconsiderable share in pro¬
moting the discovery of the circulation. By writing on
the valves, the formation of the foetus, and chick in ovo,
he directed the attention of his pupil Harvey to those
subjects where it was likely that the motion of the blood
would frequently occur. ,
Harvey, who was born in 1578, and graduated at
Padua in 1602, examined the valves with more accu¬
racy than Fabricius, and explained their use in a trea¬
tise which he published soon after his graduation. In
1616,‘he taught the true doctrine of the circulation in
his lectures, and published on the subject in 1628. e
was the first author who spoke consistently of the motion
of the blood, and who, unbiassed by the doctrine of the
ancients, drew rational conclusions from his experiments
and observations. His books present us with many in¬
dications of a great mind, acute discernment, unwearied
application, original remark, bold inquiry, and a clear,
forcible, and manly reasoning j and every one who con¬
siders the surprise which his doctrine occasioned among
the anatomists of those days, the strong opposition that
it met with from some, and the numerous and powerful
prejudices which it had to encounter from the sanction
of time and of great names, must allow it was new •, and
that the author has from its importance, a title to rank
in the first class of eminent discoverers, ancient 01 mo¬
dern. . . .
We have been the more particular in tracing the pro¬
gressive discovery of the circulation, and in attempting
to shew that the real merit of the discovery is due to
Harvey, because both the abilities and the originality
of this eminent man have been called in question by his
countryman Hr William Hunter; and many hints are
given in the writings of some foreign physiologists, that
the circulation was at least guessed at by Hippocrates
and other ancient writers.
We shall be less minute in tracing the discovery of
the lymphatic system, because this has been related
more at large in the article Anatomy.
3
PHYSIOLOGY.
We learn from Galen, that certain vessels had been , History^
seen in kids by Erasistratus, which appear to have been
lacteals, though he called them arteries. Ibese lacteals Dis
were, however, first accurately distinguished m 1 o22, ot. tlie ab
by Asellius, who printed his account in 1627. In sorbent sjr-
1651, Pecquet published his account of the thoracic stem,
duct,’which appears, however, to have been seen be¬
fore by Eustachius. In 1653, Bartholin published on
the lymphatics, which had been some time before dis¬
covered bv Rudbeck. In 1654, Glisson ascribed to
these vessels the office of carrying hack the lubricating
lymph from the arteries into the blood, or considered
them as absorbents. In 1664, the valves of these ves¬
sels were discovered by Swammerdam, and a year after,
an account of them was given by Ruysch. The farther
discoveries of Nuck, Nouges, Warton, Steno, Hunter,
Monro, Hewson, Cruikshank, Sheldon, Mascagni, &c.
have nearly completed our knowledge of the absorbent
system, and its uses.
In the latter end of the 17th century, some important
discoveries were made on the subject of respiration, by
our countryman Mayow ; and these were supported by
the observations of Lower, Verheyen, and Bore 1.
These discoveries, however, lay dormant till they were
brought into recollection a hundred years after in con¬
sequence of the experiments of Priestley and Lavoisier.
During the 17th century, considerable progress was
made in completing the knowledge of the internal or¬
gans of veneration. Much was done in this way by De
Graaff and Malpighi, and Leuwenhoeck, the two latter
of whom made several discoveries with the assistance of
their microscopes, though Leuwenhoeck founded on his
observations a theory of generation which at this day
appears not a little ridiculous. _ . „ 42
The beginning of the 18th century is remarkable tor System of
the promulgation of a new physiological doctrine, found-Boerhaane
ed on a mistaken application of the circulation of the
blood. We allude to the system of Boerhaave. Ibis
great physician supposed that all the functions of the liv¬
ing body, excepting the will, are carried on by mecha¬
nical movements, susceptible of rigid calculation, which
necessarily succeed each other in the organs, from the
time that life commences. These movements are brought
into action as soon as the animal begins to respire, and
are the consequence of an impulsive power in the heart
renewed bv means of the influence of the nervous fluid
brought from the brain. He conceived the living body
to be"merely a hydraulic machine, in which the heart
performs the office of a piston, and that the alternate
contractions and dilatations that take place without in¬
termission in that organ, are owing to the alternately
increased and diminished compression ot the nerves that
are distributed to the heart. When a contraction takes
place, the blood fills the large arteries, and thus distends
and compresses them j when the principal nerves of the
heart, which pass between these arteries, must ot course
become compressed, and thus their influence being di¬
minished, a relaxation takes place. But in proportion
as the heart is relaxed, the large arteries become empty,
and consequently cease to compress the nerves, which
thus recovering their influence, reanimate the heart
a new contraction. Thus succeed each other without
interruption the movements which form the mechanical
principle of all the sensible motions that we obseive in
the animal machine. Proceeding
PHYSIOLOGY.
History.
43
'vlecha-
ists,
44
ystem of
loffinau.
Proceeding on these principles, Boerhaave conceived
some very strange notions respecting the constituent
properties of the living fluids, in which he saw no other
mark of vitality than the globular form of their particles,
lie confined all the functions of the several organs to
the operation of rounding into spheres the particles of
the fluids which are presented to them, or of preserv¬
ing that form in those which they already contained.
He thought that the lungs were chiefly of advantage,
because they contained within them a complete series of
vessels, in which the particles of the blood can receive
all those dimensions which may fit them to circulate
through the rest of the body. The greater or less ve¬
locity with which the fluids circulate through the secre¬
tory organs, constitutes the principal difference in the
nature of the secretions. Various orders of vessels re¬
ceive the blood and other fluids which pass through
these divisions, subject to the laws of hydraulics j and
when a fluid got by chance into an order of vessels that
was not fitted to receive it, some disease was the conse¬
quence. Every thing in the animal machine was redu¬
ced to an assemblage of conduits, canals, cords, levers,
pulleys, and other mechanical contrivances, put into
action by mechanical means.
Thus was completed the system of mechanical physio¬
logy, which was begun some time before by Bellini
and Borelli ; and this system maintained its ground in
defiance of observation and common sense, till about
the middle of the 18th century. In the mean time,
however, there arose two men, whose enlarged ideas
and acute genius induced them to dissent from the re¬
ceived opinions of the day, and to think for themselves.
These were Hoffman and Stahl, who, though they did
not, any more than Boerhaave, form complete or un¬
objectionable theories, contributed much to improve our
ideas of the animal economy.
Hoffman saw, that in the living body we ought not
to separate the principle of vitality from the general
properties of matter. He believed that that principle,
susceptible in itself of activity and motion, was sufficient
for all the occasions and all the functions of the body
which it animated. The animal body was not, in his
eyes, an hydraulical elastic machine, formed of solids
and canals, differing only in size, form, elasticity and
force. He saw, that if the solids act upon the fluids,
these must, in their turn, react upon the solids j and
that life could subsist only by these mutual actions and
reactions. The essential cause of life, according to
Hoftman, is the progressive motion of the blood, occa¬
sioned by the impulse of the heart, and kept up by the
alternate contractions and dilatations of the vessels.
I hese contractions and dilatations are the consequence
of the force of an elasticity inherent in the vascular
fibres, and this force is still farther promoted by the
different structure of these elastic fibres, which is such
that they can be penetrated by the blood and the ner¬
vous fluid This last fluid he imagined to be composed
of aerial and etherial particles enveloped in a certain
portion of a very pure subtile lymph, that served them
as a vehicle. By this fluid the cavities of the nerves
are filled, and it constitutes the sensitive soul, in which
resides the seat of the passions. Now, all the functions,
even those which we attribute to the senti< nt principle,
are the effect of physical powers, whose mechanism has,
however, something more sublime and more exalted
Vol. XVI. Part II. f
457
with respect to the animal operations than to others. j-j;3t01.y
If all the nervous, vascular, and membranous parts, —v—.
preserve a moderate degree of action, and a moderate
state of tension and relaxation, the solids are subjected
to oscillatory motions which balance each other, and
produce a proper equilibrium in the system. In this
state, all the operations of the body and the mind take
place with proper regularity ; and this happy harmony,
by assofing to the animal the entire plenitude of its ex¬
istence, becomes the foundation of health. This degree
ot moderate tension is always more or less altered in a
state of disease.
Little satisfied with all the theories founded on a gross of stahb
mechanism, and convinced of their insufficiency to ex¬
plain he phenomena of vitality, Stahl admitted forces
that were something more than mechanical, and that
were directed by an intelligent principle which applies
them to their destined uses, and which, by distributing
them with a wise economy, poportions or accommo¬
dates them to the different occasions of the individual.
His disciples consider Stahl as the first modern writer
who has treated the science of man on a general plan,
and according to a philosophical arrangement; and as
his doctrine has still numerous advocates in the medical
schools ol France, we shall he somewhat more particu¬
lar on it than on that of Hoffman.
In determining the limits between medicine and the
other physical sciences, Stahl commences with separat¬
ing from the former all those principles which, though
true in themselves, have no relation to the nature of that
science, which he considers as originating in observation
alone. The knowledge of the physical state of the ani¬
mal body cannot, he thinks, throw any light, either on
the injuries to which it is exposed, or on the means of
preventing or removing them. Consequently it is of
little use in medicine, and has no right to govern an art,
the object of which is, to remedy those injuries that
threaten the human body. He proves that living bodies
are freed from the necessary laws of mechanics, because
all their actions tend to one common end;—an end which
embraces the whole chain of the movements essential to
life, and the means established lor its preservation. The
human body, by means of this mixture of mechanical
and vital powers, tends naturally to self-destruction 3 hut,
on the other hand, the organic structure to which is at¬
tached the exercise of the actions peculiar to the human
species, is founded on this mixture. It is therefore ne¬
cessary that the body should be in a state of resisting this
tendency, in order that it may be sustained; and as the
corruptibility inherent in its nature, pursues it through
every period of its existence, the opposing action neces¬
sary to prevent the corruption from taking place, must
also be exercised without intermission. It is this pre¬
serving action that constitutes the essence of life.
The preservation of the body is indeed effected by a
sort of mechanical action ; it requires the corporeal or¬
gans as its instruments, and it depends on different co¬
existent and successive actions. Health is the result of
that just conformation of the organs which enables theni
to perform their functions with ease.
The exact conformity which subsists between the
structure of each organ, and the functions it is destined
to perform, demonstrates to the philosophical eye art in¬
telligent and wise principle, that in the formation of
organized bodies directs and prescribes every thing in
3 M the
PHYSIC
the manner most favourable to the end which it pro¬
poses. A speculative metaphysician, accustomed to
wander over the field of abstraction, to enlarge the
sphere of his intellectual notions, to transform sensible
objects into ideas, this author could never persuade him-
seif that a being could not proportion and adapt its or¬
gans to the operations they are to perform, without pos¬
sessing a knowledge of these operations, and having al¬
ready exercised adjudgment with respect to them. It is
from’this that he confounds the principle of life with the
thinking soul, which being incessantly present in every
part of the body, directs and disposes them according to
its own views, and to the end that it proposes in the con¬
tinual developement of the actions it is to conduct.
The formation, the structure, duration and move¬
ments of the body, do not belong peculiarly to it, as it
is only a passive subject on which the soul impresses and
realises the idea of the phenomena that she lias con¬
ceived. Every thing is derived from the union of the
body with the active foreseeing principle, which governs,
according to special laws, those phenomena which are
more particularly vital, and which are most indepen¬
dent of the will. The immediate action of this latter
faculty does not require the assistance of any other sub¬
stance. The intervention of an intermediate principle
would be there superfluous*, and Stahl rejects that of the
animal spirits, which had been introduced to explain the
mechanism of vitality, and which, by overcharging the
science, embarrasses it with a useless hypothesis.
Two faculties are sufficient for the soul to act upon
the body, and to preserve it in a living state, viz., those
of sense and motion. By the former the animal learns
to know the properties of the objects by which he is sur¬
rounded, or in which he is interested, and to estimate
the relations that subsist between these objects and him¬
self j the latter produces the motion of the whole ma¬
chine, and determines all the changes of situation winch
it has to undergo in its whole, and in its parts.
The faculty of sensation has two modifications, rela¬
tive to the two kinds of knowledge which the soul may
receive by means of that function. The first of these
resides in the organs of sense, and is adapted to external
objects', the second establishes its seat in the interim or¬
gans, and refers to objects that are within, or ideas.
Sometimes the moving power enveloped in the muscular
system is displayed by the sensible actions that regulate
the position of the body with respect to the objects of the
universe, of which it makes a part', sometimes concen¬
trated within these organs, it excites intestinal motions,
■which maintain among their constituent parts, those re¬
lations, and that equilibrium, which are necessary to pre¬
serve the healthy state, consistence, and tone ot each or¬
gan. The muscular apparatus is subservient to the ex¬
ercise of the senses', and the different motions which it
impresses on the body, for the purpose of transporting it
towards, or to a distance from, certain objects* are al¬
ways determined by the convenience or inconvenience
which the body, by means of the senses, experiences
from those objects. The tonic motion, determined by
the copfused ideas of the principle of life, is displayed
in the most hidden organic parts, in the most perfect re¬
pose and profound silence of the voluntary movements.
The soul gives to its organs the disposition that is fa¬
vourable to the sensations it wishes to receive, by virtue
of the judgment that it exerts respecting these sensations,
> L O G Y.
before it has experienced them. This judgment is ex- History,
erted on the relations between the objects that excite 1 v *
these impressions, and the actual state of the hotly ; and
it is the intuitive knowledge of these relations that deter¬
mines, in all their infinitely diversified shades, the plea¬
sure or the pain which the animal experiences liom the
objects that surround it.
Stahl regards the excretions as the means employed
bv nature to counteract the natural tendency of the body
towards putrefaction. He believes that the animal hu¬
mours are exceedingly disposed to thicken, and that the
circulation of the blood is the means made use of by na¬
ture to keep up their original fluidity. One of the causes
that most favour the tendency of the humours to putre¬
faction, is plethora, to which nature opposes, sometimes
the motion of the solids that distribute the blood', some¬
times the hemorrhagic fluxes which unload the vascular
system. These latter opinions are the principal founda¬
tions of what has been called the humoral pathology,
which prevailed so long in most of our medical schools,
and which, with certain modifications, is still maintain¬
ed in many parts ol the continent. . _ _ 46
The favourable impulse given to physical science in Of Haller,
general, by the philosophical writings of Bacon and
Newton, extended itself at length to physiology ', and
physiological writers became convinced that it was bet¬
ter to collect and arrange the lacts that related to the
economy of living beings, than to frame hypothetical sy¬
stems concerning them. The honour ot lorming a ra¬
tional digest of the phenomena of the animal economy
was reserved for Haller, who perceived the importance
of assembling under one view, the experiments, facts, and
observations of preceding writers, and of substituting
them in the place of hypothetical reasonings. He traced
the plan of the immense edifice that he designed to con¬
struct in his First Lines of Physiology, and executed it on
a grand and extensive scale, in his iLlements^ in which he
has brought together into a body of doetrine, as complete
as could be expected in his time, all the materials of the
science. He perceived the inconvenience of a too strict
application of the laws of mechanical philosophy to
living system. He admitted an active force, which he
considered as peculiar to the animal body, viz. irritabili-
' ty, which contains the reason or the experimental cause oi
muscular motion. He maintained that irritability should
never be confounded with sensibility, and that the irri¬
table fibre differs as much from the sensible fibre, as the
function of motion from that of sensation. Lastly, in his
Opera Minora, he lays down many new and important
points of doctrine respecting the structure of our organs,
and the mechanism of our functions j and he relates a
number of experiments made on living animals, tor the
purpose of drawing from nature the secret of those phe¬
nomena which she appears most desirous to conceal. e
owe to Haller some curious researches respecting the or-
mation of bone, and the production of callus, as well as
some important elucidations of the manner in which the
embryo contained in the egg is developed, and passes
through the successive stages of its organization. lie
has left us many experiments and details respecting the
structure of the heart, the circulation of the blood, and
the pulsation of the arteries 5 on the mechanism ot the
ribs, and the action of the intercostal muscles during re¬
spiration', 011 the differences between the sensible and ir¬
ritable organs j on the action of the brain and nerves, &c.
PHYSIOLOGY.
History. The latter half of the l8th century is remarkable for
w—v—' many able physiologists, who will be admired by poste¬
rity, either for the acuteness of their genius, or the im¬
portant improvements that they have made in the science.
We may mention the names of Bordeu, La Gaze, Bon¬
net, Vicq d’Azyr, Bichat, Dumas, and Cuvier in
France j of Fontana and Spallanzani in Italy, and of
Whytt, Cullen, Brown, and Darwin in Britain. We
cannot pretend to enumerate all the opinions and disco¬
veries of these celebrated men, but must content our¬
selves with giving a sketch of the three rival systems of
Cullen, Brown, and Darwin, and a brief outline of the
opinions of Bichat.
Of ('ulJen. The physiological system of Cullen was founded chiefly
on that of Hoffman. He placed the principle of the
whole animal economy in the movement of the vital
solids, regulated by the fundamental laws of the ner¬
vous system. This notion of the vital solids, according
to him, originates in the nerves, and being almost always
united in the sensorium, is easily transmitted from one
nervous part to another, as long as the medullary sub¬
stance of the nerves continues in its natural state of life
and continuity. The contraction of the moving fibres
connected with the sensible organs through the medium
of the brain, is the direct effect of a movement that
commences with those objects. It is on the contractility
inherent in the moving fibres, excited by their own ex¬
tension, by the application of various stimuli, and often
by the immediate influence of the animal or nervous
powers, that all the physical actions of a living being
depend. He regards this contractile force as distinct
from all those which are possessed by the simple solid,
and the inorganic elastic parts of the body.
Of the theory of Brown, we have given a sufficient
detail under his life, and need not repeat it here.
Darwin. ^ no<- easy to g^ve a compendious view of the sy¬
stem of Dr Darwin, that shall be intelligible to those
who have not examined his celebrated work, the Zoo-
nomia j but we shall endeavour to give as brief and per¬
spicuous an account of it as possible. It is necessary first
to notice the descriptions given of the terms to be em¬
ployed, which are as follows.
The immediate organs of sense are, by Dr Darwin,
asserted to consist, like the muscles, of moving fibres.
The contractions of the muscles and of the organs of
sense, are comprehended under what are called Jibj’ous
motions, in centradistinction to the sensorial motions, or
the changes which occasionally take place in the senso¬
rium. By this latter term is understood, not only the
medulla of the brain and nerves, but also at the same
time that living principle or spirit of animation, which
resides throughout the body, and which we perceive
only in its effects. An idea is defined to be a motion
of the fibres of some immediate organ of sense ; and
hence is frequently termed also a sensual tnotion. Per¬
ception comprehends both the fibrous motion or idea,
and the attention to it. When the pain or pleasure aris¬
ing from this motion and this attention produces other
fibrous motion, it is termed sensation ; thus limiting this
term to an active sense. Ideas, not immediately excited
by external objects, but which recur without them, are
termed either, I. Ideas of recollection, as when we will
to repeat the alphabet backwards j or 2. Ideas of sugges¬
tion, as when we repeat it forwards, A suggesting B,
B suggesting C, &c. from habit.
After mentioning a number of experiments to prove
the fibrous motions of the organs of sense, Dr Darwin
proceeds to lay down the following laws of animal cau¬
sation.
1. The fibres which constitute the muscles, and or¬
gans ot sense, possess a power of contraction. The cir¬
cumstances attending the exertion of this power of eon-
traction constitute the laws of animal motion, as the cir¬
cumstances attending the exertion of the power of at¬
traction constitute the laws of inanimate matter.
2. The spirit of animation is the immediate cause of
the contraction of animal fibres. It resides in the brain
and nerves, and is liable to general or/lartfa/diminu¬
tion or accumulation.
3. The stimulus of bodies external to the moving or¬
gan is the remote cause ol the original contractions of
animal fibres.
4* A certain quantity of stimulus produces irritation,
which is an exertion of the spirit of animation exciting
the fibres to contraction.
5. A certain quantity of contraction of animal fibres,
if it be perceived at all, produces pleasure $ a greater
or less quantity of contraction, if it be perceived^at all,
produces pain. These constitute sensation.
6. A certain quantity of sensation produces desire or
aversion. These constitute volition.
7. All animal motions which have occurred at the
same time or in immediate succession, become so con¬
nected, that when one of them is reproduced, others have
a tendency to accompany or succeed it. When fibrous
contractions succeed or accompany other fibrous contrac¬
tions, the connection is termed association ; when fibrous
contractions succeed sensorial motions, the connection is
termed causation; when fibrous and sensorial motions re¬
ciprocally introduce each other, it is termed catenation
of animal motions. All these connections are said to bo
produced by habit ; that is, by frequent repetition.
These laws of animal causation are, according to our
author, evinced by numerous facts, which occur in our
daily exertions, and are employed by him to explain the
diseases and decay of the animal system.
The four sensorial powers, upon which all the actions
or motions depend, are thus characterized :
Irritation is an exertion or change of some extreme
part of the sensorium, presiding in the muscles or organs
of sense, in consequence of the appulses of external
bodies. /
Sensation, is an exertion or change of the central parts
of the sensorium, or the whole of it, beginning in some
of those extreme parts of it which reside in the muscles
or organs of sense.
Volition is an exertion or change of the central parts
of the sensorium, or of the whole of it, terminating in
some of those extreme parts of it which reside in the
muscles or organs of sense.
Association is an exertion or change of some extreme
part of the sensorium, residing in the muscles or organs
of sense, in consequence of some antecedent or attendant
fibrous contractions.
To these four faculties correspond so many classes of
fibrous contractions, named im itative, sensitive, volunta¬
ry, and associate. But all muscular motions, and all
ideas, are originally irritative, and become causable by
sensation and volition from habit, i. e. because pleasure
or pain, or desire or aversion, have accompanied them $
3 M 2 those
460
History-
P H Y S I
those iileas or muscular motions which have been fre-
' quently excited together, ever afterwards liave a ten¬
dency to accompany each other.
Of tliese motions the associate seem most to have ex-
citc-d Dr Darwin’s attention. He divides them into
three kinds) irritative associations, as when any part
of the extracted heart of a frog is irritated by punc¬
ture, the whole heart contracts regularly : sensitive as¬
sociations, or the trains or tribes of motions established
by pain or pleasure 5 and the voluntary associations, or
those produced by volition.
The activity of this power of volition is supposed to
form the great difference between man and the brute
creation j the means of producing pleasure and avoid¬
ing pain given to man by this power being denied to
brutes.
Corresponding to these four classes of motions, there
are four classes of ideas ; irritative, preceded by irri¬
tation 5 sensitive, preceded by the sensation of pleasure
or pain 9 voluntary, preceded by voluntary exertion }
and associate, preceded by other ideas or muscular mo¬
tions.
It has been observed in Hudibras, that
A rhetorician’s rules
Serve nothing but to name his tools.”
So we find that a considerable part of Darwin’s works
is taken up in establishing the new meaning which he
attaches to terms well understood and long adopted.
We cannot enter more fully at present into the opi¬
nions of the Zoonomia, but we shall have occasion to
notice some of them in the succeeding part of this ar¬
ticle.
Bichat’s system, which has made so much noise on the
anu continent, is chiefly founded on the division of life into
rangement twQ kinds, organic and animal; the former of which is
of Bichat. common al| organized beings, while the latter, as its
name imports, is peculiar to animals. Each of these
two kinds of life may be considered as composed of two
orders of functions, which succeed each other in an
inverse order. The first of these series in animal life
commences with external objects, and proceeds towards
the brain 5 the second begins in the brain, and is thence
40
Opini°ns
and ar-
O L O G Y.
propagated to the organs of motion and voice. In the Histon.
first order of functions, the animal is passive j in the 1 2 3 
second he is active. External objects act on the body
through the medium of the first; by the second, the body
reacts on the external objects.
Two kinds of motion take place in organic life. In
the first the formation of the body is constantly going
on ; in the second there is a constant decomposition:
hence the elements of the body are continually chang¬
ing, while the organization continues the same. Orga¬
nic life is accommodated to the continual circulation of
matter. The one order of functions assimilates to the
nature of the animal, the nutritious particles received
into the system ; the other rejects what is useless, or is
so much altered as to become noxious. The assimilat¬
ing order of functions consists of digestion, circulation,
respiration, and nutrition •, all of which processes the
matter received into the body must undergo, before it
can become a part of the animal substance. When it
has for some time constituted a part of the body, it is
taken up by absorption, conveyed into the circulation,
and thrown out thence, by cutaneous or pulmonary ex¬
halation, or by some other emunctories. Hence, the
second order of organic functions, or disassimilating
functions, consist of absorption, circulation, exhalation,
secretion, and excretion. T-he brain is the centre of
animal life ; the heart of organic life.
Bichat considers the proper balance of life to be pre¬
served by the proportion which exists between the ac¬
tion of surrounding bodies, and the reaction of the sy¬
stem. This reaction is greatest in youth, hence the
principle of life is at that time in excess. It is least in
old age, and then the vital principle is defective. The
measure of life is therefore the difference which exists
between the efforts of external powers to overturn life,
and the internal resistance to support it. The excess
of the dormer shows the weakness of life j that of the
latter indicates its strength.
The following table exhibits Bichat’s distribution of
the organs, or, as he calls them, appareils, belonging
to animal and organic life, and to generation, which is
common to both.
V<
o
o
I. Organs of Animal Life.
r . ? • 1 j- V The bones and their dependances.
1. Locomotive, including ^ muScles and their dependances.
2. Vocal, including the larynx and its dependances.
f 1. The eye.
_ , • -> I 2. The ear.
3. External sensi- 7 inplu(]ing J 3. The nostrils.
five, j | ^ 'ptjg tongUe.
^ 5. The skin and its dependances.
4. Internal sensi- 1 ■ 1 i* . V n The brain
live, I inclad,n8 D The spinal
j Indmlinp
and its membranes,
marrow and its membranes.
5. Conducting sen
sation and mo- > including
tion, J
The cerebral nerves.
The nerves of the ganglia.
IT. Organs.
History.
is
«!
O
Bl
o
I. Digestive. }► including <{ ^
2. Respiratory,
^ including
J l
3. Circulatory. > including
4. Absorbent,
5. Secretory,
Male.
Female.
7 P
> including <
J L4-
including
1
>■ including < ^
PHYSIOLOGY
II. Organs of Organic Life.
The mouth.
The pharynx and oesophagus.
The stomach.
The small intestines.
The large intestines.
The peritonaeum and epiploon.
The trachea.
The lungs and their membranes.
The heart and its membranes.
The arteries.
The veins of the general system.
The veins of the abdominal system.
The absorbent glands.
The absorbent vessels.
The lachrymal ducts.
The salivary and pancreatic ducts.
The biliary and splenic ducts.
The urinary passages.
III. Organs of Generation.
Produced by this • 1 C 1. The membranes and placenta.
union. ° 2. The foetus.
Recapku- ^ave novv taIien suc^ a y'ie'w °f tlie progressive
lation. state °f physiological science, as we deemed consistent
with the nature and extent of this article. It has taught
us that the prevailing spirit of every age has had a mark¬
ed influence on the productions both of art and science
that have appeared during that period ; and that physio¬
logy has always been impressed with the character of the
science that was most prevalent at any particular period.
While the doctrines of Aristotle prevailed in the schools,
physiology never extended beyond the bounds that had
been set to it by Galen j and the belief in occult quali¬
ties universally prevailed. When a taste for metaphysi¬
cal speculations began to gain ground, this science was
given over to the most abstract subtilities and absurd fic¬
tions. When Des Cartes had reformed the principles of
the ancient philosophy, the study of the animal economy,
like all the other branches of physics, was fettered by
the trammels of the Cartesian doctrines. After the ge¬
nius of philosophers was directed to chemistry, physiolo¬
gy also took a chemical turn, which it quitted only to
take a new direction pointed out to it by the taste for
mathematics and mechanical philosophy, which prevail¬
ed among all the literary at the end of the 17th and be¬
ginning of the 18th century ; and now that the study of
chemistry is become so general, we see that physiologists
are for reducing the functions of the animal economy to
the analytical and synthetical operations of the labora¬
tory, and converting the living body into a furnace where
a constant combustion is going on while life remains.
We are now to enter on the phenomena of life, and
the functions of organized beings ; and here we must
premise, that in our illustration of these phenomena and
functions we shad occasionally refer to every class of
living creatures j it being our object rather to give a
comparative view of physiology in general, than to con¬
fine our remarks to the human economy in particular.
Indeed much of the physiology of man has already been
given under Anatomy and Medicine *, and of that of
the interior animals, we have treated of the physiology
of the order Cete under Cetology ; of that of Reptiles
under Erpetology j of that of EA/zes under Ichthy¬
ology 5 ot that of Serpents under Ophiology.
Chap. I Of the General Phenomena of Life.
When we take a general view of the objects of na-General
tore, we see that they differ from each other in many idea of life,
important particulars, and we soon find that they may
be conveniently divided into two great classes; one
capable of growth, nourishment, and reproduction ; the
other not susceptible of these changes. We perceive
that all those substances which are found in the bowels
of the earth, and many of those which appear upon its
surface, continue lor an indefinite time in the same cir¬
cumstances, until they are acted on by each other, when
they undergo certain changes which entirely alter their
nature and former properties.
Sulphur, in its natural state, Isa solid substance inso¬
luble in water, and possessing Uttle activity when ap¬
plied to the human skin ; but if it be subjected to the
action of beat, in contact with atmospheric air, or any
other gas containing oxygen,, it becomes a fluid, very
miscible with water, and of a most corrosive quality,
namely sulphuric acid. The hydrogenous gas found in
the upper part of mines, would remain for ever uncom¬
bined with the oxygenous gas which forms part of the
atmosphere in which it floats, were it not subjected to
the action of caloric, or electricity in a very concentrat-
eti:
462
General
Phenomena
of Life
S2
Distinction
between
organized
and inor-
aranic mat¬
ter.
PHYSIO
eil state ; but as soon as either of these agents comes in
contact with the mechanical mixture of gases, a com¬
bination takes place, attended with a tremendous ex¬
plosion, and the hydrogenous gas disappears. _
We find that all the bodies to which we give the
name of minerals, possess no power in themselves which
can enable them to resist the operation ol external a-
gents j each individual of them is composed of a small
number of principles, and their texture appears to he
made up of independent particles. Every other body
in nature, comprehending the almost infinite variety 01
plants and animals, though under certain circumstances
subject to the same changes which take place among
minerals, have, when these circumstances do not exist,
an innate property by which they are enabled to resist
the production of these changes. Ihey do indeed
undergo certain alterations, hut by these their original
habit and essential properties are not changed, h rom
the time that a plant springs from the seed, till it ceases
to vegetate, it is perpetually receiving an accession ot
new matter, and giving out a part of its former compo¬
sition : but the new matter is assimilated to it, and be¬
comes a part of the plant', the identity of the plant is
preserved, though its component parts are perpetually
changing. The same in a still higher degree takes place
in animals. The individuals ot this latter class, compre¬
hending plants and animals, possess peculiar structure,
very different from that of the former. Their texture
is fibrous, and the fibres arranged and interwoven so as
to form parts called organs, by means of which they
carry on certain operations or functions necessary tor
their preservation, or for the reproduction of the species.
Hence these have been called organized bodies, while
the others have been denominated brute or inorganic
matter. See Natural History, N° 7.
The component principles of organized beings are
much more numerous in each individual than those ot
inorganic matter, though their absolute number in the
former class is smaller than in the latter. .In order to
present, under a compendious point of view, the di¬
stinguishing characteristics of these two classes ot beings,
we shall give the following table.
L O G Y.
<u-, &
0 u
<u rt
3 O
2d‘c
^ fcO
H rt
_ w
QJ O
s a
’ Mobility,
Repose,
Aggregation,
Cohesion,
S S * Gravitation,
0 ‘ Condensation,
Dilatation,
Combination,
Dissolution.
' Impression,
Sensation,
Perception,
Affection,
Sympathy,
Action,
Locomotion,
Digestion,
Circulation,
Respiration,
Assimilation,
Accretion,
Reproduction.
Inertia,
Impulsion,
Attraction,
Affinity.
at
to o
S’5
*3 33
4> <U £>
O CD
rj W
S -O «
■"2 —
P- s- rt
O. rf
£ E
£ 'a
' Extension,
Gravity,
Hardness,
Elasticity,
Fluidity, 1
> Impenetrability, j .2
Divisibility, 1 “
Expansibility,
Permeability,
Figurahility.
o .5
CD 7}
^ IS
Chap. I,
General
PlieiK'mutS
o! Life.
.2 a
w, 0
Regularity,
Individuality,
Spontaneity,
u - Sensibility,
* 7S Contractility,
Irritability,
Expansibility,
Corruptibility.
^ o
tG
Qj
"■a
1 c ~
s
& a
2 E
.3 I
Crystals,
Salts,
Metals,
Stones,
Fossils.
Man,
Mammalia,
Birds,
Reptiles,
Serpents,
FUhes,
Moiiusca,
Crustacea,
Insects,
Worms,
Zoophytes,
^ Plants.
53
Sensitive,
Motive,
Assimilative, and
Vital resistance.
The differences that are found to prevail between Effects of
organized beirtgs and inorganic matter, have always
been attributed to something of a superior nature, cal led
vitality or life. This term life forms one oi those sim¬
ple ideas which it is difficult to define, and as all un¬
derstand the meaning ot the expression, a definition is
the less necessary *, but if it be required, it cannot be ex¬
pressed more accurately than in the language of Bichat,
Who calls life the sum of those functions which resist
death. In short, life is best described by the effects pro¬
duced on a body while it resides in it, contrasted with
those appearances which take place in the same body
when life is no longer present. ^ ,5^
One of the most general effects of the presence of life
is, as we have said, the resistance which iving >ein§^change*
are by it enabled to oppose to the operation of external
agents-, and this is most remarkably seen with respect to
temperature. Every living being possesses, m a greater
or less degree, the power of preserving nearly an uni¬
form temperature, which is always a few degrees great¬
er than that of the medium in which it lives. In
plants, this power seems to exist but in a low degree.
Some of the lower animals which inhabit the air, parti¬
cularly insects, possess it much more completely, the
great heat generated in a hive of bees xs a familiar il¬
lustration of this. In birds this property is very re¬
markable, the heat of their bodies being greater than
that of any other species of animals. The heat of fishes,
worms, and of most reptiles, very little exceeds the
temperature of the medium in which they reside ; but
when the water in which fishes five is frozen, they are
capable of resisting, for a long time, the consequences
of the diminished temperature. The power which ma¬
ny animals possess of resisting high degrees of heat with¬
out any considerable increase of their own temperature,
seems still more remarkable, and probably led to the
fable of the salamander, which was supposed able to en¬
dure the heat of fire, and even extinguish it, when
thrown in for that purpose. r • • 55
Life seems to pervade almost every part of a Imng Degrees
being. In animals, every part, except the cuticle, hair,vit y.
and nails, exhibitsmarks of vitality j but it seems to be d»s-
i Chap. L PHYSIOL O G *
General tributed through those parts in a different manner in
5*
Functions
of living
beings,
57
Motion.
phenomena the various tribes of organized beings. In plants, and
of Life, if, a few 0f the inferior animals, as the zoophyta, it
seems to exist independently in almost every part. A
hud, slip, or sucker, torn from the parent plant, and
inserted within the bark of another plant, or placed
within the earth, in favourable circumstances, vegetates,
increases, and in due time becomes a perfect plant, in
all respects similar to the parent stock. If a polypus be
cut in pieces, each piece lives and grows, till it be¬
comes itself a complete polypus. If a worm be cut in
two, so as to leave one part with the head, and the other
with the tail, each part becomes a perfect worm, pos¬
sessing both head and tail. As we ascend, however, in
the scale of beings, we find life less equally and inde¬
pendently diffused. A part cut or torn from the body
of most animals quickly loses its vitality j but this is lost
sooner in some animals than in others. The head of a
turtle or a snake is able to bite many hours or even
days, after it is severed from the body ; and in the for¬
mer instance, the animal seems for a long time to ex¬
perience little inconvenience from its loss. The-heart
of a frog is seen to move many hours after it is cut out.
The principal effects of the presence of life appear in
the exercise of those functions or actions by which living
beings preserve their existence, or reproduce their like.
One of the most general properties of organized be¬
ings is that susceptibility to motion, which is called ir¬
ritability, which appears essential to life, and is posses¬
sed, in a greater or less degree, by every class of orga¬
nized beings. The motions of plants are sometimes
very remarkable, and approach very nearly to those
which take place in animals. The stamina of the
cistus helianthemum are seen to move in various direc¬
tions when the sun shines on them; the leaves of the
mimosapudica (sensitive plant), when touched by the
hand, or when irritated by the alighting of an insect
on them, immediately contract*, the dioncca muscipula
(Venus’s fly-trap), when a fly touches its leaves, closes
the thorny fringes with which they are beset, on the pre¬
sumptuous insect, and crushes it to death } but the mo¬
tions of the hedysarum gifrans are the most remark¬
able of all those that take place in plants. The leaves
of this extraordinary vegetable are seen in constant mo¬
tion through the greatest part of the day, without the
intervention of any apparent external impulse; and even
when a branch is cut off and kept in water, the motion
of the leaves continues for many hours together. All
the plants which grow above the earth, expose their
leaves and flowers to the warm sunshine, and when situ¬
ated in a place which is supplied by light only from
one quarter, they gradually direct their branches to¬
wards that part by which the light enters. In stormy
weather they retract their leaves, and fold up their
flowers, and when confined in the dark, their branches
retain the position which they had when last exposed to
the light.
The motions of many of the lower animals, though
sufficiently apparent, are more obscure than those of
plants. A muscle or an oyster seems to possess little
more motion than is necessary to open and close the
valves of its shell, and, no more than plants, has the fa¬
culty of conveying itself from place to place. This fa¬
culty of locomotion, which in all the higher classes of
• • . ' 4^3
animals is dependent on the will, will be fully consider- General
ed in the second chapter. Phenomena
The function which appears to be most universally ot
diffused in living beings, is digestion, (including nutri-
Uon) or that by which the substances intended for their Di„Csti0n.
nourishment are assimilated to the nature of the body &
which they enter. This function varies considerably in
the different classes. Plants merely attract water from
the earth in which they grow, by means of the fibrous
parts of their roots, whence it is conveyed by innumera¬
ble capillary vessels throughout the whole plant, in which
it appears partly to be decomposed, and partly to remain
in the state of water, diluting some of the vegetable
principles, and thus forming the juices of the plant. In
some of the inferior animals, digestion seems to be al¬
most the only function which they are capable of per¬
forming. Thus, many of the zoophytes, as the polypi,
appear to be almost entirely composed of a stomach, re¬
sembling the finger of a glove, into which the aliment
is received, the nutritive part extracted, and the excre-
mentitious part thrown out by the same opening. In
most other animals, the alimentary canal has two distinct
openings, one for the reception of the food, and the
other for the ejection of the excrement.
By some animals the food is swallowed entire, and
digestion is performed by a simple solution or trituration
in the stomach; while in others the mouth is furnished
with teeth, or other hard parts, capable of reducing the
aliment to a pulpy state, in order to render its further
digestion more easy and expeditious. In most animals,
the food having undergone some change in the digestive
organs, is taken up from them by certain very minute
vessels, and carried to every part of the body j but in
some it appears rather to exude through pores in the
sides of the alimentary canal.
The function of circulation, by which the fluids are circulation,
constantly moved through every part of the body, is not
so general as either of the former functions. In plants
there is no proper circulation ; for although there are
numerous vessels by which water enters into the sub¬
stance of the plant, and in which the peculiar juices of
the vegetable move, the motions of these fluids are not
uniform, and do not tend towards one centre. The
same defective circulation appears in many of the infe¬
rior animals, as in zoophytes and insects. As we rise,
however, to the higher classes, we find a perfect circu¬
lation. In these there is always a peculiar organ from
which the fluids are conveyed to the rest of the body,
and to which they again return in a perpetual round.
In some animals this central organ is single, while in
others it consists of two similar organs joined together,
from one of which the whole of the fluids proceed
through one particular organ in a lesser circulation, and
thence return to the other part, before they are distri¬
buted to the general system.
All organized beings require more or less the presence Respira-
of atmospheric air for their subsistence, or at least for bon.
the due performance of the vital functions. In some,
the agency of this fluid is conveyed merely by pores up¬
on the surface; as in plants, in which the leaves absorb
the air; and in several of the inferior animals, as insects
and worms, over the surface of whose bodies are distri¬
buted numerous openings, by which the air enters. In
animals of the higher orders there are peculiar organs
called
464
General
Phenomena
of Life.
P H Y S I
called lungs or gills, throiigli winch air, or water con¬
taining air, enters, and from which its beneficial influ¬
ence is imparted to the fluids which aie circulating
through them. In general, these beings exist for a very
short time, when deprived of atmospheric air, or when
the element in which they live is deprived of oxygen •,
but in some of the lower classes of animals the absence
of oxygen is much less injurious ; and there are instances
of reptiles in particular having been preserved in a state
susceptible of life and motion, while buried tor many
years in the heart of a tree, or in the middle ot a block
of stone. Respiration, then, though in general neces¬
sary to the continuance of vitality, may, in many tribes
of organized beings, be suspended for a considerable
61
'Reproduc¬
tion.
time, without the principle of life being entirely de¬
stroyed. . .
A function equally general, and equally indispensible
with that of digestion, and one which forms another
characteristic of living beings, is the function of regene¬
ration, a function more peculiarly necessary, as all orga¬
nized beings, though capaple of resisting for a consider¬
able time the opt ration of external agents, tend ulti¬
mately to corruption and decay j and as they cannot,
like inorganic matter, be regenerated by a reunion ot
O L O G Y. Chap. I,
with the bivalve shell-fish. Others again, as snails, and General
most of the mollusca, which crawl upon the earth, copu- Phenomena
late reciprocally, or each individual performs the dou- , 0 ' e' ,
ble office of male and female. In most animals, how¬
ever, the sexes are distinct, and probably a real herma¬
phrodite in the superior classes never existed. Another
striking difference with respect to generation in animals
is the more or less perlect state in which they bung
forth their young. A large proportion of. animals,
among which are the insect tribe, fishes and buds, pro¬
duce eggs, which are afterwards hatched by the heat
of the parent, or by that of the sun. Other classes
again, as some of the amphibia, and the whole of the
mammalia, carry their young for a certain time within
an organ destined for that purpose, from which they are
excluded in the state of perfect animals. _
The last function which we shall here notice, is sen- Sensation
sation. This appears to be less general than any which
we have hitherto mentioned. It has indeed been sup¬
posed by many philosophers and naturalists, that plants
possess a degree of sensibility } and this opinion has been
lately avowed and strenuously supported by the elegant
but enthusiastic author of the Botanic Garden, and the
Loves of the Plants. That plants possess a suceptihility
their component principles, it was necessary that they
should possess the capacity of producing, while in exis¬
tence, a creature similar to themselves, to supply their
place in the scale ot being.
It has been a very general opinion among naturalists,
that all living beings, both plants and animals, originate
from seeds or eggs produced by the parent. 1 his, al¬
though very generally true, is not a universal fact.
Most plants, indeed, with which we are acquainted, ap¬
pear capable, in their natural state, of producing seeds,
which form the embryo of a future plant. But in a
rrreat many of them new plants are obtained from buds,
slips, or suckers, furnished by the parent. In some ani¬
mals too, as the polypi, reproduction may be effected
by dividing the parent into several pieces and even the
natural generation of these animals is performed by
protuberances which grow from the body of the parent,
and seem to drop off spontaneously, when capable of an
independent existence.
There are two striking differences in the manner
by w'hich living beings are generated. In some, two
distinct sets of organs are necessary, and by the mutual
action of these generation is effected; while in others,
as in the instances we have mentioned of the polypus,
this act of copulation appears to be unnecessary. Almost
all plants possess distinct sexnal organs, and in most both
male and female organs are situated in the same indivi¬
dual. In these plants the female ovum is impregnated
by a very fine powder, which is contained in part of
the male organs, and is applied to those of the female.
■We are fully convinced of the necessity of the vegetable
copulation, by observing that the females of those plants
which have the sexual organs situated in distinct indivi¬
duals are not capable of producing fruit, or a least do
of receiving impressions, and in consequence ot that ot
being roused into action by external stimuli, we shall
readily admit, and shall hereafter assign to this suscep¬
tibility its due importance 5 but as there is no reason to
believe that it ever produces sensation, we must not con¬
found it with the sensibility of animals j nor is the diffi¬
culty of explaining some of the functions of vegetables,
without resorting to the hypothesis of a vegetable senso-
rium, a sufficient reason for investing them with this fa¬
culty. It has even been doubted whether some of the
inferior animals, as the zoophytes, possess this function,
as nervous fibres have not yet been detected in their or¬
ganization. It is probable, that there is a regular gra¬
dation in the tribes of organized beings with respect to
sensation, as well as the other functions j and though we
have not been able to discover all the links ol this
chain, these will probably, as our knowledge of nature
increases, come more into view, and we shall then be
able to reconcile many circumstances which we cannot
at present comprehend.
With respect to the varieties that take place in the
number and degree of the external senses, as possessed
by the various classes of animals, we may refer the
reader to what has been said on that subject in the
first chapter of the comparative part of the article Ana-
TOMY. . T G
The duration of life is exceedingly various. W e Duration
know that there are animals which live but a lew hours, lhc>
as the insects called ephemera: ; and that others, as the
elephant, the raven, and the pike, may <Xist for a cen¬
tury. The term of life allotted to plants is also vari¬
ous 5 some five only for a year, and are hence called an¬
nual plants ; others exist for two years, and are called
biennial plants j while a few surpass in longevity any
notprodocetiiiRTiTperfection, if they are excluded from thing with which we are acquainted m »»-
the influence of the male; and that an artificial im- ture. Thua, the on* » ^
pregnatioi may be brought about by bringing the male order to acquire its full ma ui i y , I . . ^
and female organa in contact. Many animals are her- vigour for the like term and to complete at leaat a third
maphrodite ; and among these the individuals of some century before it entire y i cajs " rei ,
species generate without the assistance of another indi- more remarkable instance o vege a re " .
S of the same species. This appears to be the case account of the gigantic chesnut on Mount ./Etna, giten
5
Chap. I.
Genora! by Brydone and other travellers, which has existed for
phenomena many centuries, must be familiar to most of our readers.
ot k'k* , We have hitherto considered life as displayed in the ex-
ercise of functions ; but it may exist independently of
this exercise, or it may lie dormant for a considerable
time, till called into action by particular circumstances.
Every one knows how long a seed or an egg, when ex¬
cluded from heat, air, and moisture, will retain the fa¬
culty of producing a plant or an animal. The only
proof we have, that this faculty still exists, is, that when
we place the seed or the egg in circumstances favour¬
able to the developement of the embryo which it con¬
tains, the process of generation goes on, till the plant or
the animal is excluded. We know also, that after an
organized being has commenced the exercise of its func¬
tions, this exercise may cease for a time, or at least be¬
come almost imperceptible, while yet the vital power
shall remain susceptible of reviving its activity at a fu-
tnre period. We then say that the animal or vegetable
is in a torpid state. On this part of the history of life
we shall not enter at present, but shall defer the consi¬
deration of it till we come to treat of sleep and death.
The above is a hasty comparative sketch of the func¬
tions, exercised by the various tribes of organized beings.
It is sufficient to show, that there is in these beings a
vital power which completely distinguishes them from
^ brute or inorganic matter.
tause of A question which naturally arises in every thinking
life. mind is, What is the essence of life, or on what does it
depend P Though we profess ourselves unable to answer
this question in a satisfactory manner, and believe that
all who have hitherto attempted to do so, have failed in
their attempts, it may be acceptable to most of our
readers to know the opinions of the most respectable
writers on this abstruse subject. These, therefore, we
65 shall briefly state.
Opinions These opinions have chiefly rested on the question,
thevital15 w^,et*ier be an independent, immaterial principle, or
principle. mere,y a physical or chemical modification of matter.
We have already, in the historical view which we have
given of the progress of physiology, mentioned some of
the more remarkable doctrines respecting the principle
of life that have been delivered prior to the 18th cen¬
tury j we shall here, therefore, only mention those which
TolyVH ^aVe kCen n^int^ineef since that time.
ter,0 Un J°hn Hunter, in his valuable treatise on the blood,
supposes the principle of vitality to exist in that fluid, or
that the blood has life j and has founded this doctrine
chiefly on the following proofs. First, It unites living
parts, when it is effused between them. Secondly, It
becomes vascular like other living parts $ its tempera¬
ture as it flows from the vessel, is always equal in the
most opposite temperature in which the body can bear
exposure. Thirdly, It is capable of being acted»upon
by a stimulus, as is the case when it coagulates. Fourth,
Paralytic limbs, though deprived of motion and sensa¬
tion, are yet nourished and preserved alive by the blood
circulating through them.
Hunter’s idea of the vitality of the blood is merely
the revival of one of the oldest physiological doctrines
on record 5 namely, that delivered to the Israelites by
. ^7 Moses, that in the blood is the life of an animal.
Godwin. Hr Goodwin, in his work on the connection of life
with respiration, is of opinion, that the heart is the great
seat of the principle of life in all the more perfect ani-
Vol. XVI. Part II. t
, . 46-5
malsj and that the contractions of the heart with the General
ordinary stimulus is the only mark ot the presence of this Phenom-11 a
principle j that when the heart contracts under such of tdfe.
circumstances, the body is alive ; when not, it is dead. ' '
Life he therefore defines to be the faculty of propelling
the fluids through the circulatory system. According
to him, the external concomitant circumstances which
operate upon the body in health are heat and respiration,
which excite the vital principle to action; and when¬
ever the functions of an animal are suddenly suspended,
and the body puts on the appearance of death, it is al¬
ways in our power to determine whether it be really
dead, by restoring the temperature, and by inflating the
lungs with proper air. He is of opinion, with some
othei's, that there are no means of determining the ab¬
solute deprivation of the vital principle but by the pre¬
sence of putrefaction.
It has lately become fashionable to consider life as the
consequence of certain chemical changes, which are go¬
ing on in the body j an opinion which is chiefly sup¬
ported by Hufeland, Girtanner, and Humboldt. 6&
According to Hufeland, life is a chemico-animal Hiifeland,
flame, to the production of which oxygen is absolutely
necessary, and the vital power is the most general anil
powerf ul of all the powers of nature. He considers it as
the cause of organization, and as possessing the follow¬
ing properties.
1. It has a greater affinity to some organized bodies
than to others $ thus, the polypus may be cut in pieces
without being divested of it, and a decapitated tortoise
or a frog deprived of its heart will live a long time af¬
ter j whilst to the human body, or a quadruped, it
would be instant death. According to this physiologist,
it is a general rule, that the stronger the affinity be¬
tween life and an organized being, the more imperfect
is the animal j hence the zoophytes, whose whole orga¬
nization consists in a mouth, a stomach, and a gut, have
a life exceedingly tenacious, and difficult to be destroy¬
ed. 2. It is in greater quantity in some organized bo¬
dies than in others. In general, cold-blooded animals
live longer than those with warm blood. 3. It frees
bodies from the chemical laws of inanimate matter, and
transfers the component parts of a body from the physi¬
cal or chemical to the organic or living world. 4. It
prevents putrefaction, for no organized body can putre¬
fy unless deprived of life. 6
Humboldt is of opinion, that the degree of vitality Humboldt,
depends upon the reciprocal balance of the chemical af¬
finities of all the elementary parts of which the animal
body is composed.
Some physiologists of the present day deny the exist- Cuvier,
ence of the vital principle altogether, “ The idea of
life (says Cuvier), is one of those general and obscure
ideas produced in us by observing a certain series of phe¬
nomena, possessing mutual relations, and succeeding
each other in a constant order. We know not indeed
the nature of the link that unites these phenomena, but
we are sensible that a connection must exist; and this
conviction is sufficient to induce us to give it a name,
which the vulgar are apt to regard as the sign of a par¬
ticular principle, though in fact that name can only in¬
dicate the totality of the phenomena which have occa¬
sioned its formation.” ^
Dr Ferriar, in his observations concerning the vital Ferriar.
principle, thinks, that some direct arguments may be
3 N brought.
PHYSIOLOGY.
466 PHYSI
General brought against the general supposition of an inclepend-
Plunomenaent living principle. These arguments he divides into
of Life. tw0 v;z. refutations of the general proofs olleied
' in support of the vital principle ; and instances ol the
direct influence of the mind and brain over tvhat is
termed the independent living principle. I he great
proofs for the support of a vital principle, are the con¬
traction of muscles separated from the body on the ap¬
plication of stimulants ; the performance of the vital
and involuntary motions without any exertion or even
consciousness of the mind, and the birth of full grown
foetuses destitute of a brain. In all these eases, some¬
thing is alleged to operate, independently ol the mind,
in producing muscular motion.
Dr Ferriar, in answer to the first argument drawn
from the contraction of separated muscles, affirms, it
may be said, ist, That the power of contraction, in a
separate muscle, is lost before putrefaction takes place,
i. e. before the destruction of its texture j but if its vi¬
tality depended on its texture, this ought not to happen.
2dlv, The power of contraction, in a separated muscle,
is strongest upon its first separation, and becomes weak¬
er by degrees •, therefore, the contracting power seems
to have been derived from some source from which it is
detached by the excision of the part. 3dly, Irritation
of the medulla oblongata, or of the nerves supplying par¬
ticular muscles, occasions stronger contractions than ir¬
ritation of the muscles themselves*, and Dr VMiytt nn-
nishes an experiment on a frog, directly proving, that the
action of separated muscles depends upon the nervous
energy. 4thly, Dr Haller himself is obliged to make on
this subject a concession sufficient to destroy his favou¬
rite hypothesis of the vis insita. 5thly, When a para-
' lytic limb is convulsed by the electric shock, the motion
never takes place without the patient’s consciousness.
In this case there is no distinction between the vital
principle, and that exertion which in voluntary motion
is always attributed to the mind. See Chap. in.
In answer to the second argument, in favour of a vi¬
tal principle, drawn from the performances of the vital
and other involuntary motions, Dr Ferriar contents
himself with only observing, that, allowing the organs
of those motions to be supplied with nervous energy,
their motions may be very well accounted for by the
stimulus of their contained fluids.
The force of the third argument, drawn from the
want of a brain in full-grown foetuses, is taken off by
Dr Whytt, who remaiks, that as the heart is sometimes
wanting in full-grown fetuses, the argument would
equally prove, that the heart is not necessary for the
continuance of circulation, as that the brain is not ne¬
cessary to the support ot the system. Accordingly,
fetuses born without a brain do not, in general, survive
Besides the general supposition of an independent liv¬
ing principle, an inference has been drawn from facts,
of a nervous energy independent of the brain. By this
term is meant, that condition derived from the brain to
different parts of the body, by means of which they be¬
come capable of motion. To show, by direct proof,
that there is no independent vital principle, Dr Ferriar
observes, I. That it is justly urged by Dr Monro against
the doctrine of the vis insita, that there is too much de-
ifen in the actions of different muscles, affected by dif-
O L O G Y. Chap. I,
ferent stimuli, to be the effect of mere mechanism. General
Thus, when the hand or foot is burnt, or otherwise sud-Phenomena
denly injured, the muscles on the part immediately sti- , ot ^lic- ^
mulated are not thrown into action, nor the muscles on " * J
the side irritated, hut their antagonists contract imme¬
diate! v and strongly. Now, if the instantaneous action
he in this case chiefly produced by an effort of the mind,
the supposition of a distinct vital principle is superfluous:
if it be said to be produced by a living power independ¬
ent of the mind, then there must be a rational power in
the body independent of the mind, which is absurd,
2. The state of the vital and involuntary motions is con¬
siderably affected by the state of the mind, which equal¬
ly disproves the existence of a separate vital principle,
and proves the dependence of the nervous energy upon
the brain. 3. Madness, it is well known, is frequently
produced by causes purely mental, and in persons appa¬
rently in good healthand, as the patient s sensibility
to very po\vTerlul stimuli is much diminished in maniacal
cases, they afford another proof of the subordination of
the nervous energy. 4. It has been observed, that in
paralytic cases, motion is frequently destroyed, while
sense remains. As the cause ol palsy almost always 1 c-
sides in the brain, this fact appears equally inexplicable
on the opinion of a distinct living principle, or of a ner¬
vous energy, independent of the brain. 3*^^ hen seiies
are regenerated, after being cut through, sensation and
voluntary motion are not always restored to the parts
beneath the division : the restoration was never made
in Dr Monro’s experiments. But, on the supposition
of a distinct nervous power, the nerve, after its re-
‘union ought to resume all its offices. 6. Dr Whytt as¬
serts, that when the spinal marrow of a frog is destroy¬
ed, after decollation, no contraction can be excited in-
the limbs, by cutting or tearing the muscles. Such
are the facts and arguments which Dr Ferriar brings
against the opinion of a distinct living principle *, and
he thinks, that their investigation appears to lead us
hack to the brain as the source of sensibility and irri¬
tability. . 72
In the life of Dr John Brown, we have given an ac-Itusli,
count of the doctrine, of life being a forced state. This
doctrine appears to have been first delivered by Dr Cul¬
len, though he afterwards retracted it. Of late Dr
Rush of Philadelphia, in his Lectures on Animal Life,
has advanced many arguments in favour of this doc¬
trine. He includes, in animal life, three properties as
applied to the human body, viz. motion, sensation, and
thought; and these, when united, compose perfect life.
It may exist without thought or sensation; hut neither
sensation nor thought can exist without motion.. He
affirms, that the lowest degree of life exists even in the
absence of motion. He first considers animal hie as it
appears in *he waking and sleeping state, in a healthy
adult and afterwards inquires into the modification 01
its causes in the fetal, infant, youthful and middle states
of life, in certain diseases, in different states of society,
and in different animals, and lays down the following
^ g Every part of the human body, the nails and hair
excepted, is endued with sensibility or excitability, or
Wt2 The whole body is so formed and connected, that
impressions made in the healthy state upon one part
Chap. I.
General excite motion, or sensation, or both, in every other part
Phenomena of the body,
of Life. Life is the effect of certain stimuli acting upon the
sensibility and excitability, which are extended in dif¬
ferent degrees to every external and internal part of the
body; and these stimuli are as necessary to its existence
as air is to flame.
He continues to observe, that the action of the brain,
the diastole and systole of the heart, the pulsation of the
arteries, the contraction of the muscles, the peristaltic
motion of the bowels, the absorbing power of the lym¬
phatics, secretion, excretion, hearing, seeing, smelling,
taste, and the sense of touch, even thought itself, are all
the effects of stimuli acting upon the organs of sense and
motion.
These have been divided into external and internal.
1. The external are light, sound, colours, air, heat,
exercise, and the pleasures of the senses.
2. The internal stimuli are food, drinks, chyle, blood,
tension of the glands which contain secreted liquors, and
the exercise of the faculties of the mind.
Life, therefore (according to the hypothesis of Hush),
even thought itself, is merely a quality residing in the
component parts of a material system, dependent upon a
peculiar organization, by which it is enabled to act, or
in some ways to move on being stimulated or excited.
Hence life can never be inherent in a simple uncom-
ponnded substance, nor in a particle of animal matter;
and if the stimulus be withheld from a living system be¬
yond a given time, all motion, sensation, and thought,
must necessarily be extinguished.
Fital prm- Instead ot one vital principle, some physiologists have
iplesuppo-supposed the existence of several in the same body; and
ed by some from the phenomena that take place in some organized
iWe beings, as the reunion or parts that had been separated,
the reproduction of others that have been lost, and the
separate existence of the divided parts of some worms
and zoophytes, it was formerly the opinion of a celebra¬
ted lecturer on anatomy, that the vital principle was
really divided. From more considerate and extensive
inquiry, however, he is now of opinion, that the irrita¬
bility on which these phenomena depend, is never the
direct or immediate operation of the vital principle,
but only the consequence of its operation ; and in no
case exclusively the consequence, but the consequence
likewise of other operations proceeding from a number
of different causes: and hence it is that a vital princi¬
ple may often exist where it cannot operate in a sensible
manner, from the want of auxiliaries; and hence it is,
likewise, that its effects may often be continued, at least
for a while after its departure.
With regard to the portions of plants and polypi that
continue to live in a separate state, assume the form of
their respective species, and propagate their kind, they
will be found, on a close examination, to have been ori¬
ginally complete systems ; many of tire plants and many
of the polypi that were usually considered as simple in¬
dividuals, not constituting one animated system, but ra¬
ther a congeries of animated systems,—a congeries, too,
Bard alter all is nothing more than a species of society,
* Mutcu- w!iere animated beings are associated together for mu-
r Mo. tual protection ; such as we see among men in a city;
^is, p. among bees in their cells, which, in point of form, are
)> similar to plants f.
PHYSIOLOGY.
Chap. II. Of Sensation.
467
or
Sensation.
73
As all living beings are so related to each other, and v 74
to the inanimate objects of nature, as to be capable
deriving benefit, or receiving injuries, from the one orlity toorga-
fiom the other ; it seems necessary that they should pos-nized be-
sess the faculty of perceiving the proximity of the be-111?3,
neficial or injurious object, that they may avail them¬
selves of the benefit which it holds out, or avoid the
danger which it threatens. Accordingly, we find that
all organized beings enjoy in some degree the capacity
of receiving impressions, which we think is proved by
the motions which take place in them when affected by
external agents. W hen a plant expands its flowers to
the sun, or turns, as it were, its back to the blast; when
it stretches out the fibres of its roots to imbibe the di
slant moisture, or directs its branches to the only chink
by which it can receive the light of day ; we think
these motions are the consequence of that capacity of
receiving impressions, or of being roused to action by
stimuli} we think that this may be conceded, without
having recourse to the influence of mind, or even the
medium of a nervous system; we do not believe that the
grass we crush beneath our feet is sensible of pain, nor
do we suppose with the poet, that
 “ E’en the poor beetle that we tread on
In mortal sufferance feels a pang as great
As when a giant dies.”——
but we are of opinion, that even in the lowest tribes Sensitivity,
there is a degree of that faculty, which in the higher
orders of animals we call sensibilitxj, and which we shall
here, after a lecturer on the animal economy in Lon¬
don, denominate sensitivity. This inferior degree of
the sensitive faculty we shall suppose to be possessed by-
plants, zoophytes, and animalcules, or those organized
beings in which we can perceive no marks of a nervous
system ; while we shall confine the term sensibility to all
other classes of animals.
These faculties we consider as qualities of living
bodies, while we regard sensation, like perception, as a
quality of mind. We leave it to the metaphysician to
mark the line of distinction between sensibility and sen¬
sation, and to show how the one arises from the other.
See Metaphysics, Part I. chap. 1.
The organs of sensation consist of the brain proper-N>» vous
ly so called, the cerebellum, the medulla oblongata, tlie*ystem*
spinal marrow, the nerves, and ganglia ; together form¬
ing what is called the nervous system. These parts in
the human body have been described under Anatomy.
For an account of these organs in the inferior animals,
we must refer to the lectures of Cuvier, vol. ii. or the
Comparative Anatomy of Blumenbach.
In respect of sensibility the animal is only passive;
but when sensation is produced, he becomes active, in
as much as the organs of the external senses are then
brought into action. It is by means of these senses
that the animal receives intelligence from without.
We shall therefore examine these before we mention
the phenomena of sensation in general.
1. Of Feeling. ^
The most general of all the senses, and the most wide-Feefing’
3 N 2 ly
468
PHYSIOLOGY*
Use
73
Of ly diffused over the body oi an animal is that of touch
Sensation or feeling. Animals that possess scarcely, any other
'• "v ' sense seem always to have that of touch. It is doubtless
by this that polypi, actinia, and other water animals,
perceive the approach of their prey, or are warned of
impending danger, from the agitation of the water that
is communicated to their bodies. Indeed so general is
this sense, that some physiologists think we may reduce
all others to it as a genus *, and suppose that smelling,
tasting, hearing, and seeing, are only species oi feeling.
This reference is not uncommon in ordinary speech,
as it is not unusual to talk oi feeling 0. smell.
By touch, taken in its ordinary limited sense, we per¬
ceive the more striking external qualities of bodies, as
figure, hardness, softness, roughness, smoothness, mois¬
ture, dimness, heat, cold; ot all which, except ngme,
we could scarcely form any idea by the other senses.
There is probably no sense that can so well supply the
place of others as that of touch ; and it is particularly
acute in those who have lost their sight or hearing.
See the article Blind, especially the Appendix.
The organs of touch are the skin and its productions,
or rather the nervous papillae (see Anatomy, N 76.)
that form so large a part of the true skin. As many
animals, however, have the body so enveloped in a sca¬
ly, shelly, or hairy covering, as to prevent the actual
contact of the body by external objects, there are other
organs that seem destined to fulfil this office. In man,
the points of the fingers and the lips are the most deli¬
cate feeling organs •, in many quadrupeds too, the lips
seem to possess an exquisite sensibility, and in some, as
the rhinoceros, the upper lip is lengthened out as it to
serve the purpose of a hand. The prolonged snouts ot
the tapir, the shrew, the mole, and the hog, seem to
answer the same purpose-, and the exquisite sensibility
and flexibility of the trunk of the elephant is well known
to fit that organ for almost all the purposes to which the
human hand can be applied. The tail, in some species
79
Organs.
Chap. II.
the resistance which the animal body gives to a too Of
great change of temperature, generally confines this Sensation,
change to the surface of the bodyj there must be some¬
thing more than a mechanical or a chemical action, or
the sense of feeling must depend chiefly on the vital
principle. > ... 81
As the sense of feeling, from its general diflusion, Universal;,
maybe considered as the most essential ot all the ty of feel-
senses •, its degrees of perfection have considerable in-iril>'
fluence on the nature of different animals.
Of all vertebral animals, man seems to possess this
sense in the most perfect degree •, but among the invcr-
tebral animals, the touch seems to improve as the
other senses degenerate ; and those animals which ap¬
pear to have no other sense, possess this in so exquisite,
a degree that they seem to feel even the light.
Dr Darwin thinks it probable, that the animal body
is furnished with a distinct set of nerves for the sensa¬
tion of heat and cold. We do not see the necessity of
this, as we think that this sensation is very natuially
reducible to that oi feeling. _ t f , ?2,.
To this head naturally belongs the consideration of Sensibility
what parts of the human body possess sensibility, am| ^ ^”1'
what are insensible. This discussion is curious, and
some time ago exercised the ingenuity of two very able
physiologists, Haller and Whytt j between whom it
gave rise to a long and warm dispute. We cannot pre¬
tend to enter into the merits of this controversy, for an
account of which we refer our readers to Dr Whytt 9
Physiological Essays, and to the Principes de Physio¬
logic of Dumas, tom. ii. part iii. sect. 1. chap. I.
" The general result seems to be, that many parts will
appear sensible or insensible, according to the nature of
the stimuli applied to them, and that many of those parts
which in their natural and healthy state appear insus¬
ceptible of pain, are when inflamed or otherwise altered
by diseases, highly sensible j and that the brain, which
is considered as the centre of all sensation, and the
3K mtiez! rtfe-’-.-r srsii - - - -
80
Nature of
touch.
pans of feeling, as we know that these are erected when
the animal is passing through a narrow hole. Several
species of fishes have cirri and tentaeula, which they
seem to use as fingers in ascertaining the approach of
their prey -, and in insects, the antenna and the palpi
are evidently organs of feeling, as are the arms, the
tufts, and tentacula of sea-stars, sea-urchins, actinia,
medusa, and many zoophytes. _
Most of the actions of external bodies on the surface
of the animal body, are merely mechanical, though the
sensations which they communicate may often be the
effects of a chemical change in some of the feeling or¬
gans, and this change can be produced only in conse¬
quence of the power of simple pressure, to form or de¬
stroy some of the combinations that take place in the
animal system. The sensations which appear most evi¬
dently to arise from a chemical change in the organs,
are those that give notice of a change ot temperature.
When a body that has a temperature below that of the
animal, comes in contact with the surface of this latter,
we know that it abstracts from that surface a part of its
caloric, as by the contact it gradually acquires the
temperature of the animal unless, indeed, it be so large
and so cold as altogether to destroy life. As, however,
See also
on this subject, Bichat “ Anatomic Generale,” tom. 1.
p. 161—167.
The principal morbid affections of this sense, are
pain, itching, and want of feeling ; for an account of
which see Medicine, N° 77. The functions of the
skin, independently of its use as an organ of touch, will
be considered in two of our succeeding chapters.
2. Of Tasting.
83
This sense is the most nearly allied to feeling of any Tasting,
of the other senses, and therefore very properly conies
under our consideration after that sense. t 84
The principal organ of taste is the tongue, especially Organs,
at its upper surface, point, and edgfcs ; but it also ex¬
tends to the lips, the palate, and the velum pendulum
palati. The tongue is not absolutely necessary to taste,
as appears from "a case mentioned by Jussieu, of a per¬
son, who had only a fleshy tubercle m place of a tongue,
and vet possessed the sense sufficiently perfect. g5
The several parts of the organs of taste are not equally Different
• IV 1 ,1 _   ^ r-v. r» f 4-v OTP'S, OS V&
4
particularly affected by saline and saccharine substances,
chieflv, however, at its upper surface j the lips are said to
•7 be
86
n what
tie perfec
/on of
aste de¬
ends.
, .87
oditica-
ans of
ste.
es of
te.
be most susceptible of the taste of hellebore, the palate
. of belladonna, and the gullet of wormwood. The mo-
mordica elaterium is said chiefly to affect the back of
the tongue, and colocynth its middle.
The greater or less perfection of this sense depends
much on the softness, flexibility, and moistness of these
parts. As man seems to possess these qualifications in
a more eminent degree than most other animals, so, in
the natural unsophisticated state of the tongue, he pro¬
bably enjoys the benefit of taste much more highly than
they. Such is the case with all young children, and
with the peasant, whose simple fare appears to be eaten
with a much greater relish than all the delicacies of the
voluptuary, who must have recourse to various stimuli
to enable him to derive gratification from even the
daintiest viands (a).
Taste seems to be more exquisite when the sapid body
is strongly pressed between the tongue and the palate.
Taste is also rendered more acute when the tongue is
stimulated by various condiments, as pepper, mustard,
which even, when not taken in such quantity as to be
very perceptible themselves, evidently increase the re¬
lish of the dishes which they season. Much also depends
on the nature and state of the bodies that are applied to
the organs of taste. These must, in the first place, be
either fluid, or capable of solution in the saliva. They
must also possess some saline or acrid quality, to render
them capable of acting on the nervous papilla;. It was
formerly supposed, that saline bodies alone possessed the
power of affecting the organs of taste •, and it was con¬
ceived by Bellini, that the different flavours of saline
bodies depended on the figure of their crystalline par¬
ticles. M. Dumas has taken considerable pains, and
has advanced several arguments, to show the absurdity of
this hypothesis 5 and we think has treated it with more
seriousness than it deserves. That the different sensa¬
tions which sapid bodies excite in our organs of taste,
depend chiefly on a difference in their chemical nature,
must, we think, be allowed, and some have gone so far as
to suppose, that the sensation depends on some chemical
affinity between the sapid body and the nervous fluid.
The impression which sapid bodies make on the or¬
gans of taste is modified by age, sex, temperament, and
habit. We know that children are particularly pleased
with sweet things, while high seasoned dishes and vinous
liquors are more palatable to people of a more advanced
age. Women, from various causes, especially during
pregnancy, and when labouring under hysteric affec¬
tions, have often very singular tastes. People of a warm
and a mobile constitution are often affected by flavours
that are almost insensible to others 5 and custom will
render palatable many substances, which, when first
tasted, are rejected with disgust.
Besides the gratification afforded to animals by the
sense of taste, this is supposed to afford one of the prin¬
cipal means of distinguishing between wholesome and
deleterious substances. Indeed, with respect to the
4&9
PHYSIOLOGY.
inferior animals, this discriminating sense is seldom oi'
known to fail, and in this instance, they are superior to Sensation
who is often deceived. There are many poisonous
herbs, the fruits or roots of which have a taste not un¬
pleasant, but which cannot be eaten with impunity.
On the morbid affections of taste, see Medicine.
N° 48.
3. Of Smelling.
The sense of smelling, like that of taste, is nearly al- Smelfi^
lied to feeling, and is one of those by which we become
acquainted with the mechanical and chemical properties
of external bodies. It is caused by volatile particles
flying off from odorous bodies, and diffused or dissolved
in the atmosphere, in union with which they enter the
nostrils and affect the nerves of the smelling organs.
It is difficult to ascertain what are the essential or- organs,
gans of smelling. We know that in most animals which
breathe through lungs or gills, there is either a nose, or
there are certain holes that serve the purpose of nos¬
trils ; but in many animals there is nothing similar to
these, and yet there is every reason to believe that they
possess the sense of smelling in an exquisite degree.
Insects discover their food at a distance. Butterflies
seek their females, even when inclosed in boxes j and as
they are liable to be deceived by resemblance of colour,
it is evident that these insects are guided in many cir¬
cumstances by the sense of smell. Thus the flesh-fly
(musca vomitoria) lays its eggs on plants that have a
foetid smell, imagining that it places them on corrupted
flesh, and the larvae which are thus produced perish for
want of their necessary food.
As the organ of smell, in all animals which respire
air, is situated at the entrance of the organs of respira¬
tion, the most probable conjecture that has been propos¬
ed respecting its seat in insects, is that of Baster, since
revived by several naturalists, who placed it in the
mouths of the tracheae or air tubes. Besides many other
reasons that might be stated in support of this opinion,
we may observe, that the internal membrane of the
tracheae appears very well calculated to perform this
office, being soft and moistened, and that the insects in
which the tracheae enlarge, and form numerous or con¬
siderable vesicles, are those which seem to possess the
most perfect sense of smelling. Such are all the scara-
bcei, the bees, flies, &c.
The antennae, which other anatomists have supposed
to be the seat of Smellifig in insects, do not appear to
Cuvier to possess any of the requisites for that organ.
The mollusca, which respire air, may also possess this
sensation at the entrance of their pulmonary vessels 5 but
it is not necessary to search for a particular organ of
this sense in them, as their whole skin appears to re¬
semble a pituitary membrane. It is everywhere soft,
fungous, and is always moistened by a great quantity of
muscous matter. Finally, it is supplied with numerous
nerves, which animate every point of its surface.
The
(a) It is generally supposed, that the sense of tasting is more acute in some of the inferior animals than in
man j an opinion which is founded chiefly on the greater size and number of the papilla; of the tongue in those
animals. It is scarcely possible to decide this point; but we should conceive, from the infinite variety of sub¬
stances that are occasionally subjected to the human palate, and from the extreme delicacy of taste displayed by
some individuals, that man has the advantage of his brute neighbours in this sense.
✓
4?0
P H Y
Of The worms and soft zoophytes, and all the polypes,
Sensation, are probably in tire same situation. It cannot be doubt-
1—ed but that these animals enjoy the sense ot smell. It is
chiefly by it that they discover their lood, particularly
the species that have no eyes. Aristotle remarked, that
certain herbs, which have a strong odour, were avoided
0l by cuttle-fishes and the octopus.
Nflture of Of all the substances which ailect our organs ot sensa-
odours little tion, odours are the least understood, though the nn-
undeisti od. pres’sions vvhich they make on the animal body appear
to be most powerful and extensive. Some bodies are al¬
ways odorous, because the whole or a part ot their sub¬
stance, being volatile, it is constantly flying oft : others
become odorous, only under certain circumstances; as
when a body containing a volatile principle in its com¬
position is decomposed by another that has a less atnni-
ty for that principle, e. gr. when muriate of ammonia is
decomposed by quicklime. . , . , •
Odours seem to be propagated in the air, much m
the same manner as one fluid is diffused through another.
Their motion is not direct like that ot light, nor is it
rapid or susceptible of reflection and refraction like light
and caloric. The odorous particles of volatile bod.e*
mav enter into combination with different substances, by
chemical aflinity, and thus lose their original properties.
In this wav the effluvia of putrid meat are destroyed by
fresh burnt charcoal, and the noxious exhalations irorn
S I O L O G Y. Chap. II
man and other animals are generally pleased with the of
odour of those substances which serve them as food j yet Sensation
when their appetite is satisfied, this odour often be- v
comes displeasing to them. On the contrary, some
animals appear to have a passionate fondness lor strong
smelling substances which seem altogether useless to
them. Thus cats are extremely fond of cat-mint, and
the fresh roots of valerian. In general, those odours
which are most disagreeable indicate that the substances
from which they proceed are injurious. Ihus veno¬
mous plants, putrid flesh, and poisonous minerals, have
commonly an unpleasant odour. Ibis rule, however, is
not universal j and the sense of smell, like that of taste,
is not an unerring guide to man, whatever it may be to
other animals.
It appears that the effluvia of odorous bodies are ca¬
pable of diffusing themselves through water as well as
air; for when these substances are thrown into water
as bait for fish, we find that these animals are attracted
by the smell from a considerable distance. _
The comparative physiology of this sense is very f'uri- c0mpara-
ous, though we cannot explain the reason of the difler- live physk
ences that we find to take place in the various tribes of logy of
animals. Man in a state of civilized society, where heslue
may have recourse to a great variety of means by which
to distinguish the properties of bodies, has less occasion
for acuteness of smell j but we know that savages are in
pestilential apartments are temoven ny P P b ^ t| ca„ SCe„t tlieir
nitric or muriatic acid.
These circumstances seem to prove that each smell is
occasioned by a particular substance floating in the at¬
mosphere. There are others, however, which appear to
indicate that odour is not always produced in this man¬
ner
acute, that like a blood hound, they can scent their
enemy to a great distance, and pursue his track with al¬
most certain success. Among birds and beasts of piey
we also find that acuteness of smell is a very general
property. Hytenas, wolves, vultures, and ravens, can di¬
stinguish the putrid carcases on which they feed many
^Several bodies yield a strong smell for a great length miles off *, and it is asserted by naturalists that jackalls
f anv sensible loss of substance-, hunt in packs, and follow their game like hounds by
I1"1 are perceived scent. There is a curious diversity in this respect among
SU. ^ observed, as the snfell which birds, some having this sense very acute, others very
w je i - I t|,at produced by the blunt. We are told by Gattoni*, that the cock is scarce-
arises from the d lhe ly affected with the smell of ammonia or hartshorn, *
fusion of a great numberot bodies^ and jven ^ ty a^ ^ ^ .g ^ to avoia all powerful odours 0^.
whether agreeable or otherwise. We are not suffici¬
ently acquainted with the nature ot the olfactory mem¬
brane, nor with that of the nerves distributed to it, to
enable us to form an opinion respecting the degree an
melting of common ice. In other cases, real evapora¬
tions produce no sensible odour-, this may be remarked
on the disengagement of several gases, and even on tne
ordinary evaporation of water. Perhaps these pheno¬
mena prove only that the force of sensation is not pro
poriioiiai tu j _ 1 .
excited, hut that it depends on the nature and degree of
* Cuvier, the affinity of that substance with the nervous liuut .
The action of the greater part of odorous substances on
the nervous system, is rendered manifest by a number
of other effects besides the sensation of smell ; some pro¬
duce faintings, others giddiness, or even convulsions.
Some, on the contrary, serve to remove these disorders .
indeed the greater part of medicines act m general ra¬
ther by their volatile and odorous parts, than by their
other principles -, and afford new proofs of the influence
exercised in the animal economy by the gaseous anti
impalpable substances, the greater part of which are
doubtless still unknown to us.
We know not whether odours have a peculiar ve¬
hicle, besides the matter of heat, which is common to
them all in their quality of vapours or elastic fluids.
We cannot explain why odours are agreeable or dis
It may, however, be at first sight presumed, that all
things in other respects being equal, the animals m
which the olfactory membrane is most extensive, enjoy
the sensation of smell most exquisitely \ and experience
confirms this conjecture. It would be curious to learn
why the animals which possess the sense ot smell in the
highest degree, are precisely those which ffed °» the
most fetid substances, as we observe in dogs which eat
carrion.
Of Hearing.
93
The sense of hearing is more important than any Hearing-
which we have yet noticed, but it appears to be less
generally diffused. ,
By means of it we become acquainted with those pro¬
perties of bodies which fit them for making sensible im¬
pressions on the air, as hardness, elasticity, &c. -, and
pressious uii tiic   7 - i
94
irsaDs.
"hap. IT. P H Y S I
By this sense we derive two of the highest gratifica¬
tions that we are capable of enjoying, viz. the plea¬
sures of conversation and of music j and in this way
most animals hold intercourse with each other.
The organs of hearing difl'er exceedingly in the vari¬
ous classes of animals. The human ear and its appen¬
dages have been described in Anatomy, Part I. chap,
vi. sect. 4. *, and for an account of these organs in other
animals, we must refer to Cuvier's Lectures, vol. ii. or
the Comparative Anatomy of Blumenbach, chap. xx.
Bed-blooded animals without exception have evident
auditory organs j and analogous parts are found in
many of the white-blooded. In a great number of the
inferior classes, however, no such parts have been ascer¬
tained, though it is certain that many of them do really
hear. In all those in which these organs have been de¬
tected, there is always found a gelatinous pulp, covered
with a fine, elastic membrane, and in this pulp the rami¬
fications of the auditory nerve are lost. It is therefore,
highly probable that the seat of hearing resides in the
minute nervous fibres that are distributed through the
pulp, and that this latter is the medium by which sounds
are communicated from the percussed air. We may
form a tolerably just idea of the manner in which this
pulpy substance is connected with the external move¬
ments that are the cause of sound j for this quivering
jelly will readily receive the concussions of the air or
water that are transmitted to it from the vibrations of
sonorous bodies, and communicate them to the nervous
filaments. Thus far only can we trace the motion of
sound } but the steps by which this motion is carried on
till the perception of sound is produced in the mind,
are equally unknown to the anatomist and the meta¬
physician.
arieties of ^ie philosophy of sound has already been treated of
uad. under Acoustics. It is necessary here to remark only,
that the qualities of sound may be distinguished into
force, depending on the extent of the vibrations of the
body from which the sound proceeds j tone, depending
on the velocity of the vibrations j resonance, arising
from the intimate composition of the sonorous body \
simple modulation of voice, and articulations.
ampara- The human ear can distinguish all these different qua-
re physio-lities with relation to one sound j this distinction is made
sy of vdth wonderful accuracy, by persons who frequently ex¬
ercise that faculty, and particularly by professional mu¬
sicians. The other mammalia exhibit proofs that they
are capable of distinguishing the qualities of sound which
relate to speech, that is to say, simple vocal modulations
and articulations: for we may observe daily, that they
remember the sound and signification of several words.
Some are strongly affected by certain sounds. Acute
tones produce a painful sensation in dogs, and we also
observe that these animals are terrified by violent noises j
they therefore distinguish these two properties. Birds
have a feeling, no less exquisite, of voice, tone, articu¬
lation, and even resonance, since they learn to sing with
great correctness ; and when their vocal organs permit
them, can completely counterfeit the human speech,
with all the modifications practised by the individuals
they imitate.
As to cold-blooded animals, it is well known that se¬
veral of them call each other by certain sounds, and that
others, which are incapable of producing sounds, can at
least understand them, as carps, which appear when the
lanDg.
O L O G Y.
471
noise of a bell indicates to them that they are to be fed, or
&.c.} but we know not what qualities of sound they Sensation.
distinguish, and how far, in this respect, the delicacy ^^ *
of their sense of hearing extends *. ‘ * Cuvier
lor the morbid affections of hearing, see Medicine voUL sect,
N° 80.
5. Of Seeing.
As we ascend from the simpler to the more complex Seeing,
senses, we find a greater scope for description and ob¬
servation } but we also find our physiological difficulties
increased. I he sense of touch being the most simple of
all the senses, requires but a simple organization, and
is the most widely diffused ; that of vision, on the other
hand, is the most complex, and requires for its mecha¬
nism, a more elaborate set of organs. There is not, in
the whole animal structure, a more curious and admir¬
able organ than the eye, whether we contemplate it in
its most perfect state in the human body, or in its most
simple conformation, as it appears in the horn of a snail. r 8
The anatomy of the human eye has been sufficiently Organs,
described in the article Anatomy, Part 1. chap. vi.
-sect. 5.; and if our readers desire a fuller account of
this organ, we may refer them to the elegant work of
Professor Soemmering. The structure of the eye in the
inferior animals is well described in Cuvier’s twelfth
lecture, and in Blumenbach’s Comparative Anatomy,
chap. xvi. We shall extract from the former a descrip¬
tion of the eyes of insects and crustaceous animals, as
being among the most curious and least known subjects
of comparative anatomy.
“ The structure of the eye of insects is so very dif¬
ferent from that of other animals, even the mollusca
that it would be difficult to believe it an organ of sight,
had not experiments, purposely made, demonstrated its
use. If we cut out, or cover with opaque matter, the
eye of the dragon fly, it will strike against walls in its
flight. If we cover the compound eyes of the wasp, it
ascends perpendicularly in the air, until it completely
disappears ; if we cover its simple eyes only, it will not
attempt to fly, but will remain perfectly immoveable.
“ The surface of a compound eye, when viewed by
the microscope, exhibits an innumerable multitude of
hexagonal facets, slightly convex, and separated from
one another by small furrows, which frequently contain
fine hairs, more or less long.
“ These facets form altogether a hard and elastic
membrane, which, when freed of the substances that
adhere to it posteriorly, is very transparent.
“ Each of these small surfaces may be considered
either as a cornea, or a crystalline •, for it is convex
externally, and concave internally, but thicker in the
middle than at the edges, it is also the only transpa¬
rent part in this singular eye.
“ Immediately behind this transparent membrane
there is an opaque substance, which varies greatly as to
colour in different species, and which sometimes forms
even in the same eye, spots or bands of different co¬
lours. Its consistence is the same as that of the pig¬
ment of the char aides ; it entirely covers the posterior
pai t of the transparent facets, without leaving any
aperture for the passage of the light.
“ Behind this pigment we find some very short white
filaments, in the form of hexagonal prisms, situated
close to each other, like the stones of a pavement, and
precisely
47 2
Of precisely equal in number to the facets of the cornea ;
Sensation, each penetrates into the hollow part of one of these xa-
cets, and is separated from it only by the pigment men¬
tioned above. If these filaments are nervous, as in my
opinion they appear to be, we may consider each as
the retina of the surface behind which it is placed :
but it will always remain to be explained, how the light
can act on this' retina, through a coat ot opaque pig-
me“ This multitude of filaments, perpendicular to the
cornea, have behind them a membrane which serves
them all as a base, and which is consequently nearly
parallel to the cornea; this membrane is very fine, and
of a blackish colour, which is not caused by a pigment,
but extends to its most intimate texture 5 we observe
in it very fine whitish lines, which are tracheae, an
\vitl produce still finer branches, that penetrate be¬
tween the hexagonal filaments, as tar as the cornea.
By analogy, we may name this membrane the cho-
roides. , ,• 1 *
“ A thin expansion of the optic nerve is applied to
the posterior part of the choroides. This is a real ner¬
vous membrane, perfectly similar to’the Tetma of red-
blooded animals 5 it appears that the white filaments,
which form the particular retinae of the different ocular
surfaces, are productions of this general retina, which
perforates the membrane I have named choroides, by a
multitude of small and almost imperceptible holes. >
“ To obtain a distinct view of all these parts, it is
PHYSIOLOGY. Chap. I
night, have a pupil that is very dilatable, and have
   - r-r-   - j ■ . 0f
very little of that dark substance called pigmentum m- Sensatio*
grum, that lies between the retina and the choroid coat -v—«
in diurnal animals. Thus, the former have their eyes
better adapted to receive and to retain the feeble rays
of light, and thus possess a great advantage over the
animals which they pursue, whose eyes are calculated
for seeing best in a strong light.
The subject of vision has been so fully considered un¬
der Optic's, Part I. sect. 5. that it is unnecessary for
us to give any detailed account of it here. We shall
therefore merely enumerate the principal phenomena. Iffl0
1. The rays of light proceeding from luminous bo-Phenons*'
dies, are collected by the cornea; variously refracted by ”a ^ vi-
the aqueous, crystalline, and vitreous humours, till theyslom
meet in a point (in perfect vision) in the retina, from
which the sensation conveyed to the brain, excites there
the ideas of light, colour, and other qualities of extreme
objects, of which the eye is capable of judging.
2. The image of the object thus pictured on the reti¬
na, is inverted, though the mind is habituated to per¬
ceive it as if it were erect.
3. There is a certain point within the eye where the
retina is deficient, and here the luminous rays make no
impression. _ .
4. The eye is calculated to see objects most distinctly
at certain distances or foci, though these distances vary
considerably in different species, and different individu¬
als. A person of ordinary sight can read a middle-sized
• . 1 * i * Unlit' fTIlt ItlPrlPS*
“ T» °btsln * '''Zf.nLSecTthathasthe prib most distinctly atthi distance of about eight inche
necessary to cut off the head 0 Those who require a less distance are near-sighted, or
r. teJ s“
ed on every side, and sometimes elongated into a cone,
when viewed by a glass, presents the same surfaces a.s
the eyes of insects. When we cut this tubercle longi-
tudinally* we observe that the optic nerve passes through
it In a cylindrical canal, which occupies the place ot its
axis. •• Arrived at the centre of the concavity ot the
eye, it forms a small button, which detaches very hne
' filaments in every direction j at a certain distance these
filaments meet the choroides; which is nearly concentn-
cal with the cornea, and Covers the spherical brush ot
the extremity of the nerve, like a hood. All the di-
; stance between the choroides and the cornea is occu-
ipied; as in insects, by white filaments, closely arranged
in a perpendicular direction to each other* and which
have the extremity next the cornea also coated with a
^black pigment. . ., j
Cuvier's “ These filaments perforate the choroides, and are
Lectures, . continuations of those produced by the button, which
voL ii* terminates the optic nerve.”
T The immediate seat of vision is still m dispute •, but
seat of'vi-* it appears to be the expansion of the optic nerve upon
sion proba- the inner coat of the eye. The other parts 0. a
bly the re- serve to collect, refract, absorb, and sometimes even
tiua’ ' reflect, the rays of light, according as these operations
are required for the distinct vision of any particular ani¬
mal. Those animals that seek for their prey during
5. In those animals that have two eyes, an image ot
a luminous object is formed in each, though the mind
is accustomed to unite both images into one. In stra¬
bismus or squinting, the two eyes not being similarly
directed, do not concur in producing a single object.
6. Though the images of many objects are impressed
on the retina at the same time, the mind can attend di¬
stinctly to only one of them.
7. In perfect vision, the pupil contracts or dilates
according to the greater or less quantity of light that
is present.
8. When the eye has looked steadily lor some time
on a circumscribed space, of a particular colour, as a
piece of red paper placed on a white ground, it perceives
a border of a different colour surrounding the original
spot. This surrounding colour is called the accidenta
colour of the former, and differs according to the colour
of the original spot. In the present instance it is green,
or bluish-green. The other natural colours are attend¬
ed by the following accidental colours, viz. orange, y
blue, with nearly an equal proportion of indigo ; YEL¬
LOW by indigo, with a mixture of violet; green y
violet, with a mixture of red; BLUE by red, with a
mixture oi orange; indigo by yellow, with a consider¬
able mixture of orange ; and violet by green, with a
considerable mixture of blue (B). ^
(B) Dr Darwin, in his Zoonomia, vol. i. sect. 2. employs the phenomena of accidental colours to p ^9
I Chap. II.
0f The exercise of distinct vision depends chiefly on the
Sensation, following circumstances : I.The perfect transparency of
the coi'nea, and the several humours of the eye j 2. on
1 Vtes t^ie just ProPorti°nal distance between the cornea and
tfor distinct ^ie crystalline lens, and on their degree of convexity 5
vision. 3* on the sensibility of the retina j 4. on the degree of
illumination of the visible object; 5. on the colour of
the pigmentum between the choroid and the retina;
I02 and, 6. on the contraction and dilatation of the pupil.
Action of The action of light on living beings is not confined
light on the to its effects in producing vision. It seems to act on the
system. system in general as a moderate but constant stimulus.
When the light of day is vivid, as in bright sunshine,
the body is more active, and the mind more vigorous,
than under a cloudy sky. Those climates which are
frequently obscured by clouds and vapours, are notori¬
ously the birthplaces of seriousness and gloom ; and
Eoeotian dulness and English melancholy have long be¬
come proverbial ; while on the contrary, the serene
brightness of an eastern sky has been considered as pe¬
culiarly favourable to the exertions of imagination, and
the flights of fancy. Mr Stuart, a famous pedestrian
t traveller, told Dr Rush, that during a summer which
he passed in a high northern latitude, where the sun is
visible for several months together, he enjoyed an un¬
common share of health and spirits, which he attributed
to the long continuance of the light of the sun. In a
state of nature most animals retire to rest when the light
fails, and few people can sleep soundly, unless light be
excluded.
47^
way, is owing to some additional sense which they possess. of
Others have conceived that the sense of hearing, which Sensation,
appears to be very acute in the species on which these v~—'
experiments were made, is sufficient to supply their want
of sight. It is scarcely possible to ascertain which of
these two opinions is the more probable 5 but the writer
of this article is rather inclined to adopt the latter, from
having observed that when he was walking in an unfre¬
quented street, when it was very dark, he was enabled
to avoid running against the common stairs that pro¬
jected into the street, from a ceitain sensation that he
perceived, when he approached the wall of the stair,
which he cannot better describe than by saying that the
air at these points appeared to be unusually still.
W ith respect to sensation in general, we may lay
down tlie following laws, which are considered by Du¬
mas as fundamental principles of this function.
1. As activity is an essential character of sensation, Laws°of
this cannot exist without a certain action of tlie organs, sensation,
and must be proportioned to the degree of attention be¬
stowed on the external objects, or ideas by which it is
produced.
2. A repetition of the same sensations tends to render
the sensibility less acute, and less capable of receiving
new impressions. By repose its energy is restored.
3. As sensibility cannot be employed on two impres¬
sions at the same time, it must hold a certain balance
throughout all the organs, and it cannot be acutely ex¬
cited in one part, without being proportionably dimi¬
nished in another.
PHYSIOLOGY.
The stimulating effects of light are peculiarly evident
unpersons whose nervous system is unusually sensible;
they cannot bear strong light, which not only hurts
their eyes, but produces considerable agitation on their
whole frame. The same effects are produced on those
who have been confined in a dark prison. The counte¬
nance of these unfortunates is pale and sallow. This
latter effect of the absence of light is similar to what
takes place in vegetables, as we know that the colour,
taste, and smell of plants depend on their being expos-
io^ ed to a due degree of light,
ibsence of ^las been remarked, that those animals which have
ightsup- been long confined in a dark situation, are universally
t^0 disposed to grow fat; and this has been found, to take
it^0 e place even in condemned criminals, in whom we would
least expect it. This obesity has been attributed chiefly
to the absence of light. W e are disposed to think that
the absence of this stimulus can have no immediate ef¬
fect, but that the disposition to obesity depends rather
on the indolence of the confined animals, which is fa¬
voured by the absence of light.
For an account of the principal morbid affections of
vision, see Medicine, No 81.
6. Is there in some animals a sixth sense ?
104
ats sup- From the experiments of Jurin and Spallanzani on
hdat0 ^ie °f l>ats that have been deprived of sight, (see
fthsense ^A3VIMAL1A> N° 38.) it has been supposed by some
that the accuracy with which these animals in their
flight avoided the obstacles that wej-e placed in their
4. Sensibility is a relative faculty, which is not equal¬
ly obedient to all kinds of excitations, but only to those
which have some relation to it in the different parts of
the living body
5. It is increased and accumulated in the direct pro¬
portion to the defect or weakness of stimulus.
6. It is not proportioned to the number, arrangement,
or distribution of the nerves, and its changes of increase
or diminution are not susceptible of calculation.
7. It is inconstant, variable in its progress, and un-
confi nable. * * Dumas,
To these we may add the following facts respecting
this function and its organs. Pfysio- ■
1. The nerves which are principally distributed toii^’j1?)11"
the organs of the external senses, arise from that part
of the sensorium that is within the head.
2. The sensations produced in any part by the con¬
tact of external bodies, are more perfect, according as
the nerves which terminate in that part arise more im¬
mediately from the common sensorium.
3. When a ligature is fastened on a nerve, the parts
on which the nerve is distributed are deprived of sensa¬
tion as far as depends on that nerve.
4. Compression of the brain diminishes general sensa¬
tion in proportion to its intensity. Slight compression
produces numbness.
5. Though sensation probably takes place only in the
central parts of the sensorium, it is commonly referred
to the extremities of the nerves. Thus, a gouty person
who has lost his leg, will suppose that he sometimes
feels
fibres of the retina are thrown into contraction, like those of muscles, and that some of them act as antagonists tc>
others; as he considers the accidental as the reverse of the natural colours.
Vol. XVI. Part II. f 3 O
to6
Internal
senses be-
107,
Compara¬
tive
474 P H Y S I
Of feels the pain of the gout in the toe of the amputated
Sensation, limb;
' 6. A sympathy takes place between those parts which
are supplied by branches of the same nerve. 1 hus, a
violent scratching of the head often produces sneezings
powerful odours snufled at the nose produce a flow of
tears ; the head sympathises with the stomach j the
mamma: with the uterus, See.
These are all the phenomena respecting sensation
which we can at present notice’, we shall mention others
when we come to consider the relation between this
function and those of motion, digestion, circulation, &c.
What have been called the internal senses, as memo-
‘ ry, imagination, and judgment, are rather qualities of
taphysic™6"t,ie mind, than operations of the brain ; and the consi¬
deration of them belongs rather to metaphysics than
physiology. To that article, therefore, we refer the
reader; and we shall conclude this account of the phe¬
nomena of sensation with the following comparative view
of that function in the inferior animals,
npara- Jn aU animals that have nerves, voluntary motions
: physio- an(j t|;rect sensations take place by the same means as
satfon!Sen" *n man. The differences in their motions depend partly
on the intrinsic mobility of their fibres, and partly on
the disposition of their muscles, and the parts to which
they are attached.
The differences in their sensations depend on the num¬
ber of their senses, and the perfection of the organs be¬
longing to each sense. The animals that approach near¬
est to mam have their senses equal in number to his. In
certain species, some of these senses are even more per¬
fect in the structure of their organs, and susceptible of
more lively and delicate impressions than ours •, on the
contrary, in proportion as animals are removed from us,
the number of their senses and the perfection of certain
organs are diminished ^ but perhaps some animals, at
the same time, possess senses of which we can form no
idea.
We know not whether there are differences in the in¬
trinsic sensibility of the nervous system of different ani¬
mals, i. e. whether an equal impression made on an or¬
gan equally perfect, would affect every animal with the
same force.
The animals next in order to man have, like him,
spontaneous, or what we call internal, sensations. Images
are excited in them at times, when they receive no im¬
mediate impression from external objects. Thus, dogs
and parrots dream. WTe are not certain, indeed, that
the more inferior animals experience similar sensations.
The passions produce effects in animals similar to those
which they excite in man. Love is manifested in the
same manner in all classes; fear occasions a discharge
of excrements in quadrupeds and birds •, it makes them
tremble, and even renders insects immoveable j but the
other animals afford fewer examples of these kind of
phenomena than man, because they are not masters of
their imagination, cannot direct it towards certain ob¬
jects, and create for themselves factitious passions. We
are even ignorant whether their imaginations can, like
ours, be wrought up to such a pitch as to make them
experience emotions of anger, desire, or fear, from sim¬
ple ideas or simple recollections; and whether the real
presence of the objects which cause these passions, is not
always necessaiy to excite them in the inferior animals j
we. know, however, that those which approach nearest
O L O G Y. Chap. I
to us, the mammalia and the birds, have their sorrows. Of
The affliction they feel on the absence or loss of a com- Sensatb
panion, friend, or benefactor, is manifested by evident
signs, in the same manner as they testily their attach¬
ment without any temporary inducement.
The same animals exhibit frequent proofs of a very
perfect memory j some even appear to possess a certain
degree of judgment. But does any thing similar exist
in the inferior classes, and particularly in the lowest ?
Of this wre shall probably remain always ignorant.
With so much resemblance in the structure of the
nervous system, in its mode of action, and in the num¬
ber and structure of the principal external organs, why
is there so vast a difference, as to the total result, be¬
tween man and the most perfect animal ?
Is this owing to a more accurate proportion in the re¬
lative perfection of the external organs, so that one does
not so much surpass another? Or has the internal organ,
in which are performed all the intermediate operations
between the sensation received and the movement exe¬
cuted, that is to say, the organ of perception, memory
and judgment, greater differences than we have yet
observed ? Or, finally, is the substance by which these
processes are effected of a different nature? These, how¬
ever, are not anatomical questions.
The sympathies or effects resulting from the connec- ^
tions of nerves with each other, and the influence of the ^ectwre,
nerves on vegetative functions, are subject to the same v0]. ii.
laws in man and the other animals *. 108
The theory of sensation is perhaps more imperfect Theory
than that of any other function. On this subject we can seusatio:
derive little light from the structure of the brain and
nerves, accurately as this has been examined. Anatomy
has taught us, that the principal part of these organs
consists^of very delicate fibres, intermixed with a medul¬
lary pulp, and incased in membranes; and that they are
furnished with a great proportion of blood-vessels ; but
whether the seat of sensation resides in the fibrous or
medullary part, we cannot ascertain. IOp
It was formerly the opinion, that the nervous power yibralii
was propagated between the brain and the external or¬
gans, by vibrations of the nerves ; but as the structure
of these chords, and their connection with surrounding
parts, must wholly disqualify them for such vibrations,
this theory has long been abandoned. IX0
Another hypothesis that has been very generally re- Nm0iH
ceived is, that the nervous fibres are the conductors of fluid,
a very subtile fluid, called the nervous fluid, the motions
of which are the cause of sensation. This was the opi¬
nion of Dr Haller, {First Lines, chap, x.) and was stre¬
nuously maintained by Dr Cullen. We shall present our
readers with the following modification of it, as given
by an able disciple of Cullen.
44 It is probable, (says this writer), that in each ner¬
vous fibril, an elastic fluid is inherent, forming, from the
moment of animation, a part of it; differing, however,
according to the state of the constitution, in power, mo¬
bility, and, perhaps, in other qualities. Of this fluid the
the nerves are conductors, and are surrounded in their
course by non-conducting membranes, while the same
membrane lines every part of the brain, and is carried
into the deepest cavities, guarding with particular atten¬
tion the slightest aperture. In this view sanguiferous
vessels are chieflyuseful in nourishing this medullary sub¬
stance, and they appear to be necessary also in adapting
.Chap. II. P H Y S I
Of the nerves to their office; for, when the circulation is
Sensation, greatly increased, the sensibility is more acute $ and
~i when it languishes, or is destroyed, the nervous energy
soon shares the same fate.
“ This fluid must necessarily be an elastic one ; and
impressions are apparently conveyed through it by vi¬
brations. It does not follow from hence, that the nerves
vibrate like muscular cords j or that, in every the slight¬
est motion, a portion is conveyed from the brain. The
elasticity of the fluid is proved from the momentary con¬
tinuance of the impression after the cause is removed j
and vibration is a term employed in many branches of
philosophy as a means of communicating motion, with¬
out any distinct application. If we touch an object with
a stick, or with a metallic rod, we perceive through it
the impression, and, in a general way, the nature of the
substance. Hie impression must be conveyed by some-
thing} and whatever that something is, it may as well
convey impressions through the nerves as through the
rod. But through the nerves only can it affect the
brain, and produce an idea, or some change in the
brain, or its fluid connected with the nature of the ob¬
ject, and which conveys to the mind some peculiar and
*J?eu> discriminated impression which it afterwards retains
London A third hypothesis, which is at present very fashion-
tfedmi able, is, that sensation is produced by a change in the
ol man/, gUbstance of the brain and nerves. M. Cuvier is an ad-
1,39s. vocate for this doctrine, which he illustrates in the fol¬
lowing manner.
The nervous system is susceptible of two kinds of ac¬
tion ; one which is confined to our sensitive faculty, and
another which affects our vital and vegetative functions
only. External sensations are produced by the impres¬
sions of external bodies, on our senses 5 internal sensa¬
tions, by changes which take place, in the state of the
internal parts of the body, to which the nerves are di¬
stributed ; and spontaneous sensations are caused by a
change in the nerves, or in the brain itself, without any
external excitement.
These circumstances, added to the phenomena arising
from the cutting or tying of nerves, show, that sensation
does not reside in the external organs, but nearly in the
centre of the nervous system, and that the external or¬
gans serve only to receive the action of the external bo¬
dies, and to convey it to the nerves, by which it is pro¬
pagated to a greater distance. They also demonstrate,
that this propagation is not produced by any matter or
concussion, but by a change in the state of the nervous
substance. I his change may arise from internal causes,
or it may be produced by external causes, different from
those which usually occasion it. The nerves are not
merely passive agents, nor the conductors or reservoirs of
any particular matter 5 but it appears that the substance
which produces sensation, is liable to be consumed, or
to lose its activity by exertion.
There are phenomena which shew that the general
susceptibility of the nerves, for receiving sensations, may
vary in consequence of causes external to the nerves
themselves, and which can operate only by altering
their substance. Certain medicines weaken or revive
that susceptibility;—inflammation frequently increases
it to an excessive degree. Does this take place in conse¬
quence of an increased secretion of the nervous matter ?
i he most remarkable change that occurs in the suscep¬
tibility of nerves, is sleep. It is not unnatural to suppose
O L O G Y.
that this change may be occasioned by the temporary
loss of the substance which is essentially sensitive. But Sensation,
how does it happen that sleep depends, in a certain de- -\r——'
gree, on the will ? Why do we awake suddenly, or
from causes which do not appear calculated to restore
that substance? Why does cold produce sleep? From
these observations, may it not rather be supposed that
this state is the effect of a change in the chemical na¬
ture of the nervous substance ?
But whether the substance contained in the nerves is
exhausted by sensations, or whether it merely undergoes
an alteration in its chemical composition, and becomes,
as it were, neutralized, it must remain in the nerve
throughout the whole of its course, and leave it only at
one of its extremities. It does not, however, resemble
the blood in the vessels, either as to the manner in which
it is retained, or in which it moves in the nerve. There
is no evidence of the nerves being tubular. No pheno¬
mena indicate that any matter escapes from them when
they are divided. Besides, what vessels could have pa-
rietes sufficiently compact to retain so subtile a fluid as
that of the nerves must be. It is far more probable that
it is retained in the nerves, in the same manner as the
electric matter is in electric bodies, by communication
and insulation j and that the nervous system is its only
conductor, while all the other parts of the animal body
are, with respect to it, cohibent substances*. * Cuvier's
The theory of sensorial power, brought forward by Lectures,
Dr Darwin, has already been noticed. vo1* ”■
Chap. III. Of Irritability.
1. When any part of a living animal body that con-Q^”^
tains muscular fibres, as a part of its composition, is phenomena
touched with a sharp instrument, with a hot iron, or of irritabi-
with a corrosive liquor, or when a shock of electricity^*
or galvanism is made to pass through it, a contraction
takes place in the part; and this contraction is disconti¬
nued when the stimulus is removed, but is renewed 011
repeating the application.
2. The same contractions take place in certain parts
of a living animal body, from an exertion of the will.
3. Many parts in which the presence of muscular
fibres has not been ascertained, possess the same capacity
of being excited to motion by stimuli. Such are the
ureters, the biliary ducts, the small blood-vessels, and
probably the lymphatics; all of which, though not evi¬
dently muscular, have a fibrous structure.
4. Some parts of the living animal body which ap¬
pear rather nervous than muscular, possess a contractile
power, as the retina.
5. When the nerves which form a communication be-,
tween a contractile part and the brain, in the higher or¬
ders of animals, are divided or compressed, those parts
which before contracted in obedience to the will, lose
this power ; but,
6. These parts, as well as every muscular part, still
contract on the application of stimuli, particularly ele-
tricity and galvanism.
7. Such parts of an animal body as have muscular
fibres, are thrown into contraction on the application of
stimuli, for some time after having been separated from
the living body, provided that nervous filaments remain
connected with the muscular fibres.
8. It has been found, that the fibrine of the blood is
3 O 2 suceptible
475
47*5
PHYSIOLOGY.
Of susceptible of contraction on the application of the gal-
Irritability. vanic stimulus, after having been separated from the
living body. .
o. In some animals in which a nervous system has
not been detected, as polypes, this contractile power
seems to pervade every part of the animal.
io. Plants, in a greater or less degree, possess the
power of moving on"the application of stimuli j and
in some species this motion is very remarkable, bee
The above are some of the principal phenomena
which take place in organized beings with respect to
irritability. They are so analogous, that we may attri¬
bute them to the same cause or the same vital power.
This susceptibility of being thrown into contraction on
the application of stimuli is called irritability, and it is
possessed in a greater or less degree by every organized
being with which we are acquainted.
Definition We have restricted the term irritability to denote the
of iriitabili-susceptibility of the fibrous structure to contraction on
ty. the application of stimuli •, but it is proper to remark
that this term has not always been used m the same
Diffeient Irritability has long been employed m medicine, as
applications in common language, in reference to the passions, espe¬
cially that of anger 5 and this appears to have been the
original meaning of the term.
Multofero ut placem genus irritabile vatum. Hor.
It is perhaps still more common to apply it to a mor¬
bid sensibility of the system j and we speak of a person
being of a very irritable habit, or possessing a great de¬
gree of irritability, when we mean to say that he pos¬
sesses a more than ordinary share of sensibility, liable to
a more keen sensation of the same impressions.
Chap. III.
stingui&hes irritability from sensibility, witd which he of
will have it to be totally unconnected j and he attempts Irritability,
to make a distinction between the irritability ot the liv¬
ing, and that of the dead fibred, _ \ Haller's
^Dr Whytt, whose controversy with Haller respecting First Lines'
the nature of irritability and sensibility is famous in the 0/ Physio.
annals of medical warfare, admits three kinds of irrita-^. ctiaP‘
hilitv : 1. That power of alternate contraction and dila¬
tation which is peculiar to those organs we call muscles y
2. That uniform contraction which takes place in the;
dartos (one of the coats of the scrotum) and the pores
of the skin ; and, 3. That redness and inflammation,
which is excited in every sensible part of the body, ap
often as acrid things are applied to it; although thio last
is allowed by him "to be only an effect of the first kind
of irritability taking place in the small vessels of the
part}. Thus he reduces the three kinds to two, and
we may perhaps consider his second kind only as a mo~ ca[
dification of the first. . Ess*y ii.
Among those who seem to have a sufficiently just part 2.
idea of the nature of irritability, the word itself is not
-frequently misapplied. Thus, Vie, TO
unireuucuiiy  7 1
Dumas L in enumerating the functions of the animal
« 1 11 _ _ £* ^ t inti 1 VMmI'M III 111V
of this
term.
j^uinaa 0, m is . 1 Anatom.
body, called those of motion and sensation, irritability
and sensibility. These latter are powers or capacities of ^ Principe:
living beings, and as such should be distinguished from de Physio-
the functions that depend on them.  f0£?c>tom;
In considering the phenomena of irritability, it is ne-
. 1 orstroT’ol L-Indc nf stimuli
cessary to take notice of the several kinds of stimuli ^
1*1 . *1 ‘4. r~\c'hoTro Ivti r^rtnceil CuVlGI* to 1
“ Or are your nerves too irritably strung.”
Armstrong.
Even the accurate Dr Whytt, to whom the proper
distinction between irritability and sensibility must have
been familiar, and by whom it is in general strictly re¬
garded, sometimes falls into this inaccuracy. He speaks,
in his work on nervous diseases, of “ a delicate or easi y
irritable nervous system.” In fact, this confusion of irri¬
tability with sensibility, appears to be a stumbling block
to most physiological writers. We shall presently in¬
quire how far they are independent of each other.
The term irritability, in its most received accepta¬
tion, as a property of the muscular fibre, seems to have
been first employed by Glisson, about the middle of the
17th century. He distinguishes two kinds of irntabi-
•  ^ onrl corrmrlarv or SVlTlBathetlC .
17th century, xic     .
* Qhsson ' • or direct, and secondary or sympathetic .
de Ventn- " -G   „ r- „,i.„ trpntpd nt irritabi-
tZ’St SlS“^ho.vever, he fat, who treated of Irritabi-
testmis. lity, with any degree of accuracy. He confines it to the
muscular fibre; though at the same time he will not al¬
low it to many parts, the muscularity of which has ne¬
ver been questioned, and which, since his time, have,
by decisive experiments, been proved to possess a consi¬
derable degree of contractile power. He completely di-
which excite it. These have been reduced by Cuvier to Stimuli...
five orders, viz. volition ; external actions operating on ciiiag irri-
nerves; external actions operating on the fibre itself; lability.
mixed actions operating on both the nerves and fibres,
and certain diseases or violent emotions. ”5
When the animal body is in a state of health, and 0 rtlon
awake, the will exercises a prompt and constant influ¬
ence over the greater part of the muscles, which, on
that account, are denominated voluntary muscles. A
small number of muscles, viz. those which produce the
internal movements necessary to life, and which cannot
be interrupted, such as the heart and the alimentary ca¬
nal, are not subject to the will. It must be observed,
however, that some of the muscles, that in man and
most other animals are involuntary, are subject to the
will in others. This is the case with the stomach in ru¬
minating animals, the movements of which may be ex¬
erted at pleasure in two different directions. In some
muscles, as in those of respiration, there seems to be a
mixed action with respect to the will, as this faculty can
interrupt their motion for a time, though, in general,
this is continued from habit, without the will, or even
consciousness of the animal. Those muscles that are
absolutely involuntary, are continually excited by an
extraneous irritating cause; for the blood which is
brought to the heart on every dilatation, determines that
organ to contraction, and the alimentary canal is affect¬
ed in the same manner by its contents. It seems, there¬
fore, that the will is not essential to the action of these
muscles, and that it cannot interrupt their motion (c)l
(c) There are facts which shew that the will has often considerable infl^e;^e^vas Ted to believe
sally styled involuntary. The abbd Fontana, when «Per™e”' ,he in’s„me degree, to ac-
that the heart, in these animalcules, is a voluntary muscle, and hom Den & celerate
(Chap. W«
Of
! Irritability
116
Nervous
energy.
117
Exteraal
stimuli.
n8
Galvanism.
I . U9.
Distension.
120
Violent
passions.
121
pause of ir-
j liability.
A muscle laid bare, and exposed to an irritating cause,
will contract itself, even in the living subject, without
being influenced by the will. It should seem, therefore,
that, though the muscles which we call voluntary, are
usually put in motion by the will, they may yet be ex¬
cited to action in opposition to that faculty.
The will itself seems to act only through the medium
of the nerves *, and it is found that those nerves which
supply the voluntary muscles, are generally the largest.
The external stimuli that act on the muscular flbre
through the medium of the nerves, and on the fibre it¬
self, are chiefly of a mechanical and chemical nature, as
concussions, punctures, lacerations, all of which are ca¬
pable of producing convulsive motions in all the muscu¬
lar parts to which the nerves extend.
One of the most remarkable of these stimuli is the
galvanic influence. It is well known that the experi¬
ments by which this influence is made to act on the
muscular fibre, consist in establishing between a muscle
and the trunk of the nerves which extend to it, an ex¬
ternal communication with one, or a series of substances
placed close to each other. Metals are not the only
means that may be employed in this operation ; and in
general, the conductors are not the same as those of elec¬
tricity. Experiments have sometimes been successfully
performed, when an interval was left in the series of ex-
citators : this circumstance, in the opinion of Cuvier,
proves the existence of an atmosphere.
The moment the contact takes place, the muscle suf¬
fers violent convulsions. These experiments succeed on
the living body, or animals recently dead, and even
on parts separated from the body, precisely in the man¬
ner of those which Haller accounts for on the principle
of irritability. Neither pointed instruments nor acrid
liquors are necessary j and the galvanic experiments
even succeed when these means have failed.
Distension has been observed to have a powerful ef¬
fect in exciting irritability.
Violent passions may, to a certain degree, be consi¬
dered as the acts of the will strongly excited. These,
in some cases, have an influence even on the involunta¬
ry muscles j for it is no unusual thing for palpitation of
the heart, and sometimes even a suspension of its mo¬
tion, to be the consequence of strong passions. These
actions, however, are to be prevented by moderating the
excess of sensibility by which they are occasioned. Even
in nervous diseases, which appear to be the least con¬
nected with those passions whose influence is more im¬
mediately felt, the will is often capable of preventing
or retarding the approach of nervous symptoms, when
the patient is determined to resist the paroxysm.
From what has been said, it appears that, in the su¬
perior classes of animals, all the orders of stimuli, either
act through the medium of the nerves, or that they are
capable of being modified or controuled by the will, the
exertion of which depends on nervous influence.
With respect to the immediate cause of irritability,
47;
P H Y S I O L O G Y.
there have been several opinions. One of those which of
has been most generally received is, that irritability Irritability,
is intimately connected with sensibility; or, that it is " "v””~
an immediate effect of the nervous power. This was
the opinion of Whytt and Cullen, the former of
whom endeavours to prove it by the following argu¬
ments. 122
1. We almost always observe the irritability of the Whytt’sar-
muscular organs of the human body to bear a propoi'- Kumenis
tion to their sensibility. Thus, children, and people ofo" nervous
delicate nerves and very quick feelings, are most sub-jnf[uence.
ject to convulsive and spasmodic diseases, while on the
other hand old people, and those of less delicate sensi¬
bility, have a muscular system that is not so irri¬
table.
2. Whatever increases the sensibility of the muscles,
also increases their irritability.
3. W hatever lessens or destroys the sensibility of the
muscles, also lessens or destroys their irritability or
power of motion.
4. That the motions of irritated muscles are owing to
the sensation excited by the stimulus applied to them,
Dr Whytt thinks highly probable, if it be considered
that we are in fact conscious of many involuntary mo¬
tions in our own bodies, proceeding from a particular
sensation, either in the organs moved, or in the neigh¬
bouring parts*. * Physiolo-
Dr Cullen was so fully convinced of the necessity Ks-
nervous influence to produce muscular contraction, thatSSa^
he considered the muscular fibre to he only a continua¬
tion of the nervous fibre. See Medicine, N° 73.
Haller, as we have said, strenuously maintained, that Haller’s
irritability was quite independent of the nerves, and wasor>in,on ,of
an inherent power or vis insita of the muscular fibre. slfa^‘S V ~
Indeed there are several circumstances which would in¬
duce us to believe that irritability is at least, in some
cases, independent of nervous influence. We have seen
(N° in.) that it takes place in those animals in which
there is no appearance of nerves j and that it is very
remarkable in some species of vegetables, in which
none hut the most fanciful physiologists have dreamed
of finding a nervous system. Nay, it appears that the
fibrine of the blood, which we can scarcely suppose to
be affected by the nervous power, when taken out of
the body, is still susceptible of irritation. T2^
From a comparison of all these circumstances, we General
must either conclude, that the irritability of living c0Uclusi011
muscles, and of the superior animals, is different from?^“ssu^'
that of the fibrine, of polypes and plants ; or, if we ad¬
mit that nervous influence is essential to irritability, we
must also allow that this influence descends to the lat¬
ter class of organized bodies. 125
Before we quit the subject of irritability, we must no- Chemical
tice the chemical hypotheses that have been lately pro-
posed, to explain the immediate cause of this faculty. jjty
The first of these is that of Girtanner, who con- x25
sidered oxygen as the principle of irritability. The Girtanner’s
arguments °P>nions'
celerate and retard the motion of his own heart. We have even heard of a person who had such a command over
both heart and lungs, that he could, at pleasure, arrest the motion of both, and assume all the appearance of a
lifeless corpse. Many of those muscles, which, in ordinary subjects, are not obedient to the will, as those of the
nose and external ear, may, however, become so by habit or patient assiduity in cultivating their action.
478
P H Y S I
Of arguments on which he founded this opinion are the fol-
Irritability. lowing'.
* 1 '"v"" ' i. The irritability of organized bodies is always in a
direct ratio to the quantity of oxygen they contain.
2. Every thing that augments the quantity of oxygen
in organized bodies augments at the same time their ir¬
ritability.
3. Every thing that diminishes the quantity of oxy¬
gen diminishes likewise their irritability.
He distinguishes the organized fibre by three dilfer-
ent states: .
1. A state of health, or the tone of the fibre, m which
the oxygen exists in its proper quantity.
2. A state of accumulation, in which the fibre is over¬
charged with the oxygen or irritable principle.
3. A state of exhaustion, in which the fibre is more or
less deprived of it.
He likewise arranges the substances, that are capable
of coming into contact with the irritable fibre, into
three classes.
The first comprehends those substances that have the
same degree of affinity for the irritable principle or oxy¬
gen, as the organized fibre itself} hence the substances
produce no effect upon it.
The second comprehends those substances that have
a less degree of affinity for oxygen than the organized fi¬
bre has : hence these, when they come into contact with
it, surcharge it with oxygen, and produce a state of ac¬
cumulation, They are called negative stimuli.
The third comprehends substances for which oxygen
has a greater affinity than it has for the organized fi¬
bre. These, therefore, deprive the fibre of its oxygen,
and produce a state of exhaustion. rI hey are called po¬
sitive stimuli.
By way of answer to this fanciful doctrine, we may
observe, that if oxygen were so essential to irritability
as is supposed in Girtanner’s positions, those animals
which respire most oxygen should possess most irritabi¬
lity, and those which are capable of living for a long
time in deoxygenated air, should have their irritability
very low. Now, the reverse of this i? found to take
place. The muscular fibres of birds which respire more
* Jo/bwon’s oxygen than most other animals, possess but little irri-
Animal lability, while reptiles and worms, which can live for a
chemistry, j tjme wit|jOUt oxygen, are universally and strongly
irritable .
The other opinion is that of Humboldt, who consi¬
ders the galvanic fluid as the source of nervous power,
and the primary cause of irritability. He lays down
three principles as necessary to excite irritability ; viz.
Oxygen, which forms combinations with different
acidifiable bases. 2. The acidifiable bases (carbone,
hydrogen, azote, and phosphorus), of the fibre, with
which the oxygen may combine. And, 3. The galvanic
fluid.
The galvanic fluid produces, according to Humboldt,
the same efiect in the animal economy, as the electric
fluid in the mixture of azote and oxygen. It is this gal¬
vanic fluid that, being conveyed by the nerves, brings
about the combinations of the oxygen with the different
acidifiable bases of the fibres 5 but when the nerve of a
part is tied, it prevents the fluid from passing, which ex¬
plains the reason of the irritability being destroyed.
The oxygen necessary for these unions is carried by
the arterial blood in the course of circulation j and the
Of
Irritability
127
Hypothesis
of Hum¬
boldt.
O L O G Y. Chap, m
acidifiable bases, which are to unite with it, are found
to be already present in the fibre.
He found that every thing that augments too much v—-■
the quantity of the acidifiable bases diminishes the irri¬
tability and that every thing that increases too much
the quantity of oxygen, likewise diminishes it j and he
thinks it very probable, that the same takes place with
respect to the proportion of the galvanic fluid.
It is therefore only in a just equilibrium of these prin-
ciples that the necessary irritability of the parts consists.
Upon these principles this philosopher thus explains
the production of muscular motion. “ In a state of re¬
pose, the nerve being inserted in the muscles, the gal¬
vanic fluid is put into equilibrium in organs that touch
each other. The spontaneous motion is made by a sur¬
charge of galvanic fluid into the nerve. It appears
that the instant we wish to make a motion, the gal¬
vanic fluid produced in the brain, is carried en masse
towards the part that ought to move, and surcharges the
nervous fibres. A discharge from the nerve is then
made into the muscles. The particles of these last, ani¬
mated by increased affinitres, approach each other,
it is this that constitutes the phenomena of muscular mo- Aninml
tion Chemistry,
Dumas lays down the following fundamental laws re- ^ ^
specting animal irritability. _ 12S
1. The essential characteristic of irritability consists Laws ofir-
in a series of contractions and dilatations, determined ritability
either by the impression of an external stimulus, or by by 1)1111138
the simple exertion of the will.
2. Irritability is independent of the action of the
nerves ; and though generally diffused throughout the
animal organization, it belongs rather to the muscular
fibre than to any other structure. Its action is in pro¬
portion to the number of fibres upon which the irritat¬
ing causes can exert their influence.
3. Irritability is a relative faculty which is not indis¬
criminately obedient to every species of excitation, but
only to those which have some relation to it in the dif¬
ferent parts of the living body.
4. There belongs to each organ a specific irritability
which requires a peculiar stimulus, accommodated to
its nature, and to the kind of functions which it exei-
cises. _ ... .
5. Irritability has certain vicissitudes of diminution
and increase, which vary in the different species of ani¬
mals, in the different organs of the same animals, and
under the different circumstances that successively occur
in the life of an individual.
6. Irritability is developed with most energy at the
moment of death, and immediately after this has taken
place. . .
7. It is multiplied and revived in proportion as the
organ which has lost it is divided into a greater number
of pieces.
8. It diffuses itself in each part with a velocity pro¬
portioned to the activity, number, and duration, of tlie
irritations by which it is excited.
9. There exist mutual relations with respect to influ¬
ence between sensibility and irritability, though each of
them is essentially distinct from the other..
1 o. The exercise of this faculty supposes in the organs
a moderate degree of cohesion, above or below which
the action of this force is enfeebled, obstructed, or op- logic, tom
posed
Chap.
logic, tom
iii. D- S3
iChap. IV. P H Y S I
I Of Animal
Motion. Chap. IV. Of Animal Motion.
The organs of motion vary considerably in their na¬
ture and connection in the different classes of animals.
In Some tribes, as in the animalcules and polypes, no
distinct organs can be observed. In all above these,
however, there are evident muscular fibres, and in many
there are hard parts or strong membranes, which serve
as points of attachment and fulcra of motion to these
fibres. The muscular fibres are to be considered as the
essential moving organs, while the parts to which they
are attached are merely the passive functions of this or¬
gan. It would be out of place here to enter on a com¬
parative account of the organs of motion; and there is the
less occasion for it, as they have been more or less fully
described in the former part of the work. The bones,
ligaments, muscles, and tendons, with their appendages,
as they appear in man, have been amply described in
the first and second chapters of the First Part of Ana¬
tomy ; and those of other animals have been briefly
noticed in the Second Part of that article. Such of
our readers as wish for a more particular account, may
consult Cuvier’s Lectures, vol. i. or Blumenbach’s Com¬
parative Anatomy, chap. I, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 22.
Many of the phenomena of muscular motion, as they
take place in man, have also been related under Ana-
iction. tomy, N° 85 and 86. We shall here therefore only
enumerate and briefly illustrate these phenomena, and
shall then proceed to consider a most interesting part
of the physiology of motion, the progression of different
animals.
Dr Barclay, in his late excellent work on the mus¬
cular motions of the human body, has considered the
general subject of muscular action under the following-
heads, which may be considered as fundamental prin¬
ciples.
1. Fleshy fibres that are continued into tendon by a
straight line, shorten the muscle which they compose,
in the same degree in which they shorten themselves ;
those fibres which enter the tendon obliquely, shorten
it more, and still more in proportion to their degree of
contraction, as they deviate more from the line of the
tendon, and approach nearer to the perpendicular, in
which last direction they would shorten the muscle most
with the least contraction.
This may be illustrated in the following manner.
Plate Let AB (fig. 1.) represent a tendon, and CD a fleshy
■cccxvii. fibre ; and let us suppose that AB is the diameter, and
r* CD the radius of the same circle ADB. It is evident
that if the fibre CD should contract so as to bring the
point C of the tendon to the point G in the straight
line, the extremities of the tendon A, B, (which are
supposed to be moveable) would come respectively to E
and F $ and the situation of the tendon itself would be
represented by the angle EGF. If the fibre could be
supposed to contract so as to bring the point C to D, the
two parts of the tendon CA and CB, would come in
contact. If, on the other hand, the fibre CH, which
enters the tendon obliquely, were to contract to H, so
129
Organs of
notion.
1 '*i°
Principles
O L O G Y.
as to bring the point C to H, the point A would be
drawn but a little beyond the middle point C, so that
although this latter fibre is contracted to as great an
extent as the former, it has not brought the extremities
of the tendon so near together.
2. When two fibres enter a tendon on opposite sides
and contract at the same time, they will draw the ten¬
don in the diagonal j and the more nearlv the angles
which they form with the tendon approach to right
angles, the more will the length of the muscle be short¬
ened in proportion to the degree of contraction of the
fibres.
479
Of Animal
Motion.
Let the fibres BC, BD, BE, BF, BG, (fig. 2.) be Fig. «
fleshy fibres, inserted into the tendon AB, at the point
B,. and let us suppose that all these fibres co-operate in
bringing the point B to the point G, in the straight
line BG. Now the straight fibre BG will be so much
shortened when B comes to G, as to be obliterated,
while the oblique fibres EB and FB will be shortened
only to E a and F b, and the more oblique fibres CB
and DB will remain of the length of C c and D d.
3. All muscles that are inserted into bones, are there¬
by furnished with levers, and as in the action of all
levers there are also a fulcrum, a power, and a resist¬
ance, these in different cases will be differently situated
with respect to one another.
a. In the motions of the head backward and forward
on the atlas, the fulcrum is situated between the power
and the resistance ; or the lever is of what is called in
mechanics, the first kind. See Mechanics, N° 33.
b. V hen the tibia rests upon the astragalus, and the
heel is raised by the muscles of the calf of the leg aet-
ing on the tendo achillis, the resistance (which in this
case is the pressure of the tibia) is situated between the
power and the fulcrum, which are here respectively at
the heel and at the toes ; or the lever is of the second
kind.
c. In raising a weight at the palm of the hand, and
bending the arm at the joint ot the elbow, the power
of action in this joint is situated between the resistance
and the fulcrum, which are here respectively at the
palm of the hand and the distal extremity of the hu¬
merus (d), or the lever is of the third kind.
I he shortness of the lever, and the consequently great
force ot the muscular power required to overcome the
resistance in this last case, may be thus illustrated. Let
AB (fig. 3.) represent the radius articulated at B with pfg. 3.
the humerus BC 3 let DFE represent the biceps flexor
muscle running along the humerus, and attached to the
radius at E 3 and suppose a weight W hung to the dis¬
tal extremity A of the radius. Now, BH wdll repre¬
sent the lever of resistance, and BG perpendicular to it
the lever of the muscle, which is in this case extremely
short.
4. As, other things being equal, all muscles pro¬
duce a greater extent of motion by a less proportion¬
al degree^of contraction, and consequently a less propor¬
tional change in their fibres, than if they were shorter 3
those muscles which follow a direct course are seldom
attached at the nearest points of the two bones with
which
(D) In Dr Barclay’s nomenclature, that extremity of a bone which is towards the trunk is calledproximcf,
and that extremity which looks from the trunk is called distal.
Fig. 4-
•Fig- S-
p h y s i
which they are connected. Hence, beside the advan¬
tages already mentioned, relations are thus formed be¬
tween parts at a distance, and the mutual dependence of
the functions and their organs is extended and strength¬
ened. On the contrary, those muscles that arc not ex¬
tended along the surface of the bones to which they are
attached, are observed to follow an oblique direction, by
which they acquire not only contractibility and length,
but at the same time a shorter lever than if they had
been inserted at the same place with a less obliquity.
5. Of muscles attached to ribs that are parallel,
equally moveable, and at right angles to the vertebial
column, those that follow a direct course from one to
the other, will act on each by equal levers, and make
them approach with the same velocity; while those that
observe an oblique course will act on each by dilferent
levers, and make them approach with different veloci-
^Let AB and CD (fig. 4.) represent two parallel
ribs, articulated with the vertebral column at A and C,
where they are equally moveable ; and let DB and D L
be two muscles, the former observing a direct, and tne
latter an oblique course. The levers of DB will be
AB and CD, which, as AC is parallel to BD, are evi¬
dently equal; but the levers of DE will be CE and
AG, which being of different lengths, the muscle must
act with different degrees of force on the different ribs,
so that it will make CD, on which it acts with the
longest lever, approach AB, faster than it will make
this latter approach the former.
Corollary.—When bones are not parallel, the muscles
that cross in the interval between them, must fall 0-
bliquely on both, as it is impossible for a straight line
to be at the same time perpendicular to two other lines,
unless these be parallel.
6. As all bones move on a centre or axis of motion,
while the muscular attachments move in a circum¬
ference, the muscles, in changing the relative position
of any two bones, must, at the same time, be changing
the direction of their own action, and varying their le¬
ver.
Let AB and CD (fig. 6.) represent parts of two pa¬
rallel ribs, and let AB be moveable on the centre A,
and let CF and GE be two muscles inserted obliquely
into AB at F and E. Now suppose that by the action
of these muscles, AB is brought into the position A b.
The points of attachment of the two muscles to AB,
will now be/and e, and the muscles will be C/ and
G e, having changed their length, situation, obliquity,
and lever.
7. All muscles where the points of attachment move
in a circle, draw either towards the centre, or towards
the circumference.
8. If any two bones could, by the action of their
muscles, be made to approach in a parallel direction, the
oblique muscles attached to their parallel and approach¬
ing surfaces, would perform a greater extent of motion
o L O G Y. c}iaP‘lv
with a less shortening of their fibres, than any straight of Amn/
muscles attached to the same parallel surfaces.
Motion.
lTab““nd cblfii: 6-“i'11 7-) !»
ribs that are parallel, and that will continue parallel til,
they are brought in contact by the action of the straight
muscles AC, EF, ami BD, ur by the action of the
oblique muscles CE and DE (fig. 7.) and FA and Fl>
(fig. 6.). It is evident, that when the point E comes
in contact with F, the length of the straight muscles
must be obliterated, while that of the oblique muscles
will only be shortened by c E and <7E in fig. an J
and g B in fig. 6.
o. As, however, no two bones can approach one an¬
other in a parallel direction, at least by the action of a
single muscle, and as no muscle can continue to act in a
direction perpendicular to their two approximating sur¬
faces ; a muscle entering them at right angles, when
they are parallel, may be placed so near to the centre ot
motion as to carry the bones threugh a given space,
With a less shortening of fibres than any oblique muscle
that has the same origin, but is inserted at a distance,
and acts through the medium of a longer lever, i ur-
ther, a muscle with a less obliquity may be so situateU
as to carry the bones through a given space, with a
less shortening of fibres than any other muse e o ie
same origin, but ot a much greater obliquity. arv.v «
Let AB and CD (fig. 8.) be two ribs, of which AB1 g. 8.
is moveable about the centre A j and suppose that by
the shortening of the straight muscle El, an o t ic two
oblique muscles, EG and EH, AB is brought into the
position Kb. The points of attachment, after moving m
the segments Yf Gg, and HA, will now be respective y
at f, g, and A. Now, on the centre E, with the radii
E/i Eg, and EA, describe three different circular seg¬
ments. The difference between the present and former
lengths of the most oblique muscle EH, will be in,
while the differences between the present and former
lengths of the muscles EG and EE, will be only e G
and »F respectively.
10. The shortenings which any muscle suffers in car-
TYing round the point of its attachment through a given
space, will partly depend on the length of its lever,
partly upon its degree of obliquity, part y on its ra\\
ing peripherad or centrad, and partly on its acting with¬
out or with a pulley (e).
11. The lever of a muscle, which is varied with every
degree of obliquity, is also varied by every change m
the centre of motion. Where bones are connected by
large surfaces, the centre of motion frequently slntts
from one part to another *, but in general it approaches
towards that aspect whither the bone is moving at the
time *, and as it advances, the muscles recede, to in¬
crease their force. * „ „ .
a. The lever of resistance, as wTell as of the power, is
varied by the several changes of position •, is sometimes
shortened at the time that the lever of the power is
lengthened and vice versa.
(e) The terms peripheral and central are employed, by Dr Barclay, to denote the afpe^tS
cording as they respect the circumference or the centre of the organ •, and when the eimina _ , 0f
Zfi from / into d, they denote, like the other terms of his nomenclature, the direction ... wh.cb the action
these parts is exerted. See Barclay’s Anatomical Nomenclature.
Chap. IV. P H Y S I
Of Animal If AB (fig. 9.) represent the radius, BC the hume-
Motion. rus, DE the biceps flexor muscle, and R the resistance
v ' hung to the distal extremity of the radius, it will be
evident that, when BA is, by the action of the flexor
muscle, brought into the position B a, the lever of resis¬
tance will no longer be BA, but BH, equal to a perpen¬
dicular straight line drawn from B, the centre of mo¬
tion, to the plane of resistance ; and, as the lever of re¬
sistance has been shortened, the lever of the muscle has
been pro port ionably lengthened. Were the radius to
resume its former position, the reverse of these circum¬
stances would take place.
b. Sometimes again, the lever of the power and of the
resistance are lengthened or shortened at the same time.
Let AB (fig. io.) represent the tibia, BC the fe¬
mur, and DEE the crureus muscle $ and that the fe¬
mur, with the weight of the body, is to be raised to the
situation B c; the centre of motion will, during exten¬
sion, approach towards the muscle at the rotular aspect,
while the plane of resistance, as is evident from the fi¬
gure, will be approaching to the centre of motion.
r. In the changes of attitude, while a bone is turning
on its centre of motion, the centre itself is often at the
same time describing, either the segment of a circle, or
a line composed of circular segments.
Let AB (fig. ii.) represent the foot, BC the tibia,
CD the thigh bone, and DE the trunk ; and let us sup¬
pose that it is required to bring the three last, by the
action of their muscles, to the perpendicular BE, so
that BC shall occupy the situation of BG, CD the si¬
tuation ol GI, and DE the situation of IF 5 the point C
on the centre B will move in the segment CG, and as
C is changing its position in CG, the point D, which
moves round the point C as its centre, will, if the ex¬
tensions be regularly performed in the same time, de¬
scribe such a curve as DI; for as the point D must
necessarily move atlantad and sternad, in order to
preserve the centre of gravity, the general direction of
its course must be known 5 and if CG be divided into
equal parts, and at each of the divisions a circle describ¬
ed with the radius CD, the points m DI corresponding
in number with the points in CG, and at equal distances
in the sternal direction, will each be found in the cir¬
cumference of one of the circles described successively
round the point C as it passes along the segment CG.
In like manner, if the extensions of CD and DE be
regularly performed in the same time, the point E will
describe such a curve as EE, the points in EE being in
the circumferences of the several circles successively
described round the point D as it moves along the curve
12. When we examine the structure of the animal
system, we shall generally find that the motions of the
bones, as produced by the muscles, are the combined
effects ol different forces, and hence that a small num-
ber of muscles is enabled to produce, with steadiness
Muscic ari<^ accuracy> an almost infinite variety of changes *.
Motion. F0r more on general subject of muscular action,
rtii. afid for an account of the principal motions of the hu-
sp. 3, man body, we must refer to Dr Barclay’s publication.
One ol the most interesting enquiries respecting ani¬
mal motion, is that of the progression of different ani-
131 mats, or of the powers of loco-motion.
I Mns^Ve 1 ^ose animals which possess the faculty of changing
their place, exercise this faculty by very different or-
Vol. XVI. Part II. f
0 L O G Y, 4gl
gans. Some can only creep, as worms, and many mol- 0f Animal
lusca -r others can only swim, as all fishes, many of the Motion.
mollusca, and some of the testacea. Most birds can 11 ""’y- 
both fly, walk, and run, while a few do not possess the
power of exercising the first of these motions. All the
mammalia, and most reptiles, properly so called, can
walk, run, climb, leap, and perform a variety of other
motions; and a few of the former class can imitate the
flying of birds. We shall briefly examine the mecha¬
nism of these different actions, but by way of introduc¬
tion, we shall first consider how the action of standing
is performed.
Standing, in most animals, is solely the effect of the Standing
continued action of the extensor muscles of all the
joints, as is evident from the circumstance, that if an
animal, while standing, suddenly dies, or in consequence
of some powerful cause, as a strong electric shock, ceases
to make the necessary efforts for preserving the upright
position, all the articulations of the legs yield to the
weight of the body, and bend under it. In some ani¬
mals, however, the extension of the muscles is so much
assisted by powerful ligaments attached to the articula¬
tions of the legs, that they are enabled to continue stand¬
ing for a much longer time, and with much less fatigue
than most others. This is the case with birds that
perch, and it is particularly remarkable in the stork,
which by means of this peculiar mechanism is able te
stand on one foot for several days together.
. ^ action of standing is somewhat different, accord¬
ing as the animal stands on two feet or 011 four.
. ?^iat a may be supported in a vertical position, Standing
it is necessary that it be so disposed as to be in a state on two feet
of equilibrium, or that it be so balanced that a perpen¬
dicular line from the centre of gravity shall fall within
Its base. See Mechanics, N° 193, et seq. It is evi¬
dent that the more extensive the base is on which the
body stands, the less is the danger of its losing its ba¬
lance. Man can very easily preserve himself in the ver¬
tical position, from the broad basis formed by his feet,
and from the great power he possesses of separating these
to a considerable distance. This latter depends chiefly
on the greater weight of his pelvis, and the length and
obliquity of the neck of the thigh bone, by which this
bone is carried more outward, and removed farther in
its articulation, than in any other animal. In man, too,
the foot is peculiarly adapted to stand firmly on the'
ground, from the flatness of its inferior surface, and
from having the heel hone so formed as to come in per¬
fect contact with the ground. The muscles that move
the foot are also very advantageously inserted, and the
extensor muscles of the heel are proportionably thicker
than in most of the mammalia.
The thigh of man, when in the erect posture, is in a
straight line with the trunk and the leg, whereas in
quadrupeds, it is situated close upon the flank, and forms
an acute angle with the spine. On this account, the
thigh bone of quadrupeds is flat, and proportionally
weaker than that of man. The extensor muscles of the
thigh are proportionally stronger in man than in the
other animals j and as the thigh bone moves upon the
pelvis in every direction, these extensors are in man so
considerable, that he is the only animal that possesses
what are properly called hips.
In consequence of this structure, the human sacral
extremities are furnished with a sufficient base, and form
3 P very
4# 2
Of Animal
Motion.
134
Standing
four fcol.
P H
very solid bodies for supporting the trunk,
possesses several advantages for maintaining the gene-
' ral equilibrium ot the body, especially the facility with
which he holds his head in the erect posture, owing to
the position of the occipital bone, and the horizontal
direction of the eyes and mouth. See the article Man,
iN° 5. and 6.
The quadrupeds that sometifties try to stand on their
hind foet only in order that they may either employ
their fore feet in taking hold ot some object, or avoid
keeping their head too low, seem rather to sit than to
stand. Their trunk rests at the same time on their hind
feet, as far as the heel, and on the buttocks ; it is still
necessary, however, that tueir nead and neck should be
proportionally small, as in monkeys, squirrels, oppossums,
cS-c.1 otherwise the weight of those parts would be too
great for the force employed in their elevation } but
even when seated, the animal is generally obliged to rest
on the fore feet, as may be observed in dogs, cats, <Sc.
Some quadrupeds use their tail as a third loot, to en¬
large the base of the body : and when it is strong, it is
capable of contributing to their support for some time.
We find examples of this in the kangaroos and jerboas.
We have already noticed the mechanism in the feet
of birds, which enables these animals to support them¬
selves on two legs, though they do not stand in a verti¬
cal position, and though the atlantal part ot their bodies
is advanced more beyond the centre of gravity than the
sicral part. Other advantages possessed by birds in
this respect are, the great flection of the thigh hone
and tarsus j the length of the anterior toes, and the
length and flexibility of the neck.
pn An animal which stands on four feet is supported on
a very considerable base •, but from the great weight of
the head and neck in these animals, their centre of
gravity is nearer to the atlantal than to the sacral ex¬
tremities (f). It is evident from tins, that in quadru¬
peds, the former must sustain almost the whole weight
of the body ; and we find, accordingly, that they are
furnished with very strong muscles. In short, all that
the sacral extremities seem to want in muscular force,
appears to he transferred to the atlant.il.
As in most quadrupeds the head inclines towards the
horizon, and the neck is often very long, very powerful
means are required to sustain the tormer. Ihese means
are furnished by the great size, and extensive attach¬
ments of the muscles of the neck, and especially in ma¬
ny quadrupeds by the cervical ligament. In the mole,
which employs its head to raise considerable burdens
of earth, the cervical muscles are peculiarly strong,
and the ligament is converted into bone.
The body of a quadruped hangs between the four
lews, and by its weight tends to draw the spine down¬
wards. This is counteracted by the abdominal mus¬
cles, especially by the straight muscles, which produce
a curvature in the opposite direction. The abdominal
muscles act with peculiar force in arching the spine
upwards in those mammalia that are covered with
scales or spines, and are accustomed to roll themselves
Y S I O L O G Y.
Man also up on the approach of danger, as the hedgehog, the Of .trims,
cirmadillos,*and the pangolins. _ _ . , Motio^
Oviparous quadrupeds or reptiles, have their thighs
directed outward, and the inflections ot the limbs take
place in planes that are perpendicular to the spine. In
these, therefore, the weight of the body must act with
a much longer lever, in opposing the extension ot the
knee-joints j and accordingly they have the knees al¬
ways bent, and the belly dragging on the giound be¬
tween their legs, whence the name of reptiles. iys
In walking on a fixed surface, the centre of gravity Walking
is alternately moved bv one part of the extremities,
and sustained by the other, the body never being at
any time completely suspended over the giound. 13S
Animals which can stand erect on two legs, such as^lkmg
man and birds, walk also on two legs. But seveial
quadrupeds that cannot stand on two feet but with great
difficulty, may yet move in that posture for some time
Avitb sufficient ease. This arises from its being in gene¬
ral less painful to walk than to stand, the same muscles
not being continued so long in action. And also it is
less difficult to correct the unsteady motions by con¬
trary and alternate vacillations ^a thing easy in walk¬
ing), than it is to prevent them altogether.
When man intends to walk on even ground, he first
advances one foothis body then rests equally on both
legs, the advanced leg making an obtuse angle with the
tarsus, and the other an acute one. Ihe giound
not yielding to the point ot the foot, the heel and the
rest of the leg must of necessity be raised, otherwise the
•heel could not be extended. The pelvis and trunk are
consequently thrown upward, forward, and somewhat
in a lateral direction. In this manner they move round
the fixed foot as a centre, with a radius consisting of a
leg belonging to that foot, which, during this opera¬
tion, continually diminishes the angle formed with the
tarsus. The leg which communicated this impulse is
then thrown forward, and rests its foot upon the ground;
while the other, which now forms an acute angle with
its foot, has the heel extended in its turn, and in like
manner makes the pelvis and trunk turn round upon the
former leg. t , ,
As each leg supports the body in its turn, as in stand¬
ing on one foot, the extensor muscles of the thigh and
knee are brought into action, to' prevent these articu¬
lations from yielding j and the flexors act immediately
after, when the leg having thrown the weight of the
body on its fellow must be raised before it can again be
carried forward. As the undulatory motion that ne¬
cessarily attends a man’s walking, cannot be perfectly
regulated on both sides, he cannot walk in a perfect
straight line, nor can he walk in a direct course with
his eyes shut.
In walking down an inclined plane, or descending a
staircase, as the advanced leg is placed lower than that
which remains behind, the extensors of the leg must act
more powerfully to prevent the body from falling back¬
wards. Again, on ascending such situations it is re¬
quisite at each step, not only to transport the body hon-
^ zontalfy,
(F) These terms signify the same as tor and W ZZ'Z'
are more convenient, as applying indiscriminately to both. Atlanta! denotes uu u
is next the sacrum. See Ba xlaifs Nomenclature.
Chap. IV. P H Y S I
Of inimal mentally, as on walking on level ground, but to bear it
Motion, up against its own weight, by means of the extensors of
the knee of the advanced leg, and those of the heel ef
that which is behind •, this is the reason of the knee and
calf of the leaf being fatigued in ascending ; and the
fatigue is relieved by inclining the body forward, be¬
cause then the lever by which its weight acts on the knee
is shortened.
Running is only a succession of short leaps, and it
will be understood from what we shall presently say of
137 leaping.
Walking When a quadruped walks, he first slightly bends the
afcfom feet. articu|atjong of the hind legs, and then extends them, in
order to carry forward the body, which motion is con¬
siderably aided by the extensors of the knee and the
heel. The breast being thus thrown forward, the fore
legs incline backward, and the animal would fall, did
it not instantly throw them forward in order to support
itself. It then draws up the trunk upon the fore legs,
and renews its former efforts.
In this walking, each step is performed by two legs,
one belonging to the fore, and the other to the hind pair.
Sometimes these are of the same side, and sometimes
those of opposite sides. The motion of a horse who steps
forward in the latter way, is termed a pace.
In the animals that have the fore feet longer than the
hind, and have their strength chiefly in the anterior part
of the body, the principal impulse is given bv extending
the fore foot. The hind foot then rises to follow it, and
it is not until the moment that the latter extends itself
in its turn, that the fore foot is raised. This is the
manner in which the giraffe is said to move.
But when the fore legs are considerably dispropor-
tiotted to the others, and particularly when the posterior
extremities are feebly and badly articulated, as in the
sloths, the animal is obliged to drag itself forward, by
first extending the fore legs, and then bending them so
as to draw the body after them. Hence the progression
of the sloth is so laborious.
Those animals which have their fore legs very short
in proportion to their hind legs, would he incapable of
sufficiently supporting their bodies, and must fall for¬
ward on each impulse of the latter, had they not the
precaution to make a prancing movement $ that is, to
raise the anterior extremities entirely off the ground,
previously to their being impelled onward by means of
the hind feet. Accordingly, such animals cannot in
propriety of language be said to walk $ they only move
forward by leaps. This is the case with hares, rats,
and particularly jerboas. Indeed, these animals cannot
be said to walk at all, except in the action of ascending.
When they attempt to walk slowly on level ground,
they are obliged to move themselves by the fore feet,
and merely to drag after them the hind pair. This
may be observed in rabbits, and still more distinctly in
138 frogs.
'aping. In leaping, the body rises completely from the earth,
and remains without any support for a short period, the
duration of which depends on the force with which the
leap has been made. This action is performed by a sud¬
den extension of all the muscles belonging to the sacral
articulations, immediately after they have undergone an
unusual degree of flection. By this general extension
these articulations receive a violent motion, the impulse
of which is communicated to the centre of gravity of
O L O G Y. 483
the body, and it is thus projected with a determined ve- Of Animal
locity, which is more or less in opposition to its weight. Motion.
1 he projectile force and extent of the leap depend on v '
the proportional length of the bones, and strength of
the muscles. Those animals, therefore, leap best that
have the sacral extremities longer and thicker than the
atlantal $ as the kangaroos, jerboas, frogs, alticce, grylli,
fleas, &c.
Small animals leap proportionally much farther thart
the larger species ; and we know of none whose muscu¬
lar strength, in this way, can be put in competition with
that of a flea, which in a moderate computation is known
to leap to a distance of at least 200 times its own length.
1 he direction of a leap depends on the situation of the
centre of gravity with respect to the member by which
the impulse is given. Hence, only man and birds can
leap vertically, because they alone have the trunk situa¬
ted above the members by which the leap is effected.
Quadrupeds, and most insects, can only leap forward j
but spiders, which have several long feet on each side
of their body, can also leap sideways.
Running consists of a series of low leaps performeduunnjar
alternately by each leg. It differs from walking, in the
body being projected forward at each step, and in the
hind foot being raised before the anterior touches the
ground. It is more rapid than the quickest walk, be¬
cause the acquired velocity is preserved, and increased
at each bound by a new velocity. Running, therefore,
cannot be instantaneously suspended, though a stop may
he put to walking at each step.
In running, the animal inclines its body forward, that
the centre of gravity may be in a proper position for re¬
ceiving an impulse in that direction from the hind leg ;
and it is obliged to move the fore leg rapidly forward,
to guard against falling.
Man varies his manner of running, only by taking
longer or shorter steps, or giving to this motion a greater
or less degree of rapidity ; but quadrupeds vary this
motion by the different order in which they raise each
foot, or bring it to the ground.
Trotting is a mode of running in which the feet dia-Trotting
gonaily opposite rise at once, and fall at ohee, each pair
alternately, but in such a manner, that for a moment
all the four feet ax-e off the ground. This produces a re¬
gular motion, and the sound of the animal’s steps are
heard two and two in succession. *41
Galloping is a running motion in which the animal GaLopittg.
raises the anterior feet at each step, and throws the body
forward by the extension of the posterior feet. When
the two fore-feet descend at the same time, and are fol¬
lowed by the two hind feet also descending together,
the motion is called & full gallop, which is the most
rapid a horse can perform, and the only mode of running
in dogs, hares, &c. In this kind of gallop the steps of
the horse are. likewise heard by two beats at a time.
The common gallop is when the two fore-feet are lifted
unequally, and fall one after another. This may be
divided into gallops in which the horses footsteps are
heard by a series of three or four beats, because the po¬
sterior feet may fall to the ground either both together,
or one after the other.
There are several kinds of animals which leap by the
means of organs different from feet, but always by a
sudden extension of several articulations.
Serpents leap by folding their bodies into several un-
2 P 2 ' dotations,
484
PHYSIOLOGY.
T42
ClimViiu
Of Animal filiations, whicli they unbend all at once, according as
Motion, they wish to give more or less velocity to their motion $
 v ' some may be assisted by the scales of their belly, which
they can elevate and depress, but only a few genera are
capable of employing this means.
Some fishes also leap to the tops of cataracts by bend¬
ing their bodies strongly, and afterwards unbending
them with an elastic spring.
The long-tailed cray fishes, particularly the shrimps,
leap by extending the tail after it has been previously
bent under the body.
The larva of the fly, vulgarly called the maggot,
forms itself into a circle, contracts itself as much as pos¬
sible, then suddenly unbending, darts forwards to a con¬
siderable distance.
The motion of climbing, so useful to many of the in¬
ferior animals, consists, in hanging from, and strongly
grasping any object susceptible of being seized by the
fingers, toes, or tail, and thus rising, by successive eftorts,
in a direction opposite to the animal’s weight. From
this explanation, it is evident that those animals which
have the divisions of their extremities most distinct and
flexible, will be the best climbers ; and accordingly we
find that the animals called quadrumanous, as the apes,
lemurs, and a few others, perform this action in. the
most perfect manner. Man is but an indiflerent climb¬
er, as he can only grasp with his hands. In oppossums,
ant-eaters and sloths, one of the toes is distinct, like the
thumb in man, apes, and lemurs 5 or else they have a
considerable protuberance on the heel, which has the
same effect. Many animals, as some of the monkeys,
some species of oppossum and ant-eater, t\\e mams, &c.
have a very flexible prehensile tail, which assists them
in climbing. The animals of the cat genus have very
sharp talons, by which they are materially assisted in
this kind of progression, as they enable them to adhere
firmly to the bark of trees, &c. Creepers, nut-hatches,
woodpeckers, and other climbing birds, support them¬
selves in a similar manner.
The motion of flying, by which an animal can sup¬
port itself for some considerable time in the air, can pro¬
perly be said to be performed only by birds : for though
bats can imitate this motion with tolerable success, and
the galiopithecus, flying squirrels, and flying oppossums,
appear to fly from one tree to another, the motion of
the former cannot be supported for so long a time as
that of birds •, and the motion of the latter animals can
be considered only as a leap, assisted and prolonged by
the opposition given to the air, by the membranous ex¬
pansion between their limbs.
When a bird designs to fly, it first darts into the air,
either by leaping from the ground, or by throwing it¬
self from some height. In the mean time it raises the
whole of the wings which had till then remained folded,
and which it unfolds in a horizontal direction by extend¬
ing the bones. When the wings have thus acquired all
the superficial extent of which they are susceptible, they
are suddenly depressed, till they form, with the vertical
plane of the body, an angle that is obtuse upward, and
acute downward. The resistance which the air gives
to this motion suddenly performed in it, produces a .re¬
action on the body of the bird, and thus moves it for*
ward as in ordinary leaps. This impulse once given,
the bird refolds the wings by bending the joints, and
i43
Flying.
Chap. IV
repeats its efforts by another stroke. As the velocity of Aninm
thus acquired in ascending is gradually diminished by Motion,
the effect of gravitation, a moment occurs in which it1 "v-’"
ceases, and in which the bird tends neither to ascend
nor descend. If at this moment it gives a new stroke
with the wings, it acquires a new ascending velocity,
by which it will be carried as far as before, and by re¬
peating these efforts, it will ascend in a uniform man¬
ner. If this second stroke be made before the velocity
first acquired is lost, an additional impulse will be re¬
ceived ; and by a continuance of this action the bird
will ascend with an accelerated motion. It the wings
do not vibrate when the ascending velocity is lost, the
bird will begin to descend •, and if it allow itself to fall
down to the point from which it set out, it cannot as¬
cend as high as at first, but by a much stronger exer¬
tion of the wings •, but if it seizes in the fall a point so
situated that the acquired descending velocity, and the
small space which it has to fall down reciprocally ba¬
lance each other, it may, by a series of equal vibrations,
keep itself at the same height.
When a bird wishes to descend rapidly, as when it
darts upon its prey, it altogether suppresses the vibra¬
tion of its wings, and thus falls by its own gravity.
While descending, however, it may suddenly break its
fall by extending its wings, and this suspension is call¬
ed a recover. # #
We have as yet considered only the vertical flight 01
a bird. To fly horizontally, it must rise in an oblique
direction, and make a new movement of its wings,
w hen it is ready to descend below the point from which
it departed •, but in this way it will not fly in a straight
line, but will describe a series of curves so very much
depressed, that the horizontal will overcome the vertical
motion. In order to ascend obliquely, the bird must
make quicker vibrations of its w'ings, and to ascend in
a similar direction, the vibrations must be slower.
The deviations of flight to the right or left are chiefly
produced by the unequal vibrations of the opposite
wing *, those of the left wing carrying the bird to the
right, and vice versa. The more rapid the flight is
forward, the greater is the difficulty of one wing sur¬
passing the other in the velocity of its vibrations, and of
course the deviation sideways is the more difficult.
Hence birds which fly with the greatest velocity make
large circles in turning.
The tail, when spread out, contributes to sustain the
posterior part of the body. If it is depressed when the
bird has acquired a progressive velocity, it presents an
obstacle which elevates the posterior part of the body,
and depresses the anterior. If it is turned up, the con¬
trary effect is produced. Some birds incline to one
side, to assist them like a rudder, when they wish to
change their horizontal direction.
The structure of most birds peculiarly adapts them
for rapid motion through the air, and for sustaining
themselves in this element with the greatest facility.
See Ornithology, N° 37. . ,44
The action of swimming, like that of flying, nearly
resembles leaping, except that, like flying, the leap does
not take place on a fixed surface. A great variety of
animals, besides fish, and most of the other inhabitants
of the waters, are capable of swimming. Ibis action is
performed with considerable ease by several ofthemam-
' mafia,
■ IV. P H Y S I
[if Animal malia, even by the bulky elephant, and the unwieldy
(Motion, hippopotamus ; by many tribes of birds j by several rep-
“‘"■Y—tiles and serpents, and by some insects.
The organs employed by fishes, in making their way
through the water, are their fins, tail, and air-bladder j
the two former exerting the necessary motions like the
wings of birds, while the latter, by being compressed or
expanded, causes the necessary changes in the specific
gravity of the body, and thereby renders the animal
more or less buoyant. The swimming of fishes has been
treated of with sufficient minuteness under Ichthyo¬
logy, chap. iii. sect. 3. to which we refer the reader.
The cetacea employ much the same means as fishes ;
but in them the principal efforts of the tail are made
in a vertical direction, and the use of the air-bag is sup¬
plied by lungs, which they can compress and dilate at
pleasure, by the action of the diaphragm, or the inter¬
costal muscles. See Cetology.
The swimming of mammalia, and of water birds,
is performed by means of the legs and feet, which are
used like oars, to propel the body forward by the resist¬
ance which they make to the water in the contrary di¬
rection. Hence those quadrupeds and birds that have
flat or webbed feet, swim most easily, as the resisting
surface is the greatest. Of all the mammalia, man has
the most occasion to use his hands in swimming, on ac¬
count of the greater proportional w’eight of his head.
Serpents, and the larvae of such insects as sometimes
Inhabit the waters, perform the action of swimming by
rapid inflections of the body like an eel or a leech.
The lar vae-that are most commonly found in the waters
are those of the water beetles, the hydrophilus, the day
files, the aquatic tipulce, and gnats.
145 No animal walks without legs, or flies without wings
(if we except the flying fish, whose fins enable it rather
to spring than fly) j but there are many that swim with¬
out fins, and that leap or creep without any legs. The
rapidity of movement is not proportioned to the number
of instruments that are employed : if the spout-fish he ob¬
served to move slowly with one leg, the sea-urchin moves
still more slowly with many thousands 5 the oyster moves
by squirting out water; the scallop by the jerk of its
shell, and when in the water it rises to the surface and
sails before the wind.
Many animals are formed by nature to fly, walk, leap,
and swim : the fate of those are rather uncommon whose
muscles or feet are by nature attached to their integu¬
ments j the lobster is obliged to throw off its shell, and
the caterpillar all its feet, with the skins, and in that
sifuation to remain stationary till it receive new instru¬
ments of motion.
.’hap
i45
*47
stable
ions.
Whoever has read the celebrated work De Motu Ani-
malium, needs not to be told that, besides the organs
which are here mentioned, the form, the structure, and
even the specific gravity of the body, as depending on
the nature of the bones and muscles, or as varied by
air-vesicles and bubbles, with a great variety of other
circumstances, are necessary to explain the different
phenomena of locomotion.
As to vegetable motions, they evidently depend on
external agents : the wings of seeds only fit them to be
carried by the wind, their specific gravity to float in the
water, and their legs or tentacula to adhere to bodies
that are in motion j the singular motions which have
O L O G Y. 4gs
been ascribed to sleeping, to waking, to sensation, and Of Animal
volition, in the vegetable kingdom, seem only the con- Motion,
sequence of light, heat, moisture, and such stimulants, 1
acting invisibly or with secret influence : the opening
and closing of the meteoric flowers are always corre¬
spondent to the states of the atmosphere j and the open¬
ing and closing of the equinoctial and tropic flowers, to
the light, the length or shortness of the day.
^le principal intentions of locomotion are to get Uses'of Jo
food, to shun danger, to promote intercourse and di-coijjotion^
sperse the species.
There is perhaps no part of physiology which is more
important than the relations which subsist between the
different functions of the living body 5 but it is a part of
the subject which is as yet but little understood. We
regret that our limits will not permit us to pay all the
attention to it which we could wish. We shall, how¬
ever, briefly notice under each function, the principal
relations that are found to take place between it and
those which have been previously considered.
Besides the dependence which animal motion has, in ^
most instances, on the nervous system, (see N° m.) weLtions be'
find an evident sympathy between these two functions tween sen-
in a variety of phenomena. A violent emotion or im- sati°n and
pression on the nerves often throws the limbs into con-niotion’
vulsive agitations spasmodic affections are relieved, or
sometimes removed, by the coming on of delirium j and
these svmptions will alternate with each other : a com¬
pression of the brain, or of some large nervous trunk,
produces general or partial want of motion, anff when
this compression is removed, the muscles for the most
part recover their usual action ; an attack of epilepsy is
often preceded by the sensation of a stream of vapour
commencing in some external part, and rising to the
brain. These, and many other phenomena that might
be mentioned, fully prove the sympathy between the
nervous and muscular systems; and with this enumera¬
tion we must dismiss the subject.
Chap. V. Of Digestion.
The necessity of repairing the waste of the body is Appetite
announced in all animals by the feelings of hunger and for food, j
thirst 5 the former of which intimates the occasion for
solid, the latter for liquid food. This imperious neces¬
sity overrules all the other affections of the vital prin¬
ciple, and every other appetite often remains suspended
till that necessity be satisfied. It is difficult to assign
the final cause of these singular sensations, but probably
our researches on that subject are rather curious than use¬
ful. Whatever be the ultimate end of these appetites, we
readily perceive how much they are influenced by habit.
We find that when we are accustomed to take food at
particular times, the appetite, under ordinary circum¬
stances, always reminds us at these times, of the occasion,
whether real or apparent, for receiving a new supply.
By this influence of habit some animals, especially man,
are accustomed to take several meals in a day, while
others can fast for days, or even weeks, together. The
appetite for food also varies considerably at different ages.
It is more lively and more imperious in infancy and early
childhood, and in general in those animals who have not
yet acquired their full growth ; it is on the contrary
weaker in advanced age, and when the body ceases to
increase
4^6
- 152 ,
Plants and
Borne ani¬
mals live on
water and
air alone.
Of increase in srz'% It is more fmj’Uently renewed in die
Digestion, strong anti healthy, and those who aie accustomed to la-
v 1 borious occupations or active exercises.
151 We know that in the natural state of the animal body,
the appetite for food is influenced by the nature ot the
aliment on which the animal is accustomed to subsist.
Many animals live entirely on vegetable food, and these
have no appetite for animal substances, and even reject
these when offered to them. On the other hand, many
tribes live entirely on animal food, and either refuse ve¬
getable, or, if obliged by necessity to employ it as food,
do not appear to derive nourishment from it. We find,
however, that it is in the power of habit to remove these
appetites*, that a horse or a sheep may be taught to live
on animal food, while a dog or a cat may be supported
entirely on vegetable substances* A few animals are
capable of subsisting on almost every kind of animal or
vegetable substances, or are omnivorous.
Many animals are capable of being supported by wa¬
ter and air alone. We know that several fi lies, as the
minow, the gold and silver fish, &c. will live lor a long
time in a vessel containing pure water, and freely expos¬
ed to the air* Rondelet a celebrated writer on fishes in
the 16th century) relates a remarka’ e instance of this.
He kept a fish during three years in a vessel that was
constantly full of very pure water. It grew to such a
ske, that at the end of that time the vessel could no
longer contain it* Leeches are often kept for several
years with no other nutriment but water, and that not
very often changed. There is good reason to believe
that the sole food of plants consists of water and air, and
that the soil in which they grow answers scarcely any
other purpose than that of preserving and conducting
those necessary aliments. * -
! *53 It has been supposed that some animals are capable or
subsisting on matters that appear to contain no nutritious
principles, such as sand, hair, and wool. Borelh long ago
conceived this opinion, from observing that in many te¬
staceous animals which he dissected, the alimentary tube
contained nothing but sand. It lias often been remark¬
ed, that horses, cows, and sheep, when deprived of then-
usual nourishment, will lick their bodies, and swallow
down the hair, or, in the case ot sheep, will tear oil and
swallow each others wool. If we consider the nature ot
these substances, we think there is no reason to suppose
that they answer any other purpose than distending the
alimentary canal or‘stomach, and thus in some measure
counteracting the effect ot hunger.
The subject of food in general has been already treat¬
ed of, under Aliment, and in Materia Medica,
iJart I. N° 17 and the function of digestion, as far as
it relates to man, has been considered under Anatomy,
Iff0 106, 107, and under Chemistry, N0 2548. It re¬
mains for us here only to make a few observations on the
154 comparative phy iology of this tu ction. .
: Differences Digestion differs considerably in the various classes ot
"£Fdigestion an;ma|Sj both as to the organs by which it is performed,
and as to the simplicity or complex nature of the opera¬
tion itself. The general variations that take place in
the organs of digestion, have been mentioned under the
comparative part ot Anatomy, N° 152, and are fully
treated of by Cuvier, in bis L fans (PAnatomic Lorn-
varee, tom. iii. and Blumenbu< h, in his Comparative
Anatomy, chap. 6 and 7.
In the more perfect animals,' digestion supposes a
5
PHYSIOLOGY. Chap, V„
series of operations, from the time that the food enters of
the mouth, till the nutritious parts of it are taken into Dige.-tion.
the circulating system. These operations are, mastica-
tion, in.sahvation, deglutition, chymificulion, and chyh-
Jication. I55
Mastication is performed by means of teeth, and there- M .stica-
fore can scarcely be said to take place in those animals
that are not furnished with these organs. M e know that
all mammalia, except those which Cuvier calls cdcntula,
as the ant-eaters, pangolins, and platypus, have teeth,
fitted both for dividing and chewing their tood $ but
here an important difference takes place. Those ani¬
mals which live chiefly on animal food, have most of
their teeth sharp and pointed, for the purpose of seizing
and tearing their prey, while the graminivorous and gra-
nivorous animals have very large and strong grinders,
in which the hard substance commonly called enamel
(or what Blake calls corpus striatum,*) forms alternate * Blake m
layers with the bony part. Such are also found in most
reptiles and serpents, and in many fishes j but in some of Fo)mati(m
these they seem less to serve the purpose of dividing the
food, than to seize and retain it till swallowed. Birds Teeth.
have no teeth, though some of them have the mandibles
of the bill so formed as to divide and cut in pieces their
During mastication the food is mixed with the saliva,^1™'
and is thus better fitted for easy solution in the stomach.
This insalivation of the food may, however, take place,
without previous mastication. It is common for ser¬
pents to swallow their food whole j but in order to faci¬
litate its passage down the throat, they first besmear it
all over with their muscous saliva. In many animals, a
process similar to msalivation takes place, while the
food remains in the mouth. In several species of the
ape tribe there is a pouch situated on each side of the
jaw, and in these pouches the greater part of the food is
retained, not merely as some suppose, to serve as a fu¬
ture meal, but to undergo a dilution by the fluids that
are there secreted. In granivorous birds, the food is
first received into a membranous bag, formed by a dila¬
tation of the gullet, and commonly called the crop,
where it is macerated by the fluids that are there sepa¬
rated by means of glands or exhaling vessels, and passes
down, as the animal requires, to be further prepared by
the stomach. The bustard, indeed, though a granivo¬
rous bird, has no proper crop, but the gullet is furnished
with numerous and large glands.
For an account of the chemical nature and properties
of saliva, see Chemistry, IS0 2723. _ i;7
The operation of deglutition depends chiefly on the Degluti-
action of the tongue, and on that of the muscles whichtlon-
surround the pharynx and gullet. It is more or less
speedy in proportion as these are more or less active and
vigorous. Most animals, after having once swallowed
their food, do not receive it again into the mouth -, but
this takes place in several tribes, and is called rvmina-
tiotr, or chewing the cud.
Rumination takes place chiefly in those animals that Iliumaar
feed on herbage, and have not a muscular stomach 5 such ^
as all the tribes that Linnaeus has rauked under the or¬
der pecora. In these the food, after being slightly
chewed, is received into the first stomach, and after re¬
maining there for a shoi t time, it is gradually brought
by a retrograde action of the gullet into the mouth,
where it undergoes a complete trituration and insalna-
tion,
)Chap V.
PHYSIOLOGY.
487
IS9
^ymilica-
ion.
1 do
Organic
.ction of
:ie slo¬
uch.
Of tion, ami is then conveyed into the 2d, 3d, and 41b
Digestion, stomachs, to be mixed with the gastric juice.
“ v ~J Some of tho-^e birds which have a diluting sac or in-
gluvies, seem likewise to ruminate. This in the parrot
was observed by the gentlemen of the French academy.
It has since been observed in rooks, macaws, cockatoos,
and others : and Mr Hunter, to whom physiology is so
much indebted, discovered that the male and the female
pigeon secrete in their ingluvies a certain liquor for
feeding their young \ and that most kinds of what have
been thought ruminating birds do very often in expressing
their fondness regurgitate their food. Yet both this
and another species of regurgitation which is very com¬
mon with those animals that swallow indigestible sub¬
stances with their food, should be carefully distinguished
from rumination. For a farther account of rumination,
and of the digestive organs of ruminating animals, see
Comparative Anatomy, N° 228—234. and Phil.
Trans. 1807, Part ii.
The food having entered the stomach, undergoes in
that organ processes that are partly mechanical, or ra¬
ther organic, and partly chemical, depending on the
structure of the stomach, and the nature of the juices
secreted into its cavity. By these actions it is reduced
into a pulpy substance commonly called chyme.
The organic action of the stomach is greater or less,
according as this organ is more or less muscular. There
are many animals, chiefly birds of the granivorous
tribes, that have a very muscular stomach, commonly
called gtenard, capable of grinding, not only the grains
received into it, but even of reducing to powder small
pieces of glass, and of blunting the points of needles
and lancets. These facts were first proved by Borelli,
who introduced into the gizzards of fowls, nuts, filberts,
hollow spheres of glass, hollow cubes of lead, small py¬
ramids of wood, and several other substances, which he
found were either crushed together, or broken to pieces.
He computes the power exerted by the stomach of the
Indian cock as equal to the pressure of 1350 pounds
weight. These experiments were repeated and verified
by Spallanzani.
Some animals that are not possessed of a muscular
stomach have, within that organ, teeth, or other hard
bodies, for the purpose of breaking or grinding their
food. This is the case with many of the Crustacea, as
crabs and lobsters.
A great many animals have what Spallanzani calls
intermediate stomachs, i. e. not so muscular as the giz¬
zard of fowls, nor so membranous as the stomachs of ru¬
minating animals 5 this is the case with many birds, as
ravens, crows, jierons, &c. The stomachs of these ani¬
mals are possessed of considei'able force, though this is
not nearly equal to that exerted by the gizzard. These
animals possess the power of rejecting by the mouth the
substances that are incapable of digestion in the stomach,
every nine, or sometimes every three hours.
The animals with membranous stomachs are very
numerous, comprehending man, most beasts and birds
of prey 5 many reptiles, snakes, fish, &c. The stomachs
of these animals are susceptible of but little muscular
action, though in many species they both contract upon
the food, and reject it through the gullet, on various
occasions. Birds of prey, like the ravens, crows, &c.
possess the power of rejecting, in the form of pallets, the
indigestible parts of their food, which usually takes place Of
every 24 hours. Digestion.
A most interesting paper by Mr Everard Home is ~ v" f
published in the Philosophical Transactions for 1807,
part a. on the structure and functions ol the stomachs 0| m,.
of various animals. We regret that we can here give Home,
little more than the results of his inquiries.
From previous investigations respecting the stomachs
of ruminating animals, Mr Home was led to believe
that the fourth stomach in these tribes was either al¬
ways, or during digestion, divided into two portions,
each performing a different office in the digestive pro¬
cess ; and he even conjectured, that a similar division
might take place in other animals.
Mr Home has examined the stomachs of a great va¬
riety of animals, and investigated the progress of di¬
gestion in ruminants, the hare tribe, which occasionally
ruminate, the beaver, dormouse, water-rat, common rat,
mouse, horse, and ass, kangaroo, pecare, hippopotamus,
elephant, the cetacea, fowls, and lastly in man. 1(j2
The human stomach appeal’s to be the uniting link Human sto-
between those that are fitted only to digest vegetable niach the
substances, and those of animals that are entirely car-
nivorous; and yet we find, that in its internal structure
it is in every material respect similar both to those of and phiti-
the monkey and squirrel, which usually digest only ve-vorous sto-
getable food, and to those of carnivorous animals. machs.
The human stomach is occasionally divided into a \n[Q^car^
cardiac and a pyloric portion, by a muscular contrac-(frHC and
tion similar to those of other animals •, and as this c\x-pyloric^ox-
cumstance has not before been noticed, it is proper to tlon-
be more particular in describing it.
The first instance in which Mr Home observed this
muscular contraction in the human stomach, was in a
woman who died in consequence of being burnt, and
who had been unable to take much nourishment for se¬
veral days before her death. The stomach was found
empty, and was taken out of the body at a very early
period after death. It was carefully inverted to ex¬
pose its internal surface, and gently distended with air.
The contraction was so permanent, that after the sto¬
mach had been kept in water, in an inverted state, for
several days, and at different times distended with air,
the appearance was not altogether destroyed.
Since that time, Mr Home has taken every oppor¬
tunity of examining the human stomach shortly after
death ; and he finds that this contraction, in a greater
or less degree, is very generally met with. Fie is of
opinion that this effect is not produced by a peculiar
band of muscular fibres, but that it arises from the mus¬
cular coat, in the middle part of the stomach, being
thrown into action to a greater or less extent according
to circumstances. When this part of the stomach is ex¬
amined by dissection, its muscular fibres are not to be
distinguished from the rest. If the body be examined
so late as 24 hours after death, this appearance is rare¬
ly met with ; a circumstance w hich accounts for its not
having before been particularly noticed.
That the food is dissolved in the cardiac portion ofjr00(]first
the human stomach, is proved by this part only being dissolved ja rr
found digested alter death j the instances of which are car-
sufficiently numerous to require no addition being madec!*ac P0F“
to them. This could not take place unless the solvent ’
liquor W'ac deposited there. Mr Hunter goes so far as
fo
1
438
P II Y S I
166
Solvent li¬
quor se-
Of to say in his paper on this subject, “ there are few dead
Digestion, bodies in which the stomach at its great end is not in
v some degree digested.”
but the That the chyle'is not formed there, and that it is
chyle form- commonly formed before the food passes through the py-
ed in the lorus, is proved by the result of some experiments made
pyloric por- by Mr Hunter upon dogs, in the year 1760. The dogs
tion' were killed while digestion was going on •, and in all,
the food was least dissolved, or even mixed, towards the
great end of the stomach, but became more and more
so towards the pylorus, just within which it was mixed
with a whitish fluid like cream.
From the result of these experiments, as well as from
-v.- the analogy of other animals, it is reasonable to believe,
creted by that the glands situated at the termination of the cuticu-
glands near jjBing 0f tl)e oesophagus, which are described by Mr
the gullet. jjome> secrete the solvent liquor, which is occasionally
poured on the food, so as to be intimately mixed with it
before it is removed from the cardiac portion ; and the
167 muscular contraction retains it there, till this takes place.
Curvature Such contraction being occasionally required in the
of the sto- stomach, accounts for its being more or less bent upon
countedfor. itseIf> as ^ thIs structure xt 13 more readily divided into
twTo portions, by the action of the muscular fibres at that
part where the angle is formed.
This contraction also explains why the contents of
the stomach are not completely discharged from the first
effect of an emetic j and by it Mr Home thinks we may
explain the cramp of the stomach, and some kinds of in¬
digestion.
After comparing the stomachs of several carnivorous
170
168
Oraitho-
rinchus the animals with that of man} in tracing the gradation Irom
real link
between
carnivorous beasts through the bat tribe to birds of prey,
buldmneds Mr Home remarks, that “ the only real link between
and birds, the stomachs of quadrupeds and birds is that of the or-
nithorinchus (or platypus), which, however, is more an
approach to the gizzard, being lined with a cuticle con¬
taining sand, and having the same relative situation to
the oesophagus and duodenum. The food of this animal
is not known } it is probably of both kinds} the papillae
at the pylorus, which appear to be the secretory ducts
10- of glands, are peculiar to it.
General From the facts and observations brought forward in
conclusions, this valuable paper, Mr Home deduces the following
general conclusions. “ That the solvent liquor is se¬
creted from glands of a somewhat similar structure in
all animals, but much larger and more conspicuous in
some than in others.
“ That these glands are always situated near the ori¬
fice of the cavity, the contents of which are exposed to
their secretion.
“ That the viscid substance found on the internal
membrane of all the stomachs that were examined re¬
cently after death, is reduced to this state by a secre¬
tion from the whole surface of the stomach, which coa¬
gulates albumen. This appears to be proved, by every
part of the fourth cavity of the calf’s stomach having
the property of coagulating milk.
“ This property in the general secretion of the sto¬
mach leads to an opinion, that the coagulation of fluid
substances is necessary for their being acted on by the
solvent liquor} and a practical observation of the late
Mr Hunter, that weak stomachs can digest only solid
food, is in confirmation of it.
That in converting animal and vegetable substances
O L O G Y. Chap. \
into chyle, the food is first intimately mixed with the Of
general secretions of the stomach, and after it has been Digestion
acted on by them, the solvent liquor is poured upon it, '
by which the nutritious part is dissolved. This solution
is afterwards conveyed into the pyloric portion, where
it is mixed with the secretions peculiar to that cavity,
and converted into chyle.
“ The great strength of the muscles of the pyloric
portion of some stomachs ■will, by their action, com¬
press the contents, and separate the chyle from the in¬
digestible part of the food.
“ In animals whose food is easy of digestion, the sto¬
mach consists of a cardiac and pyloric portion only} but
in those whose food is difficult of digestion, other parts
are superadded, in which it undergoes a preparation be¬
fore it is submitted to that process.”
The action of the juices of the stomach, or of what Action of
we call the gastric juice, appears to have much more ef-the Se¬
lect in the process of chymification, than the muscular juice‘
action of die stomach, though the dissolving power of
this fluid seems to be proportionally less in those ani¬
mals that have the most muscular stomachs. The ga¬
stric juice of granivorous birds is capable ol dissolving
flesh } but when this is entire, it requires four or five
days for solution } whereas when bruised, half that time
is sufficient. Even grain is not dissolved in it except
when bruised. The gastric juice of animals with inter¬
mediate stomachs dissolves flesh and cartilage, but not
bone. It is incapable of dissolving entire seeds. In
animals, with membranous stomachs, the gastric juice is
extremely active, and seems to be almost the only agent
in the digestive process. In some of these animals,
however, as the ruminating tribes, this fluid has no ef¬
fect on the food, unless it be bruised, or thoroughly
masticated. Spallanzani found, that owls digest flesh
and bones, but not grain }—that the gastric juice of the
eagle dissolves bread and bone, and even animal and
vegetable matters, w hen it is taken out of the body }—
that a wood pigeon may be gradually brought to live
on flesh }—that the owl and falcon do not digest bread ;
—that the gastric juice of the dog dissolves even the
enamel of the teeth.
Hence, in every order of animals, the gastric juice is
the principal cause of digestion, and it agrees in all in
many properties, and differs in others. In the Irog, the
newt, scaly fishes, and other cold-blooded animals, it pro¬
duces digestion in a temperature nearly equal to that of
the atmosphere. In warm-blooded animals it is capable
of dissolving the aliment in a degree of heat lower than
that of these animals. In them too the food is digested
in a few hours, whereas in the opposite kind it requires
several days, and even wTeeks, particularly in serpents }
likewise, the gastric juice of the gallinaceous class can
dissolve only bodies of a soft and yielding texture, and
previously triturated: whilst in others, as serpents, the
heron, birds of prey, and the dog, it decomposes sub¬
stances of great tenacity, as ligaments and tendons}
and even of considerable hardness, as the most eompact
bone. Man belongs to this class, but his gastric juice
seems to have no action on the hardest kinds of bones.
Some species, likewise, are incapable of digesting vege¬
tables, as birds of prey} but man, the dog, cat, crows,
&c. dissolve the individuals of both kingdoms alike, and
axe omnivorous, and in general their gastric juices pro¬
duce these effects out of the body.
For
Chap. V. ' P H Y S I
Of For an account of the chemical nature and properties
Digestion, of the gastric juice, see Chemistry, N° 2551.
y Ihe process ot chymification depends also, in a great
Solubility measure> un t,ie nature of the substances employed as
ilToods. food} as some ot these are much more soluble than
others. On this subject much information may be de-
1 * Stmk's rived by consulting the experiments of Dr Stark *, and
Works. those ot M. Gosse of Geneva, an abstract of which is
given in Johnson’s Animal Chemistry, vol. i. p. 207.
From the latter experiments it appears, 1st, That the fol¬
lowing substances are either insoluble, or are not digest¬
ed in the usual time in the stomach.
Animal substances. 1. Tendinous parts. 2. Bones.
3. Oily or fatty parts. 4. Indurated white of egg.
Vegetable substances. 1. Oily or emulsive seeds. 2.
F.xpressed oils of different nuts and kernels. 3. Dried
grapes. 4. Rind of farinaceous substances. 5. Pods of
beans and pease. 6. Skins of stone fruits. 7. Husks of
fruit, with grains or seeds. 8. Capsules of fruit, with
grains. 9. Ligneous stones of fruits. 10. The gastric
juice does not destroy the life of some seeds j hence bit¬
ter-sweet, hemp, misletoe, and other plants which some¬
times grow upon trees, are produced by the means of
the excrements of birds, the kernels of seeds being de¬
fended Irom the menstruum by their exterior covering.
2d, That the following are partly soluble, viz.
Animal substances. 1. Pork dressed various ways. 2.
Black puddings. 3. Fritters of eggs, fried eggs and
bacon.
Vegetable Substances.—I. Salads of different kinds,
rendered more so when dressed. 2. White of cabbage
less soluble than red. 3. Beet, cardoons, onions, and
leeks. 4. Root of scurvy-grass, red and yellow carrots,
succory, are more insoluble in the form of salad than
any other way. 5. Pulp of fruit with acids, when not
fluid. 6. Warm bread and sweet pastry, from their pro¬
ducing acidity. 7. Fresh and dry tigs. By frying all
these substances in butter or oil they become still less
soluble. If they are not dissolved in the stomach, they
are, however, in the course of their passage through the
intestines.
31/, That the following are soluble, or easy of dige¬
stion, being generally reduced to chyme in an hour, or
an hour and a half.
Animal Substances.—1. Veal, lamb, and in general
the flesh of young animals, are sooner dissolved than that
of old. 2. Fresh eggs. 3. Cows milk. 4. Perch boil¬
ed with a little salt and parsley. When fried or sea¬
soned with oil, wine, and white sauce, it is not so
soluble.
Vegetable Substances.—1. Herbs, as spinach, mixed
with sorrel, are less soluble. Celery. Tops of aspara¬
gus, hops, and the ornithogalus of the Pyrenees. 2. Bot¬
tom ol artichokes. 3. Boiled pulp of fruits, seasoned
with sugar. 4. Pulp or meal of farinaceous seeds.
5« Different sorts of wheaten bread, without butter, the
second day after baking; the crust more so than the
crumb. Salted bread of Geneva more so than that of
Paris without salt j brown bread in proportion as it
contains more bran is less soluble. 6. Rapes, turnips,
potatoes, parsnips, not too old. 7. Gum arabic, but its
acid is soon felt. The Arabians use it as food.
The solvent power of the gastric juice is increased by
various stimulants, especially by those called condiments,
as sea salt, spices, mustard, vinegar, as well as by vi-
Vol. XVI. Part II.
O L O G Y. 489
nous and spirituous liquors and old cheese in small quan- Of
titles, and by various bitters. It is retarded by large Digestion,
quantities ot diluting liquors, especially when taken v" *
hot 5 by acids and astringents taken a short time after
eating j by unctuous substances j by mental employ¬
ment, or severe bodily exercise, too soon after a meal j
anil by leaning with the breast against a table. 172
It may be proper here to notice the various opinions Various
that have been entertained respecting the immediate^eori?s of
cause of digestion. I be principal of these opinions are, ‘£esl‘01''
that it is produeed^by coction or heat j by trituration
in die stomach; by lermentation, or by putrefaction. 17^
J bat it is not brought about by heat alone, will ap-Hcat.
pear from the circumstance, that many cold-blooded
animals digest their food as completely, though not so
expeditiously, as warm-blooded animals. 174
that it is not efiected by trituration in the stomachTrhurat,on'
alone, is evident from the experiments that have been
made by Spallanzani, Stevens, and others, of giving to
animals food enclosed in hollow perforated balls, suffi¬
ciently strong to resist the muscular power of the sto¬
mach ; as the balls have been found empty, and not
compressed. j
Jhat it is not owing to fermentation is proved bv the Fermenta-
circumstance, that the more perfectly digestion proceeds,tlou-
the less is the evolution of gases in the stomachy the
contrary ol which would be the case, if digestion con¬
sisted in a fermentation of the aliment. 17(1
That it does not depend on putridity, is evidenced by Putridity,
the observations that have been made on putrid food
given to dogs, and examined some time after, when it
was found perfectly sweet.
On the whole it appears, that in most animals the di¬
gestion ol food in the stomach depends partly on a due
degree of heat, partly on the vital action of the stomach,
but chiefly on the action ol the gastric juice. 177
When the aliments have been converted in the Sto- G'ylifica-
mach to the crude pulp called chyme, they are gradually tl0D‘
propelled through the pylorus into the duodenum, where
they are mixed with the bile, the pancreatic juice, and
the fluids that are separated by the mucous coat of that
intestine, and are thus reduced to a still finer pulp, con¬
taining, as one of its principal ingredients, the nutritious
fluid called chyle, the nature and properties of which,
as they have been but slightly mentioned in the former
parts of this work, fall to be noticed here. 178
The properties of chyle have not been minutely in- pfroPtlt‘es
vestigated ; but according to Fordyce, as far as experi-° c y e‘
ment has been carried, the chyle of quadrupeds is so
similar to that of man, and of each other, as hardly to
be distinguished, even in tribes the most opposite to each
other in their structure, food, and habits of life. As far
as we can perceive, the chyle of a dog or a wolf differs
in nothing from that of a sheep or an ox.
The chyle consists of three parts } one part which is
fluid, and contained in the lacteals, but coagulates on
extravasation.
The second part consists of a fluid, which is coagu-
lable by heat, and in all its properties hitherto observed,
it is similar to the serum of the blood.
The third part consists of globules, which render the
whole white and opake. These globules have been sup¬
posed by many to be an expressed oil} but this has not
been proved. Neither has it been perfectly demonstrated
that sugar is contained in the chyle, although it has
v 3 Q been
49o PHYSIO
Of been made very probable. The difficulty of determin-
Digestion Jng these points arises from the small quantity that can
u—v 1 be collected, the largest animals not supplying more than
one ounce or two, at the most. However, the part co¬
agulating on extravasation •, the part agreeing with se-
* -porduce i um i'1 qualities 5 the globular part, which in some
"' animals, but not in quadrupeds, exists without giving
whiteness to the chyle—alone, or along with sugar, form
_ r the essential parts of the chyle *
Progress of — 1
the chyle.
0.1 Dige¬
stion.
I~9 WJC tootimai v..   j -- - > _ . ,
The compound pulpy matter containing the chy e is
carried forward from the duodenum through the whole
course of the intestines, where it is subjected to the con¬
tinual action of the internal wrinkled membrane ol the
bowels, and its nutritious particles, or chyle, selected
and absorbed by the lacteals that are abundantly distri¬
buted there, and ©pen their mouths directly within the
cavity. , . ,
As to the movements of the alimentary canal, the
f0°di direction of hairs found in the stomach, and the balls
Sts of hairs which are thrown up, would appear to indicate
’ a circular motion. The intestinal part has a motion
similar to that of a worm, and is called the vermicular
or peristaltic. Here every portion retains its own mo¬
tion, although it be separated from the rest by liga¬
tures. The stomach of the polype, the gullets of the
ruminating kinds, and the cseca, have the motion in
different directions at different times j and that observed
in the alimentary canal of a louse is, when viewe
1S0
Passage
ol' food
LOGY. Chap. V
ringing in the ears, confusion or depravation of sight, of
&c. •, and if the former symptoms arise to a great height, Digestion,
as in the case of overloaded stomach or suifeitj coimij ~
or even apoplexy, is frequently produced. In many
nervous affections, particularly hysteria and hypochon¬
driasis, in which there frequently takes place astonishing
accumulations of air in the stomach and bowels, the
affections of the head, such as stupor, confusion of
thought, partial blindness, &c. sometimes proceed to
such^a height, as to threaten, or even sometimes to pro¬
duce, an apoplectic paroxysm. In many cases these affec¬
tions are referred immediately to the head; but are pro¬
ved, in most instances, to depend on the disordered state
of the alimentary canal, from the immediate relief pro¬
cured by those remedies which promote the discharge of
air, or produce copious evacuation from the bowels. On
the other hand, in some diseases, where the head is pri¬
marily affected, as in phrenitis hydrocephalica (water in
the head), the complaint is referred to the bowels, from
the costiveness or other disordered state of these, fhe
daily experience of literary men shows how much intense
thought diminishes the digestive powers, and how im¬
perfectly studious occupations can be carried on after a
full meal. The action of the digestive organs is also
considerably influenced by the mind, or the passions.
We know how readily the appetite may be diminished
or destroyed by sudden anger or affliction.
The action of the stomach may even be influenced by
the will. We have known a person who could vomit
III. LUC iUllliciiia.i J v,........ w. 3. _ ,
through a microscope in the time of ac^on’ Whenever he pleased j and Dr Darwin speaks of another
rapid 5 the stimulating causes empioyed are the food, ^heneve ? ^ ^ command over the in_
the different liquors with which lt is ™,x | ^ vprfpil motions of the stomach and throat, to such a de¬
nerves where they exist, and a portion of heat, borne
degree of heat is necessary to every process of digestion,
both in the animal and vegetable kingdom *, what that
degree is depends on the nature of the living body •,
and is various according to its age, its health, its em¬
ployments and habits. . . , .
V With respect to the function of digestion in the lower
classes of animals, we can say but little. \\e know that
their food is dissolved in the stomachs of the Crustacea,
verted motions of the stomach and throat, to such a de¬
gree, as to gain a subsistence by exhibiting these unna¬
tural powers to the public. At these exhibitions he was
accustomed to swallow a pint of red rough gooseberries,
and a pint of white smooth ones; to bring them up in
small parcels into his mouth, and restore them separately
to the spectators, who called for red or white, as they #
pleased, till the whole were redelivered*. # min, wl
1 TliP cvmnathies that take place between the brain and p. 276.
their food is dissolved in the stomachs ot the Crustacea, ^ j- organs, are easily explained, from consider-
of mollusca, and of polypes j but whe lei ns Pr t^e distribution of the great sympathetic nerve, to piat«
in most insects and worms is any thing more 1 - we iiave given a figure (fig. 1.) show-ccccxvii
ing its course and distribution fronv the head through
the chest, as far as the stomach.
in most insects and worms is any thing
bibition, or taking in aliment, which is to undergo it-
tle change, we are uncertain. We know, indeed, that
many insects live on substances which must be dissolved
before they enter into the pores of their bodies, and
that many of them abound in acrid juices, which are
well fitted for this solution. It does not appear that
plants possess what may be called the faculty of di-
^The relations between digestion and the functions we
between di- already considered, especially sensation, are various
gestion and d in tant. The sympathies that exist between the
sensation. ^ ^ the stomach, have been long acknowledged
Several affections of the brain are. accompanied with
sickness at the stomach, loss of appetite, and indigestion,
while on the other hand, the deranged state of the di¬
gestive organs seldom fails to produce giddiness,headacb,
181
Helations
The relations between the digestive and the locomo- Relationi
tive functions, are not less obvious. Experience shews between
how much digestion depends on regular exercise, and digestion
how imperfectly it is carried on in the stomach of the and mo >
indolent and sedentary *, while on the other hand, when
the stomach is overloaded, voluntary motion becomes
difficult and fatiguing. Spasmodic contractions ot the
muscles, twitchings of the limbs, and similar affections,
are the common attendants of indigestion, though these
may perhaps be referred equally to the nervous as to the
muscular system. „ . I?)
The principal morbid affections of digestion are, nau-Morbid a
sea, flatulence, eructation, rumination
(O) That ruminating power which is natnral to
—dth1 Strut, the more soUfl parts. In these cases, the rnminat.on
Chap.
VI.
PHYSIOLOGY.
Of heartburn, water-brash or pyrosis, loss of appetite, and
absorption, inordinate appetite $ for an account of which, see the
' article Medicine.
491
184
Absorption
1S5
>g;ins.
186
!y lacteals
nil lym-
iiatics.
Chap VI. Of Absorption.
. We have said that the chyle is taken up from the
compound pulpy matter composed of the food and the
animal juices, as it passes through the intestines, by the
lacteals. This, however, is not the only absorption that
takes place in the animal body. The fluids poured out
into cavities by the exhalant arteries, as well as all the
secreted or exuding fluids, and even the solid materials of
the system, are taken up by the lymphatics, and carried
into the circulation j the blood poured out into cells in
some parts, is evidently absorbed by veins ; and, as we
shall endeavour to prove, an absorption takes place over
the external surface of the body.
What is called the absorbent system, is composed, in
the superior animals, of the lacteals, the mesenteric
glands, the thoracic duct, the lymphatics, and the lym¬
phatic glands. For an account of these in man, see
Anatomy, Part I. Sect. 14. rIhis system, in a great¬
er or less degree, is found in all animals, except some
mollusca, insects, worms, and zoophytes. See Cuvier’s
Lepons, tom. iv. le^. xxiii. and JBlumenbach’s Compara¬
tive Anatomy, chap. xiii.
The action of the lacteals and lymphatics is probably
much the same, and is exerted in a similar manner.
That of the lacteals is to convey the nourishing parts of
the food into the circulating system j that of the lym¬
phatics to carry to the same system watery fluids, for the
purpose of diluting the blood, and such fluid or solid
materials as are useless, or may prove noxious to the sy¬
stem. The action of the lacteals may be readily seen on
Opening an animal killed two or three hours after eating;
and in this way they were first seen by Asellius. They
are then found filled with a milky fluid, wdiile, at other
times, they are invisible. That the lymphatics are the
principal organs of absorption, is new the general opi¬
nion of all physiologists, though their action in this way
can seldom be demonstrated. As, however, it has been
satisfactorily proved, that the veins do not generally ab¬
sorb, and as the lymphatics that proceed from parts that
contain irritating matters, are often seen inflamed, pro¬
ving that they have imbibed a part of the irritating mat¬
ter, there is little doubt that the office of absorption be¬
longs almost exclusively to the action of the lympha¬
tics.
Mr John Hunter made several experiments to shew of
that the veins do not absorb. He conveyed milk, co- Absorption.
loured with various dyeing substances, or perfumed with v'——
musk, into the small intestines of an ass, which was soon ^
alter killed. On opening the veins of the intestines, and veinsT
allowing the blood to separate into serum and crassa-
mentum, the serum was found neither to be tinged with
the colouring matters, nor scented by the perfume, while
the coloured milk was evident in the lacteals. That the
veins, however, do in some cases perform the office of
absorbents, is evident from the speedy depletion of the
corpora cavernosa penis, after having been distended
with arterious blood; and from a similar depletion that
takes place in the nipple of the female breast. ,ss
The principal object in dispute respecting the function % the
of absorption in man and the higher classes of animals, s^n*
is, whether the skin possesses the power of absorption.
I his question, as it is both curious and important, we
shall examine pretty much at large ; and for this pur¬
pose we shall avail ourselves ol an able paper on the
subject, by Dr George Kellie.
It had long been received as an established truth, that
the skin was an inhaling or an absorbing organ, and
that sometimes the inhalation balanced, or even surpas¬
sed, the exhalation of the cutaneous surface ; but of late
this doctrine of inhalation has been called in question,
and, in the opinion of many, entirely overthrown. It
has been said, that this absorption neither does nor can
take place on the outside of the cuticle ; that in every
case of apparent absorption, the epidermis had been in¬
jured, or that the matter absorbed had been mechani¬
cally forced through it, and brought into immediate
contact with the skin.
Haller had asserted *, on the authority of Dessault, * Ekmenta
that the body acquired an increase of weight in the Pty™10-
warm bath; and this augmentation of weight was gueA°m-v*
esteemed an experimentum crucis in favour of cutaneous P
absorption.
Experiments, however, have since been made with
every necessary care, which seem to contradict the posi¬
tion, and to prove, that the body acquires no additional
weight in the warm bath.
Seguin, from a great many experiments of this de-
scnption, concludes, that there is no inhalation, because
the body, so far from gaining, always lost some part of
its weight during immersion, although much less than
in the air in equal tiniest. f Ladled.
In other experiments again, as in those of Gerard and E-dairte.
Currie, there was no increase of weight; but the body
3 Q 2 was
duotdenuin0n3lderCd ^ & diSeaSe’ dePeruIlng on tlie inability of the stomach to propel the solid food into the
Mr Home, in the paper we have already quoted, (N° 161^-169), relates a curious instance of habitual ru¬
mination m a man 19 years of age, who is blind, and has been an idiot from his birth. He has a very ravenous
bowels ’ Fluid l T?SSaiV° reY'1Ct ^ 111 tht“ ?U;!nt'ty 0f hls f00d’ sinCe’ if he eats t0° muclb it disorders his
of atouncl and a h If 7 7 n ’ 7 COraeS Up ^ain* He swall°"* ^ dinner, which consists
a pound and a half of meat and vegetables in two minutes, and 111 about 15 minutes he betjins to chew the cud
presef °VhllS TCaS,on* The rrsel Is brouSht »P from the stomach with apparently a very
ght effort, and the muscles of the throat ai‘e sfeeii in action when it comes into the mouth ; he chews it three or
about half an"? 7 Tl ^ 5 ^ f and :!noth.er morsel is bl™ght up. This process is continued for
the find -1 1 T’ aiU •e a?lJearS t0 be m0f ^met at.that t,me than at a"y other. Whether the regurgitation of
^ Ca”n0t a5Cer,al"e‘1’ tl,e ““ t0“ ‘klkie"1 “ Si-
49 2
Of
A!isoq)t;on.
* Medical
Report,
first edit,
p. 227-
f Cruick-
shank on
the Absor
bents.
was not observed to have lost any thing during immer¬
sion in the warm bath.
Now, during these experiments, the body, was doubt¬
less wasting, by' the pulmonary and cutaneous discharges,
and yet the weight of the body either continued un¬
changed or where a loss of weight was observed, this
was constantly less, greatly less, than is experienced du¬
ring the same interval in air. And we might be incli¬
ned to infer, from a truth so general, and so well ascer¬
tained, an argument in favour of absorption.
It might be argued, that the loss of weight amounts
to little or nothing, because, during immersion, the bo¬
dy acquires more by inhalation than it does or can do in
the air j that the loss by the pulmonary and cutaneous
discharges are counterbalanced, or nearly counterbalan¬
ced, by the increased absorption.
Those, however, who deny absorption, will not allow
us the advantage of this argument. They tell us, that
the exhalation by the skin and lungs is diminished,
which sufficiently explains why the body loses less in the
warm bath than in air. But that the accustomed dis¬
charges are suppressed or diminished in the warm or te¬
pid bath, is, we apprehend, far from being proved •,
and, till this proposition is made good, the argument
against cutaneous inhalation cannot be securely main¬
tained.
One of Dr Currie’s cases deserves farther considera¬
tion. We allude to the case of dysphagia, published by
this gentleman *, in which Mr M. the subject of the
case, was several times immersed in a warm bath of
milk and water, and was weighed when taken out.
Mr M. it is true, gained no weight while in the warm
bath : but the loss continually going on in the air was,
as in other trials, suspended during the immersions. Be¬
sides, he also expressed great comfort from the bath,
with abatement of thirst *, and, subsequent to the daily
use of it, the urine flowed more plentifully, and became
less pungent. An observation, precisely similar, is made
by Mr Cruickshank. “ A patient of mine (says Mr
Cruickshank), with a stricture of the oesophagus, re¬
ceived nothing, either solid or liquid, into the stomach
far two months; he was exceedingly thirsty, and com¬
plained of making no water. I ordered him the warm
bath for an hour, evening and morning, for a month ;
his thirst vanished, and he made water in the same man¬
ner as when he used to drink by the mouth, (h) -f.
But to return to the case of Mr TNI   Dr Cuxrie
himself remarks, that the discharge by urine alone ex¬
ceeded much in weight the waste of his whole body }
and it cannot be doubted that the discharge by stooj and
perspiration exceeded the weight of the clysters. Ihus
it appears, that the egesta exceeded the ingest a in a pro¬
portion much greater than the waste of his body will ex¬
plain. How is this accounted for, Dr Currie asks, un¬
less by cutaneous absorption ?
That the excess of these discharges above the ingesta
and total waste, can be accounted for by absorption
only, was indeed an irresistible conclusion. Still, how-
PHYSIOLOGY. Chap. VI.
ever, cutaneous absorption is denied j and, when forced Of
to confess that there are cases where the egesta exceedAbsorPtion'
the ingesta in a much greater proportion than theWaste
of the body will explain, and which can only be ac¬
counted for by absorption, they refuse this function to
the skin, and bestow it most liberally, and, in so far as-
we know, most gratuitously, on the lungs. We are
not entitled, in return, to deny the reality of pulmonary
absorption, but we may surely be allowed to urge, that
there is no proof that the only inhaling organ is in the
lungs j and there is none against the possibility of cuta¬
neous absorption.
Is it not, on the other hand, proved, by the experi¬
ments of Seguin and Lavoisier, that the exhalation
greatly exceeds the absorption by the pulmonary system ?-
And if this is always the case, we cannot explain by
pulmonary inhalation alone, why the egesta should, iu
some cases, exceed the ingesta in a much greater pro¬
portion than the waste of body will account for.
We now proceed to examine another class of experi¬
ments, much insisted on by those who deny cutaneous
absorption 5 we mean those experiments performed by
immersing a part of the bodyin solution.! of active drugs,,
the absorption of which should be indicated by their u-
sual effect on the system.
Seguin made numerous experiments of this kind with
solutions of muriate of mercury (corrosive sublimate), on
syphilitic patients. And we are informed, that in cases
where the epidermis was perfectly sound, neither the
known effects of mercury on the body, nor any amelio¬
ration of the venereal symptoms, was ever observed.
He also immersed his own arm in a solution ol two
drams of the mercurial muriate in ten pounds of water.
At the temperature of io° and 28° Reaumur, no part of
the salt was missing at the end of the experiment} but
when the hath was at i8°of the same scale there was a-
loss of one or two grains of the muriate in the hour,
though the quantity of fluid was not diminished.
The explanation given by Seguin of this unexpected
result is curiously ingenious, but embarrassed, and in¬
consistent.
At the temperature of I 2°, he observes, the exhalants
are in a state of contraction, and their orifices nearly
closed. When the heat again is raised to 26°, the exha¬
lation is so rapid, that nothing can enter the vessels from
without; but at x8° of temperature, the orifices of the
exhalants are sufficiently relaxed, and the exhalation at
the same time so conveniently languid, that the solution
rests quietly in contact with the matter of perspiration
in the mouths of the exhalants, where it is somehow or
other decomposed j a part of the salt leaving the water
of solution, and combining with the perspirative matter,
with which it is carried into the system *. Carried into# ia Me
the circulation by the exhalants ! Is not this a plain ac- Eclamt,
knowledgment of the reality of inhalation ? But if in
one case substances may thus he carried into the circu- ‘
lation, why not in many others ? < .
Surely if the weight continues undiminished, in cu-
f Hi That thirst may be allayed by immersion in tvater, is fully proved by the experience of shipwrecked mari-
neifwho, when obliged to talc J.heir boats with very little fresh weU
in the sea, or covering themselves with a shirt wetted in salt vatei, and thu3 quen - > •
as it they had drunk fresh water.
. 4
liap. VI. PHYSIOLOGY,
of cumstances where the body is continually losing,, we may
495
isoi'pUon.
Ratio
ledendi,
it iv.
ap. V
Elem.
'hysiol.
m. v.
9o.
infer, that something has been gained by absorption.
And where the egesta exceed the ingesta in a propor¬
tion much greater than the waste of the body will ex¬
plain, there absorption must have been going on.
The case of Mr M , published by Dr Currie,
is not singular, The writings of physicians abound in
similar examples. They had often occurred to that
excellent clinical practitioner De Haen, who was there¬
fore persuaded that water was imbibed *. Haller too,
with his usual industry, has collected a great many ob¬
servations of the same kind f.
Again, when physicians were engaged in their ex¬
tensive statical experiments, weighing themselves, their
ingesta and egesta, for many months, nay for years to¬
gether; they sometimes observed, that so iar from losing,
they had gained weight, especially during cold and moist
weather. Thus, IIye, under a cold and humid atmo¬
sphere, gained 13 ounces: Linnings, during two hours
exposed to cold, acquired ounces. The abbe Fon¬
tana, after two hours exposure to a moist atmosphere,
returned home some ounces heavier than he went out.
De Gorter gained 6 ounces in one night; and on other
occasions, two ounces and four ounces. These observa¬
tions are confirmed also by the experience of Dr Francis
Home, professor of Materia Medica in the university
of Edinburgh. 4 Having fatigued myself pretty much
(says he) in the afternoon, I went to bed without sup¬
per, and was so hungry that I could not fall asleep lor
some time. Betwixt eleven at night and seven next
Medical morning I had gained two ounces +.’
'"acts and Here then are examples of the body gaining consider-
ably more than the ingesta will account for, acquiring
150, weight when neither food nor drink had been swallow¬
ed. And we have the concurring testimony of the most
respectable writers supporting the same truth.
How can this increase of weight be accounted for,
unless by absorption ? In such experiments, the loss of
weight, which cannot be accounted for by the sensible
egesla, is attributed to the exhalation ; the increased
weight sometimes observed, and which cannot be ex¬
plained by the sensible ingesta, must in like manner be
referred to the inhalation.
That the system may be affected by active medicines
introduced and absorbed by the skin, cannot be denied.
And were proofs still wanting to establish the doctrine
of cutaneous absorption, this argument might be insisted
on. It is true, that friction is commonly employed
when we wish to introduce medicines by the skin, by
which, it is said, the substance is mechanically forced
through the cuticle, and brought into contact with the
absorbents of the true skin. The system, however, may
be affected without friction, for example, by wearing a
mercurial plaster, and more certainly by mercurial
fumigation, as practised by Lalonette and others ||.
It might even be concluded from an examination of
'?• the structure of the skin, that absorption must take place
1,I>'lSl at its surface. We know that the cuticle is porous, and
is penetrated by exhaling vessels ; we know that lymph¬
atics commence immediately below it; and we know
that when certain substances arc applied to the cuticle,
especially when this application is aided by moderate
friction, as in the case of applying garlic poultices to the
feet, and the more familiar instances of mercurial in-
Kdin.
ed. and
unction, that these substances are taken up by the ab- of
sorbents, and conveyed into the circulation. Absorption.
From a consideration of all these circumstances, we ' v
think it fully proved, that the skin is an absorbing or
inhaling organ. For further proofs we may refer our
readers to Bichat’s Anat. Gena', tom. iv. p. 691. lg()
Mr Charles Darwin, son of the late Dr Darwin, Supposed
published in 1780, a Latin thesis, which is translated retrograde
in the 29th sect, of his father’s Zoonomia, vol. i. in aGtl0n of
which he attempts to prove, that the valves of the pj'^ticT*
lymphatics are so formed as in particular cases to admit1
of the regurgitation of the absorbed fluids. The argu¬
ments on which he founds this opinion (beside the diffl-
cully of accountingfor the phenomena of several diseases
on any other principle), are chiefly the following:
First, Tha mouths of the lymphatics seem to allow
water to pass through them after death, the inverted
■way, more easily than in the natural direction.
Secondly, In some diseases, as diabetes and scrofula,
it is probable the valves themselves arc diseased, and
are thence incapable of preventing the return of the
fluids they should support.
Thirdly, There are valves in other parts of the body,
analogous to those of the absorbent system, which are
liable, when diseased, to regurgitate their contents.
Fourthly, The capillary vessels, which must be con¬
sidered as analogous to absorbents, may be seen, in ani¬
mals submitted to the microscope, to regurgitate their
contents into the arteries, during the struggles of the
dying animal.
By means of this hypothesis (for notwithstanding the
arguments adduced in its favour, we can call it no bet-
O # # 7
ter) Mr Darwin explained the speedy passage of wa-
tery fluids from the stomach to the urinary bladder ; the
phenomena of diabetes ; diarrhoea, dropsy, cold sweats ;
translations of matter, chyle, milk, aad urine; the ope¬
ration of external remedies, &c.
In all those classes of animals that possess a complete
absorbent system, the phenomena of absorption seem to in the iow-
proceed much in the same manner as in man ; but in est classes
some of the inferior animals, especially in mollusca and ot ail>ina's-
worms, this function seems to be performed by the
veins *. J n the eclvinodermata, however, especially in * Cuvier
the sea-urchin (echinus esculentus), lymphatics have Le$otis,
been demonstrated by the second Monro. In insects
and polypes there is no proper absorption. p' 119\
The absorbing vessels of plants are chiefly the fibrils AiJSOrpti0n
of the roots, which evidently imbibe moisture, and per-of plants,
haps gaseous fluids, from the earth ; but there have also
been demonstrated vessels opening beneath the outer
bark, which botanical physiologists consider as lympha¬
tics. “ Lymphatic vessels (says Wildenow), are found in
the epidermis of plants, ami are of great minuteness, ana¬
stomosing in various ways through small intermediate
branches.” They surround the apertures of the cuticle,
by which the inhalation and exhalation of vegetables are
carried on ; but they are so minute as not to have yet
been filled with coloured liquids. Bound each opening,
which is commonly shut by a moveable valve, they form
a circle, rarely a rhombus, as in the xea mays. In the
lilium calcedorncum, those vessels run obliquely, and some- p].atc
what in an irregular undulating manner, fig. 2. In the ccccxvm,
common onion (allium cepa), they run in a straight,
though oblique and regular form, fig. 3. In the pink,
(diant has
494 PHYSIOLOGY.
Of (dianthus caryophyllus), they are very straight, with
Absorption, straight and horizontally transverse branches, fig. 4. In
almost every plant they have their certain and peculiar
direction, which in each remains constantly the same*.
The theory of absorption is still but imperfectly un¬
derstood. We shall briefly notice the principal hypo¬
theses that have been brought forward to account for
the entrance of substances into the mouths of the ab-
Chap. VII
quantity of purulent matter from an abscess, m conse- of Circuit
quence of violent vomiting. , t*un~
* IVildc-
HOUl's
Princ. of
Hot. sect.
236.
Ip2      _
'theory of sor^[ne; vessels; for this part of the process alone seems
absorption. , . i
to be disputed.
It was long the opinion of physiologists, that fluids
enter the mouths of the absorbents on the principle of
•capillary attraction •, but as the absorbing vessels are
not circumstanced like rigid capillary tubes, immersed
in a fluid ; and as, were this hypothesis just, absorption
should go on with regularity, and all fluids should be ab¬
sorbed indiscriminately, neither of which circumstances
is true 5 this hypothesis is now generally abandoned.
Mr John Hunter accounted for the entrance of sub¬
stances into the mouths of the absorbents, by attribut¬
ing to the mouths of these vessels a power of nibbling,
similar to that exerted by a caterpillar when feeding on
a leaf. This opinion may be called ingenious, but is
certainly very wild and fanciful.
Dr Fullarton, in a thesis on absorption, published at
Glasgow in 1800, attributes to the absorbing orifices,
a power of suction similar to that of the proboscis of
butterflies, and the tentacula of some marine animals.
The first and third of these hypotheses suppose the
absorbents incapable of taking up any but fluid sub¬
stances 5 but we well knoto that even the hardest bones
are somehow absorbed, and conveyed to the circulation.
We must therefore add another hypothesis, which sup¬
poses that there is secreted in the animal body, a fluid
f Duncans capable of dissolving flesh and bones f. The hypothe-
Med. Com. sis, however, is without foundation. It is contrary to
the simplicity of the animal economy, that there should
take place, first, a secretion of solid matters to compose
the structure of the body, and then a second secretion to
dissolve them. We must therefore consider this part of
.physiology as a subject of future investigation.
When the absorbed substances have once passed the
barrier of the first valve, it is not difficult to account for
their further progress through the lymphatics. A con¬
tinual succession of fresh absorbed matter must drive for¬
ward what is already in the vessels, while the valves must
•in general prevent its reflux. 1 he impelling force from
behind is also probably assisted by the irritability of the
vessels. It is not easy to decide how the absorbed mat¬
ters pass through the glands : if, as is generally believ¬
ed, they do not in these form continuous tubes, there
must be a fresh absorption by the mouths of the vessels
that pass out of the gland, which is as difficult to account
for as the first reception at the origin of the vessels.
The relations that take place between absorption and
the preceding functions, are perhaps the least understood
uou wiui any that occur in the animal economy. We know
the preced-that the action of the absorbents is greatly assisted by
ing func- muscular motion, and that it is in general most defective
in indolent and sedentary persons. An evident sympa¬
thy is also observed between the stomach and the ab¬
sorbents. Nausea, and espetially vomiting, are power¬
ful promoters of absorption, and some remarkable in¬
stances are related of the speedy absorption of a large
3
Chap. VII. Of Circulation.
194
vol. X.
9 354*
193
Relations
of absorp¬
tion with
tisns.
We have traced the nutritious particles of the food 9™ula
from the intestines through the lacteals, the mesenteric
glands, and the thoracic duet, into the left subclavian
vein, where we find the chyle is mixed with the venous
blood, and carried to the right auricle of the heart.
We must now consider how the fluids are conveyed to
every part of the body, or we must examine the func¬
tion of circulation. t
This function takes place in all the vertebral animals, rSans*
and in mollusca, worms,and crustacean but there appears
to be no real circulation in insects, zoophytes, and plants.
The organs by which circulation is performed differ
essentially in the several classes of animals. I hose of
the human system have been described in the first part
of Anatomy, sect. x. and xi. and a brief comparative
view of these organs in the inferior animals, has been
given in the second part of that article, N 154* 201-—
204, 300, &c. and in the articles Cetology, Erpe-
tology, Ichthyology, and Ornithology. For a
fuller account of these latter, we may refer to Cuvier’s
Lepons, le£. xxiv. and xxv. and to the Comparative
Anatomy of Blumenbach, chap. xii. . ^ 19^.
It is well known that, in the red-blooded animals, the Pulmonic
blood is not of the same shade of red in every part of ^ *
the body ; but that what has passed through the lungs,
and is circulating through the arteries that proceed from
the aorta, is of a florid red colour, while that which is
sent to the lungs by the pulmonary artery, as well as
that which is returning from the extremities of the ar¬
teries through the veins, is of a purple or crimson co¬
lour. As one set of organs always contains florid, and
another set always crimson blood, it is convenient to
distinguish each set by an appropriate name. Dr Bar¬
clay has done this, and he calls that set of organs which
are employed to convey the blood from the arteries, and
distribute it to the lungs,pulmonic, comprising the pul-
monic veins, viz. the vena cava and its branches,pulvio-
nic auricle, pulmonic ventricle, and pulmonic arteries:
while he denominates that set of organs which return the
blood from the lungs, and distribute it to the system, sys¬
temic, comprehending the systemic veins (pulmonary
veins), systemic auricle, systemic ventricle, and syste¬
mic arteries, (the aorta and its ramifications). One
great advantage ol this nomenclature, is that it prevents
the ambiguity of tlie expressions right and left, anterior
and posterior, applied to the auricles and ventricles 01
the heart. We shall therefore employ them in the sub- # ^ ^
sequent part of this chapter *. f . ({av m
For an account of the nature and properties ot tire
blood, see Anatomy, Parti, sect. 14. and Chemis-
TRY, N° 2642. _ , ?• 2P'
It may not be improper, in this chapter, to notice the
principal arguments that have been used to prove ffiet]iec;rclj
circulation of the blood. Jhey are as follow . tionoftl
I. When the artery is tied, the part of the artery that blood,
is betwixt the ligament and the heart, swells; but that
part of it which is betwixt the ligature and the remote
branches, becomes more flaccid than before. On .he
other hand, when a vein is tied, the part between the li¬
gature
Shap. VII. P H Y S I
,f circula- gature and the remote branches, swells, while the part
tion. between the ligature and the heart becomes flaccid.
—■'V"—"' 2. The valves placed at the mouths of the aorta and
pulmonary artery, must prevent the blood from regur¬
gitating into the ventricles, while they permit it to flow
forward through the arteries, into the capillary branches
of the veins. Again, the valves situated in the course
of the veins prevent the blood from flowing back into
the arteries, while they permit it to proceed forward
through the venous trunks into the heart.
3. By the assistance of a microscope, the blood may
be seen in the pellucid parts of animals, as the feet of
frogs, flowing from the arteries into the veins.
4. When an artery of moderate size is wounded, and
not secured by ligature or compression in proper time,
the blood flows out till the animal be dead.
5. Any thin liquid, when injected into an artery, does
not pass backwards into the heart, but flows forward in¬
to the inosculating veins. On the other hand, such a
liquid thrown into a vein, flows towards the heart, and
not into the smaller branches of the vein.
The phenomena of circulation in the human body
have been already mentioned under Anatomy, sect. xii.
and xiii. and under Medicine, N° 95. We shall here
only offer a compendious view of the course of the blood
in the adult and in the foetal state,
ircrilation !• After birth, the blood coming from every part of
1 the adult the body through the numerous ramifications of the ve¬
na cava, is poured into the right or pulmonic auricle of
the heart, by the contraction of which it is thrown into
the right or pulmonic ventricle, which contracting,
throws it into the pulmonary artery, being prevented
from regurgitating into the auricle by the action of the
tricuspid valves. It is now, by means of the ramifica¬
tions of the pulmonary artery, distributed through the
lungs, from which it is brought back by four principal
pulmonary veins, and poured into the left or systemic
ventricle, which contracting with great force, propels it
into the aorta, it being prevented from regurgitating
into the auricle by the action of the mitral valves. The
blosd being propelled into the aorta, is by its trunks
and branches, distributed to every part of the body,
and brought back as before by the ramifications and
tr unks of the ve?ia cava.
II. In the foetal state, the blood being brought back
the hu- from every part of the body by the ramifications and
an fetus, 0f ^},e vena Cava, is poured into the pulmonic
auricle of the heart, where it is mixed with the blood
brought from the placenta. A part of this blood is con¬
veyed from the sinus of the auricle while in a state of di¬
latation, through the oval hole, into the systemic auricle 5
while another part, by the contraction of the auricle, is
thrown into the pulmonic ventricle, which contracting,
propels it into the root of the pulmonary artery. From
this the greater part of the blood passes through the ar-
terious canal, that in the foetus joins the pulmonary ar¬
tery to the aorta, in this latter; while the remainder is
distributed by the ramifications of the pulmonary artery
to the lungs, and brought back by the pulmonary veins
to the systemic auricle of the heart. By the contraction
of this auricle, the blood is thrown into the systemic ven¬
tricle, which contracting, propels it into the aorta. Now,
while one part of the blood is distributed by the numer¬
ous ramifications of the aorta to every part of the body
199
irculation
O L O G Y. ' 495
ot the foetus, another part is carried from the internal of Circula¬
te arteries, through the two umbilical arteries, into tion.
the placenta, from which it is conveyed through the urn- v—'
bilical vein to the sinus of the liver. Hence, one part
of the blood, without entering the liver, is transmitted
by a branch of the umbilical vein, called venous duct, in¬
to the left branch of the vena cava kepatica; thence in¬
to the inferior great vena cava ; while another part, by
another branch of the umbilical vein, flows into the left
branch of the vetm porta, by the numerous ramifications
of which it is distributed to the liver. From the liver
it is carried by the vence cavcv hcpaticcu into the inferior
great vena cava, whence it is conveyed, with the rest of
the blood, to the pulmonic auricle of the heart, to be
distributed as before. 2oo
M e must now briefly consider the powers by which Powers car-
the blood is made to circulate through such a multitude ryinS on ^
of vessels, so infinitely ramified, and differing so much c^rcl^atiCH-
in their diameter. It seems generally allowed at the
present day, that these powers are chiefly the immediate
muscular action of the heart, the action of the arteries,
the valves ot the veins, and the pressure produced on
some of the veins by the action of the muscles that lie
contiguous to them.
1. That the heart must possess very considerable force Action1 of
in propelling the blood through the arteries, may be the heart,
supposed from the great muscularity of its ventricles $
and this force has been proved by experiment and ob¬
servation. From experiments made by Hales, viz. that i ,
of inserting a glass tube into a large artery, and measur¬
ing the height to which the blood ascends at each pul¬
sation, it has been calculated, that the human carotid
artery is capable of projecting its blood to a perpendicu¬
lar height of seven feet and a half and if we estimate
the surface of the systemic ventricle at 15 square inches,
we shall find that it sustains a pressure of 1350 cubic
inches, equal to 51 pounds weight, which it has to
overcome by its contracting force *. This is a moderate * Hales’s-
computation of the force of the heart, for Borelli esti- Statical
mates it at 180,000 pounds, while Keill diminishes it Essay*,
to eight ounces. Senac again, from having observed,vo*’
that if a weight of 50 pounds be attached to the foot*
with the knee of that side placed over the opposite
knee, the weight will be raised at each pulsation, and
allowing for the distance at which the weight is placed
from the centre of motion, computes the force of the
heart at 400 pounds t Blumenbach has seen the blood f Tinrite
projected from the carotid of an adult more than five Caw.
feet J On a medium calculation, estimating the quan-K^mt‘tu'
tity of blood contained in the body at 30 pounds, the
number of pulsations in each minute at 75, and the*'^
quantity of. blood ejected from the systemic ventricle at
each contraction at twro ounces and a half, we shall find
that the whole 30 pounds of blood will be carried
through the whole body no less than 23 times in an
hour, or the circulation will be completed in less than
three minutes. From these circumstances ive must infer
that the impelling power of the heart is very great, and
fully adequate to the office which it has to perform.
Various hypotheses have been formed to explain how
the heart and arteries are excited to motion, but our li¬
mits will not permit us to detail them. Our readers
will find them related at considerable length, and fully
examined in the Prmapes de Physiologic of Dumas, tom.
iii*.
tion.
* Hunta
on the
Blood,
p. 114.
203
ValvulaiJ
496
Oi Cifcula-ili. p.332—364. The general opinion at present en¬
tertained on tins subject is, that the heart is excited to
action by the stimulus of the blood.
2. Although it is more than probable that the action
of the heart is the principal instrument in carrying on
the circulation, there can be no doubt that the arteries
contribute essentially to this office. rIhey are evidently
muscular, and are possessed of considerable irritability $
are supplied with numerous nervous filaments, and are
nourished by small arterial branches, commonly called
vasa vasorum. Nay, we know that they are susceptible
of contraction \ for when we divide an artery in the liv¬
ing body, the divided extremities gradually contract,
till, if ,the animal is not killed by the experiment, the
aperture is at length obliterated *. Tjastly, there have
been instances of tcetuses without a heart ; and as we
must suppose that, during the life ot the foetus, the cir¬
culation was going on, it is a natural inference that this
was chiefly effected by the contraction of the arteries,
and not entirely by the impelling power of the circulat¬
ing system of the mother.
»tw*uiai| 3. It cannot be supposed that the veins have any im-
structure of mediate action on the blood, as they exhibit no circular
the veinf. tjie arteries, except in the immediate vicinity
ef the heart-, but their valvular structure must contri¬
bute to the carrying on ®f the circulation, from the op¬
position it gives to the return of the blood, so that what
is called the vis a tergo, or impelling power from be¬
hind, aided by the conical form of the veins, may have
its full effect.
4. That the action of the muscles has considerable in¬
fluence in propelling the blooi\ towards the heart, in
those veins that lie in their neighbourhood, is evident
from the effect that bodily exercise produces in accele¬
rating the circulation, and from the efficacy 0! friction
in removing congestions of blood in the veins of the ex¬
tremities, and in the more familiar instance ot promot¬
ing the swelling of the veins of the arm by the same
mean's in the operation of bleeding.
The circulation in those animals whose structure ap¬
proaches to that of man, differs little from what is above
described. There are indeed some peculiarities, a few
of which we shall presently notice. An account of the
circulation in the cetacea will be found in the article
CETOLOGY, N° 140—145', that of the reptiles is de-
2°6 . scribed under Erpetology, p. 309.
0/the mol-1 The mollusca possess an evident and powerful circu-
° ‘c m ' ]at;on. Most of them have a simple heart, consisting of
one auricle and one ventricle 5 and in these the vena
cava performs the office of an artery, carrying the re¬
turning blood to the gills, whence it passes to the au¬
ricle, and is afterwards thrown into the aorta. There
is a peculiarity iu the cuttle fish, which has a heart con¬
sisting of three ventricles, without any part that can
properly he called an auricle. Two of the ventricles
are placed at the roots of the two branch ice, and have
each a branch of the vena cava, by which they receive
the blood from the body, and propel it into the bronchi*.
The returning veins open into the middle ventricle, and
from this the aorta proceeds.
Some of the vermes, as the leech, and the tribes of
the naias, nereis, and aphroditce, and some species of
lumbricus, have no heart, but they have circulating ves¬
sels with evident contraction and dilatation.
In the crustacca, the circulation is performed by a
PHYSIOLOGY. Chap. VII (|
single ventricle, expelling the blood into the arteries of of Circuii
lion.
204
Action of
the mus¬
cles.
205
Circulation
of the in¬
ferior ani¬
mals.
iusca;
the body, and receiving it again after it has passed
through the gills, in a manner very similar to the cir- '-‘T—
eolation of fishes. _ 20p
There is no circulation in insects ; but these animals Contract
have running along the back a membranous tube, in inland di
which alternate contractions and dilatations are percep- [atnig tu
tible. This tube, however, is closed at both ends, and1111Ili,ctt
has no vessels proceeding from it.
207
. in the
vermes;
20S
in crusta-
-cea.
From the researches which evince circulation to be aj^o
function so general among animals, some are disposed tolationi
think it takes place in all living bodies. But notwith-Points,
standing the fashionable language of circulating fluids,
of veins, arteries, and even of valves, in the vegetable
structure j yet nothing performing the office ot a heart,
and nothing that seems to conduct fluids in a circular
course, has been found in plants. In the vegetable
kingdom, the chyle is distributed to all the parts, from
the numerous vessels which convey the sap 5 and these
vessels, being fitted by their structure to cany the sap
either downwards or upwards, from the branches to the
roots, or from the roots to the branches, is the reason
why plants inverted in the ground will send forth roots
from the place of their branches, and send forth branches
from the place of their roots. Even a similar distribu-
tion of the chyle takes place in some animals. In theammals ‘
human tsenia, in the fasciola hepatica t^fluke) of sheep,
and in most polypes, the chyle, without a circulating
system, is conveyed directly to the different parts from
the alimentary canal.
For an account of the motion of sap in plants, see
Darwin’s Phytologia, a paper by Mr Knight in the
Philosophical Transactions for 18c 1, V> ildenow’s Prin¬
ciples of Botany, sect. 276, and the article Plant in
this Encyclop*dia. _ _ 212
The relations that subsist between the function of cir-Relations
culation, and those which we have already considered,between
-- nf C;.--clrcu!atI01
are very important. We shall begin with those of cir
culation and sensation. That the functions of the ner-
and sensa
vous system must be considerably influenced by the cir¬
culation of the blood, may he supposed a priori, from
the large quantity of blood sent to the head, this being,
on a moderate calculation, about one-tenth of the whole.
A certain quantity of blood in the vessels of the brain
seems essential to the due performance of the functions
of that organ ; and those animals, which, like man,
have the blood sent in greatest quantity, and with great¬
est impulse, seem to possess the faculties ot the brain in
the greatest perfection, while those in whom the mo¬
tions of the blood towards the head is much retarded,
as in the sheep and cow, are remarkable for mildness
and stupidity. When, however, the quantity of blood
becomes too great, or its impetus too violent, the facul¬
ties of the brain are impaired, or altogether destroyed.
No man, and very few other animals, can remain sus¬
pended with the head downwards for any long time,
without dangerous, and commonly fatal consequences.
The bat, indeed, is a remarkable exception to this rule,
for this animal can hang by its hinder feet for days or
weeks together, with perfect safety, a circumstance that
may be accounted for from the very small quantity of
blood contained in its circulating vessels. Again, the
brain exerts an evident influence on the circulation. It
is well known how much the action of the heart and ar¬
teries is quickened, impeded, or, rendered irregular, J>y
Of1'
phap.
21,3
tlations
tween
214
stribu-
n oi the
tries in
VII. P H Y S I
f Circula- the passions of the mind. Cases are recorded in which
these passions, carried to excess, have altogether stopped
the circulation, and produced instant death. Fainting
is often brought on by the sight of a disgusting or terri¬
fying object, or by the odour of perfumes, or of sub¬
stances to which the person has a particular antipathy.
The sympathy between the heart and the nervous sy¬
stem is farther shown by the violent pain below the
sternum, and sometimes in the arm, in cases of organic
disease of the heart.
The circulation is even affected by intense thought j
and we have heard of a bleeding from the nose being
brought on by long and deep study, while the body was
in a reclining posture, namely in bed.
The functions of circulation and motion are intimate¬
ly related. It is scarcely necessary to notice the accele-
id raot'ion ra^ori ^ie Pl,lse’ i*1 consequence of exercise and la¬
bour, or to remark that in indolent and sedentary people
the circulation is generally slow and languid. In gene¬
ral, too, the blood circulates with most rapidity in those
animals who are formed for quick motion, though the
instance above quoted, of the bat, shows that the quick¬
ness of motion does not depend on the quantity of blood.
Several curious anatomical facts have rendered it proba¬
ble, that the production of quick or slow motion depends
in a great measure on the mode in which the arterial
branches are distributed to the moving organs. The
arterial branches that supply the organs of voluntary
motion, are divided in such a manner as to impede the
motion of the blood towards these organs as little as pos¬
sible : their ramifications are therefore few, and they go
off from the trunk at very acute angles *, whereas those
that supply the viscera are at nearly right angles, arc
often tortuous, and are otherwise so constructed as fre¬
quently to impede the flow of blood. Physiologists have
even explained the greater power that is generally found
in the right arm, and the greater readiness with which
most people use that arm, by the manner in which the
right subclavian ai'tery comes off from the aorta. This
indeed we are disposed to consider as fanciful, and to
attribute the more ready use of the right arm solely to
habit and early instruction not to employ the left.
In some animals that are remarkable for slowness of
motion, as the lemur tarcligradus, or slow lemur, and
link the hrudypus tridacti/his, or common sloth, there is a
L. curious construction of the arteries that are distributed
to the limbs of these slow-moving animals, which must
have the effect of breaking the force, and impeding the
velocity of the blood towards these limbs. In the lemur
iardigradus, a specimen of which was dissected by Mr
Carlisle, it was found that the subclavian artery and the
external iliac were, soon after rising from the general
trunk, divided into a great number of equal-sized cylin¬
ders surrounding the principal artery, now diminished
to a very small size, and that each of these branches
was sent to each of the principal muscles of the limbs,
while the other arteries that supplied the other parts of
the limbs were divided in the usual arborescent form.
Struck with this appearance, Dr Shaw and Mr Carlisle
afterwards examined several specimens of the sloth, and
found a similar conformation, while in other species of
bradypus, not remarkable for slow' motion, no such ap¬
pearance took place*. Fig. 5 & 6. Plate CCCCXVHI.
represent the division of the arteries in the slow lemur
above described.
Vol. XVI. Part H. +
■v mov-
ani-
hmo'i
wal
l°gy,
i.
O L O G Y. 497
The relations between the circulating and digestive Of Circula-
organs are proved by the sudden acceleration of the pulse tion.
from stimuli received into the stomach ; from the dimi- L—— 1
nished circulation or sudden cessation of the heart’s mo- Relations
tion from powerful sedatives received into the same or-0f circula-
gan, especially the prunus lauro-cerasus ; from the irre- tion with
gularity produced in the circulation in consequence ofdigestion.
dyspepsia, and many other considerations. 216
That there is an intimate relation between circulation Relation of
and absorption, cannot be doubted, though the nature
and effects of this relation are not yet well understood, 1
We know that the vessels sympathize with the absor¬
bents in their activity or languor; that when the absor¬
bents are languid in their action, the blood-vessels, es¬
pecially the exhalants, are in a feeble or relaxed state,
and that the absorbents are often roused to greater ac¬
tion by remedies that first act on the circulation. 2I
Numerous experiments have shown how much the Action of
colour and consistence of the blood are altered by the the vessels
mere action of the vessels ; and this discovery has ena- 011
bled us to conjecture with more probability than we didWood'
formerly, why in infants and phlegmatic persons the
blood is paler, in the choleric more yellow, and in the
sanguine of vermilion red. It explains likewise in some
measure, why the blood varies in the same individual
not only with regard to the state of health, but likewise
at the same instant; and why the blood which circulates
through the veins has not the same intensity of colour,
nor the same consistence, as that of the arteries; and why
the blood which flows through the organs of the breast
differs from that which passes languidly through the vis¬
cera of the lower belly. This power of the vessels over
the blood will bring us also to the true cause why the
vessels vary in the density of their coats and in their dia¬
meters; why they are sometimes convoluted in a gland,
and why they sometimes deposit their contents in a fol¬
licle ; why they are sometimes of a spiral form ; why
the branches strike off at various angles ; why they are
variously anastomosed ; why they sometimes carry the
blood with dispatch, and sometimes slowly through a
thousand windings. By these means their action is va¬
ried, and the blood prepared numerous ways to answer
the ends of nutrition and secretion.
On the varieties of the pulse, and the morbid affec¬
tions of circulation, see Medicine, N° 96—104.
Chap. VIII. Of Respiration.
2*1 8
While the fluids are passing through the body, by Necessity
what is called the greater circulation, they give out cer-of respim-
tain parts or principles, partly for the purpose of nutri-*5011,
tion, and partly to free the system from noxious mat¬
ters. In order to regain some of the principles which
they have lost, it is necessary that they should be expos¬
ed to the influence of atmospheric air ; for which pur¬
pose they are made to pass through appropriate organs,
which, as we have already observed, are in general ei¬
ther lungs or gills. The action by which the fluids and
the air are made to act on each other, is called respira¬
tion, and consists of two kinds, inspiration, by which the
air is received into the body, and expiration, by which
it is again thrown out.
So essential is respiration to the system, that snails,
chameleons, and some other animals, can live for years,
without any apparent nourishment, provided they be not
3 II excluded
49s
Of Jlespi
ration.
219
©rgana.
P H Y S I
excluded from air. We have seen a chameleon that
lived, and was vigorous, for 22 months, witliout any food,
and which might have continued to live much longer,
but for an unfortunate bruise by a fall.
Other phenomena equally demonstrate the importance
of air to the living body. The frog leaps away wanting
its heart", it survives the loss ot the greatest part ot its
spinal marrow j without its head, it lives for some days,
and its heart continues to circulate its blood. Borelli
found, that eels and serpents, though their bodies be
opened, and the whole of their bowels be taken out, are
able to move for a day after, and yet, in all these ani¬
mals, the life is observed to be suddenly extinguished
when the all-vivifying air is excluded. Even the small¬
est insect has died, and the plant lost its vegetative
power, when retained for any considerable time in a
vacuum. Fishes themselves, when placed under an ex¬
hausted receiver, have started anxiously to the surface
of the water in quest of fresli air •, and finding none,
have sunk to the bottom and expired in convulsions. It
will presently appear that this necessity of air to life is
general in all the classes of organized beings (k).
The organs of respiration belonging to the human sy¬
stem, viz. the /aryflAf, windpipe, lungs, diaphragm, ribs,
and numerous muscles, have been sufficiently descnbei
in various parts of the article Anatomy 5 and some
account of these organs in the inferior animals has been
given in the second part of that article, N° 155, 150,
206, 208, 271—274, and in the articles Cetology,
Erpetology, and Ichthyology. For a more com¬
plete account of the respiratory organs in the inferior
animals, the reader is referred to Cuvier’s Lefonsd -
Anatomic Cotnparee, xxvi. et xxvii. and to Flu-
menbach’s Comparative Anatomy, chap. xiv. and xv.
320 In examining the function of respiration in warm¬
blooded animals, two circumstances are principally to
he considered •, the mechanism of respiration, or the me¬
chanical means by which the organs are enabled to re¬
ceive and expel the air, and the effects produced by re¬
spiration on the circulating fluids, and on the system at
large. Our principal object in this article is briefly to
explain the mechanism of respiration; to notice the ef¬
fects produced on the air by the respiration of different
animals, with the effects produced on them, and the re¬
lations that take place between respiration and the pre¬
ceding functions of sensation, motion, digestion, and cir-
211 culation. _ . .
Mechanism Tn order to make an inspiration, the intercostal mus-
©f respira- c]egj an(j the muscular fibres of the diaphragm, are
thrown into contraction, while at the same time the ab¬
dominal muscles, and the muscular fibres of the wind¬
pipe, are relaxed. By these means the diaphragm being
drawn towards the sacrum, and rendered less convex
towards the chest, and the ribs being drawn upwards
(or forwards in quadrupeds), the cavity ot the chest is
enlarged, and the air remaining in the lungs being ra¬
tion in
jnan.
O L O G Y. Chap. VIII
refied the external air rushes in through the windpipe ofRespi-
by its’own gravity, and distends the lungs. In making, ration,
what is called a very deep inspiration, other muscles
that are connected with the atlantal ribs, viz. those^
called sca/eni, trapezii, cervicales desccndentes, serrati
superiores, and pectoral muscles, assist to elevate the
ribs more than in an ordinary inspiration, by the ac¬
tion of the intercostal muscles ti e ribs are drawn atlan-
tad (upwards in man, and forwards in quadrupeds), be¬
cause the most atlantal rib on each side of the thorax is
fixed, and therefore all the other ribs are drawn towards
it • and they are also drawn peripherad (outwards), be¬
cause their greater curvature is in the direction of the
sacrum, and because they turn on their vertebral extre¬
mities as on a fulcrum. _ , . . .
In order to make an expiration, the abdominal mus¬
cles, and the muscular fibres of the windpipe, are con¬
tracted, while the intercostal muscles, and the muscular
fibres of the diaphragm are at the same time relaxed.
By these means, aided by the elasticity of the cartilages
of the ribs, and perhaps of the mediastinum, the ribs are
drawn sacred (towards the sacrum), while the dia¬
phragm, partly by its own muscular action, and partly
in consequence of the pressure of the bowels, is rendered
convex towards the chest. Thus, this cavity is consi-
derably diminished, the lungs are compressed, and part
of the air is expelled through the windpipe. In making
a strong expiration, little more is necessary than a more
powerful contraction of the abdominal muscles. _ _ 222
The mechanism of respiration in mammalia is so si-In other
milar to that of man, that we need not enter into it 5 animal*
that of cetacea has been sufficiently explained under Fe¬
tology, N° 146—151 •> that of birds may be gather¬
ed from what has been said on their structure, in the
comparative part of Anatomy, 271, and in Orni¬
thology, N° 37 } that of reptiles has been fully ex¬
plained under Frpetology, page 311 | and that ot
fishes under Ichthyology, page 73. The mechanism
of this function in the classes ot animals below these is
so simple, that a consideration of it is unnecessary. In
insects the air enters the numerous ramifications ot the
trachea:; is carried by them into every part of the bo¬
dy, and is then returned by the same passages. In some
of the mollusc a, respiration proceeds in a similar man¬
ner, by the ramifications of the pulmonary vessels that
enter by the neck ; but in most of these, and in all the
lowest tribes, such as worms and zoophytes, respiration
seems to be carried on entirely by the pores ot the
skin ^
' Many attempts have been made to ascertain the qnan- etumtitJM*
tity of air received and emitted in a single inspiration or ^ emit.
expiration. See Chemistry, N° 2535. 1 his pointy
is not yet fully ascertained, but we may probably esti¬
mate the quantity expelled by each ordinary expiration
at one-seventh part of the whole contents of the lungs,
and that of the most violent expiration at about tour-
sevenths
(K) I. was long ago observe,1 hy Pliny, .hat If the
“ oleo Mho insecta omnia exammantur 1 he same obsena o topped. Mayow also found, that if
continued sound. See Bay’s Wisdom of God, and Mayow’s Iractatus.
ration.
it Bostock
■n Respi¬
ration,
3S-
224
rdiuary
0
Chap. VIII. P H Y S I
1 Of Respi- sevenths of that quantity ; or that the medium quantity
of air consumed during a common inspiration or expira¬
tion is about 40 inches *.
Another circumstance respecting the mechanism of
respiration merits notice, viz. the ordinary number of
respirations made in a minute by a healthy person. This
varies considerably in difl’erent subjects, being in gene-
liyiUlMO'l J 1 . 1 • i 1 11 Til ° 0 I X
number of ral greatest in children, and least in old persons. JJr
respirations Hales estimated the number of 20 in a minute 5 the
in a mi- subject of Dr Menzies’ experiments respired only 14
times in the same period, while Mr Davy reckons his
respirations at between 26 and 27 j the subject of the
experiments made by Messrs Allen and Pepys, breathed
about 19 times in a minute, and with this Dr Thom¬
son’s experience agrees. The average of all these is
about 20, which we may probably consider as a tolera¬
bly just estimate. Much, however, will depend on the
circumstances in which the person is placed; on his
habits of activity or indolence, of temperance or in-
temperance j on the state of the atmosphere, &c.
all writers' ^ chemical changes produced on the air by the
n respjra_ respiration of animals have been described, so far as
»n. they were then known, under Chemistry, N° 2536.
Since that article was written, however, several valu¬
able observations have been published, and the most im¬
portant of these must be here noticed j but as w£ can¬
not, in this place, give any thing more than a summary
sketch of these observations, we shall here enumerate
the principal works that have appeared on this experi¬
mental part of our subject. The chemical physiologists
who have been most conspicuous in these researches are,
Mayow (in his Tractatus de Respiratione, or the Analy¬
sis of his works by Beddoes) } Priestley (Experiments
and Observations on Air) ; Lavoisier (1'raite Elemen-
laire de Chimie, Physical and Chemical Essays, and a
work on Atmospheric Air) ; Goodwyn (On the Connec¬
tion of Life with Respiration); Coleman ( On Suspend¬
ed Respiration); Menzies ( On Respiration) ; Spallanza¬
ni (M'-moires surla Respiration), translated into French
by Senebier, and since into English, and Rapports de
R Air avecles Etres Organises, &c. also collected by Se-
Rebier) 5 Davy (Researches Philosophical and Chemical,
into the Nature of Nitrous Oxide); Ellis (Inquiry into
the Efects produced on Atmospheric Air by Respiration),
and Allen and Pepys (Philosophical Transactions, 1808,
Part II. or Phil. Mag. vol. xxxii.). Most of the facts
observed by these experimentalists, except those of the
three last mentioned, have been collected by Dr Bo¬
stock, in his Essay on Respiration, by Dr Thomson in
his System of Chemistry, vol. v. third edition, and by
Mr Johnson in his Animal Chemistry, vol. iii.
chunges ^ie f0^0W'ng changes produced on air that has been
respired respired by warm -blooded animals, seem to have been
fully ascertained; viz. I. That the respired air general¬
ly suffers a sensible diminution of bulk ; 2. That it loses
a part of its oxygenous portion ; 3. that it acquires an
additional quantity of carbonic acid gas; 4. That it is
charged with watery vapour. We shall resume these
facts, and consider the additional information which has
been acquired respecting them since the publication of
I 2*7 our article Chemistry.
0 un’j I. Atmospheric air generally suffers, by the respiration
£ islied. " °f warm-blooded animals, a sensible diminution in its
-The results of the experiments made by different
chemists on the diminished volume of respired air, are
O L O G Y. 499
exceedingly various. Mr Davy makes the diminution Of Respi.
amount to one-eighteenth t of the whole air inspired ; ration.
Lavoisier and Goodwyn estimate it at no more than ' ” ^
one-sixtieth j;, and Dr Bostock so low as one-eightieth |j, eS
while Crawford and some later experimentalists could j Bostock
perceive no diminution. Dr Thomson states the re- on Rcspi-
sults of his experiments upon this subject to be, that in raR°n>
some cases he could perceive no diminution at all, while ^ ^
in others it was perceptible. It tvas greatest when the ^
animal was taken out repeatedly during the experiment,
or when he employed air purer than that of the atmo¬
sphere. He is disposed to consider the diminution as
accidental, and as owing to some absorption of air, al¬
together independent of respiration, and exceedingly
various in different circumstances In the experi-§ o/*
ments of Messieurs Allen and Pepys, the general ave-
rage ol the deficiency in the total amount of common p ^ ‘ ’
air inspired, appeared to be very small, amounting to
about six parts in 1000, and they are inclined to attri¬
bute it, in a great measure, to the difficulty of exhaust- *Phdos.
ing the lungs so completely after an experiment as be- voja^xx;;
fore it *.
2. Atmospheric air, by the respiration of warm-blooded Part- of its
animals, loses a part of its oxygen.—From a comparison oxyst n ab-
of the experiments of Mr Davy, with those made stracted»
Lavoisier just before his death, Dr Thomson estimates
the quantity of oxygen consumed in a minute, by respi¬
ration, at 31.6 cubic inches, making in 24 hours
45,504 cubic inches ; and he concludes that in a day a
man consumes rather more than 25 cubic feet of oxy-f System of
gen, and that he renders unfit in the same time for Chemistry,
supporting combustion and respiration, no less than 125 vo'* v‘
cubic feet of air +. , . p' 7
3. Atmospheric air acquires, by respiration, an addi- Ccrbonic
tional quantity of carbonic acid gas. —The opinion of ac'i^ -as ae-
Dr Menzies, that the bulk of carbonic acid gas pro-*^1^*
duced by respiration, is precisely equal to that of the
oxygen lost, appears now to be fully confirmed. In Mr
Davy’s experiments they corresponded very nearly J, } Research.
and in those of Mr Dalton and Dr Thomson, they cor-^*, P- 431*
responded exactly. The latter chemist found, on the
whole, that the bulk of oxygen which disappeared was
somewhat greater than that of the carbonic acid gene¬
rated ; but the difference varied considerably, and kept
pace with the diminution of the bulk of air respired.
Hence he considers it as owing to the abstraction of
part of the air by some other way than respiration, and
allowing for this abstraction, he has no doubt that the
bulk of the carbonic acid formed is precisely equal to
that of the oxygen that has disappeared. He is dispos¬
ed to consider the absolute quantity of carbonic acid ge¬
nerated in 24 hours, as something less than 40,000 cu¬
bic inches on an average The following results of § System
the experiments made by Messieurs Allen and Pepys, as Chem.
these were made on a large scale, may be considered as T0'- v-
quite satisfactory on this head. I. It appears that thep,^^7'
quantity of carbonic acid gas emitted is exactly equal,
bulk for bulk, to the oxygen consumed. 2. Atmo¬
spheric air once entering the lungs, returns charged
with from 8 to 8.5 per cent, carbonic acid gas, and
when the contacts are repeated almost as frequently as
possible, only 10 per cent is emitted. When the in¬
spirations and expirations are more rapid than usual, a
larger quantity of carbonic acid is emitted in a given
time; but the proportion is nearly the same, or about
3 R 2 eight
$OQ
PHYSIOLOGY.
* Phil.
Mas;.
vo!. xxxii.
p. 165.
230
Watery va¬
pour re¬
quired.
OfItespi- eight percent. The proportions of carbonic acid gas,
ration. jn the first and last portions of a deep inspiration, differ
^ v ' as widely as from 3.5 to y.5 per cent. 3. It appears
that a middle-sized man, aged about 38 years, and
whose pulse is 70 on an average, gives ofl 302 cubic
inches of carbonic acid gas from his lungs in 11 mi¬
nutes*, and supposing the production uniform lor 24
hours, the total quantity in that period would be 39534
■ ubic inches (agreeing almost exactly with Dr Thom¬
son's "weighing 18,683 grains, the carbone in
which is 5363 grains, or rather moi*e than 11 ounces
trov *, the oxygen consumed in the same time will be
equal in volume to the carbonic acid gas *, but it is evi¬
dent, that the quantity of carbonic acid gas emitted in
a given time, must depend very much upon the circum¬
stances under which respiration is performed ; and here
it may be proper to notice, that all these experiments
were made between breakfast and dinner. 4. A larger
proportion of carbonic acid gas is formed by the hu¬
man subject, from oxygen than from atmospheric
air
4. Atmospheric air returns from the lungs charged
with aqueous vapour.—Of this circumstance there is no
doubt, but the quantity of water contained in the expired
air, and the sources from which it is derived, are still in
dispute. Dr Thomson estimates the former at about 19
ounces per day } but he does not lay much stress on the
results of his own experiments, as they were not suffi-
cietly varied to give a fair average. As to the sources
of this watery vapour, it has been generally supposed,
that the water is formed in the lungs by a combination
of part of the oxygen consumed with hydrogen evolved
from the venous blood. This, however, is mere hypo¬
thesis. It has not been proved that hydrogen is evolved
from the blood ; and as the quantity of oxygen con¬
sumed appears to be taken up in forming the carbonic
acid gas that is expired, there is none left to form wa¬
ter. No hydrogen, or any other gas, except carbonic
acid and azotic" gas, appear to be evolved during the
process of respiration f.
There is another change supposed by most chemical
physiologists, to be produced on the air by respiration,
namely the loss of part of its azote ; but this is still dis¬
puted. Dr Bostock concludes it to be probable, that
a small portion of azote is lost, which he estimates on
an average at of the air respired, making in 24
ji Essayi on hours, about 4 ? ounces, or four cubic feet J. Mr
Respira- Davy found the consumption of azote to amount to
tion, p ico. abou(. one seventh of that of oxygen || ; and some late
experiments of Dr Henderson afford a similar result,
tl10ui*li in these the proportion is rather less §. Dr
Thomson also found a loss of azote, but it was extreme¬
ly inconstant, sometimes being scarcely perceptible, at
others considerable- It kept pace with tire diminution
of the bulk of the air respired, and with the difference
between the bulk of the oxygen consumed, and the car¬
bonic acid formed. He conceives that a portion of the
air respired disappears without undergoing any change,
and that this portion occasions the diminution ol the
azote and the difference between the bulk of the car¬
bonic’acid formed, and that of the oxygen consumed.
He thinks it conceivable, that the disappearing of such
a portion mav be confined to the unnatural circumstan¬
ces occasioned by the experiment; that the difficulty of
throwing out the air from the lungs in these circumstan-
•fi Phil.
Mag. xxxii.
p. 269.
231
Is azote
lost ?
Research-'
es, p. J33-
§ Nichols
Jour. Svo.
*v®L viii.
P- 4 v
Chap. VIII.
ces, may be such as to induce absorbents to act, and Of Itespi.
remove a portion which m the ordinary state of the ^ ration,
lungs would have been thrown out by expiration *. *’7’^""^
Experiments on the changes produced on atmosphe- c/,^'
ric air and oxygenous gas, by the respiration of the in-v0jt
ferior animals, have been made chiefly by \ auquelin, p. 73k
Spallanzani, and Mr Davy, and some of them have been 232
repeated and varied by Mr D. Ellis, f rom all t^ese the afr^by^
experiments we find, that by the respiration of ampbi-res^ra
bia, of fishes, of insects, of mollusca, and of worms, thetion of the
air in which they have been confined sutlers changes in‘emraiii.
analogous to those produced in it by the respiration ofrattl!*
the warm-blooded animals; that the oxygenous part is
diminished, and that this diminution is most complete
when insects and worms have been confined in it; that
carbonic acid gas is in all cases prodneed, but that the
quantity produced varies in different animals; that fishes
live for the shortest time, and amphibia and worms i<Jr
the longest, when confined in a certain quantity.
From the latest experiments made by Spallanzani,
on the effects both of living and dead animals, on at¬
mospheric air, as collected by Senebier, that experimen¬
talist has drawn the following conclusions. 1. In begin¬
ning with worms, and rising up to man, there is no spe¬
cies" of animal which does not destroy the oxygen of the
atmosphere after death, and destroy it entirely if it be
kept inclosed in it, provided the quantity be not too
great in proportion to the size of the animal; because a
considerable time is required when the volume of air is
larffe, and a less time when the quantity is small.
2. This destruction of oxygen by dead animals, is un¬
der similar circumstances slower than that effected by
living animals ; if W’e regard merely the effects produced^
by the cutaneous organ, independent of the action ol
the lungs.
3. He thought he had legitimately proved, that the
destruction of oxygen by the cutaneous organ, is not
occasioned by the combination of this gas with the car-
bone of the animal ; but that it is a true absorption of
that element, by the body of the animal deprived of
life. It does not give out carbone, but carbonic acid,
as he believed he had proved by unanswerable experi¬
ments.
4. The absorption of oxygen by animals cut into small
pieces, is greatey than that occasioned by animals entire
in similar circumstances.
A cold blooded animal of the same bulk, and in
the same circumstances as a warm blooded animal, ab¬
sorbs more oxvgen than the latter after death.
6. The skin is not the only part of an animal which
absorbs oxygen ; all the parts, solid, fluid, and soft, not | Edin
excepting the driest horny parts, as the nails of qua-W^ BUr
drupeds, the bill and feet of birds, produce the same ef-p0‘c?‘
feet f. 233
It has lomr been known that plants would not vege-Effects of
tate, If excluded from atmospheric air. Papin confined vegetation
an entire plant in the exhausted receiver of an air-pump,
and it soon perished ; but on keeping a similar plant in
this vacuum, with only its leaves exposed to the air, it
continued to live for a long time t V\ hen the leaves j
of a plant are stri.pt off, or blighted by insects ; when ptyttlogi*
they have the upper surface smeared with oil, with var-p- 31*
nish, or laid upon water §, the plant dies in a few days.$ Kilns
Hence it is evident that the leaves of a plant are neces- Inquiry,
sary organs, and that there is produced on the air in P-* •
 ^
Dhap. VIII. PHY SI
lOi'Respi- which the plant vegetates, some change essential to the
ration, healthy action of the plant. What this change is, has
”not been fully ascertained. It is the general opinion,
that the leaves absorb a portion of the atmosphere, and
give out certain gaseous products j and it is generally
believed, that most plants have the property of giving
out oxygenous gas during their exposure to the light,
and azotic gas or some other irrespirable air in the
dark. That oxygenous gas is necessary to vegetation,
is fully proved 5 and it seems certain, especially from the
experiments of Mr Ellis, that under the ordinary cir¬
cumstances, carbonic acid gas is generated during their
* Ellis's vegetation*. Mr Ellis, who is not satisfied with the
Inquiry, accuracy of the experiments of Scheele and Priestley,
p. 35.etseq. seems t0 doubt whether plants at any time give out oxy¬
genous gas j and thinks that the principal use of oxy¬
gen to them, is to combine with the superfluous car-
hone produced by vegetation, and thus form the carbo-
nic acid evolved.
•ffects of Having considered the effects produced on the air by
espiration the respiration of animals, and the vegetation of plants,
m the am- we must now notice the effects produced by the exercise
nalsystem. ^ same function on the animal body, as the compa¬
rison of these effects with the changes produced on the
air itself, affords us the only clue to a rational theory of
respiration.
’hanges on We have already stated (CHEMTSTRY, 2540), that
2e blood, during respiration, the blood changes from the dark co¬
lour which it has in the veins, to the bright scarlet of
arterial blood. It has been found, that a clot of venous
blood, when out of the body, assumes the bright tinge,
when exposed to the action of oxygenous gas •, and that
venous blood confined within a bladder, undergoes a si¬
milar change, when the bladder is immersed in oxyge¬
nous gas. It has been also found, that when arterial
blood out of the body is exposed to the action of irre¬
spirable gases, it loses its bright colour, and assumes
the purple hue of venous blood.
.icrease of ’s fully ascertained, that the heat of the body is
I empera- chiefly kept up by respiration. See Chemistry, N°
; Jre- 2545-
,, Let us now consider the most probable theories of re-
Incorv 01 • 4 •
'spiration spirati°n5 chiefly as they are applicable to the human
system. Without staying to notice the older hypotheses
that have been advanced to explain this function, we
shall only state the present most received doctrine, and
mention the objections that have been lately made to it.
'heory 0f This doctrine is stated in the following manner by Hr
Men and Bostock, one of its most strenuous defenders. “ The
ostock. blood arises at the right side of the heart, in a venalized
state, loaded with a quantity of the oxyde of carbone; as it
passes through the pulmonary vessels,it becomes sub jected
to the action of the air contained in the bronchial cells j
a portion of the oxygen is removed from the air, part of
which, forming an intimate union with the oxyde of car-
bone, is expelled in the form of carbonic acid gas, while
the remainder is dissolved in the blood.” It is here
necessary to remark, that it is not oxygenous gas, but
oxygen, which is supposed to be mixed with the blood.
The caloric thus set at liberty is employed, part of it in
maintaining the temperature of the lungs, which would
otherwise he cooled by the admission of the externa! air ;
part of it in carrying off the aqueous vapour,and another
portion in converting the carbonic acid into carbonic
apid gas ; but the greatest part of it is united, in the
O L O G Y. 501
form of specific heat, to the arterial blood, which, by Of Rtspi-
becoming arterialized, has its capacity for heat increas- ration,
ed. The arterial blood is poured into the left cavity of ” *
the heart, and propelled through the arteries into the
extreme parts of the body. The oxygen which was dis¬
solved in the whole mass of blood, during the circula¬
tion, gradually unites itself more intimatelv to a portion
of the carbone in it, which it converts into the oxide of
carbone, and thus the blood acquires the venous state.
By this change, its capacity for caloric is diminished j
the specific heat which it obtained in the lungs, is given
out in the capillary vessels, to keep up the temperature
of the body, and the blood returns to the right side of
the heart completely venalized. This hypothesis is near¬
ly similar to the one which was proposed by M. M. La
Grange and Hassenfratzj it received some modifications
from Mr Allen of Edinburgh, and was delivered by him
nearly in the form which I have stated above, in his ad¬
mirable course of physiological lectures. It was, I be¬
lieve, first published in my Essay on Respiration*.” * Edin.
This doctrine, if sufficiently established, would explain
the manner in which the blood becomes arterialized inp. i^0'm
the course of the lesser circulation. It would also shew
how, under particular circumstances, the arterial blood
may be venalized without leaving the arteries, and the
venous blood arterialized without leaving the veins. It
accounts for the gradual evolution of caloric in the ca¬
pillary vessels, during the course of the circulation, by
the union which takes place between the oxygen and the
carbone", whereas in the other hypothesis, (seeN°24l.j)
this union is entirely completed in the lungs. It would
allow a considerable time in which this union might be
accomplished, and would likewise suppose the constitu¬
ent parts to remain in perfect contact for an indefinite
period. This hypothesis would also explain how the
oxygen is disposed of, which is supposed not to be con¬
cerned in the formation of carbonic acid, and would
likewise possess the advantage of supposing the exist¬
ence of a surplus quantity of oxygen, which being car¬
ried along the circulation, might be expended in a va¬
riety of useful purposes in the different parts of the ani-
mal economy. It would shew how the supply of matter
which is poured into the blood by the absorbents, is
gradually incorporated with the mass j and after the
separation of that portion, which is necessary for im¬
pairing the waste of the different organs, the remainder
is united to oxygen, and keeps up the temperature of
the body ; and, having afterwards no farther useful
purpose to serve, it is discharged by the lungs't. fib. p. 157.
Several objections, however, may be made to this _239
theory. It is not proved that there is in natural respi-^ect^ons*
ration any absorption of oxygen by the blood; for though
much of the oxygenous portion of the atmosphere is lost,
the quantity of carbonic acid generated is sufficient to
account for it. Mr Ellis has lately made very strong
objections to this supposed absorption of oxygen, drawn
chiefly from the anatomical structure of the blood ves¬
sels, and of the bronchial cells. He contends that the
coats of the former, and the membranes bounding the
latter, can scarcely admit the passage of air through
them, much less that of the solid basis of oxygenous gas,
which basis Hr Bostock supposes to be the principle ab¬
sorbed. It is still morcimprobable, according to MrErtis,
that two solid bases, namely those of oxygenous gas, and
of oxide of carbcne} should be at the same time passing
through- ,
502
PHYSIOLOGY.
Of Ilespl-
tion.
| Ellis's
Inquiry,
p. 1.7.—
*23.
240
answered.
# Edin.
Med. Jour.
toI. iv.
p. 161.
et seq.
241
Mr Ellis’s
opinion.
+ Edin.
Med. Jour.
vol. iv.
P- 327-
242
Objections,
} Edin.
Jour.
vol iv.
p. 163.
243
answered.
through these resisting membranes ; a supposition that is
necessary in the hypothesis just stated. Again, suppos¬
ing that this absorption of oxygen should take place,
from the affinity of the blood for this principle, it is not
easy to conceive why this affinity should so soon cease,
and why the blood should again part with the oxygen,
to the base of carbonic oxide These objections are
certainly very forcible j let us see how they have been
answered.
Dr Bostock, in an ingenious reply to Mr Lllis’s ob¬
jections, in invalidation of the first objection, quotes the
well known experiment of Dr Priestley, mentioned in
N° 235. that venous blood becomes changed when ex¬
posed to oxygenous gas, even though a bladder be in¬
terposed between them •, and in controverting of the rest,
he seems chiefly to rely on the supposition that a greater-
quantity of oxygen is consumed than is taken up in the
formation of the carbonic acid. He also does not consi¬
der it as Ticernwy to suppose that either the oxygenous
gas, or the oxygen itself, should enter the blood vessels,
and should afterwards be expelled from them ; but on¬
ly that a part of the oxygen should be attracted by the
blood, and after entering into a variety of new combina¬
tions, should be discharged as a constituent of some of
these new compounds. Without inquiring in what way
the action between the blood and oxygen takes place }
whether it be in consequence of the mechanical struc¬
ture of the membranes, which permits the oxygen to
pass through their pores, or whether it be owing to the
affinity of the blood for oxygen, which causes it as it
were to become saturated with this substance before it
transmits it; it appears to him sufficient to state, that
oxygen and blood can act on each other, through a
membrane which is very much thicker, and probably
much denser, than that which separates the blood in the
lungs from the air in the bronchial cells*.
From a consideration of the principal experiments on
respiration that have been made by the ablest chemical
physiologists, and a comparison of these with what he has
himself made, Mr Ellis contends that no part of the air
enters into the blood, but all the oxygen which disap¬
pears is to be found in the carbonic acid produced; and
that this carbonic acid is formed by the union of car-
bone emitted by the exhalant vessels of the lungs, uniting
with part of the oxygenous portion of the inspired air-f-.
To this opinion Dr Bostock, in the paper already re¬
ferred to, makes the following objections ; that this opi¬
nion does not explain how the regular supply of carbone
is, at each successive circulation, brought to the lungs
in a state proper to be discharged ; and that it does not
explain in what way the oxygen is employed, whieh is
consumed in respiration
To the first of these objections (which, if it he prov¬
ed that the whole of the oxygen is taken up in forming
carbonic acid, is the only objection that can propei’ly lie
against his opinion), Mr Ellis replies, that the supply
of carbone is derived from the digestive organs ; but he
does not conceive, as Dr Bostock seems to imagine, that
this is no sooner received into the blood than excreted,
or that the first operation which takes place in the san¬
guiferous system after it has received the substance
which is to afford nutriment to the body, is to discharge
the greatest part of it. He regards carbone as a con¬
stituent part of the animal fluids, and he has endeavoured
to shew, that it is emitted by the exbalants of the skin and
I
Chap. VIII;,
intestines, as well as by those of the lungs, producing in Of Rec¬
all cases similar changes on the air. Digestion beholds ration,
to he in no other way the source of the carbone in these '■“““’Y''—J
fluids, than as it is the source of all the other principles
which they contain. We know that all the phenomena
of respiration are often exhibited for long periods where
no digestive process is carried on; but the functions of
life must sooner or later come to an end. if the various
means of exhaustion be not recruited by supplies through
the digestive organs. It is only in this distant view that
he considers digestion as the source of carbone; its im¬
mediate sources are the exhalant functions of the body,
which will afford carbone as long as they are supported
by the motion of the blood, and will no longer yield it
when the motion of the blood has ceased. But whether * Edin.
the exhalant functions continue or cease, he considers Jour,
that carbone exists abundantly, if not equally, in the se-voi-lv-
rum and crassamentum, in arterial and venal blood *. p
On the whole, though the final causes of respiration, Theory of
or the uses to which it is subservient in the animal eco-respiration
nomy, are now pretty well understood, we must acknow-stl11 incom-
ledge that the mode in which these beneficial effects arel)kte*
produced, has not yet been satisfactorily explained. l4S
The principal uses of respiration appear to be, 1. To Uses of fe-
bring about some beneficial change in the fluids of the spiration.
body, and through them on the solids ; 2. To preserve
the equable temperature of the body; and, 3. In all
those animals that breathe by lungs to produce those
sounds which arise from what we call voice. 246
That animal heat is kept up chiefly by respiration, Animal
requires we think, no particular proof. It is well known,htat-
that those animals which consume most air during respi¬
ration, have the highest temperature. Birds in particu¬
lar have the most extensive breathing organs, and the
temperature of these animals is higher than that of any
other class. The respiration of reptiles, fishes, and most
of the lower classes, is slow and languid, and the tempe¬
rature of these animals is proportionally low. The heat
of each species is, however, pretty uniform under ordi¬
nary circumstances. That of the human body is gene¬
rally about 98° of Fahrenheit. This however depends
on the circumstances in which it is placed. When much
chilled by the action of cold, the temperature of the hu¬
man body falls a degree or two below the ordinary
height; and under the influence of violent fever, it rises
several degrees above it. The temperature is generally
highest in children ; and instances are recorded of these
having survived, while their mothers, to whose breasts
they clung, have perished from the severity of cold. 247
One of the most interesting facts relating to the sub- p«sm^
ject of animal heat, is the capacity of preserving the ^"a^Ie
equable temperature of their bodies, possessed by most tenipCra.
animals. Man himself can live with little inconvenience ture.
in the frozen regions of Spitzbergen, and under the equa¬
torial heats of Africa. He can even support a greater
degree of heat than is perhaps ever known to take place
from the rays of the sun, as is proved by the experiment
of Drs Blagden and Fordyce in heated rooms; these
gentlemen having remained for 15 minutes together in
a heat exceeding 130°. The heat supported by some of
the inferior animals is still more extraordinary. A dog
has been known to live for a considerable time in air
heated to 260°, and still the heat of his body was not
raised more than 2° above its natural standard. A frog
has lived for more than 25 minutes when laid on flan¬
nel,
0$
!.
■ ili
ft It!
249
aziog
fhap. VIII. P H Y S I
if Respi- nel, heated from 950 to 106°. Fishes live very well at
72° j and Lucas, in his history of mineral waters, speaks
of carp that were living in a hot bath, whose tempera¬
ture was at least equal to that of the human body.
How this equable temperature is preserved, cannot
he completely explained. We know that the heat of
the human body is commonly moderated by perspiration;
hut in some cases, as in that of Dr Fordyce alluded to
above, where the heated atmosphere was filled with
watery vapour, this could have little effect. We can
ascribe it only to the action of the living principle.
It was long ago observed by Aristotle, that those ani¬
mals only who possess lungs, have a true voice, and this
opinion is confirmed by the experience of modern na¬
turalists. We find, that only mammalia, cetacea, birds,
reptiles and serpents, can utter vocal sounds. Several
tribes below these do indeed emit certain sounds, espe¬
cially insects ; but these are owing to vibrations of the
air in consequence of the agitation of their external or¬
gans. It is only in mammalia and birds that the voice
becomes an interesting object of enquiry ; for that of the
cetacea is little more than blowing and grunting, and
that of the other two classes is either hissing or croak-
ing.
Nothing can exceed, in variety and execution, the
kty of human voice ; as will readily be allowed, if we consider
human comp]jcated structure of the human vocal organs, and
the almost infinite variety of changes of which they are
susceptible. Dr Barclay has calculated these with great
accuracy, proceeding on the principle, that where a num¬
ber of moveable parts constitutes an organ destined to
some particular function, and where this function is va¬
ried and modified by every change in the relative situa¬
tion of the moveable parts, the number of changes pro-
duceable on the organ must at least equal the number of
muscles employed, together with all the combinations
into which they can enter. Now, the muscles proper to
the five cartilages of the larynx, are at least seven pairs ;
and fourteen muscles that can act separately or in pairs,
in combination with the wholer or with any two or
more of the rest, are capable of producing 16,383 dif¬
ferent movements ; not reckoning as changes the vari¬
ous degrees of force and velocity, nor the infinitely va¬
ried order of succession by which they may occasionally
be brought into action. The number appears almost
incredible ; but to lessen the surprise, it must be recol¬
lected that we speak not here ef the powers possessed by
any individual, which will depend on habits and circum¬
stances, but on the powers of the vocal organs, consider¬
ed in the abstract, free from all the influence of custom,
equally indifferent, and equally disposed to act in any
order of successim, in any combination, and with any
degree of force and velocity of which their original
powers were susceptible.
If the powers we have mentioned appear astonishing,
and able to account for many thousands of these varieties
observed among the voices of the human species, we have
further to add, that the muscles alluded to are only the
proper muscles of the larynx, or the muscles restricted in
their attachments to its five cartilages. These are but a
few of the muscles of voice. In speaking we use a great
many more. Fifteen pairs of different muscles, attached
to the cartilages, or os hyoides, and acting as agents, an¬
tagonists, or directors, are constantly employed in pre¬
serving the cartilages of the larynx steady, in regulating
5°3
O L O G Y.
the place of their situation, or moving them as occasion OfRespi-
requires, upwards and downwards, backwards and for- ration,
wards, and in every way, directly and obliquely, accord-
ing to the course of the muscular fibres, or in the diago¬
nal between different forces. These muscles, independ¬
ent of the former, are susceptible of 1,073,741,823, dif¬
ferent combinations *, and co-operating with the seven
pairs of the larynx, of 17,592,186,044,41 L exclusive of
the changes which must arise from the different degrees
of force and velocity, and the infinitely varied order of
succession in which they may be brought into action.
But these are not all that co-operate with the larynx,
either in forming or changing the voice ; the diaphragm,*
the abdominal muscles, the intercostals, and all that
directly or indirectly act on the air, or on the parts to
which the chondral and hyoidal muscles are attached,
contribute their share. The os hyoides could not be rais¬
ed unless the inferior jaw-bone were previously fixed by
the temporals, masseters, and internal pterygoids ; and a
similar assistance is likewise furnished by several other
auxiliary muscles that fix the hesiA,sternum, and scapula;
to these we must add some pairs belonging to the pharynx
and isthmus fauemm, and some also belonging to the
tongue, which, combining with others, give to that or¬
gan an inconceivable variety of movement; and so quick¬
ly, that, in rapid utterance, they change its state 3000+ Barclay's
times in a minute. Thus Haller could articulate 1500 Anat-
Nomen.
7°.
letters in a minute, which required 1500 contractions,'
and as many relaxations of the lingual muscles t. p‘ 2 _0
The principal organ of voice is the larynx, which is Mechanism
proved by the circumstance that, when this is injured,of voice
the voice is either lost, or rendered very indistinct. Inand sPeeeh*
ordinary respiration the chink of the glottis seems to be
in a relaxed state, and when this chink is contracted,
voice is produced, and the sound of the voice is more or
less shrill, according as the glottis is more or less con¬
tracted. By this contraction of the glottis alone we can
produce only inarticulate sounds, varied indeed almost
infinitely with respect to intensity and tone, by the ac¬
tion of the muscles. The production of speech requires
the action of the tongue, the lips, the palate, and the
teeth ; and the articulations are most complete, when all
these parts are most perfect in their structure, and in the
most healthy condition. Too great length or shortness
of the tongue, swelling of this organ in consequence of
inflammation, &c. imperfection of the palate, loss of
the teeth, swelling of the lips, all serve to render speech
imperfect and inarticulate. The strength of the voice
depends on the quantity of air expired, and on the con¬
traction of the glottis ; and consequently those animals
who have the most capacious and most dilatable lungs,
together with an ample cartilaginous and elastic larynx,
will, other things being equal, have the strongest voice.
Among the various effects of the human voice, there Vcntnlo-
is none more calculated to produce surprise in the hear-quism.
ers, than that extraordinary talent which some men pos¬
sess of deceiving their hearers into a belief, that the
sounds which they utter do not proceed from the real
speaker, but from situations at a distance. This talent
has been termed ventriloquism, from an idea that the
voice of the speaker proceeded not from the mouth, but
from the belly. The most remarkable instance of this
rare talent of which we have heard, is that of M. Fitz-
James, who was formerly at Paris, and exhibited in
London in the year 1803. Mr Nicholson has given an
amusing,
;©a
Of llospi-
ration.
P H t S I
amusing account of tlie performance of this ventrilo¬
quist, and tve shall present part of it to our readers.
After some remarks on the nature of ventriloquism,
which we shall notice presently, and on the difficulty ol
ascertaining the direction of the sound, Mr Nicholson
thus proceeds :—44 We should scarcely be disposed to a-
scrihe any definite direction to it } and consequently are
readily led to suppose it to come from the place best
adapted to what was said. So that when he went
to the door, and asked in French (in which the whole
performance was carried on), 4 are you there?’ to a per¬
son supposed to be in the passage, the answer in the un¬
usual voice was immediately ascribed by the audience to
a person actually in the passage } and upon shutting the
door and withdrawing from it, wdien he turned round,
directing his voice to the door, and said, 4 stay there till
I call you,’ the answer which was lower, and well adapt¬
ed to the supposed distance, and obstacle interposed, ap¬
peared still more strikingly to be out of the room. He
then looked up to the ceiling, and called out in his own
voice, ‘ what are you doing above ?’ 4 do you intend to
come down?’ to which an immediate answer was given,
which seemed to be in the room above, 4 I am coming
down directly.’ The same deception was practised on
the supposition of a person being under the floor, who
answered in the unusual, but a very different voice from
► the other, that he was down in the cellar putting away
some wine. An excellent deception of the watchman
crying the hour in the street, and approaching nearer the
house, till he came opposite the window, was practised.
Our attention was directed to the street by the marked
attention which Fitz-James himself appeared to pay to
the sound. He threw up the sash and asked the hour,
which was immediately answered in the same tone, but
clearer and louder •, but on his shutting the window down
again, the watchman proceeded less audibly, and all at
once the voice became very faint, and t itz-James in his
natural voice said, ‘ he has turned the corner. . In all
'these instances as well as others which were exhibited to
the very great entertainment and surprise of the audience,
the acute observer will perceive that the direction of the
sound was imaginary, and arose entirely from the well-
studied and skilful combinations of the performer. Other
scenes which were to follow required the imagination to
be too completely misled to admit of the actoi being
seen. He went behind a folding screen in one corner
of the room, when he counterfeited the knocking at a
door. One person called from within, and was answer¬
ed by a different person from without, who was admit¬
ted, and we found from the conversation of the parties,
that the latter was in pain, and desirous of having a tooth
extracted. TLhe dialogue, and all the particulais of the
operation that followed, cvould require a long discourse
iif I Were to attempt to describe them to the reader. The
imitation of the natural and modulated voice of the ope¬
rator, encouraging, soothing, and talking with the pa¬
tient $ the confusion, terror, and apprehension of the suf¬
ferer *, the inarticulate noises produced by the chairs and
apparatus, upon the whole, constituted a mass of sound
which produced a strange but comic effect. Some ob¬
servers would not have hesitated to assert, that they
heard more than one voice at a time * and though this
certainly could not be the case, and it did not appear
so to me, yet the transitions were so instantaneous, with¬
out the least pause between them, that the notion might
5
O L O G Y. Chap. VIII
very easily be generated. The removal of the screen ofRespi.
satisfied the audience that one performer had effected ration,
the whole.
“ His principal performance, however, consisted in the
debates at the meeting of Nautem, in which there were
twenty difi’erent speakers, and certainly the number of
different voices was very great. Much entertainment
was afforded by the subject, which was taken from the
late times of anarchy and convulsion in France ; when
the lowest, the most ignorant part of society, was called
upon to decide the fate of a whole people by the ener¬
gies of folly and brute violence. The same remark may
be applied to this debate, as to the other scene respecting
tooth-drawing; namely, that the quick and sudden trans¬
itions, and the great differences m the voices, gave the * Philos.
audience various notions, as well with regard to the num-^
her of speakers, as to their positions and the direction ofp ^
their voices
Various explanations of this peculiar modification of How ex
voice have been given, from the report of f itz-James
himself, it appeared to Mr Nicholson, that bj long prac¬
tice he had acquired the faculty of speaking during the
inspiration of the breath, with nearly the same articula¬
tion, though not so loud, nor so variously modulated, as
the ordinary voice, fonned by expiration of the air. M.
Richerand, who heard Fitz-James at Paris, gives a dif¬
ferent account of the matter. He says that every time
the ventriloquist exerted this unusual peculiarity, lie suf¬
fered distension in the epigastric region j that sometimes
he perceived the wind rolling even lower, and that he
could not long continue the exertion without fatigue.
Richerand believes that the whole mechanism of this art
consists in a slow, gradual expiration, drawn in such a
way, that the artist either makes use of the influence ex¬
erted by volition over the muscles of the paiietes of the
thorax, or that he keeps the epiglottis down by the base
of the tongue, the apex of whicn is not carried beyond
the dental arches.
He always made a strong inspiration just before this
long expiration, and thus conveyed into the lungs a
considerable mass ol air, the exitol which he afterwards
managed with such address. Therelore repletion of the
stomach greatly incommoded the talent of M. f itz-
James, by preventing the diaphragm from descending
sufficiently to admit of a dilatation of the thorax, in pro¬
portion to the quantity of air that the lungs should re¬
ceive. By accelerating or retarding the exit of the air,
he can imitate different voices, and induce his auditors
to a belief, that the interlocutors of a dialogue kept upj
by himself alone, are placed at different distances f. randsPh^
Mr Gough in an ingenious paper, containing an in-«o/.
vestigation of the method whereby men judge, by the ^
ear, of the position of sonorous bodies, relative to their
own persons, explains the phenomena ot vent?ilocfutsntj
on the principles of reverberated sound, and considers it
as consisting in the talent ol making the voice issue on¬
ly from the mouth •, whereas he thinks that in ordinary
cases the different vibrations which are excited by the
joint functions of the several vocal organs in action, pass
along the bones and cartilages from the parts in motion,
to the external teguments ol the head, lace, neck, and
chest, from which a succession of similar vibrations is im¬
parted to the contiguous air, thereby converting the up
per half of the speaker’s body into an extensive seat ol
sound. He thinks that the sounds proceeding from the
mouth
jMiap. VIIT.
ijirs, vol.
part ii.
, 622.
253
oice of
-,tes.
v 111. P H Y S I
ifRespira-mouth of a ventriloquist are uttered in such a direction
tion that the hearers may receive the impression of some
-—Y—J echo with much more force than they can receive the
Munches- original sounds*. It may be doubted whether such
Me- echoes can take place in an ordinary room filled with a
large assembly; and on the whole we are inclined to
consider this phenomenon as being-effected partly by the
gradual emission and a skilful management of a large
quantity of air taken in by a full inspiration, and partly
by the influence which the performer is capable of ex¬
erting over the imagination of his hearers.
Several of the mammalia have a characteristic voice,
which is formed by particular organs. These are in
some animals tense membranes; in others peculiar cavi¬
ties opening into the larynx, and sometimes appearing-
like continuations of the laryngeal ventricles. Thus
the neighing of the horse is effected by a delicate, and
nearly falciform, membrane, which is attached by its
middle to the thyroid cartilage, and has its extremities
running along the outer margins of the opening of the
glottis. The braying of the ass is produced by means
of a similar membrane, under which there is an excava¬
tion in the thyroid cartilage. In this animal there are
also two large membranous sacs opening into the larynx.
The purring of the cat seems to be owing to two deli¬
cate membranes that lie below the ligaments of the
glottis. Some of the monkey tribe, especially the sz-
viia seniculus and beelzebul, have the middle and fore
part of the os hyoides formed into a spherical bony cavi¬
ty, by which these animals are enabled to produce those
horrible and penetrating tones, which can be heard at
j bat. chap, vast distances, and have gained them the name of howl¬
ing apesf. See Mammalia, N° 33.
The simplest vocal organ seems to be that of birds.
These animals have, on the sides ot the windpipe next
the lungs, and at the opening of the bronchioe, two
membranous folds which partly close the pulmonary
aperture of the windpipe, and the aperture next the
head is susceptible of great contraction and dilatation.
In short, the vocal organ of birds may be considered as
one of the most perfect wind instruments, very much
resembling, both in its structure and effect, a clarinet or
hautboy, the opening next the lungs being similar to
the reed of these instruments. For some remarks on
the song of birds, see Ornithology, N° 42 ; and for
farther observations on the voice, see Anatomy, Part
I. N° 122.
In tracing the relations of respiration with the pre¬
ceding functions, w'e must deviate a little from our usual
•er tunc- or^er) alld begin with those between respiration and
circulation, as it seems to be through the medium of the
circulating system that respiration principally acts on the
other functions. The i-elations between respiration and
circulation are the most immediate and the most obvi-
When the breathing is most free and rapid, the
circulation is most vigorous and active ; while in labo¬
rious or interrupted respiration, the action of the heart
and arteries becomes slow, feeble, irregular ; and where
the lungs are deprived of oxygenous gas, the arteries
gradually cease to pulsate, and soon after the motion of
the heart ceases. If the stimulus of oxygen be not too
long withheld, so that the lungs can again be excited to
action, first the heart, and then the arteries, gradually
renew the exercise of their functions, and the circulation
proceeds as before. On the application of these princi-
Vol. XVI. Part II.
O L O G Y.
5°5
Blumen
eh's
mp,
.254
nee of
ds.
respii'a-
R with
RJ.
256
th ciicu-ous.
'ion,
pies depends the recovery of those apparently dead from Of Respira'
asphyxia (suffocation, drowning, &c.) When the cir- tion.
eolation becomes languid from indolence, from depres-
sing passions or the want of accustomed stimuli, we feel
about the breast a peculiar sensation, which physicians
call anxiety, and which is relieved by a deep inspira¬
tion ; by sighing, yawning, &c. Violent exertions of
the respiratory organs, such as laughing, coughing,
singing, talking unusually long or loudly, quicken the
circulation, sometimes to an alarming degree, so as to
occasion haemorrhage in such as are predisposed to that
affection. Breathing in an atmosphere that is much ra¬
refied, as on the top of a high mountain, has often the
effect of producing plethora and haemorrhage ; though
this, perhaps, is imputable rather to a want of the ordi¬
nary pressure on the surface of the body.
W hen the circulation through the lungs is impeded Withsensa-
or obstructed, a determination of blood takes place to bon.
other parts, especially to the head. The effects produced
on the brain and other organs of sensation, by the
breathing of impure air, are dreadful. W hen the same
quantity of air is repeatedly respired, there is experien¬
ced, first, great anxiety about the breast, and this soon
becomes intolerable ; the face swells, becomes livid, or
even black, and feels excessively hot; sparks of fire
seem to dance before the eyes; the sight becomes de¬
praved; giddiness, ringing in the ears, and confusion of
thought succeed; and if fresh air be not soon supplied,
the subject of the experiment loses both sensation and
motion, and falls into a state resembling apoplexy f. f
W hen rarefied air is breathed, the nervous system expe- Essay on
riences a kind of excitement; agreeable sensations iire-Apparent
produced with a disposition to mirth and cheerfulness;
but if the person continue for some time in such a situa-P
tion, an unusual languor, heaviness, and disposition to
sleep, come on J. We need not here describe the plea- ^ snussnrc
surable sensations excited by the respiration of nitrous Voyagedans
oxide, as these have been already related under Chemi- les Alpes,
stry, N° 366. The exhilarating effects which a pure'P* 559-
and serene atmosphere produce on the general system,
and the uneasy sensations experienced under a thick and
clouded sky, are partly referable to this head. The
nervous system also acts on the organs of respiration. In
some affections of the brain, respiration is much quick¬
ened, while in others, especially the comatose affec¬
tions, it is slow, laborious, and often attended with that
peculiar noise called stertor. It is well known what ef¬
fect anxiety, eagerness, hope, or desire, have on the
respiration. According as one or other of these passions
is predominant, the breathing becomes hurried, irregu¬
lar, or suspended. 2^s
An evident relation takes place between respiration vvith mo-
and motion. The breathing is quickened by exercise ; tion;
and when there is a considerable debility of the muscu¬
lar system, the slightest exertion produces hurried respi¬
ration, panting, &c. In those animals that possess the
greatest powers of motion, respiration is most free, and
the air most extensively diffused over the body. In
birds, not only the lungs are very extensive, but the air
is conveyed into the bones of the skull, and into the
hollows of the larger cylindrical bones ; and in insects
which have the most rapid motions, the air penetrates to
every part ot the body. Motion, as well as sensation,
becomes unusually free and vigorous in rarefied air, and
during the respiration of nitrous oxide; while in cases
t -3s ot’
S°6
PHYSIOLOGY.
lion.
259
With di
gestiou.
Of Respira-of impeded or obstructed respiration, the action of the
muscles is languid and feeble. Indeed, if we may im¬
plicitly rely on the experiments that have been made on
the respiration of de-oxygenated gases, the muscular
fibres are among the first organs that are injured. e
are told that by the admission of black blood, or blood
that has not undergone the necessary changes by heal¬
thy respiration, the muscles lose their power of contrac¬
tion, and even their irritability. _ _
The organs and functions of respiration sympathise
with those of digestion. When the former function is
most free, the latter is generally most healthy; the re¬
spiration of pure or rarefied air, or of the nitrous oxide,
is attended with an increase of appetite, and of the di¬
gestive powers, as was experienced by M. Saussure while
wandering among the Alps, and by Davy while respir¬
ing the gas of Paradise. Again, when digestion is im¬
paired, or when the stomach is overloaded, the breath¬
ing is rendered difficult, laborious or irregular, and in
many cases of affection of the stomach, cough is a very
common symptom. These effects produced on the re¬
spiratory organs in consequence ol impaired digestion,
are ascribable chiefly to the pressure on the diaphragm
by the distended stomach.
Many other relations might be pointed out between
respiration and the other functions of the animal econo¬
my, but our limits do not permit us to enlarge further
on the subject *. . . . .
For an account of the morbid affections oi respira-
tion, such as sneezing, hiccup, coughing, anxiety, dys-
^fteUaPncea, or difficulty of breathing, see the article Medi-
$iil
* Sec Bi-
chat Re-
cherehes
Mort.
CINE.
Chap. IX. Of Nutrition and Assimilation.
260
Nature of
nutrition.
The function by which the nutritious particles re¬
ceived by a living being are assimilated to the nature of
that beino', or become part ol its substance, is properly
called nutrition. This is the completion of the process
which, in most animals, is the combined result of seve¬
ral other operations. Thus, in the superior animals,
from man to the mollusca, the whole process oi nutrition
consists oi digestion, absorption, circulation, respira¬
tion; by the" two last of which the nourishment received
is changed into perfect blood, and fitted for the support
and renewal of the several parts of the system. From
the account of the constituent parts of the blood given
under Chemistry, N° 2660, it will appear, that this
fluid contains within itself the principles of which every
part of the body is composed. Ihus it eontainsyzArittf’,
which is the chief principle of the muscular parts ; phos¬
phate of lime, which forms the basis ol the bones ; albu¬
men and gelatine, the chief constituents of cartilages,
ligaments and tendons, &c. These principles are con¬
veyed by the arterial blood, during its circulation, to
those parts of the system where they are required, for
renewing waste, or supplying deficiencies, and thus they
/ are assimilated to the nature of the body. > .
Eachassi- The power of assimilation, so remarkable in living
milatingor-bodies, is not the same in every assimilating organ;
gan produ- each has the property of converting the materials it
ces peculiar rece^ves (pV0Vided they be susceptible of this conversion)
changes. a pecu];ar substance. Thus the stomach always
converts the food into chyme ; the intestines change it
Chap. 15
into chyle; but if chyle, or what is very similar to it, ofNutr
fresh milk, be received into the stomach, this organ tion and i
exerts on it the usual change, and does not pass it for- sanitation
ward into the intestines unaltered, though we know by
experiment, that fresh milk is capable of being taken
up unchanged by the absorbents of the bowels *. A- * Fordy
gain, blood is always perfected within the circulating
vessels ; and if chyle or fresh milk be injected into the ’p' 1
arteries, it produces dangerous effects, while the fresh
blood of another living animal may be transfused into
these vessels without injury. In like manner, if a piece
of fresh muscular flesh be cut from a living animal, and
applied to the muscles of another living animal, also
newly divided, the two parts unite, and are immedi¬
ately assimilated ; and even fresh bone may, in the same
manner be ingrafted on the living bones of the same, or
of a different species of animal f; while substances | p/u7.
that are foreign to the nature of the animal body, when Mag. vi
introduced into the blood-vessels, prove fatal, and when 3°8.
inserted into a wounded muscular or bony part, prevent
the wound from healing. -
These circumstances show that assimilation is a che- Assimila
mical process, though modified and regulated by the tion a clu
action of the living principle. The chemical nature of mical pro-
assimilation is most distinctly proved by the well-known cess
experiment of colouring the bones of an animal, by
feeding it on madder. The particles of the madder,
which we know to have a strong affinity for phosphate
of lime, are carried unchanged from the stomach into
the blood-vessels, and are thence conveyed, probably in
combination with the phosphate of lime there contained,
into the substance of the bones, where they are depo¬
sited, and remain for a considerable time. ag3
We have considered nutrition as performed by the Nvmitioi
circulating vessels. It has been supposed that the nerves not per-1
are the organs of nutrition ; but this strange hypothesis formed ’
is completely overturned by an experiment of the second nelv :’-
Monro, which proves that the limb of a frog may be
preserved alive and nourished by the blood-vessels, after
its communication with the brain has been cut off' by
dividing the nerves. 264
In insects and zoophytes, where there are no circula- Nutntio
ting vessels, nutrition must be a very simple operation.
According to Cuvier, it is performed by imbibition; the phyl€S
pores of the animal’s body receiving immediately the
nutritious fluids on which it feeds.
In plants and animals, the assimilating power has al-.^1™ ®
ways certain limits prescribed to itits influence is very
generally confined to the sort of food congenial to the
species, and its strength is varied according to circum¬
stances, as the age, the habits, and the state of health.
Those which are young assimilate faster than those
which are old ; and one species, which may partly be
owing to the nature of their food, will assimilate much
faster than another. Certain worms that feed on ani¬
mal and vegetable substances will, in twenty-four hours
after their escape from the egg, become not only double
their former size, but will weigh, according to Kedi,
from 155 to 210 times more than before. Most oils
are ot very difficult assimilation ; and those which are
volatile will often resist the long-continued and the
varied action of the living organs ; will mingle with the
parts, and, undecomposed, communicate their flavour.
Other circumstances respectimg nutrition have been
noticed
yhap. X.
i6"i
^ans.
Of noticed in the first part of ANATOMY, N° 130 j and
lecretion. the chemical doctrine of assimilation is more fully con-
—^ ' sidered under Chemistry, N° 2567—2571.
PHYSIOLOGY. 507
while it at the same time separates and distinguishes of
every organ. From its elasticity, and the lubricating Secretion.
Chap. X. Of Secretion.
266
ecretiou.
26S
inds of
cretion.
That function by which any organ, or set of organs,
separates from the general mass of blood certain prin¬
ciples intended to perform some important office in the
animal economy is called secretion ; and the substances
so separated, are called secretions.
The secretory organs in the more perfect animals are
very numerous, and some of them very complex. The
most simple of them seem to be the cellular texture, and
the mucous membranes. The next in simplicity are the
conglobate glands, and perhaps the spleen, while the more
complex organs are the liver, the testicles, the atrabili-
ary capsules, &c. An account of all these organs, as
they occur in the human body, has been given in the
first part of the article Anatomy; and the correspond¬
ing organs of the inferior animals, with others not found
in man, are described by writers on comparative anato¬
my, especially Cuvier and Blumenbach.
Secretion appears to be of three kinds : 1. Transuda¬
tion, in which the secreted matters merely ooze through
the pores of the secreting organ. This takes place in
the lowest classes of animals, as in zoophytes, insects,
and some worms, but rarely in the human subject.
2. Exhalation, in which the secreted fluids are poured
out into cavities by certain branches of the arteries with
open mouths, called exhalants. This appears to take
place in many organs of the most perfect animals, espe¬
cially from the mucous membranes, the synovial glands,
&c. 3. Secretion, properly so called, in which the
blood passes through glandular bodies, where a part of
it is decomposed, and carried out in another form by
particular tubes called excretory ducts. This is the
case with most of the secreting organs, as the salivary
glands, the lachrymal glands, the liver, the pancreas,
the testicles, and a few others.
The secreted fluids are chiefly the following: lymph,
serum, tears, mucus, saliva,pancreaticjuice,gastric juice,
enteric jitice, bile, semen, synovia, fat, marrow, cerumen
or ear- wax, and in the female, milk. The other matters
secreted, which may rather be termed solid than fluid,
are albumen, gelatine, Jibrine, and phosphate of lime.
On the nature and properties of all these substances,
see the article Chemistry, Chap. xix. sect. 3.
With respect to the secretions in general, we may re¬
mark, that they are considerably influenced by age, sex,
various affections of the mind, and various bodily dis¬
eases. They are formed by organs which are sometimes
capable of supplying the deficiencies of each other ;
they are subjected to the influence of the atmosphere,
and to the temperaments of the body ; they are some¬
times mixed together, and by this combination their na¬
ture is changed.
We shall now briefly examine the action of three of
the secreting organs, viz. the cellular membrane, the
tionof ^veri an,t the spleen.
cellular From the extensive distribution of the cellular mem¬
brane. brane it is reasonable to conclude, that it is intended to
perform several important offices in the animal economy.
One of its most obvious uses is to form a general con¬
necting medium between every part of the structure,
269
creted
liters.
270
neral
Jifica-
as of se-
dion.
fluid which it holds within its cells, it facilitates motion,
and thus assists the action of all the muscular parts and
organs. That it is susceptible of great dilatation is
proved by the phenomena of anasarcous dropsy ; and the
gradual evacuation of the water when anasarcous limbs
are punctured, as well as the passage of extraneous bo¬
dies below the skin from one part to another, seem to
show that it possesses considerable contractile powers.
It is chiefly, however, as a secreting organ that we are
here to consider the cellular membrane; and in this way
its function is of the utmost importance. The fatty
matter, that is so copious in most of the superior ani¬
mals, is contained within particular cells or bags of the
cellular membrane, and is found in greatest quantities
below the skin, especially on the sternal part of the
belly, and about the kidneys. In some animals, as the
hog, the seal, the walrus and the cetaceous tribes, it
forms a layer several inches in thickness, and in all the
water animals above mentioned it is nearly fluid. To
these animals it not only serves the purposes of a Warm
covering by the slowness with which it conducts heat;
hut, by diminishing their specific gravity, renders their
motions on the surface of the water much more easy
and expeditious. One of the most important uses of the
fat seems to be to supply nourishment to the body, when
the ordinary channel is obstructed, or the system ren¬
dered incapable, from torpor or disease, of receiving
food. When fat persons are attacked by fever, or si¬
milar acute diseases, they become emaciated, sometimes
to so great a degree, as to appear a mere skeleton; and
those animals who sleep during winter, though very fat
when they retire to their dormitories, are extremely
lank and lean when they quit these on the return of
spring. In all these cases the fat alone is absorbed, and
supplies the waste that takes place in the body, and
would otherwise prove fatal.
On the actions of the cellular membrane, see Bichat,
Anatomie Generate, tom. i.
Some physiologists have supposed that the bile secret-Acti(?n of
ed by the liver is not formed entirely from the blood oftlie live1'*
the vena portarum, but partly from the hepatic artery.
Or Saunders who has examined the arguments in fa¬
vour of this supposition, decides against it, and considers
the usual opinion of the bile being solely secreted from
the blood of the vena portarum, as quite satisfactory.
It has also been supposed, that the whole of the bile is
not secreted by the liver, but that the gall bladder has
a share in this office, and is not merely a reservoir, like
the urinary bladder. This supposition is highly impro¬
bable, although we think there can be little doubt that
the bile undergoes, within the gall bladder, some pecu¬
liar changes, which render it better fitted for the func¬
tions it has to perform. We know that the gall blad¬
der is very muscular, and that there is an appearance of
follicles within it. It is therefore probable that some
matter is secreted from its internal surface, which pro¬
duces a necessary change in t^ie bile.
The principal use of the bile seems to be to stimulate Uses of the
the intestines, and thus keep up their energy and peri-bile,
staltic motion, though it is probable that, besides this,
office, it performs several others of importance in the
animal economy, such as assisting in the decomposition
of the food, and thus forming chyle; and acting as a
3 S 2 general
272
508
Of
Secretion.
* See Saun¬
ders on the
Liver.
-74
Uses ot the
spleen.
*75
Opinion of
Dumas.
* Principes
de Physiol.
tom. iii. p.
592*
276
Experi¬
ments of
Mr Home.
genera! stimulus to the system. T-liat it lias this last
effect is probable from the torpor, inactivity, and de¬
jection that attend hypochondriacal and chlorotic ailec-
tions, in which this secretion is detective. ^ loo great
a secretion, or rather excretion of bile, is attended
with violent purging *•
On the nature ot the bile, and biliary concretions,
see Chemistry, N° 2664. ^
• Few subjects in physiology have given rise to more
discussion, and few have been considered with so little
success, as the use of the spleen in the animal economy.
That an organ so large, and so well supplied with blood,
should be intended for some important function,is scarce¬
ly to be doubted ; and yet the instances of animals that
have lived, seemingly with little inconvenience, after the
spleen had been cut out, seem to prove that this organ
is not of such great importance as it appears to be. The
conjectures respecting its uses are various, and some of
them not a little ludicrous. Some have supposed that
it acted by its weight and pressure on the stomach, and
thus promoted digestion at one time, and counteracted
lilinger at another j some, that it ivas intended to dilute
and attenuate the blood 5 others, to deprive that fluid ot
its superabundant oil 5 another party, that it conti ibut-
ed to form the red globules ot the blood j and some of
the older physiologists supposed that it secreted that
fluid to which they gave the name ot black bile. Du¬
mas is of opinion that it is a sort of supplementary or¬
gan, both to the liver and the kidneys, separating from
the blood part of its serosity, and then delivering it
over to the liver in a proper state tor the formation ot
bile ; and furnishing to the kidneys another portion ot
serosity to torm the watery part of the urme *. rl hat at
least a part of these opinions of Dumas has some foun¬
dation, will appear from the following summary of the
late experiments of Mr F.verard Home.
Prosecuting the inquiry respecting the state ot the
stomach during digestion, which we have tormeily al¬
luded to (see N° 161), Mr Home found that during di¬
gestion, the fluids taken into the stomach are principally
contained in the cardiac portion ) and he interred, fiom
the uniform consistence of the chyme in the pyloric por¬
tion, that a great part of the fluids are carried out of the
stomach without ever reaching the pylorus. As he con¬
ceived very naturally, that the lymphatics of the sto¬
mach were inadequate to this office, he con jectured that
the fluids might pass off by the spleen. He proved, by
a decisive experiment, that liquors might pass through
the stomach without going through the pylorus, and he
also found at the same time, that the spleen was turgid,
unusually large, and its external surface very irregular-,
and when cut into, small cells were every where met
with, containing a watery fluid, and occupying a con¬
siderable portion of its substance. Rudiments of these
cells had been seen before by Malpighi, who considered
them to be glands, and by Cuvier, who calls them cor¬
puscles •, but the cells in a distended state seem not to
have been examined till Mr Home was led to look for
them, in consequence of the above experiment. Mr
Home varied this experiment, by giving animals a de¬
coction of madder, and an infusion of rhubarb, and obtain¬
ed similar results. Part of the fluid swallowed was again
rejected by vomiting \ but of that which remained it was
always found that a part had escaped, without any pos¬
sibility of passing by the pylorus, as this was secured by
PHYSIOLOGY. Chap. Jj
ligature. It did not probably escape by the absorbents,
Of
as these were not so much distended by fluid as to be Secretion
visible ; and it certainly did enter the spleen, as there v—-j
was there found a quantity of liquor, which was prov- ^ ^
alkaline test, to contain rhubarb A 1
ed, by
A I ^
ails* fon
quantity ot urine was found in the bladder^ also mi-x§q8, p. 2,;
pregnated with rhubarb *. -si
From these experiments it appears, that the spleen is^eii ca
capable of carrying off from the stomach, a part ol itslrom t]le
XVIV v* — — - - J O - — li 12111 LI1C
fluid contents, thus affording a much nearer passage tostomac]u
the bladder than through the absorbents. If this inves¬
tigation, on further trials, shall prove equally satisfac¬
tory, it will explain why the bladder is often distended
with urine in a short time after drinking 5 and will do
away the necessity of having recourse to the disputed
hypothesis of the retrograde action of the absorbents. 27g
In the inferior classes of animals there are a nurn-Peculiar
ber of peculiar secretions, which, from their utility in animal sc
medicine or the arts, or from their noxious or unplea-cle lons-
saut effects, are deserving the attention of physiolo¬
gists. We can here only mention a few of the more
important. The nature and properties ol most of them
are explained under Chemistry.
Some of the mammalia secrete matters that have a
very strong smell, as musk, civet, castor, and in paiu-
cular the fluid emitted from the hide of several of the
weazel tribe, beside the civet cat. Ambergris is secret¬
ed by some species of whales. Rirds, especially vater
fowls, secrete a large quantity of oily matter, which they
use in dressing their feathers. Some reptiles, especially
the toad, secrete an acrimonious fluid, which seems to
serve them as a weapon of defence. Many serpents, as
is well known, produce a most virulent poison, which
they insert intb the wounds inflicted by their fangs.
Some fishes secrete fluids of a similar tendency. Few
animals, however, form secretions so various and so use¬
ful, as the insect tribes, from whom we procure coc/tri
ncal, kermes, lac, silk, &c. Some of the mollusca, as the
muscle,and the spinning slug, also secrete a matter simi¬
lar to silk, by means of which they either secure.them-
selves firmly in their situations, or facilitate their pro¬
gressive motion. The ink of the cuttlefish, supposed
with no small probability, to he the basis of Indian or
Chinese ink, is also a remarkable animal secretion, which
seems intended by nature to screen the animal, and as¬
sist it in eluding the vigilance of its pursuers. _ 279
There are also many important vegetable secretions, Vegetable
constituting what are called gums, resins, ami ^-secretion'
resins ; as gum-arabic, giim-dragant; guaiac, dregon s
blood; assafoetida, gamboge, myrrh, aloes, and many
others-, for -an account of which see Chemistry and
Materia Medica.
Chap. XI. Of Excretion.
2S0
The function of excretion differs but little in its na-Excretioi
ture from that of secretion already considered. As the
organs of secretion separate from the blood those sub¬
stances which are useful in the animal economy, so the
excretory organs separate from the blood, or from the
food taken into the stomach, those substances which aie
to he conveyed out of the body as excrementjtious, viz.
the solid excrement, the urine, and perspiration. 28i
The organs of excretion, then, are chiefly the bowels, organs
especially the larger intestines, the k.dney.^tMherr
Chap. XI.
PHYSIOLOGY.
zSa
Sxeretion
ty the in-
estines.
sf^
delations.
284
xcretion
' the kid-
7s-
iippenda^es, the ureters ami urinary bladder, and the
skin. For an account of these in the human body, see
Anatomy, Part I.; and for the varieties of these or¬
gans in such of the inferior animals as possess them, and
for the means by tv hi eh their absence is supplied in
others, see the works of Cuvier aaul Blumenbach al¬
ready quoted.
The physiology of intestinal excretion requires little
explanation. The remains of the food, after the nutri¬
tious chyle has been extracted from it by the lacteals,
are carried onward through the colon and rectum by the
peristaltic motion of the intestinal canal, excited to ac¬
tion by the stimulus of their contents, and of the bile,
and assisted by the pressure of the abdominal muscles, till
they reach the extremity of the rectum, when becoming
more stimulant, partly by their bulk, and partly by their
increased acrimony, they rouse the muscular fibres of
that intestine to greater action, so as, with the assist¬
ance of the abdominal muscles, to overcome the re¬
sistance of the sphincter, and are thus expelled.
Intestinal excretion is influenced by most of the pre¬
ceding functions. i.By the nervous power j as we find
that in cases of paralysis, the excrements are not passed
without artificial means, or they are voided involuntari¬
ly. 2. By motion. Thus we find that the action of
the bowels is increased by exercise, and lessened by in¬
dolence and a sedentary life 5 though the quantity of
excrement passed is greater in the latter case than in the
former, shewing that the stimulus of the excrementitious
matter is not sufficient without muscular action, to pro¬
duce the regular performance of this function. 3. By
digestion. It is well known that the stronger the diges¬
tive powers of the stomach, the more active are the
bowels, and again, when these latter are overloaded with
excrement, the functions of the stomach are disordered.
4. By secretion. The action of the intestines is increas¬
ed, w'hen that of the secretory organs which pour their
contents into the alimentary canal, becomes unusually
great, viz. in unusual secretions of bile or mucus, as in
cholera and diarrhoza ; while, when those secretions are
defective, as in cases of jaundice, the intestines become
unusually torpid.
The morbid affections of intestinal secretion have been
considered under Medicine, N0ic>9~i 12, and 114,115.
The organs destined for the excretion of urine afford
the most complete apparatus for this function of any that
we shall have occasion to notice, consisting of an assem¬
blage of glands, collected within one membrane j an ex¬
cretory duct 5 a reservoir for collecting the excreted
fluid, and a canal for conveying it out of the body. In¬
deed we may consider the kidneys rather as secreting
than excreting organs, as the urine there formed differs
so much in its nature and properties from the circulating
fluids. We know, by a decisive experiment, that the
kidneys perform the whole of this office, and that the
other organs are intended for the excretion of the urine ;
for when the ureters are tied or obstructed next the
bladder, we find that the secretion of urine still goes on,
and that the ureters above the obstruction soon become
filled and prodigiously distended.
The nature and properties of urine, in its natural
state, and as altered in certain diseases, have been con¬
sidered under Chemistry, N° 2670.
As the urine contains two substances that are not
found in the blood, viz. urea and uric acid, Dr Thom-
509
son concludes, on very probable grounds, that the office of
of the kidneys is not merely to separate from the blood, Excretion,
a quantity of water and salts, but that they exert on this v J
fluid some peculiar action, decomposing some part of the
blood, and forming some new substance or substances f. mistry, voL
The mutual relations between this excretion and the v. 3d edit,
preceding functions, are not many, or very important. P- 748«
During certain affections of the nervous system there is a j^ej*tS^ns
sudden and copious excretion of limpid urine, and some
mental emotions produce an involuntary flow of it J. f Mer-
And in cases of palsy, an incontinence, or a total sup-c^a?2/ °f
pression of urine, is very common. rJ'his excretion is ^emce^act
considerably influenced by motion, being less copious in
those who use much exercise, or lead a laborious life.
The morbid affections rsferable to this excretion, are
noticed under Medicine, N° 118—122, 2S6
The excretion by the skin, or perspiration, has exer- Excretion
cised the ingenuity of many physicians and physiologists, by the skin,
ever since the time of Sanctorius; and though it is not
now considered as so essential to life and health as it was
in the beginning of the 18th century, is certainly of
great importance. The quantity of w-atery fluid occa¬
sionally thrown out by the skin in the form of sweat,
proves that, by means of this organ, the blood is freed
from a great deal of useless or perhaps injurious matter,
which cotdd not so conveniently, or so perfectly, be ex¬
pelled by other outlets. The nature of the matter per¬
spired, and the quantity of ordinary perspiration, have
been investigated by many able experimentalists, the re¬
sult of whose labours is given in the first volume of John¬
son’s Ah/wo/ Chemistry; the fifth volume (third edition)
of Dr Thomson’s System of Chemistry ; in a paper by Dr
Kellie in the second number of the Edinburgh Medical
and Surgical Journal, and in our article Chemistry.
The principal facts that have been ascertained with
respect to the perspirable matter thrown out by the skin,
relate either to its quantity, or its chemical composition. ^
I. The experiments on the quantity perspired, on Quantity of
which we can the most rely, are those of Lavoisier, Se- the perspi-
guin, and Mr Abernethy. From these experiments we ration,
may deduce the following conclusions: 1. The greatest
quantity of matter perspired in a minute, amounts to
about 26 grains troy, the least to about 9 grains 5 giv¬
ing an average of about 17 grains in the minute, or
about 52 ounces in 24 hours. Dr Kellie estimates the
quantity at about 30 ounces, which seems too small. 2.
The quantity of perspiration is increased by drink, but
not perceptibly by solid food. 3. Perspiration is the
least in quantity immediately after a meal, and reaches
its highest proportion during digestion. gs
II. The perspirable matter is chiefly composed of a itsC0rnp05j.
large quantity of water, some carbon or carbonic acid, tion.
a small quantity of another acid, supposed to be the
phosphoric, and a peculiar oily matter of an odorous
quality, differing in different animals, and, as it should
seem, in different individuals. The perspiration of qua¬
drupeds is fre quently found to contain phosphate of lime,
and sometimes urea. See Chemistry, N° 2532.
As to the relations of perspiration with t^ie Prece(fin8 j^e]2^nr
functions, we may remark that this excretion is in¬
creased bv- various passions of the mind, by exercise, by
healthy and rapid digestion ; that it is generally in pro¬
portion to the vigour and quickness of the circulation
and respiration, and that it is capable of supplying the
defect of the two former excretions. On the contrary,
it
5io
P H Y S I
Of Integu- it is lessened by inactivity •, by the impaired state of tbe
mation. digestive organs 5 by languid circulation and respiration,
^ and by violent purging, or evacuation of urine.
Chap. XII. Of Integumation.
29O
Uses of in
All living bodies are furnished with integuments,
teguments which are intended to afford them a defence against
as defence. ^10Se injuries to which their situation is commonly ex¬
posed. Of the integuments, some are useful in prevent¬
ing the dissipation of the fluids ; some in resisting acrid
and corrosive substances •, some of them are indigestible
in the stomach of animals, and some appear to be incor¬
ruptible in the earth. By these properties, seeds and
the ova of insects are preserved for a considerable time,
waiting the changes of soil or of season that are favour¬
able to their evolution. They are protected from the
action of weak membranous stomachs, and thus the ani¬
mals who may swallow them contribute to their propa¬
gation. It is thus the seeds of the misletoe are dispersed,
and deposited on the bark of the oak or the ash. There
is a gelatinous substance frequently ejected by birds,
and commonly called tremella, nos toe, or star-fall, which
Dr Barclay has proved to be nothing else than the ovi¬
ducts of frogs, which, as the embryo in form of an egg,
moves along their winding canal, secrete that transpa¬
rent and viscid matter which constitutes the albumin¬
ous part of the ovum, and feeds and protects the embryo
while in water.
The most important circumstances with respect to in¬
tegumation relate to the varieties of the integuments
themselves, and to the changes or renovation of these
in different animals.
I. Some integuments are useful, chiefly from their
vering;
291
Integu-
M b*8their s*;renSt*1 an^ hardness. The elytra or shelly coverings
hardness- °f ^ie beetle tribes afford an excellent defence for their
membranous wings, when folded up; the shell of the
snail lodges the intestines, when the animal comes forth
to search for food, and affords a safe retreat to the ani¬
mal, when it is threatened with any danger from with¬
out. The shells of some animals can be opened and
closed by a muscular power} and some of them, as in
the tail of the lobster, are so disposed in plates or scales,
as to be no hindrance to the animal’s motion. Several
insects which pass a part of their time in the water, al¬
ways compose for themselves a shell, where it is need-
292 ful.
by their ex- Some integuments are covered with feathers, some
ternal co- [iajr or thick down. Besides many other obvious
uses of these coverings, they generally serve to repel in¬
sects ; and being bad conductors of heat, tend to pre¬
serve an equal and necessary temperature. Some inte¬
guments are covered with prickles, which oppose the at¬
tacks of an enemy by the strength of their points, or by
the venom which they infuse, as in the stings of nettles,
and the down of some other plants, and some insects.
Others again are moistened by a viscid secretion, which
preserves the necessary softness of the parts, prevents
evaporation, resists acrimony, enables some beings to
destroy their enemies, and assists others in performing
their progressive motions.
Both plants and animals, but particularly the former,
are often protected by odorous effluvia from their inte¬
guments. These effluvia are the finer parts of their vo¬
latile oil, always inflammable, and so subtle, that the
293
by their ef¬
fluvia ;
O L O G Y. Chap. XII
continual emission of it from wood or flowers does not of Integu
sensibly diminish their weight. To this fragrance it is mation.
owing that the deadly nightshade {atropa belladonna'), »1u—
the henbane, hounds-tongue, and many others, are seen
on almost every high road untouched by animals. The
manchinelle-tree of the West Indies emits so very dan¬
gerous vapours, that the natives poison their arrows with
its juices, and those have died who have ventured to sleep
under its shade. The lobelia longifiora of America pro¬
duces a suffocating oppression in the breast of those who
respire in its vicinity. The return of a periodical dis¬
order has been attributed to the exhalation of the rhus
toxicodendron. Of all the vegetable effluvia, however,
that a fiord defence to the plant from which they pro¬
ceed, or annoyance to the animals that approach it,
none are equal to those of the celebrated bohun-npas, or
poison-tree of Java, whose exhalations have been said _
to extend to the distance of several miles, preventing
all access of animals, or punishing the intruders with* See Pin
certain death. It is rather unfortunate for the botani-^ertonh
cal poets, that the effects of this poison have been great-
ly exaggerated, if indeed such a marvellous tree really ^
exists *. 294
Various colours of the integuments afford a species of their co¬
defence. Caterpillars which feed on leaves are gene-*our*
rally green ; and earth-worms the colour of the earth
which they inhabit. Butterflies which frequent flowers
are coloured like them. Small birds which frequent
hedges have greenish backs like the leaves, and light-
coloured bellies like the sky, and are hence less visible
to the hawk who passes under them or over them.
Those birds which are much amongst flowers, as the
goldfinch, are furnished with vivid colours. The lark,
partridge, and hare, are of the colour of dry vegetables
or earth on which they rest; and frogs vary their co¬
lour with the mud of the streams which they freque.nt,
and those which live on trees are green.. Fish which
are generally suspended in the water, and swallows
which are generally suspended in the air, have their
backs the colour of the distant ground, and their bellies
of the sky. The sphinx convolvuli, or unicorn moth,
resembles in colour the flower on which it rests; and
and among plants, the nectary and petals of the ophrys,
and of some kinds of the delphinium, resemble both in
form and colour the insects which plunder them, and
thus sometimes escape from their enemies by having
the appearance of being pre-occupied. From colour
being thus employed as a defence, many animals vary
their colours with the seasons and circumstances j and
those which are of diflerent colours in summer accord¬
ing to the places which they inhabit, in winter assume
in common the colour of the snow.
II. The changes that take place on the integuments Change of
consist either of a partial, or complete, renewal ofmteSu'
them. As the more superficial integuments are com¬
monly insensible to stimuli, and possess little or nothing
of the vital principle in all cases where they cannot be
enlarged to admit of an additional increase of growth,
or where they are not furnished with organs for re¬
pairing those injuries which they may sufi’er from acci¬
dent or disease, the body is endowed by nature with
a power of throwing them off, and of producing others
in their stead. Thus, serpents and toads slough their
skins ; the Crustacea cast their shells *, the larvae of in¬
sects change their cuticle $ and several trees, especially
the
295
ments.
!!
iicip.
S 1
fTrans- the cork tree, throw off their outer bark. Even man
rmation. himself generally changes the cuticle, which peels off
in the form of scales. Most animals once a year change
their hair, wool, or feathers, and have these renewed
by a fresh covering ; a process well known by the name
of moulting. Some animals who do not usually cast
their external covering, have the power of repairing
this when injured. This is the case with most of the
testacea, especially snails.
Chap. XIII. Of ’Transformation.
ransfor- The alterations which organized beings undergo from
ation. metamorphosis or transformation, are more striking than
those which we have described in the preceding chap¬
ter. It has indeed been asserted, that these alterations
consist in throwing off certain temporary coverings 5 but
this expression is inaccurate, and arises from a want of
precision of ideas. Transformation and change of in¬
teguments are really different-, the truth is, transforma¬
tion often takes place without any change of integu¬
ments, and there is often a change of integuments with¬
out.any change of form. This new form is sometimes
occasioned by a change of shape, consistency, and colour,
as when the lobes of a seed are converted into seminal
leaves. It is at other times occasioned by a change of
proportion among the parts, and at others by the addi¬
tion of new organs, as when the emmet receives wings,
and the plume of the seed is fed by new roots striking
into the ground : or, lastly, it is occasioned by a change
in the form and organs, and in their mode of operation,
as happens in a remarkable degree to some insects. In¬
deed, though all living bodies, both plants and animals,
undergo some degree of transformation in the course of
their existence, these changes are most remarkable in
„ insects,
ip?
ansfor- Many reptiles undergo very curious changes,but these
ition of are most remarkable in the frog tribe. The larva or
,tl!cs; tadpole, as it is called, of the frog, is an animal with a
large head, a long tail, no limbs, and commonlv posses¬
sed of gills, all obviously very different, both in form,
proportion, and uses, from the parts of the perfect ani¬
mal. The curious appearance of what has been consi¬
dered as the tadpole of the rana paradoxa, has led some
naturalists to describe it as an animal of a different ge-
nus, either a fish or a lizard ; see Erpetolgy, p. 384.
insects. Many insects appear to consist of two distinct animal
bodies, one within the <?ther; the exterior, a creature of
an ugly form, residing in the water, or under the earth,
breathing by gills, or sometimes by tracheae projecting
from the tail, possessing a voracious and grovelling ap¬
petite, and having a system of sanguiferous vessels that
circulates the blood towards the head. When all its
parts decay and fall off, the creature inclosed succeeds
in its stead : this often is an animal of a different form,
generally lives in a different element, feeds on a differ¬
ent species of food, has different instruments of motion,
different organs of sense, different organs of respiration
and differently situated } and being endowed with the
parts of generation, inclines to gratify the sensual pro¬
pensity, and produces an embryo, which becomes like
the first, and from which, in process of time, a creature
is evolved similar to the former.
If the embryo or egg be deposited on a leaf, the leaf
i^ frequently observed to bend, to wrap it in folds, in-
■
O L O G Y.
S'i
tended for the purpose of protecting it from injuries O'Tians-
and danger. If deposited in the body of an animal or formation,
plant, they accommodate themselves to its wants and 'J * —*
necessities, and furnish a tumour which serves it for a
nidus, and besides, like an uterus, supplies it with nou¬
rishment } and if deposited in the body of an insect, the
creature provides for the future destination of its young
charge with all the tender care of a parent, and then
dies. _ _ 2P9
These circumstances, added to the great variety of Parents of
forms which insects assume,renders it sometimes difficultinsects of-
to know who is the parent. We cannot, for instance, ten-,no^-
pronounce with certainty who xs the true parent of the tin -uished.
gordius, known by the name of the seta equina, or hair
eel. A set of experiments which Dr Barclay once be¬
gan with a view to throw some light on the subject,
were unfortunately interrupted by an accident. He
learned only, from a number of observations, that certain
black beetles, at the end of summer, have the strongest
propensity to run into the water, where they soon die ;
and that one or two, and sometimes three or four of
those eels gradually drop from the beetle by the anus.
Whether other insects provide for the gordius in this
manner, wre have not yet been able to determine.
In all living bodies possessed of a sensorium, the Transfor-
changes of form, as well as the changes of habit and of mation ac-
age, are usually accompanied with new pi’opensities, companied
appetites, and passions. ^
Microscopic observations having demonstrated, that tieg.r°penS1
all the forms of the plant and animal existed previously 301
in the seed or embiyo } transformation must be owing Consists in
entirely to the evolution of the differen’t parts by means ^ evolu'
of nutrition. _ _ parts>
What nature intends by transformation, we cannot 302
determine 5 but by means of it different elements are lts uses*
peopled, the different seasons variously adorned, and
animated nature wonderfully diversified without a mul¬
tiplication of beings.
Chap. XIV. Of Reproduction.
In the present chapter we shall notice, first, the par- Reprodiio
tial reproductions that take place in some classes oftionof
animals, and then take a general comparative view of parts,
the principal phenomena of generation, in the various
classes of living beings.
Experiments have proved, that even in the superior in man antj
classes of animals, many parts of the body, when Ao.-mammalia,
stroyed or removed, may be reproduced. A bone may
be broken in such a manner, that part of it must be
taken away, but in a few weeks the separated ends are
brought together by the secretion of new bony matter,
called callus. Little more than 24 hours have elapsed
after a fracture, before nature begins her operations. The
soft parts inflame; the periosteum becomes swelled; the
vessels pour out coagulable lymph, and a pellucid, gela¬
tinous substance appears about the broken extremities of
the bone. Into this minute blood-vessels are gradually-
sent off from the arteries, and in no very long time phos¬
phate of lime begins to be secreted, for rendering the
whole firm and compact. In cases of necrosis, where the
old bone entirely loses its vitality, new bony matter is se¬
creted into the surrounding periosteum, which thickens
and enlarges, and in time supplies the place of the old bone.
When a muscular part is cut away, as in removing flesh
that _
51
PHYSIOLOGY.
* Phil.
Trans.
179S.
p. 177.
Of llepro- tliat lias laccotiic gangrenous, if the healthy function of
xluction. the surrounding parts can he restored, and the loss ot
^   flesh has not been too great, the wound gradually fills
up, not indeed with fleshy fibres, but with granulations
very much resembling the ordinary cellular substance.
It is well known, that the hair, nails, and skin, are oc¬
casionally renewed; but it will appear extraordinary
that blood-vessels, and even nerves, have been reprodu¬
ced. In cases of aneurism, where the trunk of the dis¬
eased artery is divided, so as to cut oft the usual chan¬
nel for the blood, the anastomosing branches become
gradually enlarged, and even new branches appear to
he formed for carrying on the circulation. What has
been said above respecting the formation of callus, also
proves the formation of new blood-vessels •, and the ob¬
servations of Mr John Hunter put this beyond a doubt.
Till within these few years, it was thought impossible
that a divided nerve should re unite ; but some late ex¬
periments ol Mr Cruickshank have proved that this le-
union may take place *.
Under this head we may mention some curious , ex¬
periments that have been lately made by Dr Jones, on
the means by which nature suppresses the haemorrhage
from divided arteries. These experiments were made
on dogs, and the results of them lead us to conclude,
that the following is nearly the process by which the
haemorrhage is suppressed. First, the divided artery
contracts, and is drawn within the neighbouring parts ;
blood is gradually effused into the sheath of the artery
and the adjoining cellular substance, where it is entang¬
led, and affords a basis for the formation of a coagulum or
clot, which surrounds the extremity of the divided ar¬
tery, and prevents the farther effusion of blood, till ano¬
ther clot is formed within the mouth of the artery, plug¬
ging it completely up. Soon after there oozes out be¬
tween the external and internal clot, a quantity of co-
ao-ulable lymph, which cements all the parts together,
T JOU<:s 5 and thus in time, if the artery divided be not very large,
Treatise on aml the force of the circulation very great, the cavity
Hwmorrha- t|ie vessei anfl the divided extremity, is obliterated,
^s’ and all further loss of blood effectually prevented f.
Reproduc- It is, however, in the lower classes that we are to
tion of parts, look for the most remarkable instances of this provision
in the infe- 0f nature, particularly among the reptiles, Crustacea,
riorani- moliusca, worms, and polypes. _
llia s„'0£ la many reptiles, the legs and tail, when cut oil, are
in reptiles; soon renewed, and even the eyes have been re-produced.
Some interesting experiments on this subject by Spallan¬
zani have been related under ErpETOLOGY. p. 316, to
which we refer the reader.
In the Crustacea, the legs and claws are very often
torn away, either by accident, or by some voracious ani¬
mal ; but these never fail to be renewed in a short time,
provided the animal is in good health. This is most re¬
markable in the craw-fish (cancer astacus, Lin.), ft
has been observed that when the claw of this animal is
broken, the most distant part is gradually cast off, and
about a day or two after, a red membrane, not unlike
a bit of red cloth closes up the aperture. This is at
first plain •, but in the course of four or five days it as¬
sumes a convexity, which gradually augments till it
takes the appearance of a small cone, which exceeds not
a line in height It continues, however, to stretch out,
and in ten days it is sometimes more than three lines, or
about one-fourth of an inch high. It is not hollow, but
4
| Jones's
3°7
in Crusta¬
cea ;
Ch:1
JllC^
Chap. XIV.
filled with flesh, and this flesh is the basis or rudiment of of Repro-
a new claw. The membrane that covers the flesh per- duction.
forms the same office to the young claw as the mem- ’
branes do to the foetus,of the larger animals. It ex¬
tends in proportion as the animal grows •, and as it is
pretty thick, we can perceive nothing but a lengthened
cone. When 15 days are elapsed, this cone inclines to¬
wards the head of the animal. In a few days more its
curvature increases, and it begins to assume the appear¬
ance of a dead claw. Ihts claw, though at the end of
a month or five weeks it has acquired the length ot six
or seven lines, which is more than half an inch, is still
incapable of action. The membrane in which it is en¬
closed becoming gradually thinner, in proportion as it
extends, gives an opportunity of observing the parts of
the claw, and we now perceive that this conical sub¬
stance is not a simple congeries of flesh. The moment
is now arrived when the claw begins to be brought
forth. rIbe membrane at last bursts, and the new claw,
though still soft, appears without encumbrance or invest¬
ment. In a few days more it is covered with a shell ;
and though still delicate, and not the half of its former-
length, it is able to perform all the natural functions.
It has likewise been discovered, that, whether the claw
has been lopped off at the fourth articulation, or any¬
where else, the animal in a short time recovers all that
it had lost. The same reproduction takes place also in ’
the horns ; but, if the tail is cut off, the animal survives Bio^
a few days only *. _ vol. iii.
Many of the mollusca exhibit curious instances of 308
reproduction, especially the actinia, the star fish, aml^raolhls-
snails. The abbe Dicquemaire made several experi-^’
ments to ascertain the reproductive power of the actinia
ntfa (purple sea anemony). He first cut off all its ten-
tacula, which grew again in less than a month ; and on
repeating this a second and third time, he had equal
success. ° He cut off the upper part of one, and a few'
days after, the base of the animal was found to have
fallen from its place ; but it soon entirely recovered its
limbs. But if the base of these animals is injured by
the incision, the wound commonly proves mortal. The
arms of the star-fish are often torn off, but appear al¬
ways to be reproduced. The power ot snails in this re¬
spect is very great; for Spallanzani has ascertained,
that even if their heads are cut off, these are regene¬
rated in no very long time. There can scarcely be a
more surprising instance of animal reproduction thsn
this, as we shall readily allow, if we consider the com¬
plicated structure ot the head of a snail ; that it con¬
tains a brain divided into two parts ; that the horns at¬
tached to it are furnished with muscles, and that on the
tops of the larger horns there are eyes, composed of two
coats and three humours ; that the head contains a
mouth, lips, teeth, and a palate ; and yet all these parts,
when cut away, have been reproduced in the course of
a few weeks. _ , , in polypi
On the reproductive power of polypes we have been ^
sufficiently minute under Helmintholog y, jN° 84. writers on 1
309
As this subject of partial reproduction is extremely the repv^
curious, and as we cannot here enter upon any particu-duction 0
lar detail on the experiments and observations that have l11
been made on the subject, we shall conclude this part
of the present chapter by enumerating the principal
works to which the reader may refer for a more satis¬
factory account of the subject. These are chiefly Trem-
J bley,
hap.
I H' Repro
lluction-
311
eprodue-
on of the
ecies by
.neratioii
31*
rgans.
3*3
i iture of
j neration
U3IS
1 :unda-
XIV. . P H Y S I
bley, Me mo ires sur les Polypes ; Bonnet, Traite (V In-
sectologie, Pa/mgenesie, and Considerations stir les Corps
Organises, vol. ii. j Reaumur, sur les Inserts ; Spallan¬
zani, Tracts on Animals and Vegetables, and Essay on
Reproduction ; Hunter’s Treatise on the Blood, &c. j
Russel’s Practical Essay on Necrosis. Moore on the
Healing Process; Murray, de Redintegraiione Par-
Hum ; and the publications of Dr Jones and Mr Cruick-
^hank. already referred to. There is also a neat view
of the principal facts relating to this subject in a thesis
De Vidnere Naturce Sandndo, published at Edinburgh
in 1805, ljy Dr John Gordon.
We have already stated it as our opinion, that plants,
as well as animals, reproduce their like by generation.
We shall not now enter on a discussion of the controver-
' ted point of the sexual system ; and as the parts that
appear subservient to this function in plants, and their
various modes of propagation, have been sufficiently ex¬
plained under the articles Botany and Plant, we shall
in this chapter confine our attention to the generation
of animals.
The human organs of generation are described in the
article Anatomy, sect. xv. those of the cetacea under
Cetology, N° 161. j those of birds under Compara¬
tive Anatomy, 277 : those of fishes have been noticed
under Ichthyology. lor a more full comparative
view of these organs, we refer to Cuvier and Blumen-
bach.
The nature of generation which is the greatest my-
. stery in the economy of living bodies, is still involved in
impenetrable obscurity. The only circumstance com¬
mon to all generation, and consequently the only essen¬
tial part or the process, is, that every living body is at#
tached at first to a larger body of the same species with
itself. It constitutes a part of this larger body, and
derives nourishment, for a certain time, from its juices.
The subsequent separation constitutes birth, and may
be the simple result of the life of the larger body, and
of the consequent developement of the smaller, without
the addition of any occasional action.
Thus the essence of generation consists in the appear¬
ance of a small organized body in or upon some part of
a larger one j from which it is separated at a certain
period, in order to assume an independent existfence.
All the processes and organs, which co-operate in the
business of generation in certain classes, are only acces¬
sory to this primary function.
When the function is thus reduced to the most simple
state, it constitutes the gemmiparous, or generation by
shoots. In this way the buds of trees are developed into
branches, from whicli other trees mav be formed. The
polypes (hydra) see Helminthology, N° 84. and
the sea anemones (actiniae), multiply in this manner $
some worms are propagated by a division of their body,
and must, therefore, be arranged in the same division.
This mode of generation requires no distinction of sex,
no copulation, nor any particular organ.
Other modes of generation are accomplished in ap¬
propriate organs ; the germs appear in a definite situa¬
tion in the body, and the assistance of certain operations
is required for their further developement. These ope¬
rations constitute fecundation, and suppose the existence
ol sexual parts ; which may either be separate, or unit¬
ed in the same individual.
In most animals the embryo of the future young is
VoL. XVI. Part IL f
O L O G Y. 513
fecundated within the peculiar organs of one individual, o Repro¬
while another of the same species is provided with the Auction,
means of giving activity to the embryo by a fecundat-
ing fluid. In some animals, however, both these offices
are performed by the same individual, which is then
said to be androgynous, or hermaphrodite. ^
Ihe office ol the male sex is that of furnishing the Distinction
fecundating or seminal fluid; but the manner in which °r sexe*‘
that contributes to the developement ot the germ is not
yet settled by physiologists. In several instances, par¬
ticularly in the frog, the germ may be clearly recogni¬
zed in the ovum before fecundation \ its pre-existence
may be inferred in other cases from the manner in
which it is connected to the ovum when it first becomes
visible j for it is agreed on all hands, that the ovum
exists in the female before fecundation, since virgin hens
lay eggs, &c. _ ^
The combination of the sexes and the mode of fecun-Herm»-
dation are subject to great variety. In some instances phrodites*
they are united in the same individual, and the animal
impregnates itself. The acephalous mollusca and the
echini exemplify this structure. In others, although
the sexes are united in each individual, an act of copu¬
lation is required, in which they both fecundate, and
are fecundated j this is the case with the gasteropodous
mollusca and several worms. In the remainder of
the animal kingdom the sexes belong to different indi¬
viduals. ^iS
The fecundating liquor is always applied upon or Mode* of
about the germs. In many cases the ova are extruded irapregna-
before they are touched by the semen, as in some bony tlon‘
fishes and the cephalopodous mollusca. Here, therefore,
impregnation is effected out of the body, as it is also in
the frog and toad. But in the latter instances the male
embraces the female, and discharges his semen in pro¬
portion as she voids the eggs. In most animals the se¬
minal liquor is introduced into the body of the female,
and the ova are fecundated before they are discharged.
This is the case in the mammalia, birds, most reptiles,
and some fishes $ in the hermaphrodite gasteropodous
mollusca, in the Crustacea, and insects. In all the last-
mentioned orders ova may be discharged without pre¬
vious copulation, as in the preceding. But they re¬
ceive no further developement; nor can they be fecun¬
dated when voided*. We shall not gratify the pruri- * Cuvier
ent imagination of the philosophic sensualist, by any de- Lecons
tails of the mode in which these operations are carried
on in the various classes of animals, except in one in-^0771?-
stance, which is so curious that we shall be excused ton)‘v*
for describing it. We allude to the copulation of the11'
snail.
These animals meet in pairs, and stationing them-. 3.19.
selves an inch or two apart, launch several little darts,0fTuaiis.°n
not quite half an inch long, at each other. These are
of a hr.rny substance, and sharply pointed at one end.
The animals, during the breeding season, aie provided
with a little reservoir for them, situated within the
neck, and opening on the right‘side. On the dis¬
charge of the first dart, the wounded snail immediately
retaliates on its aggressor by ejecting at it a similar dart j
the other again renews the battle, and in turn is again
wounded. Thus are the darts of Cupid, metaphorical
with all the rest of the creation, completely realised
in snails. After the combat they come together. Each
oi them lays its eggs in some sheltered and moist situa-
3 T tion,
514
Of Re pro
d action.
f Shaw's
Natura¬
list's Mis¬
cellany,
toI. i.
3'°
3*i
^)viparons
generation
32a
Oro-vivipa
rous ani¬
mals.
323
Viviparous
generation
* Cuvier,
iec. xxix-
PHY S I
tion, frctierally under a little clod of earth, or in some
cool cavity f.
The effect of k single copulation varies in its degree :
it usually fecundates one generation only; but some¬
times, as in poultry, several eggs are fecundated J still,
however, they only form one generation. In a very
few instances one act of copulation fecundates several
generations, which can propagate their species without
the aid of the male. Jn the plant louse {aphis) this has
been repeated eight times j and in some monoculi 12 or
15 times.
When the germ is detached from the ovary, its mode
of existence may be more or less complete. In most
animals it is connected, by means of vessels, to an orga¬
nized mass, and the absorption of which nourishes and
developes it until the period of its birth. It derives
nothing, therefore, from the body of the mother, from
which it is separated by coverings varying in number
and solidity. The germ, together with its mass of nou¬
rishment, and the surrounding membranes, constitutes
an egg, or ovum; and the animals which produce their
young in this state, are denominated oviparous.
In most of these the germ contained in the egg is not
developed until that part has quitted the body of the
mother, or has been laid ; whether it be necessary that
it should be afterwards fecundated, as in many lishes ;
or require only the application of artificial heat for its
incubation, as in birds; or that the natural heat of the
climate is sufficient, as in reptiles, insects, &c. These
are strictly oviparous animals.
The ovum, after being fecundated and detached from
the Aviarum, remains in some animals within the body
of the mother, until the contained germ be developed
and hatched. These are false viviparous animals, or
ovo-viviparous. rIhe viper, and some fishes, afford in¬
stances of this process. Mammalia alone are truly vivi¬
parous animals. Their germ possesses no provision of
nourishment, bnt grows by what it derives from the
juices of the mother. For this purpose it is attached to
the internal surface, of the uterus, and sometimes, by ac¬
cident, to other parts, by a kind of root, or infinite ra¬
mification of vessels, called placenta. It is not, there¬
fore, completely separated from the mother by its co¬
verings. It does not come into the world until it can
enjoy an independent organic existence. The mamma¬
lia cannot, therefore, be said to possess an ovum in the
sense which we have assigned to that term.
From this view of the subject, generation may be said
to consist of four functions, differing in their importance,
and in the number of animals to which they belong.
I. The production of the germ, which is a constant
circumstance ; ^. Fecundation, which belongs only to
the sexual generation ; 3. Copulation, which is confined
to those sexual generations, in which fecundation is ac¬
complished within the body; 4. Uterogestation, which be¬
longs exclusively to viviparous generation *.
there is a general rule observable amongall quadru¬
peds, that those which are large and formidable pro-
O L O G Y.
Chap XIV,
duce but few at a time ; while such as are mean and OfRepr6!
contemptible are extremely prolific. The lion, or tiger, dnction.
have seldom above two cubs at a litter ; while the cat,
that is of a similar nature, is usually seen to have five or con,p^:l_
six. In this manner, the low tribes become extreme-tive fecim.
ly numerous; and, but for this surprising fecundity, dity of anj
from their natural weakness, they would quickly be ex-lllals*
tirpated. The breed of mice, for instance, would have
long since been blotted from the earth, were the mouse
as slow in production as the elephant. But it has been
wisely provided, that such animals as can make but lit¬
tle resistance, should have at least a means of repairing
the destruction which they must often suffer, by their
quick reproduction ; that they should increase even
among enemies, and multiply under the hand of the de¬
stroyer. On the other hand, it has as wisely been or¬
dered by Providence, that the larger kinds should pro¬
duce but slowly ; otherwise, as they require proportion¬
al supplies from nature, they would quickly consume
their own store ; and, of consequence, many of them
would soon perish through want; so that life would thus
be given without the necessary means of subsistence. In
a word, Providence has most wisely balanced the strength
of the great against the weakness of the little. Since
it was necessary that some should be great and others
mean, since it was expedient that some should live upon
others, it has assisted the weakness of one by granting it
fruitfulness, and diminished the number of the other by
infecundity.
In consequence of this provision, the larger creatures,
which bring forth few at a time, seldom begin to gene¬
rate till they have nearly acquired their full growth.
On the contrary, those which bring many reproduce
before they have arrived at half their natural size. Thus
the horse and the bull are at their best before they begin
to breed : the hog and the rabbit scarce leave the teat
before they become parents in turn.' Almost all animals
likewise continue the time of their pregnancy in propor¬
tion to their size (l).
For an account of the principal phenomena attending
the reproduction of the human species, viz. the requi¬
sites for conception and its signs; the effects of impreg¬
nation ; the gradual evolution of the foetus, and the
successive changes that take place in the uterine system
during uterogestation, see the article Midwifery,
chap. i. and ii. The phenomena of reproduction in other
viviparous animals are so analogous to those in the hu¬
man species, that we need not enter on an examination
of them. We shall here only give a view of the succes¬
sive changes that take place in the egg of birds during
incubation, taken from the observations of the celebrated
Blumenbaeh. ~ ., *
The following observations refer to the egg of the jl $
common hen, as affording the most familiar example of^“yck ‘
incubation. _ during in- ^
A small shining spot, of an elongated form, with cubation.
rounded extremities, but narrowest in the middle, is
perceived at the end of the first day, not in nor upon
3*5
316
ro In the following table are noted the time of gestation, incubation, and the number of young produced in
several species of quadrupeds and birds, as far as these have been ascertained ; and the second column shews lie
•period to which the life of each is usually extended.
hap. XTV.
Repro the cicatricula (M), but very wear that part on the yolk-
ucti n bag. This may be said to appear before-hand, as the
—v—/abode of the chick which is to follow.
No trace of the latter can be discovered before the
PHYSIOLOGY.
5i5
327
^ond
beginning of the second day; and then it has an incur- OfRepro-
vated form, resembling a gelatinous filament with large duction.
extremities, very closely surrounded by the amnion,
which at first can scarcely be distinguished from it.
About
Specie
CQ
’ Apes.
Bats.
Sloth.
Rhinoceros.
Elephant.
Arctic walrus.
Seal.
Bitch.
Wolf.
Fox.
Jackall.
Lioness.
Tigress.
Cat.
Ferret.
Otter.
Virginian opossum.
Kanguroo.
Mole.
Porcupine.
Guinea pig.
Common rat.
Mouse.
Common squirrel.
Hare.
Rabbit.
Camel.
Rein deer.
Stag.
Goat.
Ewe.
Cow.
Mare.
. Sow.
’ Eagle.
Raven.
Cuckoo.
Humming bird.
Blackbird.
Canary bird.
Wren.
Pigeon.
T urkey.
Hen.
Ostrich.
Swan.
Goose.
Duck.
Period of Life.
70 or 80 years.
Above 100 years.
12 or 16 years.
About 14 years.
Above 70 years.
From I o to 18 years
6 or 7 years.
From 2 to 3 years.
40 or 50 years,
l 5 or 16 years.
Near 50 years.
15 years.
30 or 40 years.
Nearly 20 years.
Above too years.
Near 100 ditto.
10 or 20 years.
About 13 years.
Above 100 years.
Near 100 years.
Time of Gestation.
21 months.
9 months.
9 weeks.
34- months.
6 weeks.
8 weeks.
6 weeks.
9 weeks.
3 weeks.
5 or 6 weeks.
6 weeks.
A month.
Ditto.
12 months.
8 months.
5 months.
Ditto.
Ditto.
9 months.
11 months.
4 ditto.
' line of Inculi 'tion.
30 days.
20 ditto.
12 days.
14 ditto.
Ditto.
Ditto.
Ditto.
A month.
3 weeks.
6 weeks.
Ditto.
A month.
Ditto.
Number of Young.
About 2.
From 2 to r.
One.
One.
One.
One.
About 2.
From 4 to 10.
5 or 6.
From 3 to 6.
From 6 to 8.
4 or 5-
Ditto.
From 4 to 6.
6 or 7.
4 or 5.
Ditto.
One.
4 or 5.
Two.
From 5 to 12.
From 12 to 18.
From 6 to 10.
From 4 to c.
3 or 4.
About 8.
One.
Two.
One.
About 2 or 3.
From 1 to 2.
1 to 3.
1 or 2.
From 10 to 20.
2 or 3.
5 or 6‘
1 or 2.
Two.
4 or 5-
Ditto.
From 10 to 18.
Two.
i8 or 20.
About 20.
One or two each.
6 or 8.
9 to 12.
12 to 14.
(m) The structure of an egg has already been described under the article Egg ; but for the better under¬
standing of Blumenbach’s observations, it maybe necessary to enumerate the several parts, with the names given
to them by that author. The membrane lining the shell is called mtmbrana albuminis, and includes the two
whites of the egg, the inner of which surrounds the yolk, which is contained within a peculiar, very delicate
membrane, called the yolk bag. From two opposite sides of this bag proceeds a white knotty body, icrminating in
the white of the egg, by a floceulent extremity. These bodies are called the chalwzcp orgrandines ; the cicatri(ul%
tread, or traddle, is surrounded by one or more whitish concentric circles called halones, of circali, the use of
■which is not known.
3T2
Of Repro-
duction
'a8
Third day
? H Y S T
About tills time the lialones enlarge their circles ;
hut they soon after disappear entirely, as well as the ci-
catricula.
The first appearance of red blood is discerned on the
surface of the yolk-bag, towards the end ot the second
day- A series of points is observed, which form grooves;
and these closing, constitute vessels, the trunks of which
become connected to the chick. I he vascular surface
itself is called figura venosu, or area vascitlosa ; and the
vessel by which its margin is defined, vena terminahs.
The trunk of all the veins joins the vena portee ; while
the arteries, which ramify on the yolk-bag, arise from
the mesenteric artery of the chick.
On the commencement ot the third day, the newly
formed heart is discerned by means of its triple pulsa¬
tion, and constitutes a threefoldpunctum saliens. Some
parts of the incubated chicken are destined to undergo
successive alterations in their form; and this holds good
of the heart in particular. In its first formation it re¬
sembles a tortuous canal, and consists of three dilations
lying close together, and arranged in a triangle. One
of these, which is properly the right, is then the com¬
mon auricle ; the other is the only ventricle, but after¬
wards the left; and the third is the dilated part ol the
About the same time, the spine, which was originally
extended in a straight line, becomes incurvated ; and
the distinction of the vertebrae is very plain. The eyes
may be distinguished by their black pigment, and com¬
paratively immense size; and they are afterwards re¬
markable in consequence of a peculiar slit in the lower
329 part of the iris. . . ,
Fear ill day. From the fourth day, when the chicken has attained
the length of four lines, and its most important abdomi¬
nal viscera, as the stomach, intestines, and liver, are
visible, (tbe gall-bladder, however, does not appear till
the sixth day), a vascular membrane begins to iorm
about tbe navel; and increases in tbe following days
with such rapidity, that it covers nearly the whole inner
surface of the shell, within the membrana alburnum, du¬
ring the latter half of incubation. This seems to supply
the place of the lungs, and to carry on the respiratory
process instead of those organs. The lungs themselves
begin indeed to be formed on the fifth day ; but, as m
the foetus of the mammalia, they must be quite incapa¬
ble of performing their functions while the chick is con¬
tained in the amnion. . . ,
Voluntary motion is first observed on the sixth day,
when the chick is about seven lines in length.
Ossification commences on the ninth day, when the
ossific juice is first secreted, and hardened into bony
points. These form the rudiments of the bony ring ot
the sclerotica, which resembles at that time a circular
row of the most delicate pearls. .
At the same period, the marks of the elegant yellow
vessels on the yolk-bag, begin to be visible.
On the fourteenth dav the feathers appear ; and the
animal is able to open its mouth for air, if taken out
333 of the egg. ,
Nineteenth 0n the n;neteenth day it is able to utter sounds; and
'?ay' on the twenty-first to break through its prison, and com¬
mence a new life. . • , r
Blumenbach concludes his observations with a tew
remarks on those very singular membranes, the yolk bag
O L O G Y.
33®
Sixth day.
331
Ninth day
, 33*
Fourteenth
day.
_ Chap XIV,
and the chorion, winch are so essential to the life and Of Repro.
preservation of the animal. , duction/
The chorion, that most simple yet most perfect tern- ~ ^ ^
porary substitute tor tne lungs, it examined in the lat- j^ema^ts
ttr half of incubation in an egg very cautiousiy opened, on ^]ie c|^
presents, without any artificial injection, one ot the mostrion.
splendid spectacles that occurs in the whole organic ere- .
ation. It exhibits a surface covered with numberless
ramifications of arterial and venous vessels. The latter
are of a bright scarlet colour, as they are carrying oxy¬
genated blood to the chick ; the arteries, on the con¬
trary, aie ot a deep or livid red, and bring the carbonat¬
ed blood trom the body ot the amn.al. Iheir trunks
are connected with the iliac vessels; and, on account of
the thinness of their coats, they afford the best micro¬
scopical object for demonstrating the cn dilation in a
warm-blooded animal. 33;
The other membrane is also connected to the body On the
of the chick ; but by a two-fold union, and in a very yolk-tag.
different manner from the former. It is joined to the
small intestine, by means of the ductus vitello intestina-
lis, and also by the blood-vessels, ivith the mesenteric
artery and vena portae.
In the course of the incubation the yolk becomes con¬
stantly thinner and paler, by the admixture of the inner
white. At the same time innumerable fringe-like ves¬
sels with flocculent extremities, of a most singular struc¬
ture, form on the inner surface of the yolk-bag, oppo¬
site to tbe yellow ramified marks, and hang into the
yolk. There can be no doubt that they have the office
of absorbing the yolk, and conveying it into the veins
of the yolk-bag, where it is assimilated to the blood, and
applied to the nutrition of the chick. Thus in the chick
which has just quitted the egg, there is only a remain¬
der of the yolk and its bag to be discovered in the abdo¬
men. These are completely removed in the following
weeks, so that the only remaining trace is a kind ci¬
catrix on the surface of the intestine *. J™’
Many of the causes which contribute to the forma-
tion of a living body have hitherto eluded human 1 e*chap,
search ; may in all probability never be discovered; andXXVii.
perhaps are beyond human compiehension. . 336
Some philosophers, discovering the extreme divisibih-Theories of
ty of matter, and learning from the microscope that generation,
transformation is but the developement of certain Part*
that previously existed, have thence imagined that ge-0fsucces.
neration is somewhat analogous ; that all organised bo- s;Te
dies received their form at the beginning ; that the firsttion.
of every genus and species contained by involution tbe
numberless millions of succeeding generations ; and that
the union of the two sexes gives only a stimulus, and
brings into view forms that had existed since the world
began. . . 338
By this hypothesis they have attempted to explain aobjectiofl*
thing that is unknown, by what must remain for ever in¬
comprehensible to the human mind in its present state.
They absurdly appeal from observation to conjecture;
and suppose that bodies which are originally brought into
view, which are daily augmented, frequently repaired,
and sometimes renewed by organic action, do neverthe¬
less in their first formation require an effort superior
to what omnipotence is able to perform by secondary
agents. Had the supporters of this hypothesis consider¬
ed that many herbaceous plants produce new flowers
Ctii
I
1 s
hap. XIV. P H Y S I
if Repro- when the first set are untimely cut off; that lobsters and
iluetion. many other animals renew their limbs, and that certain
polypes can raise a structure so perfectly resembling a
vegetable form as to puzzle the naturalist whether or
not he should class them under plants, they would sure¬
ly not have prescribed such hounds to omniscient wis¬
dom and almighty power, or declared with such confi¬
dence what the Author of nature, to speak with the vul¬
gar, must necessarily perform by his own hands, or
what he may instrust to secondary causes regulated by
his laws.
These philosophers will find it difficult to account in
a very satisfactory manner for monstrous productions,
and for those changes of structure and of form which for
a while continue hereditary from the influence of habit.
They object to others, that all the parts of a living
body are mutually dependent on one another, and that
they must necessarily have been coeval, or have existed
at once. But though every attempt that has yet been
made to ascertain which of the vital organs are prior
and which posterior in a living body has proved unsuc¬
cessful, it lias not been demonstrated that either them¬
selves or their functions are coeval. It may, on the
contrary, be plainly demonstrated from observation,
that the lungs and the stomach do not begin to perform
their functions so early as the heart and the vascular
system j that even the heart and its system perform their
functions with some considerable changes, immediately
after birth j that the vegetable tribes are without nerves j
and that the brain and nerves in the animal king¬
dom perform more and more of their functions, accord¬
ing as the system approaches towards maturity. It has
even been shewn, that bones will unite 5 that the limbs
of an animal continue to be nourished without the
nerves ; that there is a principle of life in the blood j
that the heart will act under other stimuli beside that
of nervous influence $ and sound logic does by no means
require us to suppose, that the first action of the foetal
heart, or the punctum salieris, is owing to the influence
of stimuli from the brain, or that the brain must have
existed when the heart first moved. Although the mi¬
nuteness and transparency of the parts may prevent
us from seeing the first gradual formation of the embryo,
yet every observation corroborates the opinion, that it
is formed by secondary causes, and through the medium
^9 organic powers.
iipotheds Most physiologists have believed that certain inorga-
i»pige- nic particles are contained in the system of one sex or of
|s‘s' the other, and that by the union of the sexes these par¬
ticles have become organized. It has, however, been
asked whether or not is the embryo formed by the joint
operation of the two sexes ? or is it formed entirely by
one, and brought into action by a stimulus from the
other ? The former of these questions supposes that each
of the sexes has a seminal fluid j that some mixture takes
place in the uterus, and produces an embryo, in the
same manner that a neutral salt assumes a certain and
determinate form. The notion implies some general and
confused ideas of chemical combination : hut does not
bespeak a very clear understanding, profound reflec¬
tion, or much acquaintance with the nature and pro¬
perties of living bodies.
For a long time past the most rational physiologists
■have generally thought that the embryo is formed gra-
O L O G Y.
5>7
dually and slowly in one or other of the two sexes, not ofltepro-
by chemical combination, hut a system of organs di- ductioir,
rccted by laws and prompted by stimuli, with many of
which we are yet unacquainted. From the great Hip¬
pocrates to Fabricius and Harvey, the credit of furnish¬
ing the foetal embryo was almost universally given to
the females of oviparous animals. Among the vivipar- '
ous, the appearances were such, that the female was
left to contest it with the male. At last the eclat ofEmbryo
Leeuwenhoeck’s discoveries seemed to put an end to all supposed to
doubts entertained upon the subject. He very plainly be derived
saw through his microscope that very great profusion of t!ie
particles that move to and fro with amazing rapidity in
the male semen. Upon this he embraced the doctrine
of Hamme, who had seen them before, and supposed
from their motions that these particles were not only
animalcules, but the principles or rudiments of that
animal in whom they were formed, and that they were
deposited in the uterus of the female only to be nourish¬
ed and augmented in size. ^41
What raised objections against this theory was, that Objections,
numerous animalcules were discoverable by the micro¬
scope in other fluids, and that a vast profusion of young
embryos appeared in cases where never more than one
or two arrive at maturity. It was an objection to it,
that some females had been impregnated, where the hy¬
men remained unbroken, so that the impregnating fluid
could have reached only the mouth of the uterus.
Again, in frogs, fishes, and many other animals, the
ova are not impregnated till after extrusion ; and lastly,
Haller had observed the chick completely formed in
eggs that had not been fecundated.
It is now, we believe, pretty generally known, that
the embryo does not commence its existence in the ca¬
vity of the uterus. De Graaf observed it on its passage
down the fallopian tube 5 he saw the place where it first
began in the ovarium of the female, and cases have oc¬
curred where it has missed the fallopian tube, where it
has fallen into the abdomen, in which the placenta has
been formed, and the foetus has grown among the
bowels. 342
From these facts it has been concluded, notwithstand- More pro-
ing some feeble objections, that the female ovaria con- ^ ^ tJ|at
tain the embryos in the form of eggs; that these eggs exjs*snjn tjie
are brought into action by the stimulating power of the female,
male semen, which is sometimes thrown into the cavity
of the uterus, sometimes applied only to its mouth, and
sometimes sprinkled on the eggs after they are extruded.
For more on this subject see the article Midwifery. 343
A view of the relations between the present function Relations,
and those which we have before examined, is a subject
of so delicate a nature, that we must not enlarge on it.
The sympathy between the reproductive and the ner¬
vous systems is well known. The effect which desire
has occasionally produced on the brain is very great,
madness being not unfrequently the consequence, either
of too much indulgence, or of total continence. We
are of opinion that the influence of the fancy or imagi¬
nation on the uterine system has been overrated, though
the accounts given of monsters or deformed births, in
consequence of terror experienced by the mother, ap¬
pear to be too well authenticated to warrant our total
disbelief in this influence. Too much indulgence in
this appetite produces a debilitated state, both of
the
si 8
PHYSIOLOGY.
Of sleep the mental anti bodily iunctions, and deprives the sys-
andTorpor.tem of that natural stimulus which seems essential to
the activity and vigour ct the body in the male.
Chap. XV. Of Sleep and Torpor.
344
Necessity
of sleep.
345
Sleep, an
affection of
mind.
We have already considered the active means by
which the waste of the body is repaired: hut all these
would have little effect, and could not indeed be carried
on for any considerable time, without some general re¬
laxation of the system. This relaxation is brought
about by sleep, in which the active functions find a re¬
pose from the labours which they have undergone during
the day *, and in this way the system is recruited moie
completely than by any other means.
Sleep may be considered as an afiection of mind, and
therefore more properly a subject ot metaphysical, than
of physiological speculation. It is, however, generally
treated of in systems ot physiology j and it will be ne¬
cessary to take notice of some circumstances respecting
it. We shall chiefly consider the state of the body and
mind during sleep, and some of the principal theories
M6 that have been contrived to account for it.
Phenomena Natural sleep returns at certain intervals, which are,
ef sleep. j10Wever, different in different animals. Most animals,
and especially man, sleep only during the night but
most of the predacious species, as beasts and birds ot
prey, choose this time for their predatory excursions,
and repose during the day. Sleep comes on with an un¬
usual languor and lassitude j an aversion to motion j the
mind becomes unfit for its usual exertions ; and the de¬
sire of rest pervades the whole system. In particular,
the extensor muscle's lose their power of preserving the
body in an erect posture •, the eyelids involuntarily ial ;
the head bows forward j the joints bend, and the body
sinks. During sleep, all the voluntary motions are in
general suspended j but the involuntary actions ot the
heart and lungs proceed, though not so vigorously as in
the waking state 5 the circulation and respiration being
slower than usual. Most of the senses are also in a state
of repose, especially those of feeling, smell, and pro¬
bably of taste. Hearing is, in some animals, very acute
during sleep, and they are thus enabled to escape any
danger that threatens them. Some animals, as the hare,
also sleep with their eyes open } and in most the impres¬
sion of light, when the eyelids are raised, is very evi¬
dent. The functions of digestion, absorption, and se¬
cretion, seem to proceed with greater ease and activity
during sleep-, and assimilation and hutrition are much
promoted by this state of repose. Some of the faculties
of the mind, especially the imagination, are, however,
in full vigour, as appears from the dreams that take
place during sleep. The duration of sleep is exceed-ng-
ly various. Among the human species, young chil¬
dren, and very old persons, pass the greatest halt of
their time in sleep, while middle- aged and active people
seldom sleep so much as one-third of the 24 hours.
Though the feturris of sleeping and waking depend
much on custom, they may, however, be changed by
various circumstances and though the commencement
of one of these periods happen to be altered, that of the
Other may remain as before. If a person i^ accustomed
to no to sleep exactly at nine in the eV< ning, and td rise
again at six in tlm morning, though the time of sleep
may be occasionally protracted till twelve, he will yet
5
Chap. XV,
awaken at his usual hour of six : or if his sleep be con- QfSIerp
tinned by darkness, quietness, or similar causes, till the and Torpor,
day be farther advanced, the desire of sleep will return' r—1
in the evening at nine. ^
Most of the causes that produce or prevent sleep, have Theory of
been mentioned in the article Medicine, N° 94. As sleep,
to the immediate cause, the opinions of physiologists are
much at variance, and the theory of sleep is as little
understood as that of any lunction of the animal eco-
nomy. _ . ,48
According to Haller, sleep arises, either from a sim* Hypothcsi?
pie absence, deficiency and immobility of the spirits, or of Haller,
from compression of the nerves, and always from the
. * l‘ *.1_   ! **■„ 4-K « K l i f r 1 rvi A ^
motion of the spirits through the brain being impeded pyrt
That sleep is, some how or other, connected with a com- Lints of
pression of the brain, appears Very probable, from theIfydolo^
heaviness and coma that take place in cases where suchs
a compression has evidently been produced j but how
this compression acts has never yet been satisfactorily
explained -r and the obstruction that Haller supposes in
the motion of the animal spirits, or nervous ffuid, is gra¬
tuitous. "Mo
One of the fashionable doctrines of the present day Of Brow*,
respecting the immediate cause of sleep is, that this state
is produced by an exhaustion of irritability or excitabili¬
ty. According to Brown, sleep succeeds a diminution
of excitement, during which the excitability is either
only so far diminished that it can he accumulated again,
or so abundant, that the excess can be wasted, and in
each case the excitement restored f. ■( Elm:
Similar to this is the doctrine ot Zoonomia, that sleep Med.
depends on an exhaustion of sensorial power. Dr Dar- \ 33T
win thus character.zes perfect sleep : I. The power of0f
volition is totally suspended. 2. The trains of ideas
caused by sensation proceed with greater facility and
Vivacity ; hut become inconsistent with the usual order
of nature. The muscular motions caused by sensation
continue ; as those concerned in our evacuations during
infancy, anti afterwards in digestion, and m pnapismus.
3. The irritative muscular motions continue, as those
concerned in the circulation, in secretion, and respira¬
tion. But the irritative sensual motions, or ideas, are
not excited as the immediate organs of sense are not
stimulated into action by external objects, which aie
excluded by the external organs of sense -, which are not
in sleep adapted to their reception by the power of vo¬
lition, as in our waking hours. 4. The associate mo¬
tions continue, but their first link is not excited into ac¬
tion by volition, or by external stimuli. In all respects,
except those above mentioned, the three last stmsorial
powers are somewhat increased in energy during the
suspension of volition, owing to the consequent accumu¬
lation of the spirit of animation J. f Honwn1*
Thus, the immediate cause of sleep consists in the Zo<wwhm».
suspension of volition produced by the exhaustion of sen-vol. M ‘ ’
sorial power ; and hence, whatever diminishes the gene¬
ral quantity of sensorial power, acts as a remote cause
of sleep.
B Mde the insufficiency of these hypotheses to account
fo- many circumstances that take place during sleep, we
may remark, that this state is often produced when no
exhaustion of irritability, excitability, or sensorial power,
can be supposed to have taken place. Thus, the pro¬
pensity to sleep often becomes irresistible from the effects
of monotonous speaking, from stillness, darkness, or
jrom
Imp.
Of Sleep
U Torpor
3S1
pposed
:cp of
tuts.
. 3S1
, :eaming,
353
)' tmambiL
K
XV. P H Y S I
from the sameness of the scenery around us ; and when
• one stimulus, after long application, can arouse no
; more, another stimulus that in ordinary cases is less
powerful, produces excitement, and keeps off sleep j an
evident proof that excitability or sensorial power have
not been very far exhausted.
Plants have been said to sleep. At the approach of
night, many of them are observed to change their ap¬
pearances very considerably, and sometimes even to such
a degree as scarcely to be known for what they are.
These changes happen principally to the leaves and the
ilowers. During the night, many leaves, according to
the nature and genus of the plant, are seen to rise up,
to hang down, or to fold themselves in various ways,
for the protection of the flowers, the buds, the fruits,
the young stems •, and many flowers, to escape a supera¬
bundance of moisture, to bang down their mouths to¬
wards the earth, or to wrap themselves up in their ca-
lices. These phenomena are owing to stimuli acting
from without •, we may add, that most of the motions
are performed at the joints where the leaves and petals
articulate with the stem. A period of rest is as neces¬
sary to plants as sleep is to animals. The irritable prin¬
ciple cannot act long under the influence of the same
stimulus, except at inte vals, and the rapid growth ob¬
servable in plants during the night, is a strong proof
that the organs employed in assimilation had been dis¬
turbed in discharging their functions during the day,
when exposed to the action of heat and light and of
other stimuli.
In our general outline, we had proposed introducing
here an account of the phenomena of dreams, but we
find that this subject has been so fully discussed under
the article Dream, that any additional remarks would
be. unnecessary. To this article therefore we refer live
reader.
Rules for the management of the body with respect to
sleep, scarcely come within our present province ; but as
we pass so much of our time in this state, during which
we are sometimes occupied in a very agreeable manner,
while at others we are subject to most uneasy sensations,
it is a matter of considerable consequence ta take those
measures which may secure to us the former, and enable
us to avoid the latter. We have seen few rules better
adapted to those purposes than those of Dr Franklin ;
but as more important matter presses for insertion within
the circumscribed limits to which we are restricted, we
must refer our readers to the original paper, which is
published in the late 8vo edition of Franklin’s Works,
vol. iii. p. 437.
In a few cases, not only the imagination has a full
range during sleep, but the voluntary motions of the
body, and even the exercise of some of the external
senses, are carried on with apparently as much perfec¬
tion as when the person is awake. This state is called
somnambulism, or sleep-walking, and is commonly con¬
sidered as a variety of dreaming. Many surprising ac¬
counts have been given of sleep-walkei-s. They have
been known to rise, dress themselves, go out of doors,
and sometimes out of a window, from which they have
climbed upon the roof of a house, dig in a garden, draw
water from a well, saddle a horse and ride several miles ;
maintain a rational andinterestingconversation, and even
go through a laborious and diffi.cult literary task 5 and af-
O L O G Y. 519
ter having performed these exploits, they have returned of Sleep
to their bed without being conscious of what they had ;:ndTorpor,
been doing. This want of consciousness appears from * " J
their remembering nothing when they awake, of what
passed during their sleep. It is disputed whether som¬
nambulists incur as much danger in (he actions which
they perform, as those who are awake, in similar cir¬
cumstances. We are inclined to think that the danger
is much less in the former case, as sleep-walkers seem en¬
tirely free from the terror which commonly attends the at¬
tempting of any hazardous enterprise when awake ; such
as mounting to the roof of a house, climbing a steeple,&c.
If suddenly awaked, however, while engaged in any of
their hazardous actions, the danger is very great. 354
Dr Darwin considers somnambulism, not as a state of Reverie,
sleep or dreaming, but as a variety of reverie, carried to
a morbid extent, so as to become a sort of epileptic or
cataleptic paroxysm. In the state of reverie, accord¬
ing to Dr Darwin, the irritative motions occasioned by
internal stimuli continue, those from the stimuli of ex¬
ternal objects are either not produced at all, or are ne¬
ver succeeded by sensation or attention, unless they are
at the same time excited by volition j the sensitive mo¬
tions continue, and are kept consistent by the power of
volition •, the voluntary and associate motions continue
undisturbed. He considers reverie as an effort of the*^00^*.
mind to relieve some painful sensation, whence it is al-^ ^ vo ‘
lied to convulsion and insanity *. 335
The torpor that takes place in many animals during Torpor of
winter, appears to be so nearly allied to sleep, that we animals,
shall consider it in this chapter.
A great variety of animals of almost every class, re¬
tire during the cold of winter, to the recesses of ca¬
verns, holes in old walls, hollow trees, or below the
earth, where they remain in apparently a lifeless state
till the return of spring rouses them from their trance.
We shall here enumerate the different animals that have
been known to undergo this state or hiber nation.
Bats, especially the vespertilio murimis, auritus, and Hibemat-
v. noctula (see Mammalia, N° 39.) ; bears, especially iug mam-,
the brown and the polar bear, and the badger} the hedge-
hog, {crinaceus Earopeus'); several species ot the mouse
ar.d rat tribe, but more especially the hamster (mus cri-
cetus), the marmots, especially the arctomys marmota,
(seeMammalia,N°! 24 )}, the dormouse {rnyoxusmns-
cardinus'). Sh*ep appear capable ol living for a consider¬
able time in a torpid state, as thev have been known to
remain alive for several weeks, buried under the snow. 3^
It does not appear that birds in general are capable ofHibenia-
undergoing this state of existence } but the instances oftion of
swallows that have been found in this state in old walls 11 s’
and hollow trees, and even, as some affirm, below water,
and have recovered life and activity on being exposed to
gradual warmth, are too well authenticated to admit a
doubt, that these at least sometimes hibernate. 358
Most reptiles and serpents pass the winter in a state of of reptiles
hibernation ; but this is more particularly the ease with
the land tortoise {testudo grteca) see I.RFETOI.OGY,
p. 271.} frogs, and those lizards which inhabit cold cli¬
mates.. _ 359
It is not certainly known whether many species of fish
become ‘orpid in winter } but there is no doubt that se- ^
veral of them are susceptible of this state * } and we are^e Attimci-
told that in North America, especially about Hudson’s//fes li e,
bay, mesojAtisu
' £. IO..
360
Of insects.
36!
Of man.
362
Principal
520 P H Y S I
Of Sleep W, are not «nfre(l’lcnt,y ‘ncludetl within
and Torpor, a body of ice, and when exposed to gentle heat, have
' — v - ' j-ecovered life and motion.
Almost all insects remain, during the winter, in a
torpid state. This happens principally to the crysalids,
and such grubs as cannot, in that season, procure their
food.
It will appear extraordinary that we should place man
among the hibernating animals ; and yet there seems lit¬
tle doubt, that even he is capable ot having his life su¬
spended for a considerable time, when exposed to those
causes which bring about the torpidity of those animals
that we have already mentioned. We are told of a wo¬
rn in, who, in February 1789, remained eight days
buried in the snow, and still recovered-, and the case ot
the three women who remained for 37 days in a stable
at Bergamoletto, that had been overwhelmed by an
avalanche, or snow heap, with no other sustenance than
the milk of a half-starved she goat, is well known.
These instances, added to others of persons who have
passed several weeks in a state of almost uninterrupted
sleep, tend to prove that man himself may, under certain
circumstances, continue in a torpid state.
^.1^1^. During this state of torpidity, the animals scarcely
phenomena appear t0 live-, sensation seems altogether losttheir ir-
,®f hiberna- lability is so much diminished, that they may be cut,
*lon' torn> or even broken to pieces, without expressing any
mark of feeling, or giving any sign of motion digestion
seems entirely suspended ; the secretions and excretions
are discontinued. Some of the functions, however, are
carried on. Respiration and circulation, though very
languid, and sometimes scarcely perceptible, appear to
go on in a degree sufficient to preserve the existence of
the animal; and the action of the absorbents seems to
be very little diminished, as appears from the gradual
absorption of the fat. If the animal is taken from its
place of confinement, and exposed to a gentle heat, it
gradually recovers all its faculties *, but if carried hack
to its ceil, it relapses into the state of torpidity.
The long suspension of animation, of which several
animals are susceptible, appears still more extraordinary
than the torpidity above described. The common hair
worm Uordius aquaticus) may, when dried, he pre¬
served for an indefinite length of time, and when put
into water, gradually recovers its usual activity of mo¬
tion. See Helminthology, N° 32. One of the most
remarkable cases of this suspended animation is that re¬
lated of the garden snail, of which the following curious
account has been given in the Philosophical Transactions
for 1774- Mr Stuckey Simon, a merchant in Dublin,
whose father, a fellow of the Royal Society, and a lover
of natural history, left to him a small collection ot fos¬
sils and other curiosities, had amongst them the shells
of some snails. About 15 years after his father’s death
(in whose possession they were many years), he by
chance gave to his son, a child about 10 years old,
some of these shells to play with. The hoy put theja
in a flower-pot, which he filled with water, and the
next day into a bason. Having occasion to use this,
Mr Simon observed that the animals had come out of
their shells. He examined the child, who assured him
that they were the same lie had given him, and said he
had also a few more, which he brought. Mr Simon
put one of them into water, and in an hour and a half
liter observed that it had put out its horns and body,
O L O G Y. Chap. XV,
which it moved hut slowly, probably from weakness. Of Slee»
Suspended
animation
of some
animals.
Major Valiancy and Dr Span were afterwards present, ?lidToi>
and saw one of these snails crawl out, the others being
dead, most probably from their having remained some
days in the water. Dr Quin and Dr Rutty also exa¬
mined the living snail several times, ami were greatly-
pleased to see him come out of his solitary habitation
after so many years confinement. Dr Macbride, and a
party of gentlemen at his house, were also witnesses of
this surprising phenomenon. Dr Macbride has thus
mentioned the circumstance: “ After the shell had lain
about ten minutes in a glass of water that had the cold
barely taken off, the snail began to appear ; and in five
minutes more we perceived half the body pushed out
from the cavity of the shell. We then removed it into
a bason, that the snail might have more scope than it
had in the glass -, and here, in a very short time, we
saw it get above the surface of the water, and crawl up
towards the edge of the bason. While it was thus mo¬
ving about, with its horns erect, a fly chanced to be
hovering near, and, perceiving the snail, darted down
upon it. The little animal instantly withdrew itself
into the shell, but as quickly came forth again, when it
found the enemy was gone off. We allowed it to wan¬
der about the bason for upwards ol an hour, when we
returned it into a wide-mouthed phial, wherein Mr
Simon had lately been used to keep it. He was so
obliging as to present me with this remarkable shell j
and I observed, at twelve o’clock, as T. was going to
bed, that the snail was still in motion, but next morning
I found it in a torpid state, sticking to the side of the
glass.”
The still more extraordinary instances that have been
related, on what many have considered authentic testi¬
mony, of toads having been found inclosed in the trunk
of a large tree, or within a solid block of stone, appear
almost incredible 5 and yet if we consider that M. He-
rissant preserved toads in a state of suspended anima¬
tion for 18 months, in boxes covered with a thick coat¬
ing of mortar (see Erpetology, p. 286.) ; that the
snails mentioned in the above quotation, must have lain
for at least 20 years ; and that flies have been recover¬
ed after being immersed for many months in Madeira
wine, it is difficult to say how long this suspended ani¬
mation may not he continued. 364
Similar phenomena take place in the vegetable crea- Hiberna¬
tion. Most of those plants which survive one year,tionof
shed their leaves on the approach of winter ; and, dur-PlaDto
ing this season, the motion of the sap ceases, and they
have all the appearance of dead shrubs. rI he herba¬
ceous tribes even die down to the roots, which, being
mostly of the bulbous kind, afford shelter to the surviv¬
ing germ j and are hence called, by botanists, the hy-
hernacula of plants. On return of spring, the plant
shoots anew from its winter’s retreat, and flourishes
with its former strength and beauty.
Some plants are even capable of having their vitality,
or rather the exercise of all their functions, suspended,
as in the gordius and the snail, for an indefinite length
of time. Mosses have been kept in a dried state in a
hortus siccus for many years, and have shown no sign
of life, till they were moistened and exposed to air,
light, and a moderate heat, when they have recovered
all their powers, ha/e erected their stems, shot forth
new branches, and flourished as at first.
"hap. XV.
P B Y S I
365
'heory of
.m>or.
3f Sleep almost impossible. <in tbe present state of our p!iy-
Torpor, siologlca! knowledge, to give any rational theory of these
1 phenomena. The torpor of animals has been attributed
to exhausted excitability, or exhausted sensorial power ;
-to the effects of habit, and to the effect produced on the
brain by suspended or diminished respiration. The last
of these, though not quite satisfactory, appears to us the
most probable hypothesis. It has been ably defended
and illustrated by Dr George Kellie, in a paper in which
he relates a remar kable case of torpor from cold.
“ The powers of voluntary motion and of sensation
(says Dr Kellie), are known to depend immediately up-
-on the conditions of the brain and nerves 5 if, therefore,
-we could discover in what manner these organs are af¬
fected by any of tbe preceding events, we should advance
considerably towards the solution of the questions above
'Stated. {Namely, What is the order of succession be¬
tween the diminished irritability of the heart, in conse¬
quence of the abstraction of caloric, and the complete tor¬
por of the voluntary muscles and of the organs of sense,
and how are the intervening effects connected f) Were
the inactivity of these organs the direct effect of their
•diminished temperature 3 did the torpor in no case hap¬
pen, till the heat of the brain and nerves was reduced
beneath the natural standard, there could be hardly
ground for any farther inquiry. But, as it is not so,
«ome other change, lessdirect, must have occurred, in con¬
sequence of the connection.of the brain with, and its de¬
pendence upon, some other of the functions antecedently
and more immediately affected ; and this function I ap¬
prehend to be respiration, between which and the ener¬
gies of the nervous system a very intimate connection is
maintained, through the changes produced on the blood
during the pulmonary circulation. This dependence of
the brain upon the properties of the blood, maintained by
respiration, is evinced by a great variety of observations.
Whatever impedes the respiratory changes of the circu¬
lating fluid debilitates or destroys the powers of muscu¬
lar motion, as the respiration of noxious gases, of reduced
or rarefied atmosphere ; while greater exertions of mus¬
cular powers call for, and give occasion to more fre¬
quent respiration, more rapid consumption of air, and
greater changes of the blood j and the breathing of
more effective gases, as of the nitrous oxide, increases
the motive and sensitive powers of animals. That these
effects depend immediately upon the properties of the
blood, as modified by respiration, acting on the brain,
has, I think, been proved by the experiments of Bi¬
chat, who, in a masterly manner, has traced the mu¬
tual connection and dependencies of the vital functions
in his admirable Recherches Physiologiques sur la Vie
et la Mart. The transfusion or injection of venous blood
into the carotids induced asphyxia or death, the instant
it reached the brain $ an effect which did not follow the
similar transfusion of arterial blood from the carotid of
hekat, another*. By these experiments, and by several other
< V't •• fk3ervati°ns> he has shewn, that the asphyxia which so
i y ll'instantly follows impeded or suspended respiration is oc¬
casioned by the impression of dark, venous, unchanged
blood upon the brain, and not, as has commonly been
supposed, from this blood being incapable of stimulating
the left side of the heart, which, on the contrary, con¬
tinues to contract and to circulate the blood for some
time after the voluntary functions are suspended ; an ob¬
servation confirmed also by Coleman and others.
Vol, XVI. Part II. *
0 L O G Y. ^21
“ Such then appears to be the connection between the Of S eep
functions of respiration and those of the brain. Now, and Torpor,
in animals rendered torpid from cold, there are many v
observations which lead us to believe, that tbe immobi¬
lity of the nervous system depends much, and very di¬
rectly too, on the state of respiration.
“ I'1 the perfect torpor of the hibernating amphibia’,
respiration is completely suspended, and the consequent
changes produced on the blood by that function totally
prevented. This, which appeared from a variety of ob¬
servations on tbe winter quarters of such animals found
imbedded in mud, incased in ice, or closed up in oper-
cuia of their own construction, for the occasion of exclud¬
ing the air, has been amply confirmed by the pointed ex¬
periments of Spallanzani, lately published by Senebierf.* Me,n- 0Tl
“ In every case of torpor from cold, where the respi-^^™*
ration falls short of this complete suspension, it is at least
more or less impaired. How much the torpid state de¬
pends on this condition of the respiratory functions,
farther appears from observing, that hibernating ani¬
mals, even those not of the amphibious order, warned
by the approach of winter, instinctively or industriously
seek situations unfavourable to perfect respiration, where
this function may be either inadequately or not at all
performed, as by premature and involuntary interment
under ground, in old walls, in mud at the bottom of
lakes, &c. The instinct of these animals, too, has
been finely imitated by experiment, illustrating at once
the object of this instinct, and confirming the opinion
here advanced of its tendency. Thus the dormant
hamster was found to regain and preserve its activity,
when freely exposed to a pure atmosphere, the tempera¬
ture, at the same time, not exceeding that at which it
had formerly become torpid, or at which it returned to
that state when again secluded under ground %. These t Tluffon's
observations seem conclusive on this point, and, with Nat Hist.
those already brought forward confirming the general
connection established between the properties of the p°
blood, as modified by respiration, and the functions of1
the brain, render it, I think, highly probable, that the
torpor of the voluntary powers, in the cases now under
consideration, is the consequence of a limited and im¬
perfect respiration, antecedently induced by diminished
temperature.
“ Observation, indeed, is more deficient on this point
with regard to the higher order of animals, and to men,
who only occasionally become torpid from cold. Yet
more than analogy, which isfliere very strong, leads me
to believe that, even in these, the functions of respira¬
tion are much and necessarily affected. The examples of
cattle and of men remaining long torpid, deeply buried
undersnow,are pretty directandconvincing proofsof tin's.
“ Ifour inductionfrom all these observations be admit¬
ted, we have the rudiments of a theory adequate to the
explanation of the phenomena, in so far, at least, as the
torpor of the voluntary powers is concerned.
“ From the suspended or imperfect respiration, those
changes, by which the blood is fitted for maintaining
the activity of the sensorial system, are interrupted j
this imperfect blood circulating slowly through the brain
directly impedes its functions, and so debilitates the ex¬
citability of the motive and sensitive organs, that they
become torpid. This enunciation may seem hypotheti¬
cal $ but let the proofs of the intimate connection be¬
tween the respirable and sensorial functions be weighed ;
3 U consider
522
Of Sleep
and Torpor.
PHYSIOLOGY.
* Ed in.
Med. and
Surg. Jow
vo'. i
P- 303.
366
Gradual
approach
natural
death.
consider also the interrupted respiration of hibernating
and torpid animals, their instincts with regard to this,
and the greater facility with which torpor is induced in
a confined situation, which they naturally seek 5 and
compare all these with the observations and experiments
of Bichat on the effects of the immediate impression of
venous blood upon the brain, and you will perceive a
connected system, not entirely fanciful, a theory not
without foundation and strength, and which appears to
me at least to merit some attention
For further particulars respecting the torpidity or hi¬
bernation of animals, we refer the reader to Spallanzani s
Tracts on Animals and Vegetables ; White’s Natural
History of Selborne ; Orton's Fragments of the Natural
History of Pennsylvania i Pennant’s Arctic Zoology,
La Cepede on Oviparous Quadrupeds, as translated by
Kerr; Townson’s Tracts on Natural History and Physi¬
ology, and t\\e Inaugural Dissertation of F) r Bee ve de Am-
malibus Hieme Sopitis, published at Edinburgh in 1803.
Chap. XVI. Of Death,
In the article Man, (N° 33. to the end) we have
traced the progress of human life, from the cradle to
the grave ; and have briefly considered the phenomena
and the consequences of natural death. In that article,
and LONGEVITY, we have also stated the natural dura¬
tion of human life, and the circumstances that tend to
prolong our existence beyond the ordinary period. We
shall not here enter again on any ot these topics, except
to give a more ample account of the gradual approaches
of natural death, and shall then enumerate the causes
which usually produce violent or accidental death, and
mention the opinions of some of the best writers on the
nature of death.
Natural death is, in the present state of civilized so-
ofciety, by no means a common occurrence. When it
does take place, its approach is slow and gradual. He
whose life terminates in consequence of advanced age,
(to use the language of a celebrated Irench physiolo¬
gist), dies in detail. His external functions successively
cease to exert their action ; all his senses are successive¬
ly lost, or the ordinary causes of sensation pass over them
without leaving their usual impressions. The sight be¬
comes obscure, and at length the humours ot the eye
no longer transmit the rays of light j the ear receives
only confused sounds, and frequently before death, is
altogether insensible } the sense of touch, in consequence
of the hardness and callousness of the cuticle, and the
obliteration of many of the subcutaneous vessels, grows
dull and uncertain \ and all the parts depending on the
skin show marks of weakness \ the hair and the beard
grow white, and a greater or less degree of baldness
takes place ; odours are no longer perceived, or they
are perceived hut faintly. T-he taste usually survives
the rest of the senses; but that too, at last, grows
equally obscure. The functions of the brain partake of
the imbecility of the external senses. I he imagination
in particular becomes dull and often depraved the me¬
mory no longer retains those occurrences which are every
day taking place, though it recalls with increased relish
and delight those of past times ; the judgment becomes
weak and wavering.
From the universal agency exerted by the nervous
system on all the animal functions, we must expect that
3
Chap. XVI,
when the former is impaired, the latter will he proper- 0f Death.
tionally enfeebled. The faculties of locomotion and of' j
speech are commonly the first of these that fail j the
body totters at every step, the voice grows weak, and the
tongue faulters. The motion of the limbs is difficult
and painful, and hence is but seldom willingly exerted.
Not so with the vocal organs, though the impediments
to utterance are evident and painful to his hearers, the
old man himself seems scarcely to attend to them, but
talks with proverbial garrulity, and especially delights
in recounting the scenes and actions of his youth.
While the external functions, and those of the brain,
are thus gradually impaired ; the internal, or what are
commonly called the vital and natural functions, as di¬
gestion, absorption, circulation, respiration, and secre¬
tion, proceed with but little derangement. The circula¬
tion and respiration are indeed slower than before, and
the appetite is in general less keen and returns less fre¬
quently j but the digestive powers of the gastric fluids re¬
main in full vigour, and even after death has taken place,
are exerted on the coats of the stomach \ absorption is
also very active, and nutrition, at least rn many parts of
the body, is sufficiently evident. At length, however, all
these functions lose their powers j digestion languishes $
the seex-etions no longer take place; the circulation es¬
pecially in the minute vessels, becomes obscure, and being
deprived of the tonic powers by which it was carried on,
gradually ceases altogether 5 the heart no longer Pf°-
pels the blood from its ventricles ; and the circulation R(
through the lungs being thus arrested, these organs cherches
cease to take in air, make their last expiration, and Physiol.
thus the natural life of man is terminated f. part L
Accidental death takes place in one of the two fol-art
lowing ways 5 either suddenly, in consequence of some Acc]dentaI
great disturbance produced in the animal economy, as or -violent
when a man is cut off by a sudden stroke of apoplexy, death,
violent haemorrhage, asphyxia, &c. or by slow and gra¬
dual steps, in consequence of some less violent but still
fatal disease. In the former case, it is sudden or vio¬
lent death ; in the latter lingering death.
Violent death may take place first, either in the brain*
the lungs, or the heart \ but when the action of one of
these organs ceases, that of the others soon terminates.
The entire cessation of life seems, however, to be more
sudden in the two latter cases, and most of all in the
last; when the heart is wounded or ruptured, the ani¬
mal dies instantly j when the lungs are rendered inac¬
tive in consequence of suffocation, the animal may live
for several minutes, or for an hour or two; but when
the brain is overwhelmed, he may survive for hours or
even days. Thus it sometimes happens, in cases of apo¬
plexy, that the patient lies motionless, speechless, and
quite insensible to external stimuli, while the circulation
and respiration continue, impeded indeed, but not de¬
stroyed, for a considerable time, though life, as appears
from the event, be in a state of irrecoverable declension.
We shall presently show how these circumstances have
been explained. Signs of sp1
The usual signs of appi’oaclnng death are, a very proaching
quick and small pulse, scarcely distinguishable, and com- death.
monly intermitting j coldness, and generally clammy
sweats about the extremities j a lack lustre eye,
sunk in features, want of expression about the counte¬
nance, and a prominence of the bones of the face, with
a corresponding hollowness in the cheeks, orbits, and
especially
Miap. XVI.
)3f Death, especially at the temples. These last appearances con-
*~V" stitnte the marks of what has been called facies Hippo-
cratica. They are all signs of a loss of activity and
power in the circulating and nervous systems. Under
these bodily circumstances, the powers of the mind
seem to decline, generally with an equal pace with
those of the body ; and when the medium through
which the activity of the soul is manifested can no long¬
er act, we cannot expect to find any further traces even
of its existence. Yet at the period of its separation,
we are told of brilliant mental exertions of powers of
intellect, not equalled in the best portion of existence.
It has not been our fortune to see such intellectual
animation. At the moment of death, anxiety for those
we have loved will sometimes occasion apparently dis-
proportioned exertions ; and as they were unexpected,
they have been exaggerated. But in no instance could
we ever detect the activity of mind independent of the
body. To this temporary prison the soul is confined,
till, by the destruction of the machine, its animating
principle is emancipated, soaring probably in higher,
'Sew and, we trust, in more blissful, regions*.
^ cases have occurred, in which persons, who
’ t " were thought dead, have recovered from what was real-
370 iy a state of suspended animation ; and there is reason
igns or to believe, that some unhappy beings have been buried
tua]0110^ w^e *n ^1*s seemingly lifeless state. It becomes, there-
sath fore, a matter of the highest importance to ascertain,
with certainty, whether or not death has actually taken
place. The ordinary signs of death, as enumerated by
one of the latest writers on this subject, are as follows :
i. The suspension of resph'ation. 2. The rigidity of the
limbs. 3. The loss of sensation and motion. 4. The want
of pulsation in the heart and arteries. 5. The spontaneous
discharge of feces. 6. The collapse, opacity, and want of
lustre in the eyes. 7. The coldness of the body. 8. The
paleness or hvidity of the countenance. 9. The relaxation
of the lower yczM\ 10. The regurgitation of liquids to
the mouth. 11. The insensibility of the pituitary mem¬
brane of the nose. 12. The collapse, softness, and wrink-
ling of the lips. 13. The hollowness of the temples, and
fitment ^inness and contraction of the nose. 14. Putrefaction%.
ncemant . M°st °f these signs singly have been shown to be falla-
deces, clous ; and none of them, except the last, are to be de-
irtii. pended on with implicit confidence. Dr Davis recom¬
mends the following mode of procedure. “ As soon as
the evident signs of life cease, let us place the body in
a warm or dry bed, give a proper temperature to the air
of the apartment, and employ every means for re¬
storing it to life. If we judge, from the nature of the
disease which preceded the death, that these means are
useless, we may content ourselves with keeping the bo¬
dy, until its decomposition become manifest; but let us
never abandon an unfortunate person, who, perhaps by
perseverance in the proper means, may be restored to
life: should he recover, he will be a living monument
of unexpected resurrection, and of the unceasing efforts
of humanity. If a person die of malignant fever, scur¬
vy, internal inflammation, or any other disease which
523
corrupts the fluids, soon after death the belly becomes of Death
black and swelled ; black or livid spots appear on the v—v—
limbs and back, the eyes become hollow and soft, and
discharge a puriform fluid ; the eyelids grow yellow $
the mouth opens, because the lower jaw is relaxed; the
skin gets soft, the muscles flaccid ; and, lastly, the whole
body exhales a putrid odour. All these phenomena unit¬
ed, constitute an infallible proof of real death* (n).” * Ibid.
The changes which the animal body undergoes in
consequence of death, and during putrefaction, have
been amply detailed and explained under Chemistry,
chap. xix. sect. 2. 371
In treating of the general phenomena of life in the^oniPara-
first chapter of this article, we made a few observations
on the degree of vitality that appears in various tribes])feClty °
of organized beings. There is scarcely a more curious
part of the physiology of death than the consideration of
the greater or less difficulty with which it is produced
in different animals. Some, as the herring and the
whiting, die almost instantly on being removed from the
situation in which they usually live. Some are killed
by a slight blow on the nose or the neck ; this is the case
with the seal, the rat, the hare, and the rabbit. Others
again retain life with great pertinacity. Among the
mammalia, the cat is proverbial for being difficult to
kill; the sloth has been known to live for above 40
days clinging to a pole, and entirely without food; and
Dr Sparrman assures us, that the ratel, or honey weazel
(viverra mellivora), is so hardy that it is almost im¬
possible to kill it; the colonists and Hottentots both
assert, says he, that it is almost impossible to kill this
creature, without giving it a great number of violent
blows on the nose ; and it is remarkable that such a
number of hounds as are able collectively to tear in
pieces a lion of moderate size, are sometimes obliged to
leave the ratel only apparently dead t. Some fishes ^ ^parr-
live for a long time after being removed from the wa- ™S
ter, and even after being gutted and cut in pieces, as the &
carp, the flounder and the eel. It is among the reptiles,
mollusca, and zoophytes, however, that we find the
most remarkable instances of pertinacity of life. Re¬
ferring the reader to the article Erpetology for these
instances in reptiles, and to Helminthology for those
in zoophytes, we shall here only mention two among
mollusca. The sea marigold {actinia calendula') is de¬
stroyed with such difficulty, that after drilling the holes
of the rock from which they appear, with an iron in¬
strument, they have been known to rise again in the
same places, and become as numerous as before in the
course of a few weeks J. Snails whose remarkable
suspended animation we have already recorded, may bem^parla-
crushed beneath the foot, and will yet survive, and re-aoes.
pair the breaches in their shelly covering; nay, they
are capable of passing the ordeal of boiling water, as
we learn from the relation of a lady who, wanting some
snail shells for a piece of grotto work, attempted to kill
the animals by repeatedly pouring over them boiling
water ; but to her horror and astonishment, she observed
them next day crawling about the edges of the vessel
3U2 in
(n) The work of M. Bruhier, sur PIncertitude des Signes de la Mart, from which these remarks of Dr Davis
appear chiefly to be taken, created so much alarm in France, that every body dreaded being buried alive. To
combat these terrors, M. Louis, in 1752) published his Lettres sur la Certitude des Signes de la Mart; in which
he has very happily, and we think successfully, refuted the arguments of Bruhier, and has thereby relieved the
minds of his readers from one of the most dreadful apprehensions that can appal us on this side the grave.
PHYSIOLOGY,
524
Of Death.
* Annual
Register,
vol. xvih
p 86.
372
Causes of
death.
f Ontydon
Mortal
Diseases.
373
How these
operate.
PHYSIO
in which she had scalded them *. It is in vain for us
to attempt any explanation of these extraordinary phe¬
nomena. We must refer them to some principle m
the animal economy which is at present unknown.
The remote causes of death have been, by Dr Untyd,
arranged under 12 general heads, to which he gives the
name of classes. These we shall enumerate, with then-
principal subdivisions. . . , , ,
I. Death arising from the mechanism ot the body.
II. Death from the passions of the mind.
1. Exciting passions ; 2. Depressing passions.
III. Death from superabundance or deficiency ot
j.From superabundant heat; 2. From deficient heat.
IV. Death from electricity.
V. Death from noxious gases.
I. From hyperoxygeni%ed gases; 2. From deoxyge-
ni%ed gases; 3. From,peculiarly stimulating gases.
VI. Death from poisons.
l. Animal poisons : 2. Vegetable Poisons ; 3. Mi¬
neral poisons. •
VII. Death from universal disease.
I. Fevers ; 2. Febrile diseases (exanthemata).
These seven classes are supposed to produce death by
the immediate extinction of the vital principle; the live
following are supposed to effect this by suppressing the
action of some vital organ, or by disordering the chain
of the vital powers by destroying the action ol some ot
the intermediate links.
VIII. Death from inflammations.
1. Inflammations of the head; 2. Of the breast ;
3. Of the belly.
IX. Death from fluxes.
1. Alvinefluxes; 2. Hemorrhages.
X. Death from cachexies. _ .
1. Ulcers ; 2. Atrophies; 3. Debilities and Priva¬
tions.
XI. Death from diseases of the nervous system.
1. Atony ; 2. Spasm.
XII. Death from diseases of the secretory organs.
1. From altered action; 2. From altered strue-
LOGY. Chap. XVI.
The causes of the eighth class act in four ways: 1. By of Death,
inducing violent convulsions } 2. As in the two last 5 3-* J
By suppressing the action of some vital iunction fioni the
 * _ 1  . 1... ..> i^...r*n * Rv mortihcation. I he
ture-\-.
The manner in which these causes operate in termi¬
nating life, is thus stated by the same author.
The causes of the first class act by inducing too great
a rigidity of the solids, and by rendering them insensible
to stimuli; the necessary effects of the continued action
of the powers of life. In death from causes of the second
class, the person dies in consequence of apoplexy, syn¬
cope, or suffocation; the brain, the heart or tie lungs,
being overwhelmed by accumulated blood. The causes
of the third class act in a similar manner with those ot
the second ; that of the fourth by suddenly extinguish¬
ing the vital principle; those of the fifth always ac >y
inducing suffocation. The causes of the sixth class act
in four ways: 1. By abolishing the vital principle by
the violence of their stimulus *, 2. By destroying the ac¬
tion of the brain, the heart, or the lungs 5 3. Dy pro¬
ducing mortification of the intestinal canal } 4- Y se
cretly and insensibly destroying life. Those of the se¬
venth class act in six ways: 1. and 2. As in the last
3 By local inflammation ; 4. By mortification ot some
vital organ ; 5. By a change in the organic structure ot
the intestinal canal inducing a colliquative diarrhea ;
& By colliquative sweats wasting the body.
2
violence of the inflammation; 4. By mortification. I he
ninth class may act in five modes : 1. By spasm; 2. By
fatal syncope; 3. By impeded action ot some vital organ j
4. By mortification or sphacelus; 5. By wasting the
strength \n fruitless exertions. The tenth class may act
in no less than nine ways : 1. By the consumption of
some vital organ, or destroying the tone ot the whole
body \ 2. By the violence of the noxious stimulus j
3. By suffocation 5 4. By apoplexy \ 5. By syncope ,
6. By hemorrhage ; 7. By colliquative diarrhcca; 8. By
mortification of some organ 9. By^ malignant fever
from absorbed ichorous matter. The causes of the
eleventh class act only in two ways : 1. By violent
spasm j 2. By apoplexy. Those of the class, pro¬
duce death in three modes : 1. By the slow effect ot the
noxious stimulus j 2. By the continually stimulating noxi¬
ous power alone, or by this and the continual wasting ot
the blood, to form some peculiar secretion j 3. By im¬
peding or destroving the function ot a vital organ . * Ontyd,
Many of these modes of operation are very ill dehn-P- 637-
ed, and they may all be reduced to about eight or ten,
or perhaps even fewer. .37Lr
Death has been defined the separation if the soul\^^
from the body f ; the extinction of the vital principle ; ^
‘the extinction of the faculty of answering a stimulus | 0niydt
&c. &c. Perhaps we cannot describe it better than
by calling it the irrecoverable cessation of all the bodily
functions. By this character we distinguish it from
suspended animation and lethargy, in which some ot
the functions continue •, while we acknowledge the sur¬
vival of the immaterial part of our frame.
It has been the general opinion among philosophers,
both of ancient and modern times, that death produces
only a change of the elements or principles of the or¬
ganized body and does not effect the annihilation oi
tny part. Modern chemistry has fully confirmed this
opinion, and has shown that by putrefaction the bony is
dissolved into a n w earthy, saline, and^meows products,
all capable of entering into new combinations, and thus
constituting a part of future bodies. See CHEMISTRY,
375
N° 2572, and Man, X* 44. L , , e
Of all the writers on the nature hnd phenomena ot
death, with whom we are acquainted, none has treated
the subject with such accuracy and philosophic method,
as Bichat. With a summary of some ot the leading
principles of this able physiologist we shall close the
present chapter, and thus terminate our physiological
60 We have already mentioned Bichat’s division of Kfe Opinion
into animal and organic : see N° 49. _ Proceeding on
the principle of this division, he conceives that the two
lives terminate in different ways, and that one otten ter¬
minates while the other remains active. In the natural
death that happens from old age, the animal lifi gra¬
dually ceases in the order we have described, IN 3&7>
Avhile the organic life remains. The same happens in
those cases of violent death where life first ceases in the
brain, this organ being the centre of animal life. Jn
other cases of violent or accidental death, the or&a>*
life first ceases in its central organs, the W or the
lungs; but in these cases, the animal life also is speedi¬
ly suppressed.
/
[To face page 525. Vol. xvi.]
1. ORGANS.
2. FLUIDS.
3. PHENOMENA.
4. POWERS.
5. RELATIVE PREDO¬
MINANCE.
6. PRINCIPAL MORBID
AFFECTIONS.
TABLE
OF THE MOST IMPORTANT CIRCUMSTANCES
RESPECTING THE
ORGANIC FUNCTIONS
OF THE
HUMAN BO
D Y.
I. SENSATION.
II. MOTION.
III. DIGESTION.
IV. ABSORPTION.
V. CIRCULATION.
VI. RESPIRATION.
VII. SECRETION.
VIII. REPRODUCTION.!
Cerebrum, Cerebellum, Me¬
dulla Oblongata, Spinal
marrow, Nprves, Organs
of Sense.
Muscles, Tendons, Bones,
Cartilages, Ligaments, and
Mucous bags.
Salivary glands, Mouth,
Teeth, Gullet, Stomach
and Intestines, Liver,
Pancreas, and Spleen.
Lacteals, Lymphatics, Tho¬
racic duct, Mesenteric
glands, Lymphatic glands,
Skin.
Heart, Arteries, Veins, and
Exhalants.
Nostrils, Larynx, Windpipe,
Lungs, and Diaphragm.
Salivary glands, Liver, Pan¬
creas, Kidneys, Testes,
Mucous glands, Mem¬
branes,&c. Miliary glands,
Brain ?
Penis, Testicles, Vesictdce \
Seminales, Prostate giand,
Spermatic vessels in Man;
Vulva, Vagina, Uterus, and
the Mammae, in Woman.
Lymphatic and Gelatinous
fluids, Nervous fluid ? .
Gelatinous fluid, Synovia,
Marrow, Lymph, and
Blood.
Saliva, Gastric juice, Pan¬
creatic juice, Bile, Mu¬
cus.
Chyle, Lymph, Serous fluid.
Blood, Lymph, and various
exhaled and secreted fluids.
Blood and Mucus.
Tears, Mucus, Saliva, Gas¬
tric juice,Pancreatic juice,
Bile, Lymph, Synovia,
Fat, Marrow, Cerumen,
Semen, Urine, Milk, Ner¬
vous fluid ?
Semen, Mucous fluid, Prosta¬
tic fluid, amnii, and
Milk.
Sensation, Action of external
bodies on Man, and Per¬
ception of these Actions.
Contraction, Dilatation, Lo¬
co-motion, Progression.
Action of Man on exter¬
nal objects.
Mastication, Deglutition, Di¬
gestion in the stomach and
intestines. Mutual Ac¬
tion of Alimentary sub¬
stances and the Digestive
organs.
Imbibition, Action of the
Lymphatic vessels andi
glands on the fluids, Sepa¬
ration of noxious or use-|
less matters, and Selection
of useful substances.
Contraction, Dilatation, Pul¬
sation, Exhalation, Nutri¬
tion.—Mutual action be¬
tween the Blood and Cir¬
culating fluids.
Purification of the fluids, Re¬
newal of action, Animal
heat, Mutual action be¬
tween the air and the
animal solids and fluids.
Separation of fluids useful in
the economy, and Expul¬
sion of noxious or useless
parts.
Copulation, Conception, Par¬
turition, Lactation.
Sensibility and Vital resist-
irritability, Contractility, and
Vital resistance.
Dissolution, Assimilation, and
Vital resistance.
Irritability, Contractility, As-i
similation, and Vital re¬
sistance.
Elasticity, Irritability, Con¬
tractility, Dilatability, and
Vital resistance.
As in Circulation.
Various.
Generative power.
Most predominant in infan-
cy ; female sex ; melancho¬
lic temperament; hypo¬
chondriac, hysteric, and
other nervous affections,
and in warm climates.
In manhood; in the male
sex ; the sanguine tempe¬
rament, and in mountain¬
ous countries.
In infancy; in the female
sex 5 in the sanguine tem¬
perament ; in cold wea¬
ther and cold climates.
In Childhood; in the sanguine
temperament j in warm
climates j and during sleep.
In childhood; in the female
sex ; in the sanguine tem¬
perament ; in warm coun¬
tries j and in febrile and
inflammatory affections.
Much as in Circulation.
In middle age ; various as to
sex and temperament j in
warm climates.
Vertigo, Coma, Delirium,
Insanity.—Pain, Itching,
Want of feeling; Ageustia;
Tinnitus aurium. Deaf¬
ness; Intolerance of light,
Dysopia; Caligo, Amau-
Spasm, Convulsion, Twitch¬
ing, Paralysis.
Bulimia, Pica, Nausea, Fla¬
tus, Eructation, Rumina¬
tion, Vomiting, Heartburn,
Pyrexia, Anorexia.
Glandular obstruction, Ato¬
ny of lymphatics.
General fever, Palpitation,
Plethora, Inanition, De¬
bility, Syncope.
Yawning, Sighing, Sobbing,
Hiccup, Sneezing, Cough¬
ing, Anxiety, Dyspnoea,
Sterior^Asphyxia, Dumb¬
ness.
Increased secretion, Dimi¬
nished secretion, Deprav¬
ed secretion, Jaundice,
Calculus, &c.
In youth ; in those of a san¬
guine temperament, and
lively imagination.
Priapismus, Satyriasis, Nym¬
phomania, Menorrhagia,
Amenorrheca, Impotence,
Sterility.
[To face page 525. Vol. xvi.'j
ICUMST AN CES
ONS
D Y.
V. CIRCULATION.
VI. RESPIRATION.
Heart, Arteries, Veins, and
Exhalants.
Blood, Lymph, and various
exhaled and secreted fluids.
Contraction, Dilatation, Pul¬
sation, Exhalation, Nutri
tion.—Mutual action be¬
tween the Blood and Cir¬
culating fluids.
Nostrils, Larynx, Windpipe,
Lungs, and Diaphragm.
Blood and Mucus.
Purification of the fluids, Re¬
newal of action, Animal
heat, Mutual action be¬
tween the air and the
animal solids and fluids.
VII. SECRETION.
Salivary glands, Liver, Pan¬
creas, Kidneys, Testes,
Mucous glands, Mem¬
branes,&c. Miliary glands,
Brain ?
VIII. REPRODUCTION.
Penis, Testicles, Vesiculx
Seminales, Prostate gland,
Spermatic vessels in Man;
Vulva, Vagina, Uterus, and
the Mammce, in Woman.
Tears, Mucus, Saliva, Gas¬
tric juice, Pancreatic juice,
Bile, Lymph, Synovia,
Fat, Marrow, Cerumen,
Semen, Urine, Milk, Ner¬
vous fluid ?
Elasticity, Irritability, Con
tractility, Dilatability, and
Vital resistance.
In childhood; in the female
sex ; in the sanguine tem¬
perament; in warm coun¬
tries ; and in febrile and
inflammatory affections.
As in Circulation.
Much as in Circulation.
General fever, Palpitation,
Plethora, Inanition, De¬
bility, Syncope.
Yawning, Sighing, Sobbing,
Hiccup, Sneezing, Cough¬
ing, Anxiety, Dyspnoea,
Stertor, -Asphyxia, Dumb-
Separation ot fluids useful in
the economy, and Expul¬
sion of noxious or useless
parts.
Various.
In middle age ; various as to
sex and temperament; in
warm climates.
ness.
Increased secretion, Dimi¬
nished secretion, Deprav¬
ed secretion, J aundice,
Calculus, &c.
Semen, Mucous fluid, Prosta¬
tic fluid, Zfipor amnii, and
Milk.
Copulation, Conception, Par¬
turition, Lactation.
Generative power.
In youth ,* in those of a san¬
guine temperament, and
lively imagination.
Priapismus, Satyriasis, Nym¬
phomania, Menorrhagia.
Amenorrhaca, Impotence,
Sterility.
Chap. XVI.
()f Death.
|* Rccher-
t hes. part ii.
art. i.
37s
Progress of
It is to violent or accidental death that Bichat prin¬
cipally confines his discussions, and in order to deter¬
mine witii precision the phenomena that take place in
the three species, he examines at ureat length the rela¬
tions that subsist among the three functions of circula¬
tion, respiration and sensation, as they are affected by
the death of the heart, the lungs, or the brain. He first
considers those cases of sudden death that commence
with the death of the heart j then those originating in
the lungs ; and lastly those originating in the brain.
He shows how, one of these functions ceasing, the others
successively stop ", he points out the mechanism, by which
the death of all the parts follows that of the organ first
affected j and he determines, according to his own prin¬
ciples, the nature of the several diseases by which the life
of the heart, the lungs, or the brain, is extinguished
■ We consider this as the most interesting part of his
valuable work, and it well deserves the attentive peru¬
sal of every medical man. We regret that we cannot
do more than extract from it the view given by the au¬
thor of the successive phenomena produced by the in¬
fluence which the death of each of the vital organs ex¬
erts on the general death of the body.
Whenever the heart ceases to act, says Bichat, gene-
death com- ra] death comes on in the following manner. The ac-
thTheart*11 t*on ^ie brain ceases for want of excitation ; and from
the same defect, the sensation, locomotion and speech,
which immediately depend on the general sensorium, are
interrupted. Besides, for want of the excitation of part
of the blood, the organs of these functions would cease
to act, even though the brain were supposed capable of
exerting on them its usual influence. The whole of
the animal life, then, is suddenly arrested. The man,
from the moment that his heart dies, ceases to exist
with respect to surrounding objects.
The interruption of organic life, which has commen¬
ced through the circulation, operates at the same time
through the respiration. The mechanical actions of the
lungs no longer proceed when the brain ceases to act,
since on this organ depends the action of the diaphragm
and intercostal muscles. The chemical changes can no
longer take place, when the heart can neither receive nor
convey the materials necessary for their developement.
In short, general death continues to proceed in a gradual
manner, by the interruption of secretion, exhalation, and
nutrition. These are the effects produced .vhen death is
the consequence of a wound of the heart or large blood-
Id. art. 5. vessels, a rupture of the heart, or similar accidents f.
’nm-es. f ser‘es Phenomena that take place in death, as
eath com commencing in Inngs, is different according as the
nenciiifr ;n mechanical or the chemical action of these organs is first
talungs. arrested. I. In the former case, as when death is pro¬
duced by an extensive wound or laceration of the dia¬
phragm, by the fracture of a great many ribs at the
same time, &c. they proceed as follows : 1. Cessation
of the mechanical action •, 2. Cessation of the chemical
phenomena, for want of the air which supported them ;
3. Cessation of the brain’s action for want of the red
PHYSIOLOGY. 525
blood by which it was excited ; 4. Interruption of ani- Of Death.
1 Id. art. 9.
mal life, of sensation, locomotion, and speech, from the'
loss of the exciting powers of the brain and the red
blood on the organs of those functions; 5. Stoppage of
the general circulation ; 6. Stoppage of the circulation
in the capillaries, of secretion, absorption, exhalation,
for want of the excitation exerted on their organs by
the red blood j 7. Cessation of digestion, for want of
secretion, and of excitation of the digestive organs.
II. When the chemical action of the lungs is interrupt¬
ed, as when an animal is confined in a vacuum ; in cases
of strangulation, suffocation, drowning, &.c. the pheno¬
mena of death proceed in the following order: 1. In¬
terruption of the chemical phenomena j 2. Consequent
suspension of action in the brain ; 3. Cessation of sensa¬
tion, voluntary motion, voice, and the mechanical func¬
tions of respiration j 4. Stoppage of the heart’s action ;
and of the general circulation : 5. Termination of the
capillary circulation, of secretion, exhalation, and ab¬
sorption, and, by consequence, of digestion ; 6. Cessation
of animal heat, which, being the result of all the func*
tions, must cease when all these are terminated J.
The phenomena of general death commencing in the Progress 0f
brain come on in the following series: 1. Cessation of death eom-
the brain’s action ; 2. Sudden interruption of sensation nienc*I1g h*
and voluntary motion ; 3. Simultaneous paralysis of the t*lc ^la^n
diaphragm, and intercostal muscles; 4. Interruption of
the mechanical phenomena of respiration, and, by con¬
sequence of voice ; 5. Cessation of the chemical pheno¬
mena ; 6. Passage of the black blood into the system of
red blood j 7. Impeded circulation, from the action of
the black blood on the heart and arteries, and from the
immobility of all the parts, especially the organs of the
chest •, 8. Death of the heart, and stoppage of the ge¬
neral circulation ; 9. Simultaneous interruption of orga¬
nic life, especially in the parts that are usually penetrat¬
ed by red blood $ 10. Abolition of animal heat §. art'
We have now gone through the series of physiologi Conclusion,,
cal enquiries, into which we proposed to enter in this
article. In forming an estimate of the merit due to our
labours, we request that our readers will consider the
article in a great measure supplemental to many that
have preceded it in the course of the present work. It
has been our pi'incipal object to fill up blanks and sup¬
ply deficiencies, especially with respect to Comparative
Physiology; and to form, with those preceding articles
which have a reference to the animal economy, particu¬
larly Anatomy, Medicine, Midwifery, Chemis¬
try, Man, one connected, if not uniform whole. The
difficulty of the task we had undertaken will probably
be admitted as some apology for the imperfect execution
of it; while the variety and interesting nature of the
subjects which we have treated, with the numerous re¬
ferences to the most respectable sources of information,
will, we trust, render this article acceptable both to the
general and the scientific reader. See Anatomy,
Animal, Comparative and Vegetable, Supple¬
ment.
EXPLANATION
526
i
PHYSIOLOGY.
EXPLANATION of PLATE CCCCXVIII.
Fig. I. Exhibits a view of the exit from the heady and
distribution in the chest, of the great sympathetic nerve,
intended to illustrate the mutual relations between the
head and the principal organs of the chest aud belly.
A. The right parotid gland laid bare.
B. The submaxillary gland.
C. D, E. The digastric muscle, partly covered by
the submaxillary gland.
F, Part of the thyroid gland.
G, G. The oesophagus or gullet.
H, H. The windpipe or trachea.
II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. The bodies of the six lower
vertebree of the neckj VIII. IX. the two first vertebrae
of the back.
I, K, L. The heart, with part of the pericardium at¬
tached.
p, p. The arch of the aorta, drawn aside.
q. The common trunk of the right subclavian (u)
and right carotid (») arteries.
P. The vena cava from the superior parts; Q. That
from below.
R, S, T. The right lobe of the lungs.
U, V. Part of the left lobe.
W, X, Z. Muscular parts of the diaphragm.
a. The first cervical or great ganglion, from which
proceed, b. The trunk of the great sympathetic nerve,
and c. The eighth pair of neves, or par vagum.
d. The lower cervical ganglion, opposite the fifth
cervical vertebra.
e. The upper thoracic ganglion, opposite the first
vertebra of the back.
f. The third dorsal ganglion, between the second and
third rib.
g. The accessory nerve of Willis.
h, i, k, l. Trunks of some of the cervical nerves.
m, The cardiac plexus formed by branches from the
sympathetic nerve.
n, n. The par vagum running down to the diaphragm,
through which it passes, unites with the intercostal,
forms various ganglia, and gives branches to most of the
abdominal viscera.
o, o. The phrenic nerves distributed to the dia¬
phragm.
Fig. 2. A section of the cuticle of the lilium chalce-
donicum, to shew the lymphatic vessels, much magnified.
Fig. 3. A similar magnified view in the onion.
Fig. 4. Ditto in the pink.
Fig. 5. Represents the atlantal extremity of the slow
lemur {lemur tardigradus), to show the curious divi¬
sion of the subclavian artery.
a. The subclavian artery, lying upon tbe subscapu-
laris muscle.
b. The division of the artery into equal-sized cylin¬
ders.
c. The ulnar artery proceeding to divide in the usual
manner
Fig. 6. Represents the sacral extremities of the same
animal, showing a similar division of the inguinal artery.
a. The diaphragm.
b. The descending aorta.
c. c. The iliac arteries.
d. The trunk of the inguinal artery, situated among
the cylinders.
e. The femoral artery under similar circumstances.
The annexed Table sufficiently explains itself.
INDEX.
Ci
c
Ci
Cl
I
-^B£ORRFNTsystem,discoveryof,N°4i
Absorption, 26, 184
organs of, 185
by lacteals, &c. 186
by the veins, 187
by the skin, 188
of the lowest classes of ani¬
mals, 190
of the ants, 191
theory of, 192
relations of, 203
Accidental colours, principal phenome¬
na of, IOO
Air, quantity of, received and emitted
during respiration, 223
ascertained changes on, 226
volume of, sensibly diminished, 227
changes on, by the respiration
of inferior animals, 23 2
by vegetation, 233
Alcmceon's opinions respecting man, 29
Anatomy, relation of, to physiology, 6
Anaxagoras’1 s physiological opinions, 30
Animation, suspended, of some animals, 363
Appetite for food, N° 130
Aristotle'1 s physiological opinions, 34
Arrangements in physiology, 17—22
remarks on, 24
Arteries, action of, 202
distribution of, in the limbs of
slow-moving animals, 214
Assimilation a chemical process, 262
power of, limited, 264
Azote, doubts respecting its loss by re¬
spiration, 231
B.
Rarc/oyV ideas of vitality, 73
principles of muscular mo¬
tion, _ 130
Bats supposed to possess a sixth sense, 104
physiological arrangement, 21, 49
division of life, 49
observations on death, 375
Bile, uses of, 273
Blood, how acted on by tbe vessels, 217
changes on by respiration, 235
Boerhaave's system, 42
Bostock^s explanation of the modern
theory of respiration, 238
Bostock's defence of ditto, N° 240
objections to Mr Ellis’s opinions, 242
C.
Carbonic acid gas generated during
x-espiration, 229
Cellular membrane, action of, 2)1
Chemists, physiology of, 37
Chemistry, relation of, to physiology, 7
Chyle, properties of, 1r
first formed in the pyloric por¬
tion of the stomach,
Chylif cation explained, J77
Chymification explained, I59
Circulation, ch. vii. 26, N 59
discovery of, 4°
organs of, I95
proofs of, I97
in the human adult, 1
in the human foetus,
how carried on,
of the inferior animals, 205
of the mollusca, 20®
in the vermes, 201
in Crustacea, 20
none in plants, . 210
Circulation)
[Index.
368
369
370
372
374
I57
31
39
violent or accidental,
signs of,
criterions of,
causes of,
nature of,
Deglutition explained,
Democritus, opinions of,
Des Cartes"’s physiological opinions,
Digestion, ch. v. N° 26, 58
differences of, 154
steps of, 155—160
various theories of, 172
relations between it and sen¬
sation, 181
relations of, with motion, 182
morbid affections of, 183
Distension an exciting cause of irrita¬
bility, 119
breaming, 352
Dumas's arrangement, 19
opinion of the uses of the
spleen, 275
E*
fg, progressive changes of during in¬
cubation, 3 26
'Ms's objections to the modern theory
of respiration, 239
opinion respecting respiration, 241
defence of ditto, 243
Empedocles, opinions of, 30
xcretion, ch. xi. N° 26
organs of, 281
by the intestines, 282
by the kidneys, 284
by the skin, 286
Experiment, a mean of improving phy¬
siology, 16
jyes of Crustacea and insects described, 98
F.
3!5
'ecundation,
ecundity of animals, comparative,
I _ Note (l) 324
ecling. See Touch.
universality of, 81
^mentation not the cause of diges-
L , tion, 175
briar's arguments against the vital
principle, 71
PHYSIOLOGY.
Circulation, none in some animals, N° 211
relations of, with sensation, 212
with motion, 213
digestion, 2x5
absorption, 216
'limbing, nature and mechanism of,
explained, 142
Cullen's physiological system, 47
Cuvier's arrangement, 20
idea of life, 70
D.
Darwin"1 s system, 48
hypothesis of the retrograde
action of lymphatics, 189
Death, ch. xvi.
natural, gradual approach of, 367
Flying explained, N° 143
Food first dissolved in the cardiac por¬
tion of the stomach, 164
comparative solubility of, 171
passage of, through the intestines, 180
Functions of living beings, 57
G.
H.
Haller, opinions and discoveries of, 46
opinion of the cause of irrita¬
bility, 123
Harvey's merits discussed, 40
Hearing, sense of, 93
organs of, 94
comparative physiology of, 96
Heart, action of, 201
Heat not the sole cause of digestion, 173
animal, 246
Herophilus, opinions of, 35
Hibernation of mammalia, 356
o-f birds, 357
of reptiles, 338
of fishes, 359
of insects, 360
of man, 361
of plants, 364
phenomena of, 362
Hippocrates, physiology of, 32
Hoffman's physiological opinions, 44
.Hb/we’sdiscoveries respecting the action
of the stomach, 161
experiments on the use of the
spleen, 276
Hufeland's idea of life, 68
Humboldt's idea of life, 69
hypothesisrespecting ii-ri-
tability, 127
Hunter's, John, opinions on the life of
the blood, 66
I.
Impregnation, mode of, 318
Insalivation explained, 15
Insects, want of circulation in, how
supplied, 209
Integumation, ch. xii. N° 26
uses of, as defence, 290
52?
Galen's physiological opinions, 36
Galloping explained, 141
Galvanism an exciting cause of irrita¬
bility, 118
Gastric juice, action of, 170
Generation, 311
essence of, 313
gemmiparous, 314
oviparous, 321
viviparous, 323
theories of, 336
relations of, 343
Girtanner's hypothesisrespecting irri¬
tability. 126
Goodivin's opinions respecting life, 67
Gough's explanation of ventriloquism, 252
IntegumentsnseinX by their hardness, N° 291
by their external co¬
vering, 292
by their effluvia, 293
by their colour, 294
change of, 295
Irritability, ch. iii. N° 26
general phenomena of, m
definition of, 112
different acceptation of the
term, 113
stimuli exciting, 114
causesof,opinions respecting, 121
chemical doctrines of, 125
laws of, 128
K-
Kidneys, action of, 284
L.
Leaping, nature and mechanism of,
explained, 138
Life, general idea of, 26, 51
effects of, 33
cause of, 64
duration of, 63
comparative pertinacity of, 371
Light, effect of, on the system, 102
absence of, supposed to favour
obesity, 103
Liver, action of, 272
Locomotion, uses of, 148
Lymphatics, retrograde action of, 189
M.
Mastication explained, 133
Mechanists, opinions of, 43
Motion, ch. iv. N° 26, 37
organs of, 129
principles of, 130
progressive, of animals, 131
relations of, with sensation, 149,
vegetable, 147
Muscles, motion of, assists circulation, 204
N.
Nervous system, 76
fluid, theory of, no
energy and exciting cause of
irritability, 116
Nicholson's account of a ventriloquist, 231
Nutrition, ch. ix. N° 26
nature of, 260
not performed by nerves, 263
of insects and zoophytes, 264
o.
Observation a mean of improving phy¬
siology, 14
Odours, nature of, little understood, 91
Organized beings compared with in¬
organic matter, 32
Ormthorinchus, the connecting link be¬
tween quadrupeds
and birds, 168
Oxygen of the air diminished during -1
respiration, 228
528
P.
Passions, violent, exciting causes of ir¬
ritability, N° 120
Perspiration, quantity of, 287
composition of, 288
relations of, 289
Physiology, definition and object of, I
divisions of, 2
historical, 3
philosophical, 4
practical, 5
relations of, to anatomy, 6
to chemistry, 7
to mechanical philosophy, 8
to metaphysics, 9
to natural history, 10
importance and utility of, IvT
methods of studying, 12
means of improving, 13—16
application of, to zoology, 23
tabular outline of, 26
history of, its utility, 27
Plato's physiological opinions, 33
Pulmonic organs of circulation, 196
Putridity not the cause of digestion, 176
Pythagoras's opinions respecting man, 28
R.
P H Y S I O L O G Y.
Respiration, relations of, with sensation,
_ N° 257
motion, 258
digestion, 259
Respirations, ordinary number of, in a
minute, 224
Reverie, 354
Richerand's explanation of ventrilo¬
quism, 252
Rumination explained, 1
in man, cases of, Note G,
page 490.
explained, 139
Rush's ideas of vitality, 72
Index.]
Secretion,
of sensation, I49> 2I2> 257
of motion, 149, 182, 213, 258,
283
of digestion, 181, 215, 259, 277,
283
of absorption, 193, 216
of circulation, 212, 256
of respiration, 255
of intestinal excretion, 283
of urinary excretion, 285
of perspiration, 289
Reproduction, ch. xiv. N° 26, 61
of parts in man and mam*
malia, 3°4
in reptiles, 306
in Crustacea, 307
in mollusca, 308
in polypes, 309
writers on, 310
Resistance to chemical change,, a pro¬
minent effect of life, 54
Respiration, ch. viii. N° 26, 60
necessity of, 218
organs of, 219
mechanism of, in man, . 221
in other ani¬
mals, 222
experimental writers on, 225
effects of, on the animal
system, 234
[ ' theory of, 237
still incomplete, 244
uses of, 245
relation of,with circulation, 158
Systemic organs of circulation,
T.
N° 196!
ch. x. N° 26
organs of, 267
kinds of, 268
matters furnished by, 269
modifications of, 270
Secretions, peculiar animal, 278
vegetable, 280
Sensation, ch. ii. N° 26, 62
organs of, 7^
laws of, I05
comparative physiology of, 107
theory of, 108
relations of, I49> 212
Sensibility, necessity of, to organized
, beings, 74
-of the animal body, 82
Sensitivity, 7 5
Sight, sense of, 97
organs of, 9^
Sleep, necessity of, 344
phenomena of, 34^
theory of, 347
of plants, 351
Sleep-walking, 353
Smelling, sense of, 89
organs of, 9°
theory of, 91
comparative physiology of, 92
Snails, copulation of, 319
Somnambulism, 353
Sound, varieties of, 95
Speech, mechanism of, 250
Spleen, uses of, 274
carries off fluid from the
stomach, 277
Stahl's system, 45
(Sfarccfcrag-on two feet explained, 133
on four feet, 134
Stomach, organic action of, 160
human, the link between
carnivorous and phyti-
vorous stomachs, 162
divided into a cardiac and
pyloric portion, 163
curvature of, accounted, for, 167
Swimming explained, 144
Tasting, sense of, 83
organs of, 84 |
variously affected, 8^ j:
perfection of, 86 |
modifications of, 8‘ I
uses of, 881!
Temperature, animal, 236 j
equable, preservation of, 24^
Torpor of animals, 35^1 n
theory of, 36
Touch, sense of, 7^ [
use of, 78 :
organs of, 7S
nature of, 8c |
Transjormation, ch. xiii. N° 26 |
of reptiles, 297 '
of insects, 298
accompanied by change
of propensities, 30c
consists in the evolu¬
tion of parts, 301
Trituration not the sole cause of di¬
gestion, 174
Trottiyg explained, 14c
Y.
Van Helmont's physiological opinions, 38
Veins, valvular structure of, assists cir¬
culation, 203;
Ventriloquism, account of, 2,51
how explained, 252
Vibration, a theory of sensation, 109
Vis insita, of Haller, 123
Vision, immediate seat of, probably the
retina, 99
phenomena of, . too
distinct, requisites for, 101
?7ta/principle, opinions respecting, 65—73
existence of, denied by
some, 70,71
supposed to be divisible, 73
Vitality, degrees of, J5
Voice peculiar to those animals that
have lungs, 248
human, amazing variety of, 249
mechanism of, 250
of brutes, 253
of birds, 2J4
Volition, an exciting cause of irritabi¬
lity, *J5
W.
Walking on two feet explained, *3
four feet, *3!
Whytt's arguments in support of ner¬
vous influence, as exciting
irritability 12
z.
Zoological arrangement
,
Pi ano Forte Key
WJ*t&/ZaZcZ
p
r I A L 529 1 VIA
‘hytolacca PHYTOLACCA, Pokeweed, or American Night-
|| shade, a genus of plant belonging to the decandria
!Piacenza. class. See Botany Index.
v PIIYTOLOGY, a discourse concerning the growth,
kind, and virtues of plants. See Botany, and Ma¬
teria Medic a.
PHYTON, a general of the people of Rhegium a-
gainst Dionysius, the tyrant of Sicily. He was taken
by the enemy, and tortured, and his son was thrown
into the sea. See Syracuse.
PIA MATER, a thin membrane which covers the
brain, and is in immediate contact with it. See Ana¬
tomy Index.
PIABA, in Ichthyology, is a small fresh water fish
caught in all the rivers and brooks in the Brasils, and
in some other parts in America. It is about the size
of the common minow.
PIABUCU, in Ichthyology, is an American fish,
eaten in many places by the natives. It is said to be
so ravenous, and greedy of blood, that if a person go
into the water with a wound in any part of his body,
the piabucu will make up to it to suck the blood. Jt
seldom exceeds four inches in length.
PIACENZA is a city of Italy, in the duchy of
Parma, in E. Long. ig. 25. N. Lat. 45. It is a large
handsome city, whose name is derived by some from its
pleasant situation, in a fruitful plain, on the Via iEmi-
lia, about half a mile from the Po. It is the see of a
bishop sufiragan ot Bologna, and has a university, but
of no great fame. It is defended by a wall and a
strong citadel, and is reckoned about three miles in cir¬
cumference, so that it is somewhat bigger than Parma.
The houses are low, but well built; the great street,
called the Stradone, is in a direct line and of equal
Kreadth, with a foot-way fenced with posts on each side
like London, and is about 3000 feet long. The houses
are generally built of brick, and some of them are pret¬
tily painted. The cathedral is an old structure, but
well adorned within. The duke of Parma, who is so¬
vereign of Piacenza, has a palace in the city built by
Vignola. There are many excellent paintings in this
place. There are two chapels painted, one with the
history of St Catharine, and the other with a picture of
Christ, as also the altar of the church of St Augustine,
all by Pordenone. In the same church there is a fine
picture of the blessed virgin, St Peter, and St Paul,
by Paolo \ eronese. At the Capuchins there is a Fran¬
cis by Guercino. There is a fountain said to have
been erected here by Julius Caesar, and the equestrian
statues of »he famous general Alexander I. duke of
Parma and Placentia, and of his son Ranuccio, both
in the great square. In the palace of Scotti, there are
a great many fine pictures by Lanfranco, who had
been a page in their family, and among the rest the
rape of Helen, the taking of Troy, the blessed virgin,
and St Francis. The trade of this city consists chiefly
in their cheese, as at Parma, these cities being sur¬
rounded with the richest pasture grounds in Italy j
though the greatest part of what is called Parmesan
cheese is made in the duchy of Milan, and particular¬
ly at Lodi. See Parmesan Cheese.—Without the walls,
which are washed by the rivers Trebbia and Po, there
is a large seminary or college, magnificently erected
by Cardinal Alberoni, a native of this city, but con¬
siderably hurt by the mode-rn Goths in the last war.
Vgj,. XVI. Part II*
Towards the north of the city is the mouth of the river Piacenza,
Trebbia, famous for the victory which Hannibal ob- Piano
tained over the Romans. Forte.
PIANO I orte, or Forte Piano, is a musical in- ' v-"1 -
strument, which is too well known to require any de¬
tailed description. We shall here, however, notice
some of its peculiarities. The voice, it has been ob¬
served, is the original musical instrumentof this all
other instruments are to be considered but as imitations 5
and it is remarkable with what promptitude, as well as
accuracy, the voice of man obeys the impulse of the
heart. Even a coarse ear is hurt by an error in its
tone, amounting to what is called a comma; and a li¬
mited voice can execute melodies which include 12
notes, or an octave and a fifth. Between these extremes
the motion of the glottis does not amount to one twelfth
of an inch, which must therefore be divided by the most
ordinary singer into more than 1000 parts. All this
too, without any seeming effort of thought, is done in
an instant, and repeated with rapidity, without mista¬
king one of the divisions.
The great object in the construction of musical in¬
struments is, to bring them as near as possible to express
the sounds produced by the human voice: the violin,
however, and a few of the simple wind instruments, are
the only ones found fully to express those momentary
gradations of sentiment, and those tender and delicate
emotions with which the heart is agitated. For the
purpose of removing this defect of harmonic instru¬
ments, the swell was added to the organ. Similar im¬
provements were also attempted on other instruments of
the same kind, and the same wray. The harpsichord
was shut up like the swell organ, and was opened by
means of pedals, when the performer wished to enforce
the sound. But as this was found not to succeed well,
other methods wTere tried, and in particular unisons
were added to each note, which were brought on, ei¬
ther by means of pedals, or by another set of keys ;
and in this way the power of the harpsichord was great¬
ly improved. Among all the keyed instruments, the
English piano forte seems to merit the preference, on
account of the superior force of tone, adequate sweet¬
ness, and great variety of voice, of which, by the in¬
genuity of British artists, it has now become susceptible.
It has been called a national instrument, because it is
said to be an English contrivance, the invention of the
celebrated poet, Mason. Mr Mason had seen some at¬
tempts that were made by the Germans to make keyed
dulcimers, which were in some measure susceptible of
the forte and piano ; but as they were all constructed
on one principle, and required a particular touch of the
finger, which was of difficult acquisition, and which
spoiled it for harpsichord practice *, as they were also
deficient in delicacy and justness 5 and as the performer
was by no means certain of producing the very strength
of sound intended, Mr Mason removed all those imper¬
fections, by detaching the mallet entirely from the key,
and giving them only a momentary connection. It is
by this improvement that the English piano forte is di¬
stinguished from all others. Mr Mason’s general prin¬
ciple may be fully understood by the following descrip¬
tion. In the figure on Plate CJCCCXVIM. the parts
are represented in their state of inaction. The key
ABK turns, as usual, on the round edge of the bar B,
and a pin \ driven into the bar, keeps it in its place.
. 3 X The
P I A [
The dot F represents a section of the string. FI) is
the mallet, having a hinge ot vellum, by which it is at-
' tached to the upper surface ot the bar F. At the other
end is the head 1), of wood, covered with some tolds ot
prepared leather. The mallet lies in the position repre¬
sented in the figure, its lower end resting on a cushion-
bar K, which lies horizontally under the whole row ot
mallets. The key AR has a pin C, tipt with a bit of
the softest cork or buckskin. This reaches to within
-^th of an inch of the shank of the mallet, but must not
touch it. The distance E e is about ^d or -Jth of the
length of the shank. When the end A of the key is
pressed down on the stuffing (two or three thicknesses
of the most elastic woollen list) it raises the mallet, by
means of the pin C, to the horizontal position F (/, with¬
in -|th or Toth of an inch of the wire F ; but it cannot
be so much pressed down as to make the mallet touch
the wire. At the same time that the key raises the
mallet by means of the pin C, it also lilts oil the damper
G (a bit of spunge) from the wire. This damper is
fixed on the end of a little wooden pin G g, connected
with the lever g H, which has a vellum hinge at H.
This motion of the damper is caused by the pin I, which
is fixed into the key near to 11. These pieces are so ad¬
justed, that the first touch of the key lifts the damper,
and, immediately after, the pin C acts on the shank ol
the mallet. As it acts so near to its centre ol motion,
it causes the head 1) to move briskly through a consider¬
able arch D d. Being made extremely moveable, and
very light, it is thus tossed beyond the horizontal posi¬
tion E c/, and it strikes the wire F, which is now at li¬
berty to vibrate up and down, by the previous removal
of the damper G. Having made its stroke, the mallet
falls down again, and rests on the soft substance on the
pin C. It is of essential importance that this mallet be
extremely light. Were it heavy, it would have so
much force, after rebounding from the wire, that it
would rebound from the pin C, and again strike the
wire. For it will be recollected, that the key is, at this
time, down, and the pin C raised as high as possible, so
lhat there is very little room for this rebound. Lessen¬
ing the momentum of the mallet by making it very
light, making the cushion at the top ot the pin C very
soft, and great precision in the shape and figure of all
the parts, are the only securities against the disagreeable
rattling which these rebounds would occasion. In re¬
spect to the solidity and precision of workmanship, the
British instruments are unrivalled, and vast numbers
of them have been sent to all parts of the continent.
As the blow of so light a mallet cannot bring much
sound from a wire, it has always been found necessary
to have two strings for each note. Another circum¬
stance contributes to enfeeble the sound. The mechan¬
ism necessary for producing it makes it almost impossible
to give any considerable extent to the belly or sound
board of tlie instrument. There is seldom any more of
it than what occupies the space between the tuning pins
and the bridge. This is the more to be regretted, be¬
cause the basses are commonly covered strings, that they
may be of a moderate length. The bass notes are also
of brass, which has a considerably lower tone than a
steel wire of the same diameter and tension. Yet even
this substitution for steel in the brass strings is not
enough. The highest of them are much too slack, and
the lowest ones must be loaded, to compensate for want
4
P I A
53° f
is of length. This greatly diminishes the fulness, and still
more the mellowness and distinctness ol the tone, and
frequently makes the very lowest notes hardly appreci¬
able. This inequality of tone about the middle ot the
instrument is somewhat diminished, by constructing the
instrument with two bridges ; one for the steel, and
the other for the brass wires. But still the bass notes
are very much interior to the treble.
PIASTUS, a native of Poland, was originally a
wheelwright, and the son ot Cossiseo, a citizen ot Crus-
witz. He flourished in the year 830, when on the
extinction of the family of Popiel great disputes arose
about his successor, and Cracow was afflicted with a se¬
vere famine. During this extremity, when the people
were dropping down in the streets, two angels in humany^. ^
forms, as the story is told, took up their residence with vo|_ xxx
Piastus, who was celebrated for his piety and extensivep. 336, &c
charity. He had nothing left but a small cask ot the
common liquor of the country, and this he presented to
his new guests, who, charmed with his hospitality,
promised him the crown of Poland. 'J he faith of Pia¬
stus was equal to his other virtues : he implicitly be¬
lieved the word of bis guests, and piously followed their
directions in every particular. He was ordered to dis¬
tribute the liquor out of bis little cask to the multi¬
tude : he did so, and found that it was inexhaustible.
The people were astonished j all cried out, A mira¬
cle !” and the electors determined to choose a person
in whose favour Heaven had so visibly declared : Pia¬
stus was accordingly taken (rom his shop, and raised to
the ducal dignity.
Such is the relation of the canon of Cracow, which
differs in many particulars from the account given by
Guagnini, and several other historians.- According to
them, Piastus had prepared a small collation, to enter¬
tain some friends who were assembled at the birth of a
child. Two pilgrims, Paul and John, afterwards mur¬
dered at Rome, came about this time to Cracow, i hey^
begged charity at the door of the election-hall, and
were rudely repulsed j upon which they stumbled on
the house of Piastus, and were kindly received. 1 he
miracle we have mentioned was wrought by them ; and
the two pilgrims, and not angels, were the instruments
of the elevation of the hospitable wheelwright. Though
we pay but little regard to the marvellous means by
which Piastus ascended the ducal throne of Poland, it
would be presumptuous entirely to omit a fact attested
by all the writers upon this subject : it was propel,-
therefore, to take notice of it, and we leave the lest to
the reader’s judgment,
Being now raised to the supreme dignity, he was not
intoxicated with his prosperity. His natural charity,
benevolence, and sweetness of disposition, lemaincd
nothing was altered but his power of doing good. He
was truly called the father of his people : the injured
never returned unredressed, nor merit unrewarded.
Piastus wiped the tear from the eyes of the widow j
and was himself the guardian of the orphan, and the
general patron of the poor and distressed. His excel-
lent inclinations served him in the room ot great abi¬
lities j and the happiness that his people enjoyed made
them forget that their prince was not born a statesman
and a warrior. Several intestine commotions arose du¬
ring his administration, all which he quelled by the
mildness and clemency of his nature : his nobility were
ashamed
PIC [ .
piastus ashametl oi rebelling against a sovereign 'who devoted
II his whole life to render his people happy. He remo-
' ‘c l‘ i ve(^ the court from Cruswitz, a city which he detest-
ed, because it was the scene ol Popiel’s crimes and tra¬
gical end, and fixed his residence at Gnesna, where he
died beloved, esteemed, and even adored by his subjects.
It is in memory of this excellent prince, that all the
natives of Poland, who have been since promoted to the
ducal or regal dignity, were called Piastes, in contradi¬
stinction to the foreigners.
Piastus associated his son Ziemovitus with him in the
government before his death ; a circumstance of much
benefit to the people.
PIAZZA, in building, popularly called piacfie, an
Italian name for a portico, or covered walk, supported
by arches.
The word literally signifies a broad open place or
square ; whence it also became applied to the walks or
porticoes around them.
.Esm £u/ ] IBROCH, says I)r Beattie *, is a species of tunc
Bvo edk pecdiar, I think, to the Highlands and Western isles
1.422. Scotland. It is performed on a bagpipe, and differs
icte, totally from all other music. Its rythm is so irregular,
and its notes, especially in the quick movement, so mix¬
ed and huddled together, that a stranger finds it almost
impossible to reconcile his ear to it, so as to perceive
its modulation. Some of these pibrochs, being intend¬
ed to represent a battle, begin with a grave motion re¬
sembling a march, then gradually quicken into the on¬
set j run oft with noisy confusion and turbulent rapidity,
to imitate the conflict and pursuit j then swell into a
few flourishes of triumphant joy j and perhaps close with
the wild and slow wailings of a funeral procession.
PICA. See Corvus, Ornithology Index.
Pica Marina. See H^matopus, and Alca, Orni¬
thology Index.
Pica, in Medicine, a depravation of appetite, which
makes the patient long for what is unfit for food, or
incapable of nourishing; as chalk, ashes, coals, plaster-
lime, &c. See Medicine Index.
Pica, or Pye, had formerly the same sense as ordi¬
nal, meaning a table or directory, pointing out the
order in which the devotional services appointed for
different occasions were to be performed. According¬
ly we are told it is derived from tci, a contraction of
'7ri')u\, a. table j and by others from htera picata, a great
black letter at the beginning of some new order in the
prayer. I4he term w7as used in a similar sense by offi¬
cers of civil courts, who called their kalendars'or al¬
phabetical catalogues directing to the names and things
contained in the rolls and records of their courts the
pyes.
Pica, or Picus, lohn, prince of Mirandola and Con¬
cordia, was born in the year 1463, under the pontificate
of Pius II. He was the youngest son of John Francis of
Mirandola, and Julia, a lady of the noble family of Boiard.
borne of the credulous historians of the time have rela¬
ted, that at his birth a globe of fire was seen to rest upon
bis mother’s bed, portending, say they, by its shape the
perfection of his genius, and by its element, the celestial
turn of his mind. As soon as he was capable of receiv¬
ing instruction, he was placed by his mother’s care
under the most able masters, and very early distinguish¬
ed himself by the vigour of his application, and the
strength of his memory; of which such prodigies are
31 ] PIC
related as would be very difficult to credit, were we not
assured by some modern instances, of the perfection to
which that faculty may be carried. At the age of
fourteen he was sent by his mother’s direction, who was
de sirous that he should assume the clerical functions, to
Bologna, at that time the principal resort of those who
studied the pontifical law. After spending two years
there, he became disgusted with this pursuit, although
such was his industry, even at that early age, that he com¬
piled an epitome of the pontifical epistles or decretals.
His disposition, however, strongly led him to the pursuit
of philosophy, with an eager curiosity to penetrate the
secrets of nature and science : with this view he travel¬
led over Italy and France, visited the most celebrated
schools of each, and studied under the most famous
teachers of both countries. After seven years spent in
this course of instruction, and at the age of twenty-
three, he went to Rome, and, after the fashion of the
scholars oi that time, brought himself into notice by
publicly proposing, literary questions for disputation.
This sort of challenge w^as very common in that age,
and, when printing was scarcely practised, and the name
of a man of learning less rapidly extended than it is
now, was almost the only method that a person of su¬
perior attainments had to make himself known. Mi¬
randola proposed 900 questions, or as they were called
condusiones, in dialectics, mathematics, natural philoso¬
phy, and divinity, diawm not only from the stores of the
Latin and Greek, but from the mysteries of the He¬
brews and the arcana of the Chaldeans and Arabians.
Iu addition to the endless topics of metaphysics, theo¬
logy, and the ordinary subjects of disputation, into
which he entered very profoundly, the conclusiones in¬
volved the ancient and obscure philosophy of Pythago¬
ras, Trismegistus, and Orpheus; the doctrines of the
Cabala, or mystic interpretation of the sacred writings,
according to the Hebrews, taught by Origen and Hi-
larius ; the extent, uses, and learning of natural magic,
which was vindicated from the vulgar reproach of im¬
piety and necromancy. Seventy-two new physical and
metaphysical dogmata of the author’s invention were
likewise proposed and defended. These propositions,
according to the ostentatious practice on these occasions,
were fixed in the most public places in Rome, and the
proposer engaged to defray the expences of any one
who should come from a distance for the purpose of dis¬
puting with him. This challenge did not bring for¬
ward any disputants, but exposed Mirandola to much
envy and jealousy, particularly from the professors of
science at Rome, who felt the reflection that would be
cast upon their credit by their declining a competition
which they durst not encounter. Unable to injure his
fame as a scholar, they made a much more dangerous at¬
tack upon the soundness of his faith ; thirteen questions
were selected, which were charged with the terrible
suspicion of heresy and contempt of the ordinances of
the church ; a suspicion very readily listened to by the
church when directed against great learning, which the
increasing influence of philosophy and letters began to
make her watch with extreme jealousy. Mirandola re¬
pelled this attack by publishing his Apologia, or De¬
fence of the accused Propositions ; which if he did not
effectually clear away the suspicions he had incurred,
tended to confirm his enemies in their dread of bis learn¬
ing and powers; and it must be owned that, overlook-
3 X 2 ing
PIC [53
ing the misapplication of talents to such subjects, the
Apologia exhibits a command of profound and well di¬
gested learning and keen argument, truly astonishing at
the age of twenty-three. ” his work, and the discus¬
sions it contained of certain delicate points, added to
some hints of the limit of pontifical controul in matters
of faith, were so disagreeable to f ope Innocent ^ III.
that he interdicted the reading both of the Apology and
the disputed questions. Ihe love ol glory, however,
was not Mirandola’s only passion : his youth, splendid
accomplishments, and the graces of his person, for which
he is said to have been remarkable, attracted the atlmi
ration and caresses of many distinguished Roman ladies,
who united the love of letters to that of pleasure, a taste
very common amongst the Italian ladies of that age.
The voting philosopher yielded to the force of these al¬
lurements, or rather, according to the account of his
nephew and biographer, Francisco of Mirandola, eager¬
ly followed the bent of his disposition, naturally inclin¬
ed to obey the attractions of beauty.
But this life of pleasure, however suitable to his con¬
dition and inclinations, was of a short continuance. Ir¬
ritated by the restless persecutions of his enemies, and
obliged perpetually to defend himself against the impu¬
tation of heresy, the most formidable calumny which in
that age any man could have to contend with, he de¬
tached himself from vicious pleasures, and regulated his
manner of life by rigidly observing the laws of absti¬
nence imposed by Christianity $ for being a firm adher¬
ent to the Christian doctrines, the charge of infidelity
and the vigilance of his enemies made him the more so¬
licitous to guard against the appearance of disobeying
them. Becoming from this time wholly devoted to
learning, he soon acquired such celebrity that the most
eminent scholars from all parts oi Italy came to visit
him for conversation or instruction. As a proof of the
sincerity of his reformation, he committed to the flames
five books of elegiac poetry which he had composed on
the subject of his amours, together with numerous pieces
ill Tuscan verse, which had been addressed to Ins various
mistresses. There isperhaps reason tolamentthatthe zeal
of a new convert would not be satisfied without this sacri¬
fice. It must, however, be considered that the spirit of re¬
ligion at that period exacted many sacrifices from the pro¬
fessors of Christianity, which the lenient temper of these
times does not call for. An example of this severity is to
be met with amongst the works that still remain of Miran¬
dola at the end of which, in the folio edition published
by his nephew, we find a learned and entertaining com¬
ment, in the Italian language, upon a composition of his
friend Girolamo Benivieni, entitled Una Can%ona de
Amare secimdo la mente et openione dU P/atonici, “ A
poetical treatise upon love, explaining the doctrines ot
the Platonists.” The author, Girolamo, informs the rea¬
der, in a short preface, that he had determined to sup¬
press this poem and comment out of regard to his friend’s
character and bis own ; deeming it unbecoming a pro¬
fessor of Christianity, in treating of.celestial and divine
love, “ to treat of it as a Platonist and not as a Christ-
ia 1 hut that having lent it to some ol his friends for
th ir perusal, an imperfect ami erroneous copy was
pr nted, which obliged him, but not till after the death
of Mirandola, to publish it correctly ; and he takes care
to allege, in excuse for himself, that he has apprized the
i^der of his plan by the title of the poem, and warned
2 ] PIC
him in all places where Plato’s opinions depart from pjC3.
those of Christ, that the doctrines of a gentile and a'——
heathen are not entitled to the least weight compared
with the reasonings of the Christian theologists, M and
particularly the irrefragable arguments of the angelic
doctor St Thomas of Aquino.”
The first fruit of Mirandola’s devotion to sacred lite¬
rature was the Hep tap) us, or Comment upon the Six
Days of the first Chapter of Genesis, which was written
in 1491- Two years afterwards he published a treatise
in ten chapters, de Ente et Uno •, the object of which
was to reconcile the doctrines of Plato and Aristotle,
and to demonstrate that the disputes of their respective
followers originated in a misconception of the opinions
of these philosophers relative to the Ens and Unum, at
that time a subject of mighty strife among the learned.
This treatise was held in high esteem by both sides. It
was the last work of consequence that the author lived
to complete 5 but lie had laid the plan of a vast and
comprehensive work, which his early death prevented
the execution of. This was no less than to confound
the seven enemies of the Christian church, by examining
and refuting all their errors. In the prosecution of this
design, he had composed and perfected before his death
twelve books against astrology, the most popular and
the most pernicious superstition which then infested the
world. Paulus Jovius, bishop of Nocera, has left a
testimony to the merits of this work, which is above all
other encomiums“ In this excel ent though unfinish¬
ed work, Mirandola attacked the astrologers with such
erudition and keenness, and so ably exposed the absur¬
dity and vanitv of the whole art of divination, that he
seems to have deterred the professors of the occult sci¬
ences from writing*.” _ _ * Paul.
This great design, as well as many others which Mi-Jor. JEfog-
randola had formed, particularly that of a more com-DocL v,r-
plete essay towards reconciling the opinions of Plato and^’ 92'
Aristotle, was frustrated by his death. From the time
that he left Rome, which was soon after the publica¬
tion of the Apologia, Mirandola generally resided ei¬
ther at Ferrara or at Florence. The friendship of the
prince of Ferrara and its vicinity to his paternal seat
attracted him to the former place ; but Florence was
the most agreeable to him, on account of the society of
literary men which it afforded, and particularly of 1 oh-
tian and Loren%o de Medici, with whom he entertained
a close friendship. Besides these two illustrious nien,his
society was cultivated by other emineBt scholars, among
whom was the learned and unfortunate Hieronymus Sa-
vanarola, and Hermolaus Barhams : Petrus Crinitus,
the pupil of Politianf', mentions him as excelling all his| p Crini
companions in the erudition and eloquence of his con* tusdehone
versation. The same author has left us an account
Pica’s laborious studies j lor when Politian had expressed y c, j, 1
in his presence high admiration of his great genius and ^ jib. it
learning, Mirandola with singular modesty answered, c. 2.
that he deserved no praise but for his assiduous applica¬
tion—“ Gratulandum potius, intelbgite, assiauis vigiliis
atque lucubrationibus, quam nostro ingeuio plauden-
iumt-" <
His library likewise is celebrated by the same writer, ^
and is said by Francisco de Mirandola to have cost JOOO
pieces of gold. His accomplishments were not confined
to subjects of abstruse literature ; in his youth he was
much attached to music, in which he acquired such skill,
ill alp
i
S
;F
ft
s
PIC. . [ 53
that some of his melodies were publicly received, and
' held in great esteem. It might also be concluded, from
an anecdote related by Petrus Crinitus, that he was not
unacquainted with physic; for according to that author,
when Hermolaus Barbarus was seized at Rome with a
dangerous fever, Mirandola sent him from Florence a
medicine prepared by himself. No man ever testified a
more sincere devotion for learning and philosophy, to
the contempt of all other qualifications, than the Prince
of Mirandola. He possessed a very large estate, which
he bestowed almost entirely upon works of charity, ex¬
cept what was spent in collecting books, and entertain¬
ing and providing for literary men. At length, how¬
ever, about three years before his death, he made over
to his nephew Francisco his principality and possessions
in Mirandola, and obtained a confirmation of the grant
from Maximilian, the Roman emperor, to whom that
principality was subject. He reserved to himself only
enough to purchase a small estate near Ferrara, where
he spent the remainder of his life, except when he re¬
sided at Florence, in elegant and learned retirement,
His mother, under whose care he received his education,
had destined him for tke church ; and he was often
urged by his friends to embrace the sacred profession,
with the certainty of the highest honours and emolu¬
ments : but nothing could induce him to quit the life
that he had chosen. He died of a fever at Florence, in
the year 1494, in the 31st year of his age, on the same
day that Charles IX. of France entered that city on his
famous expedition into Italy. That monarch, hearing
of Mirandola’s illness, as he approached the city, sent
two of his own physicians to his assistance ; but in spite
of their aid, the violence of his disorder put an end to
his existence in 13 days.
With respect to the works of this author, something
has already been said, and little moi'e remains to be ob¬
served. The Conclusiones afford a very complete speci¬
men of the learning of the age, and of what were deem¬
ed the most valuable purposes to which learning could
be applied. However useless and unprofitable these pur¬
poses may appear to us, it will not be denied by any
one, who has the curiosity to look through the Conclu-
sioties, that the mass of learning, which must have been
possessed by the proposer of them, is prodigious ; when
it is recollected that, at the time he proposed them, he
was no more than 23 years of age. For there is not the
least reason to suppose, that a person whose works prove
him to have been a man of profound learning, and who,
in an age and nation distinguished by some of the bright¬
est scholars that ever appeared, was ranked by their own
judgment amongst the first, should have challenged the
discussion of any of the proposed subjects, without being
well provided with the knowledge necessary for such a
debate. The maimer in which the questions were pro¬
pounded leave little room to doubt that the author was
deeply versed in the respective subjects of them ; and
the Apology for the accused propositions, particularly
those de Salute Origem's and de Magid~.atque Cabala, dis¬
cover familiarity with the writings of the Fathers, as
3 1 FTC
well as with the Greek and Hebrew classics, and a faci- Pica*,
lity of language and argument that could not he acquired 1 —' v — ■*
at that age without extraordinary powers of mind. It
would be worth while to transcribe the whole of this
curious piece for the amusement of such of our readers
as may not have access to the original, but our limits do
not admit of it.
It is curious to observe how greatly the sudden growth
of learning outstripped that of solid science. No age,
perhaps, was ever so remarkable for the learning which
it produced as the period from the middle of the 15th
century to the beginning of the 16th; yet, except the
inestimable obligations we owe to the learned men of
that time for their editions of the classics, later ages have
been little benefited by their works, which are either
lost or neglected, and even the sciences they treated of
exploded and ridiculed. School-divinity and metaphy¬
sics, though the most attended to, were not the only
studies in which the vast erudition of that age was
wasted. The mysterious doctrines of the Cabala formed
a favourite study of some of the most learned scholars.
The proposition which laid Pica open to the indignation
of the church, was that in which he asserted the ortho¬
doxy of Origen ; for Origen, notwithstanding his meri¬
torious labours in the cause of Christianity, his daring
zeal and self-martyrdom, and notwithstanding the de¬
fence of Eusebius, was consigned by the sentence of the
church to inevitable damnation, on account of his errors
in the mysteries of the faith. To question his perdition,
therefore, was to deny that the church was the interpre¬
ter of the divine intentions. The defence of this part of
the Conclusiones is written with a boldness that could
hardly be expected from an Italian of the 15th century.
But the hardiest of these propositions was that in which
it is asserted, that faith is not in a man’s own power.
In defending this and the other propositions, which were
taxed with heresy, Pica probably relied less on the spi¬
rit and ability of his justification, than on his own high
rank and station, together with the countenance and
protection of his powerful friends, particularly the Me¬
dici, whose liberality of sentiment in regard to religious
points was so notorious, that even Leo. X. has been di¬
rectly charged, not only with heresy, but infidelity *. * Milner1*
By the Gabala, a term at this time generally misap-
prehended, rvas understood sometimes a species of divine
magic operating by the agency of good spirits, as magic
commonly so called was supposed to do by that of eVil
beings; but the true definition of it, as received bv the
best of its professors, is given by Reuchlinus (a), in his
treatise addressed toLorenzo de Medici, Divineellevela-
tionis ad salutiferam Dei et forma rum sepavatarum con-
tcmplationem tradiUe symbolica rcceptio,—a symbolic ac¬
ceptation of the Mosaic history (for that is meant by di-
vina revelatio) which produced a pure and perfect ac¬
quaintance with the nature of the divinity and of spirits;
and according to the opinions of some, which seem to be
revived by the modern Swedenborgians, this knowledge,
when sublimed to the highest perfection it was capable
of, and accompanied with perfect purity, was believed
to*
,(a) This treatise, which contains the whole learning upon a subject once held in the highest veneration hymen
af learning, is very cu-rioas^ and is to be found in.the folio edition of Mirandola’s works, published at Basil ins
'■■SSI:
Pica.
P 1 C I 534 1 11 1
to raise the rnind to an absolute familiarity with good thematics and chemistry. Macic
angels, by whose assistance the possessors ot the cabalic
secrets were enabled to do miraculous things. This art
was derived from the rabbinical doctors, who were at
first called Thalmudists j and, about the middle of the
* Reuchli- xyth century, according to Pica de Mirandola *, its
tins de Arte professors were denominated Cabalici, Cabaloei, or Ca-
Calahst. ],Hi;st3c, according to their different degrees of perlec-
l ion : they afterwards, however, departed from their
masters the Thalmudists j the latter, according to Reuch-
linus, being chiefly intent upon the law and the expla¬
nation of it, while the former, paying less regard to
what concerned human affairs, aimed chiefly at elevation
of mind and thought. The ideas and doctrines of the
Cabalists seem to have been well known to Milton, and
perhaps suggested some passages in Paradise Lost. In
Reuchlinus’s Exposition of their mysteries there is a cu¬
rious passage describing the speech of the Deity to the
heavenly spirits after the fall of Adam, with the future
prospect of redemption by the incarnation of the Mes¬
siah, whom the Cahaiists recognised in the character of
a celestial Adam (b) ; and, among the books relating
to these doctrines, which are said to be lost, mention is
made of Liber Bellorum Doi7iini. The mysteries of the
Pythagorean philosophy, which, according to Philolaus
apud Reuchlinum, sprung from the same source, were
also studied and taught with great fervency during this
period. Mirandola and Paulus Riccius were the first
who explained the Cabalistic mysteries in Latin, and the
former in his Apology, has employed much labour and
learning in defending them, as well as the science of na¬
tural magic, from the vulgar idea that necromancy was
at the bottom of them. His writings, however, upon
that subject were few, and wre do not know whether they
still exist ; hut it may be collected from the following
proposition in Xus Conclusiones, and some others of a simi¬
lar nature, that he, like all the scholars of his time, had
bestowed much attention upon this useless learning:
“ Qui scierit quid sit denarius in Arithmetica formali,
et cognoverit natura primi numeri sphserici, sciet secre-
tum quinquaginta portarum intelligcntiae et magni jo-
belcei, et millesimse generationis, et regnum omnium se-
culorum.” Those who are well acquainted with the
tenets of the modern millenarians will be able to tell
whether there be any connection between them and the
allusions in the concluding part of this proposition.
Magic also entered deeply into the learning of this
era. This comprises two distinct sciences, that of natu-
fal magic, and that of doemonology: the first was con¬
cerned only in the properties of numbers and figures,
and some of the more hidden properties of nature. This
knowledge enabled its possessors to produce many effects
from natural causes, which, when science was less difl’u-
sed than at present, appeared to be the effect of some¬
thing superior to the common limits of human power.
Albertus, commonly called Magnus, the friend and tu¬
tor of Roger Bacon, was the most celebrated of those
who excelled in this sort of knowledge. This scienee
has been productive of many admirable discoveries in ma¬
in its common signi- pica,
fication, or necromancy, was also eagerly studied at this
time, as appears from Cornelius Agrippa’s strange work
upon that subject j and we may judge of the estimation
in which it was held, by the confession that writer
makes in bis book De vanitate omnium Scientiarum, that
while he professed that science, he derived more credit
and profit from it, than from any other use he ever
could make ol his learning. The first master in this
way was said to be * Solomon, whose magic ring and * p Crin*
glass are still famous in eastern dEemonology. tmdehona
But the most dangerous, the most popular, and thete Ducip.
most pernicious delusion which the darkness of the pre- 1K lx-
ceding ages had entailed upon mankind, wras astrology,
which will perhaps never be utterly exterminated from
the minds of the vulgar, but which then possessed all
ranks. When these considerations are taken into the
account, it must be looked upon as no despicable appli¬
cation of learning and talents, to have exposed the fal¬
lacy and absurdity of this delusion } and when wre recol¬
lect the great learning and credit of some of its uphold¬
ers, among whom our countryman Roger Bacon was the
most esteemed j the almost universal belief entertained
of it, and the few lights which mankind then possessed,
as to the real and constant laws obeyed by the celestial
bodies ; it cannot be denied that the twelve books writ¬
ten by Mirandola against astrology, the effect of which,
in opening men’s ejes upon that subject is testified by a
respectable cotemporary author, were the work of a ve¬
ry superior and enlightened mind. W hen we congratu¬
late ourselves upon our freedom from these superstitions,
we ought not to forget, that we owe something to those
who gave the first blow to them. Proud of the lights
of the age we live in, when astrology and such like
cheats are no longer in vogue, we are too apt to over¬
look the merit of those exertions which first exposed and
refuted them ; and to persuade ourselves, that in these
days of genius and philosophy, such exertions would
have been unnecessary *, not recollecting that if we enjoy
many superiorities of this kind, we are less indebted for
them to our own genius than to the labonrs of those who
first paved the way for the detection of superstitious er¬
rors j our merit is, that we do not shut our eyes to the
light of science j hut while we enjoy its blaze, we
ought to be grateful to those who struck the first
sparks.
John Pica of Mirandola has been represented by writ¬
ers, whose ideas are taken from the encomiums of his
cotemporaries, as a mighty prodigy of learning and ge¬
nius. The distaste which the present times entertain to¬
wards those subjects upon which he wrote, renders it ve-
ry difficult, upon a review of his works, to think those
encomiums justified. But making allowance for this
change of opinion, and weighing the impartial testimony
of his equals, and the early age at which he obtained
their admiration, it may be fairly concluded, he W'as in
reality, a man of very extraordinary powers. These
memoirs are principally Collected from his letters, and
the account given of him by his nephew Francisco, him¬
self
(c) Conjicimus sane, alterum esse Adam cadestem angelis in coelo demonstratum, unum ex Deo, quern verho
fecerat et alterum esse Adam terrenum, repulsum a Deo, quern ex Into manibus suis finxerat. Jicuchb-
nuSy p. 750.
Pic [ 535 ] PI c
Pica, self an eminent scholar. Such a biographer might na-
Picard. turally be suspected of partiality 5 but the evidence of
^ other writers fully confirms his account. Paulus Jovius,
in his Rlogia Doctorum Virorum, gives the following
p, y2* character of him*. “John Pica of Mirandola, has
been justly styled the phoenix ; for in him, the immortal
gods, besides the splendour of his family, assembled all
the rarest gifts of body and mind.”
Petrus liiccius, commonly called Petrus Crinitus, who
was the pupil of Politian and the companion of Miran¬
dola, laments the death of him and Politian, which hap¬
pened in the same year, as a public misfortune, more se¬
verely felt at that particular time, when learning, ob¬
structed by the incursion of the French into Italy, want-
Pet Crin.et^ l®ie suPPO>'t and assistance of such men To these
honesta may be added the testimony of Hieronymus Savanarola,
kctp. who, though afterwards put to death by Pope Alexan¬
der for a heretic, was a man of great consideration on
account of his learning and talents. In a dispute which
took place between him and Mirandola, concerning the
philosophy of the ancients j the former, yielding to the
superiority of his opponent, rose up and embracing him
said, “-Unus tu es, Pice, setate nostra qui omnium vete-
rnm philosophiam ac religionis Christianse praecepta et
2. leges percalleas ||. The following epitaph, written by
Hercules Strozza, is preserved by Paulus Jovius :
Joannes facet hie Mirandola; ccetcra norvnt
Et Tagus et Ganges, forsan et Antipodes.
Dr Johnson in his Essay on Epitaphs, has taken no¬
tice of this pompous distich, as a warning to epitaph
tvriters. “ Thus, says he, have their expectations been
disappointed, who honoured Picus of Mirandola,with
this pompous epitaph. His name, then celebrated in
the remotest corners of the earth, is now almost forgot¬
ten 5 and his works, then studied, admired, and applaud¬
ed, are now mouldering in obscurity.” Monthly Mag.
PICARD, a native of the Netherlands, who found¬
ed a sect the professors of which were called Picards.
See Picards.
Picard, John, an able mathematician, and one of
the most learned astronomers of the 17th century, w’as
born at Fleche, and became priest and prior of Rillie in
Anjou. Going to Paris, he was in 1666 received into
the Academy of Sciences in quality of astronomer. In
1671, he was sent, by order of the king, to the castle
ofUraniburg, built by Tycho Brahe in Denmark, to
make astronomical observations there ; and from thence
he brought the original manuscripts wrote by Tycho
Brahe, which are the more valuable as they differ iu
many places from the printed copies, and contain a
book more than has yet appeared. He made impor¬
tant discoveries in astronomy-, and was the first who
travelled through several parts of France, to measure
a degree of the. meridian. His works are, 1. A trea¬
tise on levelling. 2. Fragments of dioptrics. 3. Ex-
penmenta circa aquas ejflucntcs. 4. Me mensuris. 5. Me
mensura liquidoruni aridorum. 6. A voyage to U-
raniburg, or astronomical observations made in Den¬
mark. 7. Astronomical observations made in several
parts of France, &c. These, and some other of his
works, which are much esteemed, are in the sixth and
seven volumes of the Memoirs of the Academy of
Sciences.
PICARDS, a religious sect which arose in Bohemia
in the 15th century.
Picard, the author of this sect, from whom it derived
its name, drew after him, as has been generally said, a
number of men and women, pretending he would restore
them to the primitive state of innocence wherein man
was created : and accordingly he assumed the title of
the JVew Adam. With this pretence he taught his fol¬
lowers to give themselves up to all impurity; saying
that therein consisted the liberty of the sons of God j
and that all those not of their sect were in bondage.
He first published his notions in Germany and the Low
Countries, and persuaded many people to go naked,
and gave them the name of Adamites. After this
he seized on an island in the river Lausnecz, some
leagues from Thabor, the head quarters of Zisca,
where he fixed himself and his followers. His women,
were common, but none were allowed to enjoy them
without his permission : so that when any man desired
a particular woman, he carried her to Picard, who gave
him leave in these words, Go, increase, multiply, and
fill the earth.
At length, however, Zisca, general of the Hussites,
(famous for his victories over the emperor Sigismund),,
hurt at their abominations, marched against them, made
himself master of their island, and put them all to death
except two; whom he spared, that he might learn their
doctrine.
Such is the account which various writers, relying
on the authorities of ./Eneas Sylvius and Varillas, have-
given of the Picards, who appear to have been a party
of the Yaudois, that fled from persecution in their own
country, and sought refuge in Bohemia. It is indeed
doubtful whether a sect of this denomination, charge¬
able with such wild principles and such licentious con¬
duct, ever existed 5. and it is certainly astonishing that
Mr Bayle, in his art. Picards, should adopt the re¬
proachful representations of the writers just mentioned:
for it appears probable at least that the whole is a ca¬
lumny invented and propagated in order to disgrace the
Picards, merely because they deserted the communion
and protested against the errors of the church of Rome.
Lasitius informs us, that Picard, together7with 40 other
persons, besides women and children, settled in Bohemia,
in the year 1418. Ralbinus the Jesuit, in his Epitome
lie rum Rohemicarum, lib. ii. gives a similar account,
and charges on the Picards none of the extravagancies or
crimes ascribed to them by Sylvius. Schlecta, secretary
of Ladislaus, king of Bohemia, in his letters to Erasmus,
in which he gives a particular account of the Picards,
says that they considered the pope, cardinals, and bishops
of Rome, as the true Antichrists, and the adorers of the
consecrated elements in the eucharist as downright
idolaters ; that they denied the corporeal presence of
Christ in this ordinance ; that they condemned the wor¬
ship of saints, prayers for the dead, auricular confession,
the penance imposed by priests, the feasts and vigils ob¬
served in the Romish church ; and that they confined
themselves to the observance of the sabbath, and of the
two great feasts of Christmas and Pentecost. From this
account it would appear that they were no other than
the Yaudois; and M. de Beausobre has shewn that they
were both of the same sect, though under different de¬
nominations. Besides, it is certain that the Vaudois
were
PIC [ 536 ]
wore settled in Bohemia in the year 1178) where some
P I c
PicarJs    ^ , ,
|j of them adopted the rites of the Greek, and otheis tlio-^e
Piccolomi- 0f t|ie Latin church. The former were pretty general¬
ly adhered to till the middle of the 14th century, when
the establishment of the Latin rites caused great distur¬
bance. On the commencement of the national troubles
in Bohemia, on account of the opposition to the papal
power (see Moravians), the Picards more publicly
avowed and defended their religious opinions; and they
formed a considerable body in an island by the river
Launitz or Lausnecz, in the district of Bechin, and ic-
Gurring to arms, were defeated by Zisca. En> yclop. ait.
Picards.
PICARDY, a province in France, is bounded on
the north by Hainault, Artois, and the straits ot Ca¬
lais ; on the east by Champagne; on the south by the
Isle of France ; and on the west by Normandy and the
English channel (a). This province is long and nar¬
row, being usually compared to a bent arm; and in this
figure is nearly 150 miles in length, but not above 40
in breadth, and in many places not above 20. It is ge¬
nerally a level country ; and produces wine, fruit of all
kinds, plenty of corn, and great quantities of hay : but
wood being scarce, most of the inhabitants burn turf.
They have, however, some pit-coal, but it is not so good
as that of England. It was united to the crown of
France in the year 1643. It nearly corresponds with
the present department of the Somme.
Its principal rivers are the Somme, the Oise, the
Canche, the Lanthie, the Lys, the Aa, the Scarpe, and
the PeUle.
The situation of this province on the sea, its many
navigable rivers and canals, with the industry of the
inhabitants, render it the seat of a flourishing trade.
In it are many beautiful silk stuffs, woollen stuffs, coarse
linen, lawn, and soap; it also carries on a large trade
-in corn and pit coal. In the districts of Calais and
Boulogne are annually bred 5000 or 6000 colts, which
being afterwards turned loose in the pastures of Nor¬
mandy, are sold for Norman horses. The fisheries on
this coast are also very advantageous. Ihis province
was formerly divided into Upper, Middle, and Lower
Picardy, and again subdivided into four deputy govern¬
ments. The principal town is Amiens.
PICCOLOMINI, Alexander, archbishop of Pa-
tr&s, and a native of Sienna, where he was born about
the year 1508, was of an illustrious and ancient family,
which came originally from Rome, hut afterwards set¬
tled at Sienna. He composed with success for the
theatre; but he was not more distinguished by his ge¬
nius, than by the puritv of his manners, and his regard
to virtue. His charity was very great; and was chiefly
exerted in relieving the necessities of men of letters.
He has left behind him a number of works in Italian ;
the most remarkable ot which are, 1. ^ arious Drama¬
tic pieces, which laid the first foundation of his charac¬
ter as a writer. 2. A Treatise on the Sphere. 3. A
Theory of the Planets. 4. A Translation of Aristotle’s
Art of Rhetoric and Poetry, in 4to. 5. A System of piccoiomi.
Morality published at Venice, 1575, in 410; translated ^ ni.
into French by Peter de Larivey in 4(0; and printed'"■“—v-'—'
at Paris, 1581. These, with a variety ot other works,
prove his extensive knowledge in natural philosophy,
mathematics, and theology. He was the first who
made use of the Italian language in writing upon phi¬
losophical subjects. He died at Sienna the 12th of
March 1 978, aged 70. A particular catalogue of his
works may be seen in the Typographical Dictionary.
There is one performance ascribed to this author, en¬
titled Dialogo della bella Creanta delle Donne, (printed
at Milan, 1558, and at Venice, 1574, in 8vo.) ; which
hut ill suits the dignity of a prelate. It is filled with
maxims which have an evident tendency to hurt the
morals of young women. Piccolomini’s name, indeed,
is not in the title page ; and it has all the appearance
of being a juvenile production. It is very scarce ; and
the public would sustain no loss by its being entirely
out of print. It was translated into French by F.
d’Amboise, and published at Lyons, in i6mo, under the
title of Instruction desjeunes dames. It was afterwards
reprinted in 1583, under that oiDialogue et Devis des
Demoiselles.
PlCGOLOMINl, Francis, of the same family with the
foregoing, was horn in 1520, and taught philosophy
with success for the space of 2 2 years, in the most ce¬
lebrated universities of Italy, and afterwards retired to
Sienna, where he died, in 1604, at the age of 84.
This city w'ent into mourning on his death. His works
are, 1. Some Commentaries upon Aristotle, printed at
Mayence, 1608, in 410. 2. Universa Philosophia de
Moribirs, printed at Venice, 1583, in folio. He la¬
boured to revive the doctrine of Plato, and endeavoured
also to imitate the manners of that philosopher. He had
for his rival the famous James Zabarella, whom he ex¬
celled in facility of expression and neatness of discourse;
hut to whom he was much inferior in point of argu¬
ment, because he did not examine matters to the bottom
as the other did, hut passed too rapidly from one propo¬
sition to another.
Piccolomini of Arragon, Octavius, duke of Amalfi,
prince of the empire, a general of the emperor’s army,
and knight of the order of the Golden I leece, was
born in 1 599. He first bore arms among the Spanish
troops in Italy. He afterwards served in the army of
Ferdinand 1J. who sent him to the relief of Bohe¬
mia, and entrusted him with the command of the im¬
perial troops in 1634. After having signalized himself
at the battle of Nortlingue, he made Marshal de Cha-
tillon raise the siege of St Omer. He had the good
fortune to gain a victory over Marquis de leuquieres
in 1639 : nor ^0SS battle of Wolfenbut-
tle, in 1651, impair his glory. He died on the 10th
of August 1656, being five years after, aged 57, with¬
out issue ; and with the character of an able negotiator
and an active general. The celebrated Caprara was his
nephew.
Piccolomint,
(a) The origin of the name of this province does not date earlier than A. D. 1200. It was an academical
joke ; an epithet first applied to the quairelsome humour of those students in the umversUy of ^ho cW
from the frontier of France and Flanders, and hence to their country. T alesn Notitm Galharum, p. 447. L g
rac. Description de la France, p. 5 2.
J
Piccolo
mini
11 •
I Pickenn'
P 1 C t 537
Piccolomini, James, whose proper name was Am-
jnanati, took that of Piccolomini in honour of his patron
Pius II. He was born in a village near Lucca in 1422.
j He became bishop of Massa, afterwards of Frescati; a
cardinal in 1461, under the name of Cardinal de Pavie ;
and died in 1479, at t*16 age of 57, of an indigestion of
figs. He left 8000 pistoles in the bankers hands, which
Pope Sixtus IV. claimed 5 and of which he gave a part
to the Hospital oi the Holy Ghost. His works, which
consist ol some Letters, and a history of his own time,
were printed at Milan, in 1521, in folio. His history,
entitled Commentaries, commences the 18th of June
1464, and ends the 6th of December 1469. They
may very properly be considered as a Sequel of Pope
Pius II.’s Commentaries, which end with the year
1463.
Piccolomini, vEneas Sylvius. See Pius II.
PICEN1IA, (Strabo, Pliny), the capital of the
Picentini, whose territory, called Ager Picentinus, a
small district, lay on the J uscan sea, from the Promon-
torium Minervcc, the south boundary of Campania on
the coast, to the river Silarus, the north boundary of
Lucania, extending within-land as far as the Samnites
and Hirpini, though the exact termination cannot be
assigned. The Greeks commonly confound the Pincen-
tini and Picentes, but the Homans carefully distinguish
them. 1 he former, with no more than two towns that
can be named, Silernum and Picentia ; the situation of
both doubtful: only Pliny says the latter stood within-
land, at some distance from the sea. Now thought to
be Biceirza, (Kolstenius), in the Principato Citra of
Naples.
PICENUM, (Caesar, Pliny, Florus) ; Picenus
Acer, (Cicero, Sallust, Livy, Tacitus) 5 Ager Picen-
tium, (Varro) : a territory of Italy, lying to the east of
Umbria, from the Apennine to the Adriatic; on the
coast extending from the river Aesis on the north, as far
as the Preetutianito the south. In the upper or northern
part of their territory the Umbri excluded them from
the Appennine, as far as Camerinum, (Strabo) ; but in
the lower or southern part they extended from the A-
driatic to the Apennine. A very fruitful territory, and
very populous. Picentes, the people, (Cicero); from the
singular Picens, (Livy) : different from the Picentini
on the Tuscan sea, though called so by the Greeks ; but
Ptolemy calls them Piceni, as does also Pliny. Their
territory at this day is supposed to form the greatest part
of the March of Ancona, (Cluverius).
PICHFORD, in the county of Salop in England;
on the south-east side of Shrewsbury, near Condover.
It is noted for a spring of pitchy water (from whence
some derive its name), on the top of which there al¬
ways flows a sort ot liquid bitumen. Over most of the
coal pits in this neighbourhood there lies a stratum
of blackish rock *, of which, by boiling and grind¬
ing, they make pitch and tar, and also distil an oil
from it.
PICHINCHA, or Pinchinca, a mountain in Peru.
See Peru, N° 56.
^ PICKERING, in the north riding of Yorkshire in
England, 13 miles from Scarborough, and 125 from
London, is a pretty large town belonging to the du¬
chy of Lancaster, on a hill among the wild mountains
of Elakemore ; having the forest of Pickering on the
north, and Pickering-common on the south. It is said
Vol. XVI. Part II. f
] PIC
to have been built 270 years before Christ by Peridurus, pickerhu
a king of the Britons, who was buried here. It had ||
once a castle, the ruins of which are still to be seen; to | ^c0-
whose jurisdiction many of the neighbouring villages v "
were subject: and the adjacent territory, commonly
called Pickering-Lath, or the liberty or forest of Picker¬
ing, was given by Henry III. to his son Edmund earl
of Lancaster. A court is kept here for all actions un¬
der 40s. arising within the honour of Pickering.
PICKERY, in Scots Law, petty theft, or stealing
things of small value.
PICKETS, in fortification, stakes sharp at one end,
and sometimes shod with iron, used in laying out the
ground, of about three feet long ; but, when used for
pinning the fascines of a battery, they are from three
to five feet long.
Pickets, in artillery, are about five or six feet long,
shod with iron, to pin the park lines, in laying out the
boundaries of the park.
Pickets, in the camp, are also stakes of about six
or eight inches long, to fasten the tent cords, in pitch¬
ing the tents ; also of about four or five feet long, dri¬
ven into the ground near the tents of the horsemen, to
tie their horses to.
Picket, an out-guard posted before an army, to give
notice of an enemy approaching.
Picket, a kind of punishment so called, where a sol¬
dier stands ivith one foot upon a sharp-pointed stake ;
the time of his standing is limited according to the of¬
fence.
PICKLE, a brine or liquor, commonly composed of
salt, vinegar, &c. sometimes with the addition of spices,
wherein meat, fruit, and other things, are preserved and
seasoned.
PICO, one of the Azores islands, is so called from
some lofty mountains on it; or rather from one very
high mountain, terminating like Teneriffe in a peak,
and reputed by some writers equal to it in height. This
island lies about four leagues south-west from St George,
twelve fromTercera, and about three leagues south-east
of Fayal ; in W. Long. 28. 21. and N. Lat. 38. 29.
The mountain Pico, which gives name to the island, is
filled with dismal dark caverns or volcanoes, which fre¬
quently vomit out flames, smoke, and ashes, to a great
distance. At the foot of this mountain towards the east
is a spring of fresh water, generally cold, but sometimes
so heated with the subterraneous fire, as to rush forth in
torrents with a kind of ebullition like boiling water ;
equalling that in heat, and sending forth a steam of sul¬
phureous fetid vapours, liquefied stones, minerals, and
flakes of earth, all on fire, in such quantities, and with
such a violence, as to have formed a kind of promontory
vulgarly called Mysterios, on the declivity of the coast,
and at the distance of 1200 paces from the fountain.
Such at least is the account of Ortelius ; though we do
not find this last circumstance of the promontory con¬
firmed by later observations. The circumference of
Pico is computed at about 15 leagues : and its most re¬
markable places are Pico, Lagoas, Santa Cruce or Cruz,
San Sebastian, Pesquin, San Roko, Playa, and Magda¬
lena ; the inhabitants of which live wholly on the pro¬
duce of the island, in great plenty and felicity. The
cattle are various, numerous, and excellent in their seve¬
ral kinds : it is the same with the vine; and its juice,
prepared into different wines, the best in the Azores,
3 Y Besides
Pictet
Mod. Univ,
History
■vol xiii.
p. 46. &c.
PIC - [538
Besides cedar and other timber, they have a kind of
wood which they call teixo, solid and hard as iron ; and
veined, when finely polished, like a rich scarlet tabby 5
which colour it has in great perfection. The longer it
is kept, the more beautiful it grows : hence it is, that the
teixo tree is felled only for the king’s use or by his or¬
der ; and is prohibited from being exported as a common
article of trade.
Pico Marina, a sea fish common at Kongo in Africa,
derives its name from the resemblance of its mouth to
the beak of a woodpecker. It is of large size, and
prodigious strength, has four fins on its back, three un¬
der us belly, and one on each side of its head ; its tail
is large and forked, by which it cuts the waves with
surprising force and velocity. It is at war with every
fish that swims, and with every thing it meets in its
way, without being intimidated by the largest vessels $
a surprising instance of which intrepidity, we are told by
some missionaries, whose ship was attacked by one of
them, near these coasts, in the dead of night. The vio¬
lence of the shock which it gave to the vessel quickly
awakened the captain and the rest of the people ; who
immediately ran to the ship’s side, where they perceived,
by moonliglit, this huge monster fastened by its fore¬
head to the vessel, and making the strongest efforts to
disengage itself j upon which some of them tried to pierce
him with their pikes, but he got off before they could
accomplish their aim. On the next morning, upon vi¬
siting that side of the vessel, they found a piece of the
bony snout stuck fast into the wood, and two or three
inches of it projecting outwards. In the inside of the
ship, there was discovered about five or six inches more
of the point of the horn, which had penetrated through
the plank. But we must observe, that the credulity of
the times probably rendered this animal thus formidable.
PICQUERING, flying war, or skirmish, made by
soldiers detached from two armies for pillage, or before
a main battle begins,
PICQUET, or Picket. See Piquet.
P1CRAMNIA, a genus of plants belonging to the
dioecia class j and in the natural method ranking with
those that are doubtful. See Botany Index.
PICRANIA amara, or Bitter Jfrood, is a tall and
beautiful timber tree, common in the woods of Jamaica,
belonging to the pentandria class of plants. The name
is expressive of its sensible qualities.
Every part of this tree is intensely bitter j and even
after the tree has been laid for floors many years, who¬
ever rubs or scrapes the wood, feels a great degree of
bitterness in their mouth or throat. Cabinet-work
made of this wood is very useful, as no insect will live
near it.
This tree has a great affinity to the Quassia Amara
of Linnaeus j in lieu of which it is used as an antiseptic
in putrid fevers. When used, less of it will do than of
the Quassia Amara of Surinam. See Quassia, Bota¬
ny and Materia Medica Index.
PICR1S, Ox-tongue ; a genus of plants belonging
to the syngenesia class. See Botany Index.
PICRIUM, a genus of plants belonging to the te-
tandria class j and in the natural method ranking with
those that are doubtful. See Botany Index.
PICTET, Benedict, a celebrated divine, was born
at Geneva, in 1655, of a distinguished family, and prose¬
cuted his studies with great success. After having travel-
Picts.
PIC
led into Holland and England, he taught theology in his Pictet
own country with an extraordinary reputation. The
university of Leyden, alter the death ol Spantrema, so¬
licited him to come and fill bis place 5 but he thought
that his own country had the best right to his services;
and for that generosity he received its thanks by the
mouth of the members of council. A languishing dis¬
order, occasioned by too much fatigue, hastened his
death: which happened on tire 9th of June I724> at
the age of 69 years. This minister had much sweetness
and afl’ability in his manner. The poor found in him a
comforter and a lather. He published a great number
of works in Latin and French, which are much esteem¬
ed in Protestant countries. The principal of these are,
I. A System of Christian Theology in Latin, 3 vols. in
4to j the best edition of which is that of 1721. 2. Chris¬
tian Morality, printed at Geneva, 1710, 8 vols. in
i2mo. 3. The History of the nth and I2th centu¬
ries j intended as a sequel to that of Sueur, printed in
1713, 2 vols. in 410. The Continuator is held in higher
estimation than the first author. 4. Several Controver¬
sial Treatises. 5. A great number of tracts on morali¬
ty and piety among which we must distinguish “ the
Art of Living and Dying well published at Geneva,
1705, in 12mo. 6. Some Letters. 7. Some Ser¬
mons, from 1697 to 1721-, 4 vols. in 8vo. With a
vast number of other books, the names of which it
would be tedious to mention j but which, as Mr Sen-
nebier says, “ all show evident maiks of piety and good
sense.”
Pictet, John-Louis, a counsellor of Geneva, born
in 1739, was of the same family. He was member of
the Council of Two Hundred ; counsellor of State and
Syndic j and died in 1781. He applied himself to the
study of astronomy,and made several voyagesinto! ranee
and England for his improvement. Few men were ever
blessed with a clearer or more enlightened understand¬
ing. He has left in manuscript the “ Journal of a
Voyage which he made to Russia and Siberia in 1768
and 1769, in order to observe the transit of Venus over
the sun’s disk:” A work very interesting, from the
lively descriptions which it gives both of men and of
nature.
PICTLAND. See Pentland.
PICTS, the name of one of those nations who an-Name
ciently possessed the north ot Britain. It is generally
believeel that they were so called from their custom of
painting their bodies j an opinion which Camden sup¬
ports with great erudition. (See Gough’s eelition, Vol.
I. p. xci. of the preface). It is certainly liable, how¬
ever, to considerable objections j for as this custom pre¬
vailed among the other ancient inhabitants ot Britain,
who used the glastum of Pliny and the vitrum of Mela
for the like purpose, it may be asked, W hy the name
of Picti was confined by the Romans to only one tribe,
when it was equally applicable to many others? Why
should they design them only by an epithet, without ever
annexing their proper name ? Or why should they im¬
pose a new name on this people only, when they give
their proper name to every other tribe which they have
occasion to speak of? As these questions cannot be an¬
swered in any satisfactory manner, it is plain we must
look for some other derivation ot the name.
The Highlanders of Scotland, who speak the ancient
language of Caledonia, express the name of this once fa-
P I c
Piets. mous nation by the term Pictich; a name familiar to
the ears of the most illiterate, who could never have de¬
rived it from the Roman authors. The word Pictich
means pilferers or plunderers. The appellation was pro-
bably imposed upon this people by their neighbours, or
assumed by themselves, some time after the reign of Ca-
racalla, when the unguarded state of the Roman pro¬
vince, on which this people bordered, gave them fre¬
quent opportunities of making incursions thither, and
committing depredations. Accordingly this name seems
to have been unknown till the end of the 3d century.
Eumenius the panegyrist is the first Roman author wlio
mentions this people under their new name of Pictich,
or, with a Latin termination, Picti. When we say that
this name may have been probably assumed for the rea¬
son just now mentioned, we must observe, that, in those
days of violence, the character of a robber was attended
with no disgrace. If he had the address to form his
schemes well, and to execute them successfully, he was
rather praised than blamed for his conduct ; providing
he made no encroachments on the property of his own
tribe or any of its allies. We mean this as no peculiar
stigma upon the Piets ; for other nations of antiquity, in
the like rude state, thought and acted as they did. See
4 Thucydides, lib. iii. p. 3. and Virg. iEn. vii. 745 et 749.
0nn. Concerning the origin of the Piets, authors are much
divided. Boethius derives them from the Agathyrsi,
Pomponius Lsetus from the Germans, Bede from the
Scythians, Camden (a) and lather Innes from the
ancient Britons, Siillingflect from a people inhabiting
the Cimbrica Chersonesus, and Keating and O’Flaherty,
on the authority of the Cashel Psalter, derive them
from the Thracians. But the most probable opinion
is, that they were the descendants of the old Caledo¬
nians. Several reasons are urged in support of this opi¬
nion by Dr Macpherson ; and the words of Eumenes,
“ Caledonum, aliorumque Pictorum, silvus,” &c. plain¬
ly imply that the Piets and Caledonians were one and
the same people.
As there has been much dispute about the origin of
thePicts, so there has been likewise about their language.
There are many reasons which make it plain that their
tongue was the Gaelic or Celtic •, and these reasons are
a further confirmation of their having been of Caledo¬
nian extract. Through the east and north-east coasts of
Scotland (which were possessed by the Piets) we meet
0 'with an innumerable list of names of places, rivers, moun-
Sjuage. tains, &c. which are manifestly Gaelic. From a very
old register of the priory of St Andrew’s (Dalrymple’s
Collections, p. 122.) it appears, that in the days of
Hungus, the last Pictish king of that name, St An¬
drew’s was called Mukross ; and that the town now cal¬
led Queensferry bad the name of drd hinneachan. Both
these words are plain Gaelic. The first signifies “ the
heath or promontory of boars j” and the latter, “ the
height or peninsula of Kenneth.” In the list of Pictish
kings published by Father Innes, most of the names are
r 539 ]
P I c
published by the same author. Had Innes understood pjcts.
any thing of this language, he would not have supposed v*"”
with Camden that the Piets spoke the British tontrue.
It was unlucky that the two words on which they built
their conjecture {Strath and jdber') are as common in
the Gaelic as they could have been in the British, and
at this day make a part of the names of places in coun¬
tries to which the Pictish empire never extended. The
names of Strathjillan and Lochaber may serve as in¬
stances.
The venerable Bede, as much a stranger to the Cel¬
tic as either of the antiquaries just now mentioned, is
equally unhappy in the specimen which he gives of the
Pictish language in the word penuahel, “ the head of
the wall.” Allowing the commutation of the initial
p into c, as in some other cases, this word has still the
same meaning in Gaelic which Bede gives it in the
Pictish. It is true, there might have been then, as well
as now, a considerable difference between various dia¬
lects of the Celtic ; and thus, perhaps, that pious author
was led to discover five languages in Britain agreeably
to the Jive books of Moses: A conceit from which the
good man derived a great deal of harmless satisfaction.
Ihe Piets ot the earliest ages, as appears from theTenitoiy,
joint testimony of all writers who have examined the
subject, possessed only the east and north-east coast of
Scotland. On one side, the ancient Drumalbin, or that
ridge of mountains reaching from Lochlomond near
Dumbarton to the frith of Tain, which separates the
county of Sutherland from a part of Ross, was the
boundary of the Pictish dominions. Accordingly we
find in the life of Columba, that, in travelling to the
palace of Brudius, king of the Piets, he travelled over
Drumalbin, the Dorsum Britannia? of Adamnan. On
the other side, the territory of the Piets was bounded
by the Roman province. After Britain was relinquish¬
ed by the emperor Honorius, they and the Saxons by
turns were masters of those countries which lie. between
the frith of Edinburgh and the river Tweed. We learn
from Bede, that the Saxons were masters of Galloway
when he finished his Ecclesiastical History. The Piets,
however, made a conquest of that country soon after j
so that, before the extinction of their monarchy, all the
territories bounded on the one side by the Forth and
Clyde, and on the other by the Tweed and Solway, fell
into their hands.
The history of the Piets, as well as of all the other History,
ancient inhabitants of Britain, is involved in obscurity.
The Irish historians give us a long list of Pictish kings,
who reigned over Pictavia for the space of 11 or 13
centuries before the Christian era. After them Innes,
in his Critical Essay, gives us a list of above fifty, of
whom no less than five held the sceptre, each for a whole
century. It is probable that these writers had confound¬
ed the history of the Piets with that of their ancestors
the old Caledonians. In any other view, their accounts
of them are highly fabulous ; and have been long ago
jl m.ici ui iicvinca ui mem a.ic luguiy lauuiuu* , auu nave oeen long ago
obviously Gaelic, ami in many instances the same with confuted by Dr Macpherson of Slate, an antiquary of
the names in the list of Scottish or Caledonian kings much learning and research. The Piets, as has been
3 ^ 2 already
(a) See Gough's edition of Camden, Vol, I. Preface, p. xc. and the Ancient Universal History, Vol. XVIL
p. 39, &c.
PIC [ 540 ] PIC
already observed, were probably not known by that
name before the 2d or 3d century. Adamnan, abbot
of Iona, is the first author that expressly mentions any
Pictish king ; and the oldest after him is Bede. We
are informed by these two writers, that St Columba
converted Brudius king ol the I icts to the Cdinstian
faith. Columba came into Britain in the year of the
vulgar era 565. Before that period we have no gene¬
ral Record to ascertain so much as the name of any Pic¬
tish king. The history of Drust or Brest, who is said
to have reigned over the Piets in the beginning of the
fifth century,.when St Ninian first preached the gospel
to that nation, has all the appearance of fiction (b).
His having reigned a hundred years, and his putting an
end to a hundred wars, are stories which exceed all the
bounds of probability.
Brudius, the contemporary of Columba, is the first
Pictish king mentioned by any writer of authority.
What figure his ancestors made, or rvho were his suc¬
cessors on the throne of Pictavia, cannot be ascertained.
Bede informs us, that, during the reign of one of them,
the Piets killed Egfred king of Northumberland in bat¬
tle, and destroyed the greatest part of his army. The
same author mentions another of their kings called Nai-
tan, for whom he had a particular regard. It was to
this Naitun that Ceolfrid, abbot of Wiremeuth, wrote
his famous letter concerning Easter and the Tonsure
(c) •, a letter in which Bede himself is supposed to have
had a principal hand. Roger Hoveden and Simon of
Durham mention two other Pictish kings Onnust and
Kinoth, the first of whom died in 761, and the latter
flourished about the 744, and gave an asylum to Alfred
of Northumberland, who was much about that time ex¬
pelled his kingdom. The accounts given by the Scots
historians of several other Pictish kings cannot be de¬
pended on ) nor are the stories told by the British his¬
torians, Geoflroy of Monmouth and the author of the
Eulogium Britannia, worthy of much greater credit.
In the ninth century the Pictish nation was totally
subdued by the Scots in the reign of Kenneth Macalpin.
Since that time their name has been lost in that of the
conquerors, with whom they were incorporated after
this conquest; however, they seem to have been treated
by the Scottish kings with great lenity, so that for some
ages after they commanded a great deal of respect.
The prior of Hogulstead, an old English historian, re¬
lates, that they made a considerable figure in the army
of David the Saint, in his disputes with Stephen king
of England. In a battle fought in the year 1136, by
the English on one side, and the Scots and Piets on the
other, the latter insisted on their hereditary right of
leading the van of the Scots army, and were indulged in
that request by the king.
The principal seat of the Pictish kings was at Aber- pjt.ts
nethy. Brudius, however, as appears from the accounts ||
given by Adamnan, in his life of Columba, had a pa-Hcturesqul
lace at Inverness, which was probably near the extre-,
mity of his territory in that quarter; for there is no
good reason for believing, with Camden, that this king
had any property in the Western Isles, or that he had
made a gift of Iona to St Columba when he visited him
in that place. 6
With respect to the manners and customs of the Manners,
Piets, there is no reason to suppose they were any
other than those of the old Caledonians and Scots, of
which many particulars are related in the Greek and
Roman writers who have occasion to speak of those na¬
tions.
Upon the decline of the Roman empire, cohorts of
barbarians were raised, and Piets vrere invited into the
service, by Honorius, when peace was everywhere re¬
stored, and were named Honoriaci. Those under Con¬
stantine opened the passes of the Pyrenean mountains,
and let the barbarous nations into Spain. From this pe ¬
riod we date the civilization of their manners, which
happened after they had by themselves, and then with
the Scots, ravaged this Roman province.
Picts Wall, in antiquity, a wall begun by the em¬
peror Adrian, on the northern bounds of England, to
prevent the incursions of the Picts and Scots. It wTas
first made only of turf strengthened with palisadoes,
till the emperor Severus, coming into Britain in per¬
son, built it with solid stone. This wall, part of which
still remains, began at the entrance of the Solway frith
in Cu mberland, and running north-east extended to the
German ocean. See Adrian and Severus.
PICTURE, a piece of painting, or a subject repre¬
sented in colours, on wood, canvas, paper, or the like.
See Painting.
PICTURESQUE BEAUTY, says a late writer on that
subject, refers to “ such beautiful objects as are suited
to the pencil.” This epithet is chiefly applied to the
works of nature, though it will often apply to works of
art also. Those objects are most properly denominated
picturesque, which are disposed by the hand of nature
with a mixture of varied rudeness, simplicity, gran¬
deur. A plain neat garden, with little variation in its
plan, and no striking grandeur in its position, displays
too much of art, design, and uniformity, to be called
picturesque. “ The ideas of neat and smooth (says
Mr Gilpin), instead of being picturesque, in fact dis¬
qualify the object in which they reside from any preten¬
sions to picturesque beauty. Nay, farther, we do not
scruple to assert, that roughness forms the most essential
point of difference between the beautiful and the pictu¬
resque 5 as it seems to be that particular quality which
makes
(b) According to Camden, this conversion happened about the year 630, in the southern Pictish provinces 5
while the northern, which were separated by fruitful mountains, were converted by Columba.
(c) We are told by sume authors that Columba taught the Picts to celebrate Easter always on a Sunday be¬
tween the 14th and 20th of March, and to observe a different method of tonsure from the Romans, leaving an
imperfect appearance of a crown.. This occasioned much dispute till Naitan brought his subjects at length to
the Roman rule. In that age many of the Picts went on a pilgrimage to Rome, according to the custom ol the
times; and amongst the rest we find two persons mentioned in the antiquities ol St Peter’s church... Astenus
count of the Picts, and Syra with his countrymen, performed their vow.
. p 1 c . . [54
icturesque makes objects chiefly pleasing in painting. I use the ge-
Beauty. neral term roughness-, but properly speaking roughness
—* ' relates only to the surfaces of bodies : when w'e speak
of their delineation, we use the word 1'uggedness. Both
ideas, however, equally enter into the picturesque, and
both are observable in the smaller as well as in the
larger parts of nature ; in the outline and bark of a
tree, as in the rude summit and craggy sides of a moun¬
tain.
Let us then examine our theory by an appeal to
experience, and try how far these qualities enter into
the idea of picturesque beauty, and how far they mark
that dift'erence among objects which is the ground of
our inquiry.
“ A piece of Palladian architecture may be elegant
in the last degree ; the proportion of its parts, the pro¬
priety of its ornaments, and the symmetry of the whole,
may be highly pleasing •, but if we introduce it in a pic¬
ture, it immediately becomes a formal object, and ceases
to please. Should rve wish to give it picturesque beau¬
ty, we must use the mallet instead of the chissel; we must
beat down one half of it, deface the other, and throw
the mutilated members around in heaps; in short, from
a smooth building we must turn it into a rough ruin.
No painter who had the choice of the two "objects
would hesitate a moment.
“ Again, why does an elegant piece *of garden-
ground make no figure on canvas? the shape is plea¬
sing, the combination of the objects harmonious, and
the winding of the walk in the very line of beauty. All
this is true ; but the smoothness of the whole, though
right and as it should be in nature, offends in picture.
Turn the lawn into a piece of broken ground, plant rug¬
ged oaks instead of flowering shrubs, break the edges of
the walk, give it the rudeness of a road, mark it with
wheel tracks, and scatter around a few stones and brush¬
wood j in a word, instead of making the whole smooth,
make it rough, and you make it also picturesque. All
the other ingredients of beauty it already possessed.”
On the whole, picturesque composition consists in uni¬
ting in one whole, a variety of parts, and these parts
can only be obtained from rough objects.
It is possible, therefore, to find picturesque objects
among works of art, and it is possible to make objects
so 5 but the grand scene of picturesque beauty is na¬
ture in all its original variety, and in all its irregular
grandeur. “ We seek it (says our author) among all the
ingredients of landscape, trees, rocks, broken grounds,
woods, rivers, lakes, plains, valleys, mountains, and di¬
stances. These objects in themselves produce infinite
variety ; no twm rocks or trees are exactly the same ;
they are varied a second time by combination ; and al¬
most as much a third time by different lights and shades
and other aerial effects. Sometimes we find amont*-
them the exhibition of a whole, but oftener we find only
beautiful parts.”
Sublimity or grandeur alone cannot make an object
picturesque : for, as our author remarks, “ however
grand the mountain or the rock may be, it has no
claim to this epithet, unless its form, its colour, or its
accompaniments, have some degree of beauty. No¬
thing can be more sublime than the ocean ; but wholly
unaccompanied, it has little of the picturesque. When
we talk therefore of a sublime object, we always under-
£ta.nd that it is also beautiful j and we call it sublime or
I ] PIC
beautiful only as the ideas of sublimity or simple beauty Picturesque
prevail. But it is not only the form and the composi- Beauty,
tion of the objects of landscape which the picturesque * ‘
eye examines j it connects them with the atmosphere,
and seeks for all those various effects which are produ¬
ced from that vast and wonderful storehouse of nature.
Nor is there in travelling a greater pleasure than when
a scene of grandeur bursts unexpectedly upon the eye,
accompanied with some accidental circumstance of the
atmosphere which harmonizes with it, and gives it
double value.”
I here are few places so barren as to afford no pic¬
turesque scene.
-Believe the muse,
She does not know that inauspicious spot
Where beauty is thus niggard of her store.
Believe the muse, through this terrestrial waste
l he seeds of grace are sown, profusely sown,
Even w'here we least may hope.———
Mr Gilpin mentions the great military road between
Newcastle and Carlisle as the most barren tract of
country in England j and yet there, he says, there is
“ always something to amuse the eye. The inter¬
changeable patches of heath and green-sward make an
agreeable variety. Often too on these vast tracts of
intersecting grounds we see beautiful lights, softening
off along the sides of hills ; and often we see them
adorned with cattle, flocks of sheep, heath-cocks, grouse,
plover, and flights of other wild fowl. A group of cat¬
tle standing in the shade on the edge of a dark hill, and
relieved by a lighter distance beyond them, will often
make a complete picture without any other accompani¬
ment. In many other situations also we find them won¬
derfully pleasing, and capable of making pictures amidst
all the deficiencies of landscape. Even a winding road
itself is an object of beauty j while the richness of the
heath on each side, with the little hillocks and crum¬
bling earth, give many an excellent lesson for a fore¬
ground. When we have no opportunity of examining
the grand scenery of nature, w'e have everywhere at least
the means of observing with what a multiplicity of parts,
and yet with what general simplicity, she covers every
surface.
“ But if we let the imagination loose, even scenes
like these administer great amusement. The imagi¬
nation can plant hills ; can form rivers and lakes in
valleys ; can build castles and abbeys ; and, if it find
no other amusement, can dilate itself in vast ideas of
space.”
Mr Gilpin, after describing such objects as may be
called picturesque, proceeds to consider their sources of
amusement. We cannot follow our ingenious author
through the whole of this consideration, and shall there¬
fore finish our article with a short quotation from the be¬
ginning of it. “ We might begin (says he) in moral
style, and consider the objects of nature in a higher liofit
than merely as amusement. We, might observe, that a
search after beauty should naturally lead the mind to
the great origin of all beauty ; to the
 — first.good, first perfect, and first fair.
But though in theory this seems a natural climax, we
insist the less upon it, as in fact we have scarce ground
to hope that every admirer of picturesque beauty is an
admirer
Pictu¬
resque
Beauty
Piece.
PIE [ 542 1 PIE
admirer also of the beauty of virtue ; and that every
lover of nature reflects, that
Nature is but a name for an effect.
Whose cause is God.  
If, however, the admirer of nature can turn his amuse¬
ments to a higher purpose j if its great scenes can in¬
spire him with a religious awe, or its tranquil scents
with that complacency of mind which is so nearly al¬
lied to benevolence, it is certainly the better. Apponat
lucro. It is so much into the bargain *, for we dare not
promise him more from picturesque travel than a ra¬
tional and agreeable amusement. Yet even this may
be of some use in an asje teeming with licentious plea¬
sure ; and may in this light at least be considered as
having a moral tendency.
PICUIPINIMA, is the Brasilian name of a species
of pigeon, which is so very small as scarcely to exceed
the laik in size.
PiCUMNUS and PlLUMNUS, were two Homan dei¬
ties, who presided over the auspices required before the
celebration of nuptials. Pilumnus was supposed to pa¬
tronize children, as his name seems in some manner to
indicate quod pellat mala infantice. The manuring of
land was first invented by Picumnus, from which reason
he is called Sterquilinius. Pilumnus is also invoked as
the god of bakers and millers, as he is said to have first
invented the art of grinding corn.
PICUS, the Woodpecker, a genus of birds be¬
longing to the order of Picae. See Ornithology
Index.
Picus, in fabulous history, a king of Latium, son of
Saturn. He married Yenilia, also called Canens, by
whom he had Faunus. He was tenderly loved by the
goddess Pomona, and be returned her affection. As he
was one day bunting in the woods, he was met by Circe,
who became deeply enamoured of him, and who changed
him into a woodpecker, called by the name of picus
among the Latins. His wife Yenilia was so disconso¬
late when she was informed of his death, that she pined
away. Some suppose that Picus wTas the son ol Pilum¬
nus, and that he gave out prophecies to his subjects by
means of a favourite woodpecker j from which circum¬
stance originated the fable of his being metamorphosed
into a bird.
Picus, JoJm Francis, prince of Mirandola, nephew of
John Pica or Picus, mentioned above, was born about the
Year 1469. He cultivated learning and the sciences af¬
ter the example of his uncle ; but he had a principality
and dominion to superintend, which involved him in
great troubles, and at last cost him his life. He was
twice driven from his principality, and twice restored
and at last, in 1533, was, together with his eldest son
Albert, assassinated in his own castle by his nephew Ga-
leoti. He was a great lover of letters ; and such of his
works as were then composed were inserted in the Stras-
burg edition of his uncle’s in 1504, and continued in
future impressions, besides some others which were never
collected.
PIECE, in matters of money, signifies sometimes
the same thing with species j and sometimes, by adding
the value of the pieces, it is used to express such as have
no other particular name. For the piece of eight, or pi¬
astre, see Money Table.
Piece, is also a kind of money of account, or rather
1
manner of accounting, used among the negroes on the Tiece.
coast of Angola in Africa. See Money Table. Piedmont
Piece, in Heraldry, denotes an ordinary or charge. » ^
The honourable pieces of the shield are the chief, f'ess,
bend, pale, bar, cross, saltier, chevron, and in gene¬
ral all these which may take up one-third of the field,
when alone, and in what manner soever it be. See
Heraldry.
Pieces, in the military art, include all sorts of great
guns and mortars. Battering pieces are the larger
sort of guns used at sieges for making the breaches •>
such are the 24-pounder and culverine, the one carry¬
ing a 24 and the other an 18 pound ball. Field-pieces
are 12 pounds, demiculverines, 6-pounders, sackers, mi¬
nions, and 3-pounders, which march with the army, and
encamp always behind the second line, but in day of
battle are in the front. A soldier’s firelock is likewise
called bis piece.
PIEDMONT, a country of Italy, having formerly
the title of a piincipality, is bounded on the north by
Savoy and Italy •, on the west by France 5 on the south
by the Mediterranean and the republic of Genoa j and
on the east by the duchies of Montferrat and Milan j
extending about 150 miles from north to south, but
much less from east to west. It is called Piedmont, and
in Latin Piedmontium, from its situation at the foot of
the mountains, or Alps, which separate France from
Italy. This country is in some parts mountainous, but
is everywhere verv fruitful. The plains produce line
corn, and Montferrat and the Milanese yield great quan¬
tities of Turkey rvheat, which commonly serves lor
bread, and with which the people of the middle rank
mix rye} the pods are used for fuel, and the stalks be¬
ing thick serve to mend the roads. The hills produce
plenty of wine, which, like the Italian wines, is very
luscious when new, especially the white. J here is
also a tartish red wine called vino brusco, said to be very
wholesome for fat people, and, on the other hand, the
sweet wine is recommended as a stomachic. Hie
neighbourhood of Turin is famous for its fine fruits,
and many long walks of chesnut and mulberry trees,
which produce both pleasure and profit. Marons, or
large chesnuts, are a favourite dainty among the com¬
mon people. These are put into an oven, and, when
thoroughly hot, and cooled in red wine, are dried a
second time in the oven, and afterwards eaten cold.
Truffles grow here in such abundance, that Piedmont
has obtained the name of the trujjle country*. Some are
black, others white marbled with red. I heir price is
rated according to their size. Sometimes they are
found of 12 or 14 pounds weighty and many country
people earn from 60 to 70 dollars a-year merely by dig¬
ging for them. The trade in cattle is said to bring
into Piedmont no less than three millions ol livres per
annum. The cultivation of silk is also a profitable arti¬
cle, the Piedmontese silk being, on account of its fine¬
ness and strength, esteemed the best in Italy. The Pied¬
montese gentry breed vast numbers of silk-worms un¬
der the care of their tenants, who have the eggs and
mulberry leaves delivered to them, and in return they
give half the silk to their masters. This principality
comprehends eleven small provinces : Piedmont proper,
the valleys between France and Italy, the valley of
Saluza, the county of Nice, the marquisate of Susa,
the duchy of Aost, the Canavese, the lordship of Yet-
PIE [ 543 ] PIE
/
liecimont. sail, the comity of Ast, and the Langes. It was for-
merly a part of Lombardy, but now belongs to the king
of Sardinia, and lies at the foot of the Alps, which
separate France from Italy. It contains many high
mountains, among which there are rich and fruitful val¬
leys, as pleasant and populous as any part of Italy. In
the mountains are mines of several kinds, and the fo¬
rests afford a great deal of curious game, among which
the tumor is an useful animal. “ The mules (says Mr
Watkins) are very fine in this country ; but. the inha¬
bitants have other beasts, or rather monsters, which they
find very serviceable, though vicious and obstinate.
These are produced by a cow and an ass, or mare and
bull, and ca\\e<\ jumarres or gimerri (a). 1 cannot say
that I have ever seen any of them, but I am told they
are very common.”
The Piedmontese are said to be more intelligent
than the Savoyards, but less sincere. Some authors
represent them as lively, artful, and witty, the inhabi¬
tants of the mountain of Aosta excepted, who are far¬
ther distinguished by large wens, as even their horses,
dogs, and other animals. Mr Baretti, however, in his
Account of halt/, vol. ii. p. 116. gives the following ac¬
count of them. “ One of the chief qualities (says he),
which distinguish the Piedmontese from all other Ita¬
lians, is their want of cheerfulness. Piedmont never
produced a single good poet, as far as the records of
the country can go, whereas there is no other province
of Italy but what can boast of some poet ancient or
modern j and yet the Piedmontese are not deficient in
several branches of learning, and some of them have
succeeded tolerably well in civil law, physic, and the
mathematics. It is likewise observed of this people,
that none of them ever attained to any degree of ex¬
cellence in the polite arts, and it is but lately that they
can boast of a painter, Cavaliero Bomente ; a statuary,
Signor Lodetto $ and some architects, Conte Alfieri,
Signor Borra, and others, who yet, to say the truth,
are far inferior to numberless artists produced by the
other provinces of Italy. They have, on the other
hand, greatly advanced when considered as soldiers ;
though their troops have never been very numerous,
every body conversant in history knows the brave stand
they made for some centuries past against the French,
Spaniards, and Germans, whenever they have been in¬
vaded by these nations. The skill of the Piedmontese
in fortification is likewise very great, and their Ben¬
ias and Pintos have shown as much genius as the Vau-
bans and Cohorns, in rendering impregnable severwl
places which inferior engineers would only have made
secure.”
The chief trade of this principality consists in hemp
and silk. Indeed, so great is their trade in raw silk,
that the English alone have purchased to the value of
200,000 lib. in a year. The silkworm thrives so well,
that many peasants make above (b) ioo lib. of silk an-
nually $ and it is not only abundant, but universally
known to be stronger and finer than any in Italy. The
land owners divide the profit with their tenants. The
Piedmontese workmen, however, are said to want ex¬
pertness, though they finish their work equally well
with those of other natoins. The high duty and land-
carriage on mules likewise tend to lessen the value of
this trade. They have besides corn, rice, wine, fruits,
flax, and cattle.
In the valleys of Lucerne, Peyrouse, and St Martin,
which have always belonged to Piedmont, live the cele¬
brated Waldenses or Vaudois, a name which signifies
people of the valleys. These have rendered themselves
famous in history for their dissent from the Romish
church long before the time of Luther and Calvin, and
for the persecutions they have suffered on that account;
but since the year 1730 they have not been openly mo¬
lested for their religion, but, in order to suppress them
by degrees, a popish church has been built in every pa¬
rish. They are heavily taxed, and labour under great
oppressions. The number of people in these valleys
scarce at present exceeds 10,000, of which igoo are
Catholics. The chief river of Piedmont is the Po, which
flows out of Mount Viso. The river Sesia, the Doria,
Baltea, the ancient Druria, the Tenaro, and several
others, run into it. The Var, anciently called the Va¬
rus, rises in the county of Nice, and after watering it
empties itself into the Mediterranean. The language of
the Piedmontese is a mixture of French and Italian.
In this country are about 50 earldoms, 15 marquisates,
a multitude ot lordships, and 20 abbeys. Though the
country be entirely popish, except some vallevs inhabit¬
ed by the Waldenses, the king reserves to himself the
greatest part of the power in church affairs, which in
many other places is given up to the pope, and the con¬
stitution unigenitus is here universally-opposed. Towards
the end of the 17th century, the French king persuaded
the duke of Savoy to drive them out of the country •, in
consequence of which 200,000 of them retired to Ger¬
many, England, and Holland, and yet they are not all
extirpated, though, as we have observed, they are ob¬
liged to have a Roman Catholic church in every parish.
Turin, formerly the residence of the king of Sardinia,
to whom this principality belonged, is the chief city.
See Turin. The number of inhabitants, Mr Watkins
says, in Piedmont and Savoy, amount to 2,695,727
souls, of which Turin contains about 77,000. Pied¬
mont was long subject to France, but was restored to
the king of Sardinia with the rest of his continental do¬
minions in 1814.
PIENES, a small island of Japan, opposite to the
harbour of Saccai, is famed not only for the beauty of
its walks, to which crowds of people resort from the
city, but for a deity worshipped there, to which vast
numbers of persons devote themselves. They go from
his temple to the sea side, where they enter into a boat
provided
Piedmont,
Pieues.
(a) These equivocal animals, however, if we may so term them, are so generally mentioned by-travellers in
this part of Europe, that we have no doubt of their existence, or of their being found hardy and serviceable as la¬
bourers.
(B) Each pound is valued in Piedmont at 18s. The little village of La Tour, in the valley of Lucerne, makes
above 50,000 lb. annually, and the exports every year to the single city of Lyons amount to more than l6o,oool.
sterling.
P 1 E
[ 544- ]
PIE
Picncs provided for the purpose } then, launching into the deep,
j| they throw themselves overboard, loaded with stones, and
Pierides. to the bottom. The temple of that deity, which is
' called Canon, is very large and lofty, and so are many
others in the city itself; one in particular, dedicated to
the gods of other countries, is thought the finest in the
whole empire.
PIEPOUDRE, Court of, the lowest, and at the
same time the most expeditious, court of justice known
to the law of England. It is called piepoudre, {curia
pedispulverizati), from the dusty feet of the suitors 5 or,
according to Sir Edward Coke, because justice is there
done as speedily as dust can fall from the foot: Upon
the same principle that justice among the Jews was ad¬
ministered in the gate of the city, that the proceedings
might be the more speedy, as well as public. But the
etymology given us by a learned modern writer is
much more ingenious and satisfactory j it being de¬
rived, according to him, from piedpuldrcaux, “ a ped¬
lar,” in old French, and therefore signifying the court
of such petty chapmen as resort to fairs or markets. It
is a court of record incident to every fair and market;
of which the steward of him who owns or has the toll ot
the market is the judge. It was instituted to administer
justice for all commercial injuries done in that very fair
or market, and not in any preceding one. So that the
injury must be done, complained of, heard, and deter¬
mined, within the compass of one and the same day, un¬
less the fair continues longer. The court hath cogniz¬
ance of all matters of contract that can possibly arise
within the precinct of that fair or market j and the plain¬
tiff must make oath that the cause of an action arose
there. From this court a writ of error lies, in the na¬
ture of an appeal, to the courts at Westminster. rIhe
reason of its institution seems to have been, to do jus¬
tice expeditiously among the variety of persons that
resort from distant places to a fair or market j since it
' is probable, that no other inferior court might be able
to serve its process, or execute its judgments, on both
or perhaps either of the parties ; and therefore, unless
this court had been erected, the complaint must neces¬
sarily have resorted even in the first instance to some
superior judicature.
PIER, in building, denotes a mass of stone, &c.
opposed by way of fortress to the force of the sea, or
a great river, for the security of ships that lie at har¬
bour in any haven.
Piers of a Bridge. See Bridge.
P1ERCEA. See Rivinia.
PIERIA, in Ancient Geography, a district of Mace¬
donia, contained between the mouths of the rivers Lu-
dias and Peneus j extended by Strabo beyond the Lu-
dias, to the river Axios on the north, and on the south
no farther than the Aliacmon, along the west side of
the Sinus Thermaicus.—Another Pieria of Syria, the
north part of Seleucia, or the Antiochena, situated on
the Sinus Issicus, and lying next Cilicia to the north¬
west.
PIERIDES, in fabulous history, the daughters of
Pierus a Macedonian prince, presuming to dispute with
the muses for the prize of poetry, were turned into mag¬
pies. The name of Pierides was also given to the muses,
from Mount Pieris in Thessaly, which was consecrated
to them} or, according to others, from Pieris, a Thes-
3
Pierre.
salian poet, who was the first who sacrificed to them, pierides
See Pieris.
P1ERINO del Vaga, an eminent Italian painter,
born of poor parents in Tuscany, about the year 1500.
He was placed apprentice with a grocer in Florence,
and got some instructions from the painters to whom
he was sent with colours and pencils ; but a painter
named Vaga taking him to Rome, he was called Biel
Vaga, from living with him, his real name being Bna-
nacorsi. He studied anatomy with |the sciences neces¬
sary for his profession •, and had somewhat ot every
thing that was good in his compositions. After Ra¬
phael’s death, he joined with Julio Romano and Iran-
cisco Penni to finish the works in the Vatican which
were left imperfect by their common master j and to con¬
firm their friendship married Penni’s sister. He gain¬
ed the highest reputation by his performances in the pa¬
lace of Prince Doria at Genoa : but the multiplicity of
his business, and the vivacity of his imagination, drained
his spirits in the flower of his age j tor he died in the
year 1547. Of all Raphael’s disciples, Pierino kept
the character ol Ins master longest, i. e. his exterior
character and manner of designing’, for he fell very short
of the fineness of Raphael’s thinking. He had a parti¬
cular genius for the decoration of places according to
their customs. His invention in that kind of painting
was full of ingenuity j grace and order are everywhere
to be met with, and his dispositions, which are ordinary
in his pictures, are wonderful in his ornaments : some of
these he has made little, and some great, and placed them
both with so much art, that they set oft one another by
comparison and contrast. His figures are disposed and
designed according to Raphael’s gusto j and if Raphael
gave him at first some slight sketches of ornaments, as
he did to Giovanni d’Udine, he executed them to admi¬
ration. The tapestries of the seven planets, in seven
pieces, which Pierino designed for Diana de Poitiers,
and which were, when De Piles wrote, with Monsieur
the first president at Paris, show sufficiently what he
was, and that the above character does not exceed the
truth.
PIERIS, in Ancient Geography, a mountain which
is thought to have given name to Pieria of Macedonia j
taking its name from Pierus a poet, who was the first
that sacrificed to the Muses, thence called Pierides,
if credit may be given to an ancient scholiast on Juve¬
nal.
PIERRE d’autoMNE is a French name, translated
from the Chinese, of a medicinal stone, celebrated in
the east for curing all disorders of the lungs. Many
imagine it had its name of the autumn-stone from its
being only to be made at that season of the year j but
it may certainly be made equally at all times. Ihe
Chinese chemists refer the various parts of the body to
the several seasons of the year, and thus they refer the
lungs to autumn. This is evident in their writings, and
thus the stone for diseases of the lungs came to be called
autumn-stone. It is prepared as follows: They put 30
pints of the urine of a strong and healthy young man
into a large iron pot, and set it over a gentle fire.
When it begins to boil, they add to it, drop by drop,
about a large tea-cup-full of rape oil. They then leave
it on the fire till the whole is evaporated to a thick sub¬
stance like black mud. It is then taken out of the pot,
and
PIE [ 545 ] PIE
Pierre, and laid on a flat iron to dry, so that it may be powder-
^K‘tl!>ts' ed very fine. The powder is moistened with fresh oil,
and the mass is put into a double crucible, surrounded
with coals, where it stands till it be thoroughly dried
again. This is again powdered, and put into a china
vessel, which being covered with a silk cloth and a double
paper, they pour on it boiling water, which makes its
rvay, drop by drop, through those coverings, till so much
is got in as is sufficient to reduce it to a paste. This
paste is well mixed together in the vessel it is kept in,
and this is put into a vessel of water, and the whole set
over the fire. The matter thus becomes again dried in
balnea mar ice, and is then finished. Observ. sue Its
Cant, de VAsie, p. 258.
Pierre, St, is a large river in North America,
scarcely inferior to the Rhine or the Danube, and navi¬
gable almost to its source. Together with many other
large streams, it falls into the river Mississippi.
Pierre, St, or St Peter's, the capital of Martinico,
was built in 1665, in order to overawe the mutineers of
the island who rebelled against its proprietors, the second
West India Company, who were at the same time the
proprietors of all the French Antilles. It is situated on
the western side of the island. The town extends along
the shore, and a battery that commands the road is erect¬
ed on the west side, which is washed by the river Royo-
lan, or St Peter. The town is divided into three wards j
the middle, which is properly St Peter’s, begins at the
fort, and runs westward to the battery of St Nicholas.
Under the walls of the second ward ships at anchor ride
more securely than under the fort, on which account
this ward is called the Anchorage. The third ward, cal¬
led the Gallery, extends along the sea side from Fort St
Peter to the Jesuits River, and is the most populous part
of the city. The houses of St Petex*’s ward are neat,
commodious, and elegant, particularly those of the go¬
vernor of the island, the intendant, and the other offi¬
cers. The parish church of St Peter is a magnificent
stone building which belonged to the Jesuits, with a
noble front of the Doric order. The church of the An¬
chorage, which belongs to the Jacobine friars, is like¬
wise of stone. It is a place of considerable trade, and
is built with tolerable regularity. The houses are mostly
constructed of a gray pumice-stone or lava, which is
found on the strand 5 and the high-street is, according
to Dr Isert, above an English mile in length. It is
supposed to contain about 2000 houses, and 30,000 in¬
habitants, including negroes. St Pierre, with the whole
of the flourishing island of Martinico, was taken from
the French in the month of March 1794, by the British
troops: 1 25 vessels loaded with the produce of the island,
and of great value, were captured, 71 of which were in
the harbour of St Pierre.
PIETISTS, a religious sect, sprung up among the
Protestants of Germany, seeming to be a kind of mean
between the Quakers of England and the Quietists of
the Romish church. They despise all sorts of ecclesi¬
astical polity, all school theology, and all forms and
ceremonies, and gave themselves up to contemplation
and the mystic theology. Many gross errors are charged
on the Pietists, in a book entitled Manipulus Observa-
tionum Antipietisticarum ; but they have much of the
air of polemical exaggeration, and are certainly not at all
just. Indeed there are Pietists of various kinds : Some
running into gross illusions, and carrying their errors to
Vol. XVI. Part II.
the overturning of a great part of the Christian doctrine,
while others are only visionaries 5 and others are very
honest and good, though perhaps misguided, people.
I hey have been disgusted with the coldness and forma¬
lity of other churches, and have thence become charm¬
ed with the fervent piety of the Pietists, and attached
to their party, without giving into the grossest of their
errors. See Mosheim's Eccl. History, vol. iv. p. 454.
Pietists, otherwise called the Brethren and Sisters
of the Pious and Christian Schools, a society formed in
the year 1678 by Nicholas Bane, and obliged by their
engagements to devote themselves to the education of
poor children of both sexes.
PIETOLA, anciently called Andes, is a place with¬
in two Italian miles of Mantua, famous for being the
birthplace of Virgil.
PIETY, is a virtue which denotes veneration for the
Deity, and love and tenderness to our friends. This di¬
stinguished virtue, like many others, received among the
Romans divine honours, and was made one of their gods.
Acilius Glabrio first erected a temple to this divinity,
which he did upon the spot on which a woman had fed
with her own milk her aged father, who had been im¬
prisoned by ord?j- of the senate, and deprived of all ali¬
ments. The story is well known, and is given at length
in authors which are in the hands of every schoolboy.
See Cicero de div. 1. and Valerius Maximus, v. c. 4.
and our article Filial Piety.
If piety was thus practised and thus honoured in
Heathen antiquity, it surely ought not to be less so,
among Christians, to whom its nature is better defined,
and to the practice of which they have motives of great¬
er cogency. A learned and elegant writer has said that
the want ol piety arises from the want of sensibility; and
his observations and arguments are so just and so well ex¬
pressed, that we cannot do better than transcribe them.
“ It appears to me (says Dr Knox), that the mind
of man, when it is free from natural defects and acquir¬
ed corruption, feels no less a tendency to the indulgence
ot devotion than to virtuous love, or to any other of the
more refined and elevated affections. But debauchery
and excess contribute greatly to destroy all the suscep¬
tible delicacy with which nature usually furnishes the
heart; and, in the general extinction of our better qua¬
lities, it is no wonder that so pure a sentiment as that
of piety should lie one of the first to expire.
“ It is certain that the understanding may be improv¬
ed in a knowledge of the world, and in the arts of suc¬
ceeding in it, while the heart, or whatever constitutes
the seat ot the moral and sentimental feelings, is gra¬
dually receding from its proper and original perfection.
Indeed experience seems to evince, that it is hardly pos¬
sible to arrive at the character of a complete man of the
world, without losing many of the most valuable senti¬
ments of uncori opted nature. A complete man of the
world is an artificial being ; he has discarded many of
the native and laudable tendencies of his mind, and
adopted a new system of objects and propensities of his
owm creation. These are commonly gross, coarse, sordid,
selfish, and sensual. All, or either of these attributes,
tend directly to blunt the sense of every thing liberal,
enlarged, disinterested ; of every thing which partici¬
pates more of an intellectual than of a sensual nature.
When the heart is tied down to the earth by lust fand
avarice, it is not extraordinary that the eye should be
f 3 ^ seldom
p I
Piety, seldom lifted up to heaven. -
——v ■■■'■* Sunday (because he thinks the day fit for little else) in
the counting-house, in travelling, in the tavern, or in the
brothel, those who go to church appear as fools, and the
business they go upon as nonsense. He is callous to the
feelings of devotion ; but he is tremblingly alive to all
that gratifies his senses or promotes his interest.
“ It has been remarked of those writers who have at¬
tacked Christianity, and represented all religions merely
as diversified modes of superstition, that they were in¬
deed, for the most part, men of a metaphysical and a
disputatious turn of mind, but usually little distinguish¬
ed for benignity and generosity, inei’e was,.amidst
all their pretensions to logical sagacity, a cloudiness of
ideas, and a coldness of heart, which rendered them
very unfit judges on a question in which the heart is
chiefly interested ; in which the language of nature is
more expressive and convincing, than all the dreaiy sub¬
tleties of the dismal metaphysicians. Even the reason¬
ing faculty, on which we so greatly value ourselves,.may
be perverted by excessive refinement j and there is an
abstruse, but vain and foolish philosophy, which philo¬
sophizes us out of the noblest parts of our noble nature.
One of those parts of us is our instinctive sense of reli¬
gion, of which not one of those brutes which the philo¬
sophers most admire, and to whose rankjLhey wish.to re¬
duce us, is found in the slightest degree to participate.
“ Such philosophers may be called, in a double sense,
the enemies of mankind. They not only endeavour to
entice man from his duty, but to rob him of a most ex¬
alted and natural pleasure. Such, surely, is the plea¬
sure of devotion. For when the soul rises above this little
orb, and pours its adoration at the throne of celestial
• i _i i* ic si ra.nfnrons
E [ 546 3 p 1 G
To the man who spends his serve them, it will be necessary to preserve our sensibi¬
lity j and nothing will contribute so much to this pur¬
pose as a life of temperance, innocence, and simplicity.”
Of piety, as it denotes love and tenderness to our
friends, there have been many distinguished instances
both in ancient and modern times. See Filial Fiety,
Fraternal and Parental Affection, &c.
The following example of filial piety in China, taken
from P. Du Halde’s description of that country, will
not we trust be disagreeable to our readers. “ In the
commencement of the dynasty of the Tang, Eou-tao-
tsong, who was disaffected to the government, being
accused of a fault, which touched his life, obtained
leave from those who had him in custody, to perform
the duties of the Tao to one of his diseased friends.
He managed matters so well, that giving his keepers
the slip, he fled to the house of Lou Nan-kin, with
whom he had a friendship, and there hid himself. Lou
Nan-kin, notwithstanding the strict search that was
made, and the severity of the court against those who
conceal prisoners that have escaped, would not betray
his friend. However, the thing coming to be disco¬
vered, Lou Nan-kin was imprisoned) and they were
just on the point of proceeding against him, when his
younger brother presenting himself before the judge,
It is 1, Sir, said he, who have hidden the prisoner ; it
is I who ought to die, and not my elder brother. The
eldest maintained on the contrary, that his younger
brother accused himself wrongfully, and was not at ail
culpable. The judge, who was a person of great saga¬
city, sifted both parties so efiectually, that he not omy
discovered that the younger brother was innocent, but
orb and uours its adoration at the throne 01 ceiesuai even made him confess it himself: It true. Sir,
majesty the holy fervour which itfeels is itself a rapturous the younger all m tears, I have accused myselffalsely,
is this a declamatory representation, but to g*™ ZTZjTZ
a truth felt and acknowledged by all the sons of men ;
except those who have been defective in sensibility, or
who hoped to gratify the pride or the malignity of their
hearts by singular and pernicious speculation.
« Indeed all disputatious, controversial, and metaphy¬
sical writings on the subject of religion, are unfavourable
to genuine piety. We do not find that the most renown¬
ed polemics in "the church militant were at all more at¬
tentive than others to the common offices of religion, or
that they were actuated by any peculiar degree of devo¬
tion. The truth is, their religion centered in their heads,
whereas its natural region is the heart. The heart! con¬
fined, alas ! in colleges or libraries, unacquainted with all
the tender charities of husband, father, brother, friend 5
some of them have almost forgotten that they possess a
heart. It has long ceased to beat with the pulsations of
love and sympathy, and has been engrossed by pride on
conquering an adversary in the syllogistic combat, or by
impotent anger on a defeat. W ith such habits, and so
defective a system of feelings, can we expect that a doc¬
tor of the Sorbonne,or the disputing professor of divinity,
should ever feel the pure flame of piety that glowed in
the bosoms of Mrs Rowe, Mrs Talbot, or Mr Nelson ?
44 It is however certain, that a devotional taste and
habit are very desirable in themselves, exclusive of their
effects in meliorating the morals and disposition, and
promoting present and future felicity. They add dig¬
nity, pleasure, and security to any age : but to old age
they are the most becoming grace, the most substan¬
tial support, and the sweetest comfort. In order to pre-
2
mother has been dead for 'some time, and her corpse is
not yet buried ; I have a sister also who is marriage¬
able, but is not yet disposed of: these things which my
brother is capable oj managing, 1 am not, and there¬
fore desire to die in his stead. Vouchsafe to admit my
testimony. The commissioner gave an account of the
whole affair to the court, and the emperor at his solici¬
tation pardoned the criminal.”
PIG, see Sus, I. Mammalia Index.
Guinea-Fio, see Mus, 3
Pig of lead, the eighth part of a fother, amounting
to 250 pounds weight.
PIGANIOL de la Force, John Aymar de, a
native of Auvergne, of a noble family, applied himself
with ardour to the study of geography and of the hi¬
story of France. With the view of improving himself
in this study, he travelled into different provinces j and,
in the course of his travels, made some important obser¬
vations on the natural history, the commerce, the civil
and ecclesiastical government of each province. These ob¬
servations were of great use to him in compiling the woiks
he has left behind him, of which the chief are, 1. An
Historical and Geographical Description of I ranee j the
largest edition of which is that of 1753’ ^ v0^s* 12ino.
It is the best work which has hitherto appeared upon that
subject, though it contains a great number of inaccura¬
cies and even errors. 2. A Description of Paris, in 10
vols. 121110 j a work equally entertaining and instructs e,
and much more complete than the description given by
Germain Brice : besides, it is written with an elegant
simplicity.
P I G
!%aniol, simplicity. He published an abridgement of it in 2 vols.
Pigeon. i2mo. 3. A Description of the Castle and Park of Ver¬
sailles, Marly, &c. in 2 vols. 12mo : it is very amusing,
and pretty well executed. Piganiol had also a concern
with Abbe Nadal in the journal of Trevoux. He died
at Paris in February 1753, at the age of 80 years. This
learned man was as much to be respected for his man¬
ners as for his talents. To a profound and varied know¬
ledge he united great probity and honour, and all the
politeness of a courtier.
PIGEON, see Columba, Ornithology Index.
Pigeon-Housc is a house erected full of holes within,
tor the keeping, breeding, &c. of pigeons, otherwise
called a dove-cot.
Any lord of manor may build a pigeon-house on his
land, but a tenant cannot do it without the lord’s li¬
cence. When persons shoot at or kill pigeons within
a certain distance of the pigeon-house, they are liable
to pay a forfeiture.
In order to erect a pigeon-house to advantage, it
will be necessary, in the first place, to pitch upon a
convenient situation ; of which none is more proper
than the middle of a spacious court-yard, because pi¬
geons are naturally of a timorous disposition, and the
least noise they hear frightens them. With regard to
the size of the pigeon-house, it must depend entirely
upon the number of birds intended to be kept *, but it
is better to have it too large than too little ; and as to
its form, the round should be preferred to the square
ones ; because rats cannot so easily come at them in the
former as in the latter. It is also much more commo¬
dious } because you may, by means of a ladder turning
upon an axis, easily visit all the nests in the house,
without the least difficulty j which cannot so easily be
done in a square house. In order to hinder rats from
climbing up the outside of the pigeon-house, the wall
should be covered with tin plates to a certain height,
about a foot and a half will be sufficient; but they
should project out three or four inches at the top, to
prevent their clambering any higher.
Ihe pigeon house should be placed at no great di¬
stance from water, that the pigeons may carry it to
their young ones j and their carrying it in their bills
will warm it, and render it more wholesome in cold
weather. ’Ihe boards that cover the pigeon-house
should he well joined together, so that no rain may
penetrate through it: and the whole building should
be covered with hard plaster, and white-washed within
and without, white being the most pleasing colour to
pigeons. There must be no window, or other open¬
ing in the pigeon-house to the eastward j these should
always face the south, for pigeons are very fond of the
sun, especially in winter.
The nests or covers in a pigeon- house should consist of
square holes made in the walls, of a size sufficient to ad¬
mit the-cock and hen to stand in them. The first range
of these nests should not be less than four feet from the
ground, that the wall underneath being smooth, the rats
may not be able to reach them. These nests should be
placed in quincunx order, and not directly over one an¬
other. Nor must they be continued any higher than
within three feet of the top of the wall: and the upper
row should be covered with a board projecting a consi¬
derable distance from the wall, for fear the rats should
find means to climb the outside of the house.
P I E
M. Duhamel thinks that pigeons neither feed upon Pj„eoll
the green corn, nor have bills strong enough to search ' ■ y—■
for its seeds in the earth j but only pick up the grains
that are not covered, which would infallibly become
the prey of other animals, or be dried up by the sun.
“ From the time of the sprouting of the corn, says he,
pigeons live chiefly upon the seeds of wild uncultivated
plants, and therefore lessen considerably the quantity of
■weeds that ivould otherwise spring up ; as will appear
from a just estimate of the quantity of grain necessary to
feed all the pigeons of a well-stocked dove-house.” But
Mr Worlidge and Mr Lisle allege facts in support of the
contrary opinion. The latter relates, that a farmer in
his neighbourhood assured him he had known an acre
sowed with pease, and rain coming on so that they could
not be harrowed in, every pea was fetched away in half
a day’s time by pigeons : and the former says, “ It is to
be observed, that where the flight of pigeons falls, there
they fill themselves and away, and return again where
they first rose, and so proceed over a whole piece of
ground, if they like it. Although you cannot perceive
any grain above the ground, they know how to find it.
I have seen them lie so much upon a piece of about two
•or three acres sown with pease, that they devoured at
least three parts in four of the seed, which, I am sure,
could not be all above the surface of the ground. That
their smelling is their principal director, I have obser¬
ved j haying sown a small plat of pease in my garden,
near a pigeon-house, and covered them so well that not
a pea appeared above ground. In a few days, a parcel
of pigeons were hard at work in discovering this hidden
treasure; and in a few days more I had not above two
or three peas left out of about two quarts that were
planted ; for what they could not find before, they found
when the buds appeared, notwithstanding they were hoed
in, and well covered. Their smelling alone directed
them, as 1 supposed, because they followed the ranges
exactly. The injury they do at harvest on the pease,
vetches, &c. is such that we may rank them among the
greatest enemies the poor husbandman meets withal; and
the greater, because he may not erect a pigeon-house,
whereby to have a share of his own spoils ; none but the
rich being allowed this privilege, and so severe a law
being also made to protect these winged thieves, that a
man cannot encounter them, even in defence of his own
property. You have therefore no remedy against them,
but to affright them away by noises or such like. You
may, indeed, shoot at them j but you must not kill
them j or you may, if you can, take them in a net, cut
off their tails, and let them go } by which means you
will impound them : for when you are in their houses,
they cannot bolt or fly out of the tops of them, but by
the strength of their tails j after the thus weakening of
which, they remain prisoners at home.”
Mr Worlidge’s impounding the pigeons reminds us
of a humorous story of a gentleman, who, upon a neigh¬
bouring farmer’s complaining to him, that his pigeons
were a great nuisance to his land, and did sad mischief
to Ins corn, replied jokingly, Pound them, if you catch
them trespassing. The farmer, improving the hint,
steeped a parcel of pease in an infusion of coculus indicusy
or some other intoxicating drug, and strewed them up¬
on his grounds. The pigeons swallowed them, and soon
remained motionless on the field : upon which the farm¬
er threw a net over them, inclosed them in it, and car-
3Zz lied
1 547 T
P I G
[ 548 ]
P I G
Pigeon.
rietl them to an empty barn, from whence he sent the
' gentleman word that he had followed his directions with
regard to the pounding of his pigeons, and desired him
to come and release them.
Carrier-PlGEON. Bee CAnaiER-Ptgeon and Co-
lumba, Ornithology Index. . c -p
Pigeon, Peter Charles Francis, curate of St 1 eter
du Regard, in the diocese of Bayeux, was one of the
priests lately belonging to the king’s house at Winche¬
ster. He was born in Lower Normandy, of honest and
virtuous parents, and of a decent fortune. His inclina¬
tions early led him to embrace the ecclesiastical state,
from which neither the solicitations of his friends, nor
the prospect of a more ample fortune on the death of his
elder brother, could withdraw him. Several oi Ins
schoolfellows and masters, who are now resident in the
king’s house at Winchester, bear the most ample testi¬
mony to his assiduity, regularity, piety, and the svveet-
ness of his disposition, during the whole course ot his
education. The sweetness of temper, in particular, was
so remarkable, and so clearly depicted on his counte¬
nance, as to have gained him the esteem and allection ot
such of the inhabitants of Winchester as by any means
had become acquainted with him. He was seven years
employed in quality of vicar, or, as we should call it
curate, of a large parish in the diocese of Beez, where
his virtues and talents had ample scope for exertion. His
practice was to rise at five o’clock every morning, and
to spend the whole time till noon (the usual time ot din¬
ing for persons in his station) in prayer and study, l ie
rest of the day, till evening, he devoted to visiting the
sick, and other exterior duties of his function. In 1789,
the year of the French revolution, M. Pigeon was pro¬
moted to a curacy, or rather a rectory, in the diocese ot
Bayeux, called the parish of St Peter du Regard, new
the town of Conde sur Noereau. It was easy for him to
gain the good-will and the protection of his parishion¬
ers j but a Jacobin club in the above-mentioned town
,seemed to have no other subject to deliberate upon than
the various ways of harassing and persecuting M. Pigeon
and certain other priests in the neighbourhood, who had
from motives of conscience refused the famous civic oath.
It would be tedious to relate the many cruelties which
were at different times exercised upon him, and the im¬
minent danger of losing his life to which he was expo¬
sed, by the blows that were inflicted on him, by his be¬
ing* thrown into water, and being obliged to wander in
woods and other solitary places, without any food or
place to lay his head, in order to avoid his persecutors.
We may form some judgment of the spirit of his perse¬
cutors from the following circumstance. Being disap¬
pointed on a particular occasion in the search they were
making after M. Pigeon, with the view of amusing
themselves with his sufferings, they made themselves a-
mends by seizing his mother, a respectable lady of 74
years of age, and his two sisters, whom they placed upon
asses with their faces turned backwards, obliging them
in derision to hold the tails of these animals. Thus they
were conducted in pain and ignominy throughout the
whole town of Conde, for no other alleged crime ex¬
cept being the nearest relations of M. Pigeon. At
length the decree for transporting all the ecclesiastics ar¬
rived ; and this gentleman, with several others, after
having been stripped of all their money, was shipped
from Port Bessin, and landed at Portsmouth, where he
-- 4
was shortly after received into the establishment at 1‘ ox-
ton, and, upon that being dissolved in order to make
room for prisoners of war, into the king’s house at W m-
chester. Being of a studious turn, he wras accustomed,
as many of his brethren also were, to betake himself to
the neighbouring lanes and thickets for the sake of
greater solitude. With this view having, about ten
o’clock in the morning, Aug. 28. 1793, retired to a
certain little valley, on the north-east side of a place
called Oram's Arbour, the same place where the county
elections for Hampshire are held, he was there found,
between three and four o’clock in the afternoon, mur¬
dered, with the upper part of his skull absolutely broken
from the lower part, and a large hedge-stake, covered
with blood, lying by him, as were the papers on which
he had been transcribing a manuscript sermon with the
hearing of which he had been much edified, and the ser¬
mon itself which he was copying, together with his pen,
imbrued in blood. His watch was carried away, though
part of the chain, which had been by some means bro¬
ken, was left behind. He was writing the word para¬
dise, the last letters of which remained unwritten when
the fatal blow was given him, which appears evidently
to have been discharged upon him from a gap in a
hedge which was immediately behind him. At first the
suspicion of this cruel murder fell upon the I rench de¬
mocrats, who, to the number of 200, are prisoners of
war, at the neighbouring town of Alresford, as one of
that number, who had broke his parole, had, about
three weeks before, being taken up at Winchester, and
both there and at Alresford had repeatedly threatened
to murder his uncle, a priest, whom he understood to be
then at Winchester, not without fervent wishes of hav¬
ing it in his power to murder the whole establishment,
consisting of more than 600 persons. However, as no
French prisoner was seen that day in the neighbourhood
of Winchester, as none of them were known to have
left Alresford, it is evidently reasonable to acquiesce in
the verdict of the coroner; namely, that the murder
was committed by a person or persons unknown. Ihe
most noble marquis of Buckingham, whose munificence
and kindness to those conscientious exiles, the emigrant
French clergy, can only be conceived by those who
have been witnesses oithe same, with the truly respect¬
able corps of the Buckinghamshire militia then quar¬
tered at Winchester, joined in paying the last mark of
respect to the unfortunate deceased, by attending his fu¬
neral, which tvas performed at the Roman Catholic bu-
ry 1 ng-ground, called St James's, near the said city, on
Saturday, Aug. 29. He was just 38 years of age when
he was murdered.
PIGMENTS, preparations used by painters, dyers,
&c. to impart colours to bodies, or to imitate particular
colours. See CoLOUR-Making, and DYEING.
PIGNEROL is a town of Italy in the province of
Piedmont, in E. Long. 7. 15. N. Lat. 44. 45-
on the river Chizon, 10 miles south-west of Turin, at
the foot of the Alps, and the confines of Dauphmy,
The town is small, but populous, and extremely well
fortified by the king of Sardinia, since the treaty of U-
trecht. It is defended by a citadel, on the top of the
mountain near which is the castle of Peronse, which
was built at the entrance of the valley of that name.
PIGNUT, or Earthnut. See Bunium, Botany
Jndex. PIGUS,
P I K [ 549 ] P I K
pjftns PIGUS, in Ichthyology, is the name of a species of
jf leathei'-mouthed fish, very much resembling the nature
Pike. 0f the common carp; being of the same shape and size,
and its eyes, fins, and fleshy palate, exactly the same;
from the gills to the tail there is a crooked dotted line ;
the back and sides are bluish, and the belly reddish. It
is covered with large scales; from the middle of each of
which there rises a fine pellucid prickle, which is very
sharp. It is an excellent fish for the table, being per¬
haps preferable to the carp; and it is in season in the
months of March and April. It is caught in lakes in
some parts of Italy, and is mentioned by Pliny, though
without a name. Artedi says it is a species of cyprinus,
and he calls it the cyprinus, called piclo and pigus.
PI-HAH1ROTH, (Moses) ; understood to be a
mouth or narrow pass betxveen two mountains, called
Chiroth or Eiroth, and lying not far from the bottom
of the western coast of the Arabian gulf; before which
mouth the children of Israel encamped, just before their
entering the Red sea, (Wells).
PIISKER, in Ichthyology, is a fish of the mustela
kind, commonly called t\\e fossil mustela, or fossil-fish.
This fish is generally found as long as an ordinary man’s
hand is broad, and as thick as the finger; but it some¬
times groxvs much longer : the back is of gray, with
a number of spots and transverse streaks, partly black
and partly blue; the belly is yellow, and spotted with
red, white, and black ; the white are the lax-ger, the
others look as if they were made with the point of a
needle ; and there is on each of the sides a longitudinal
black and white line. There are some fleshy excrescen¬
ces at the mouth, which are expanded in swimming;
and when out of the water, they are contracted. These
fishes run into caverns of the earth, in the sides of ri¬
vers, in marshy places, and penetrate a great way, and
are often dug up at a distance from waters. Often,
when the waters of brooks and rivex*s swell beyond
their banks, and again cover them, they make their
way out of the earth into the water ; and when it de¬
serts them, they are often left in vast numbers upon
the ground, and become a pi'ey to swine. It is thought
to be much of the same kind with the fisgum fish ; and
is indeed possible that that the psecilia of Sehonefeldt
is the same.
PIKE. See Esox, Ichthyology Index.
The pike never swims in shoals as most other fish do,
but always lies alone ; and is so bold and ravenous, that
he will seize upon almost any thing less than himself. Of
the ravenous nature of this fish we shall give the follow¬
ing instances. At Rycott in Oxfordshire, in the year
4749, in a moat surrounding theearl of Abingdon’s seat,
there was a jack or pike of such a monstrous size, that
it bad destroyed young swans feathers and all. An
old cobb swan having hatched five young, one after an¬
other was lost till four were gone. At length an under
gardener saw the fish seize the fifth. The old one
fought him with her beak, and, with the assistance of
the gardener, released it, although he had got it under
water. In the year 1765 a large pike was caught in
the i*iver Ouze, which weighed upwards of 28 pounds,
and was sold for a guinea. On gutting the fish, a watch
with a black ribbon and two steel seals were found in
its stomach, which, by the maker’s name, &c. was
found to belong to a person who had been drowned a-
bout six weeks before. This fish breeds but once in a
year, which is in March. It is found in almost all fresh pike,
waters ; but it is very different in goodness, accox ding ‘—'■v—*
to the nature of the places where it lives. The finest
pike are those which feed in clear rivers ; those in
ponds and meres are inferior, and the worst of all are
those of the fen ditches. They are very plentiful in
these last places, where the water is foul and coloured,
and their food, such as frogs and the like, very plenti¬
ful, but very coai'se ; so that they grow large, but are
yellowish and high bellied, and differ greatly from those
which live in the clearer waters.
The fishermen have two principal ways of catching
the pike; by the ledgex-, and by the walking-bait.
The ledger-bait is fixed in one certain place, and
may continue while the angler is absent. This must
be a live bait, a fish or frog: and among fish, the dace,
roach, and gudgeon, are the best; of frogs, the only
caution is to choose the largest and yellowest that can be
met with. If the bait be a fish, the hook is to be stuck
through the upper lip, and the line must be 14 yards at
least in length ; the other end of this is to be tied to a
bough of a tree, or to a stick driven into the ground
near the pike’s haunt, and all the line wound round a
forked stick, except about half a yard. The bait will
by this means keep playing so much under water, and
the pike will soon lay hold of it.
If the bait be a frog, then the arming wire of the
hook should be put in at the mouth, and out at the
side and with a needle and some strong silk, the hin¬
der leg of one side is to be fastened by one stitch to
the wire-arming of the hook. The pike will soon seize
this, and must have line enough to give him leave to
get to his haunt and poach the bait.
The trolling for pike is a pleasant method also of ta¬
king them: in this a dead bait serves, and none is so
proper as a gudgeon.
This is to be pulled about in the water till the pike
seizes it ; and then it is to have line enough, and time
to swallow it: the hook is small for this sport, and has
a smooth piece of lead fixed at its end to sink the bait;
and the line is very long, and runs through a ring at
the end of the rod, which must not be too slender at
top.
The art of feeding pike, so as to make them very
fat, is the giving them eels; and without this it is not
to be done under a very long time ; otherwise perch,
while small, and their prickly fins tender', are the best
food for them. Bream put into a pike-pond are a very
proper food ; they will breed freely, and their young
ones make excellent food for the pike, who will take
care that they shall not increase over much. The nu¬
merous shoals of roaches and ruds, which are continu¬
ally changing place, and often in floods get into the
pike’s quarters, are food for them for a long time.
Pike, when used to be fed by hand, will come up to
the very shore, and take the food that is given them out
of the fingers of the feeder. It is wonderful to see with
what courage they will do this, after a while practising;
and it is a very diverting sight when there are several of
them neai'ly of the same size, to see what striving and
fighting there will be for the best bits when they are
thrown in. The most convenient place is near the
mouth of the pond, and where there is about half a yard
depth of water; for, by that means, the offal of the
feedings will all lie in one place, and the deep water
will
Pike,
Pila.
P I L [ 550 ]
will serve for a place to retire into and rest in, and will health,
be always clean and in order.
Carp may be fed jn the same manner as pike 5 and
though by nature a fish as remarkably shy and timorous
as the pike is bold and fearless, yet by custom they will
come to take their food out ot the person’s hand *, and
will, like the pike quarrel among one another for the
nicest bits. _ ...
Pike, in War, an offensive weapon, consisting of a
wooden shaft, 12 or 14 feet long, wdtli a flat steel head,
pointed, called the spear. This weapon was long in
use among the infantry; but now the bayonet, which is
fixed on the muzzle of the firelock, is substituted in its
stead. It is still used by some of the officers of infantry,
under the name of sponton. 1 he Macedonian phalanx
was a battalion of pikemen. See Phalanx.
PILA marina, or the sea-ball, in Natural History,
is the name of a substance very common on the shores of
the Mediterranean, and elsewhere. It is generally found
in the form of a ball about the size of the balls of horse
dung, and composed of a variety of fibrillse irregularly
complicated. Various conjectures have been given of
its origin by different authors. John Bauhine tells us,
that it consists of small hairy fibres and straws, such as
are found about the sea plant called alga vitriariorum ;
hut he does not ascertain what plant it owes its origin
to. Imperatus imagined it consisted of the exuvioe both
of vegetable and animal bodies. *■ Mercatus is doubtful
whether it be a congeries of the fibrillm ot plants, wound
up into a ball by the motion of the sea water, or whe¬
ther it be not the workmanship of some sort of beetle
living about the sea shore, and analogous to our common
dung beetle’s ball, whichcit elaborates from dung for
4he reception of its progeny. Schreckius says it is com¬
posed of the filaments of some plant of the reed kind :
and Welchius supposes it is composed of the pappous
part of the flowers of the reed. Maurice Hoffman
rthinks it the excrement of the hippopotamus •, and others
think it that of the phoca or sea calf. Klein, who had
thoroughly and minutely examined the bodies them¬
selves, and also what authors had conjectured concern¬
ing them, thinks that they are wholly owing to, and
entirely composed of, the capillaments which the leaves,
■growing to the woody stalk of the alga viti tat ioi tun,
pave when they wither and decay. These leaves, in
their natural state, are as thick as a wheat straw, and
Jthey are placed so thick about the tops and extremities
. of the stalks, that they enfold, embrace, and lie over
■ ‘One another j and from the middle of these clusters of
-leaves, and indeed from the woody substance of the
plant itself, there arise several other very long, flat,
-smooth, and brittle leaves. These are usually four from
each tuft of the other leaves *, and they have ever a
common vagina, which is membranaceous and very thin.
.This is the style of the plant, and the pila marina ap¬
pears to be a cluster of the fibres of the leaves of this
plant, which cover the whole stalk, divided into then
constituent fibres; and by the motion of the waves first
broken and worn into short shreds, and afterwards
wound up together into a roundish or longish ball.
Pila, was a ball made in a different manner accord¬
ing to the different games in which it was to be used.
Playing at ball was very common amongst the Romans
of the first distinction, and was looked upon as a manly
exercise, which contributed both to amusement and
P I L
The pila was of four sorts : 1st, Follis or ha!- pjjj
loon; 2d, Pila Trigonalis; y\, Fila Paganica; 4th, J|
Harpastum. All these come under the general name of, I
pila. Tor the manner of playing with each of them, see v “ j
the articles Iollis, IlilGONALIS.
PILASTER, in Architecture. See there, N° 50,
&c.
PILATE, or Pontius Pilate, was governor of
Judea when our Lord was crucified. Of his family or
country we know but little, though it is believed that
he was of.Rome, or at least of Italy. He was sent to
govern Judea in the room of Gratus, in the year 26 or
27 of the vulgar era, and governed this province for
ten years, from the i 2th or 13th year of Tiberius to the
22d or 23d. He is represented both by Philo and Jose¬
phus as a man of an impetuous and obstinate temper, and
as a judge who used to-sell justice, and to pronouncdany
sentence that was desired, provided he was paid for it.
The same authors make mention of Ins rapines, his inju¬
ries, his murders, the torments that he inflicted upon
the innocent, and the persons he put to death without
any form of process. Philo, in particular, describes him
as a man that exercised an excessive cruelty during the
whole time of his government, who disturbed the repose
of Judea, and gave occasion to the troubles and revolt
that followed after. St Luke (xiii. 1, 2, &c.) acquaints
us, that Pilate had mingled the blood ot the Galileans
with their sacrifices j and that the matter having been
related to Jesus Christ, he said, “ Think you that these
Galileans were greater sinners than other Galileans, be¬
cause they suffered this calamity. I tell you nay j and
if you do not repent, you shall all perish m like manner.
It is unknown upon what occasion Pilate caused these
Galileans to be slain in the temple while they w ere sacri¬
ficing j for this is the meaning of that expression of
mingling their blood with their sacrifices. Some think
they were disciples of Judas the Gaulonite, who taught
that the Jews ought not to pay tribute to f oreign princes j
and that Pilate had put some of them to death even in
the temple j but there is no proof of this fact. ‘Others
think that these Galileans were Samaritans, whom Pilate
cut to pieces in the village of Tirataba *, as they vert* Joseph.
preparing to go up to Mount Gerizim, where a certain ^2^-
impostor had promised to discover treasures to them j but"111’ 1
this event did not happen before the year 35 ot the com-
mon era, and consequently two years after the death of
Jesus Christ. At the time of our Saviour’s passion, Pi¬
late made some endeavours to deliver him out of the
hands of the Jews. He knew they had delivered him
up, and pursued his life with so much violence, only out
of malice and envy (Matt, xxvii. 18.). His wife, also,
who had been disturbed the night before with frightful
dreams, sent to tell him she desired him not to meddle
in the affair of that just person (ib. 19.) He attempted
to appease the wrath of the Jews, and to give them some
satisfaction, by whipping Jesus Christ (John xix. 1.
Matt, xxvii. 26.). He tried to take him out of their
hands, by proposing to deliver him or Barabbas, on tne
day of the festival of the passover. Lastly, he had a
mind to discharge himself from pronouncing judgment
against him, by sending him to Herod king ol Galilee
(Luke xxiii. 7, 8.). When he saw all this would not
satisfy the Jews, and that they even threatened him m
some manner, saying he could be no friend to the em¬
peror if he let him go (John xix. 12, 15.), he caused
P I L [ 55> ] P I L
[Pilate water to be brought, washed his hands before all the
^ j people, and publicly declared himself innocent of the
blood of that just person (Matt, xxvii. 23, 24.); yet at
the same time he delivered him up to his soldiers, that
they might crucify him. This was enough to justify Je¬
sus Christ, as Calmet observes, and to show that he held
him as innocent; but it was not enough to vindicate the
conscience and integrity of a judge, whose duty it was
as well to assert the cause of oppressed innocence as to
punish the guilty and criminal. He ordered to be put
over our Saviour’s cross, as it were an abstract of his
sentence, and the motive of his condemnation (John
xix. 9.), Jesus of Nazareth, king of the Jews, which
was written in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. Some of
the Jews found fault with it, and remonstrated to Pilate
that he ought to have written Jesus of Nazareth who
pretended to be king of the Jews. But Pilate could
not be prevailed with to alter it, and gave them this
peremptory answer, That what he had written he had
written.
Towards evening, he was applied to for leave to take
down the bodies from the cross, that they might not
continue there the following day, which was the passo-
ver and the sabbath-day (John xix. 31.). This he al¬
lowed, and granted the body of Jesus to Joseph of Ari-
mathea, that he might pay his last duties to it, (ib. 33.).
Lastly, when the priests, who had solicited the death of
our Saviour, came to desire him to set a watch about
the sepulchre, for fear his disciples should steal him away
by night, he answered them, that they had a guard, and
might place them there themselves (Matt, xxvii. 65.).
This is the substance of what the gospel tells us con¬
cerning Pilate.
Justin Martyr, Tertullian, Eusebius, and after them
several others both ancient and modern, assure us, that
it was formerly the custom for .Roman magistrates to
prepare copies of all verbal processes and judicial acts
which they passed in their several provinces, and to
send them to the emperor. And Pilate, in compliance
to this custom, having sent word to Tiberius of what
had passed relating to Jesus Christ, the emperor wrote
an account of it to the senate, in a manner that gave
reason to judge that he thought favourably of the re¬
ligion of Jesus Christ, and showed that he should be wil¬
ling they would decree divine honours to him. But the
senate wras not of the same opinion, and so the matter
was dropped. It appears by what Justin sa^s of these
acts, that the miracles of Jesus Christ were mentioned
there, and even that the soldiers had divided his garments
among them. Eusebius insinuates that they spoke of his
resurrection and ascension. Tertullian and Justin refer
to these acts with so much confidence as would make
one believe they had them in their hands. However,
neither Eusebius nor St Jerome, who were both inqui¬
sitive, understanding persons, nor any other author that
wrote afterwards, seem to have seen them, at least not
the true and original acts; for as to what we have
now in great number, they are not authentic, being nei¬
ther ancient nor uniform. There are also some pretend¬
ed letters of Pilate to Tiberius, giving a history of our
Saviour, but they are universally allowed to be spurious.
Pilate being a man that, by his excessive cruelties
and rapine, had disturbed the peace of Judea during
the wdiole time of his government, was at length de¬
posed by Vitellius the proconsul of Syria, in the 36th
Pilchard.
year of Jesus Christ and sent to Rome to give an ac- Pilate
count of his conduct to the emperor. But thoughTi-
berius died before Pilate arrived at Rome, yet his suc¬
cessor Caligula banished him to Vienne in Gaul, where
lie was reduced to such extremity that he killed himself
with his own hands. The evangelists call him governor,
though in reality he was no more than procurator of
Judea, not only because governor was a name of gene¬
ral use, but because Pilate in effect acted as one, by
taking upon him to judge in criminal matters 5 as his
predecessors had done, and other procurators in the
small provinces of the empire where there was no pro-
consul, constantly did. See CalmeVs Dictionary, Kc-
harcTs Ecclesiastical Dictionary, and TJeausobie's Annot.
With regard to Pilate’s wife, the general tradition
is, that she was named Claudia Procula or Proscula j
and in relation to her dream, seme are of opinion that
as she had intelligence of our Lord’s apprehension, and
knew by his character that he was a righteous person,
her imagination, being struck with these ideas, did na¬
turally produce the dream we read of j but others think
that this dream was sent providentially upon her, for
the clearer manifestation of our Lord’s innocence.
PILATRE du Rozier, Francis, was born at Metz
the 30th of March 1756. He was first apprentice to
an apothecary there, and afterwards went to Paris in
quest of farther improvement. He applied himself to
the study of natural history and of natural philosophy,
andhad already acquired some reputation, when the dis¬
covery of M. de Montgolfier had just astonished the
learned world. On the 25th of October 1783, he at¬
tempted an aerial voyage with the marquis of Arlande.
He performed several other excursions in this way with
brilliant success, in the presence of the royal family of
France, of the king of Sweden, and of Prince Henry of
Prussia. He then resolved to pass into England by
means of his aerial vehicle, and for that purpose he re¬
paired to Boulogne, whence he rose about 7 o’clock in
the morningof the 15th June 17855 but in half an hour
after he set out, the balloon took fire, and the aero¬
naut, with his companion M. Romaine, were crushed to
death by the fall of that machine, which was more in¬
genious, perhaps, than useful*. Pilatre’ssocial virtues *See A’><
and courage, which were very distinguished, heightened station
the regret of his friends for his loss. His merit as aN°34»
chemist, and his experiments as an aeronaut, procured
him some pecuniary reward, and some public appoint¬
ments. He had a pension from the king, was intendant
of Monsieur’s cabinets of natural philosophy, chemistry,
and natural history, professor of natural philosophy, a
member of several academies, and principal director of
Monsieur’s museum.
PILCHARD, in Ichthyology, a fish which has a gene¬
ral resemblance to the herring, but differs in some essential
particulars. The body of the pilchard is less compressed
than that of the herring, being thicker and rounder : the
nose is shorter in proportion, and turns up; the under
jaw is shorter. The back is more elevated ; the belly
less sharp. The dorsal fin of the pilchard is placed
exactly in the centre of gravity, so that when taken up
by it, the body preserves an equilibrium, whereas that
of the herring dips at the head. The scales of the pil¬
chard adhere very closely, whereas those of the herring
very easily drop off. The pilchard is in general less
than the herring j but it is fatter, or more full of oil.
The
ik'harO,
Pile.
f See Clu-
j>ea.
- P I L [55
The pilchard appears in vast shoals oh the Cornish
coasts about the middle of July, disappearing the be¬
ginning of winter, yet sometimes a few return again
after Christmas. Their winter retreat is the same with
that of the herring., and their motives for migrating
the same i. They affect, during summer, a warmer la¬
titude j for thev are not found in any quantities on
any of our coasts except those of Cornwall, that is to
say, from Fowey harbour to the Scilly isles, between
which places the shoals keep shifting for some weeks.
The approach of the pilchard is known by much the
same signs as those that indicate the arrival oi the her¬
ring. Persons, called in Cornwall Ziuers, are placed on
the cliffs, to point to the boats stationed off the land
the course of the fish. By the ist of James I. c. 23.
fishermen are empowered to go on the grounds oi others
to hue, without being liable to actions oi trespass,
which before occasioned frequent law-suits.
The emoluments that accrue to the inhabitants of
that country are great, and are best expressed in the
words of Dr W. Borlace, in his Account of the Pil¬
chard Fishery. “ It employs a great number of men
on the sea, training them thereby to naval affairs-, em¬
ploys men, women, and children, at land, in salting,
pressing, washing, and cleaning, in making boats, nets,
ropes, casks, and all the trades depending on their con¬
struction and sale. The poor is ied with the oflals of
the captures j the land with the reinse oi the fish and
salt '■) the merchant finds the gains oi commission and
'honest commerce ; the fisherman, the gains of the fish.
Ships are often freighted hither with salt, and into fo¬
reign countries with the fish, carrying off at the same
time part of our tin. The usual number of hogsheads
of fish exported each year, for JO years, from 1747 to
1756 inclusive, from the tour ports ol I owey, Falmouth,
Penzance, and St Ives, in all amounts to 29,794; since
it appears that Fowey has exported yearly 1732 hogs¬
heads ; Falmouth, 14,631 hogsheads and two-thirds;
Penzance and Mounts-Bay, 12,149 hogsheads and one-
third ; Stives, 1 282 hogsheads. Every hogshead for
ten years last past, together with the bounty allowed
for each when exported, and the oil made out of each,
has amounted, one year with another at an average,
to the price of ll. 13s- 3^* J g0 ^,e cash paid for
pilchards exported has, at a medium, annually amount¬
ed to the sum of 49,532!. 10s.” The numbers
that are taken at one shooting out of the nets is ama¬
zingly great. IVIr Pennant says, that Di Boilase as¬
sured him, that on the 5th of October 1767, there
were at one time inclosed in St Ives hay 7000 hogs¬
heads, each hogshead containing 35,000 fish, in all
245,000,000.
PILE, in Heraldry, an ordinary in form oi a wedge,
contracting from the chief, and terminating in a point
towards the bottom of the shield.
Pil.E, among the Greeks and Romans, was a pyra¬
mid built of wood, whereon were laid the bodies of
the deceased to be burnt. It was partly in the form
of an altar, and differed in .height according to the
quality of the person to be consumed. Probably it
might originally be considered as an altar, on which
the dead were consumed as a/burnt-offering to the in¬
fernal deities. The trees made use of in the erection of
a funeral pile were such as abounded in pitch or rosin
as being most combustible ; if they used any other wood,
2 ]
P I L
it was split that it might the more easily catch fire. Pile.
Round the pile were placed cypress boughs to hinder
the noisome smell. See fuNERAL.
Pile, in Building, is used for a large stake rammed
into the ground in the bottom of rivers, or in marshy
land, for a foundation to build upon.
Pile is also used among architects for a mass of
building.
Pile, in Coinage, denotes a kind of puncheon, which,
in the old way of coining with the hammer, contained
the arms or other figure and inscription to be struck on
the coin. See Coinage.
Accordingly we still call the arms side of a piece of
money the pile, and the head the cross; because in an¬
cient coin, a cross usually took the place of the head in
ours. _ _ pja(e
PiLE-Engine, a very curious machine invented by^^
Mr Vauloue for driving the piles of W estminster-bridge.
A is a great upright shaft or axle, on which are the
great wheel B, and the drum C, turned b) horses joined
to the bars S, S. The wheel B turns the trundle X, on
the top of whose axis is the fly O, which serves to regu¬
late the motion, and also to act against the horses, and
to keep them from falling when the heavy ram Q is dis¬
charged to drive the pile P down into the mud in the
bottom of the river. The drum C is loose upon the
shaft A, but is locked to the wheel B by the bolt Y.
On this drum the great rope HH is wound ^ one end of
the rope being fixed to the drum, and the other to the
follower G, to which it is conveyed over the pulleys I
and K. In the follower G is contained the tongs F,
that takes hold of the ram Q by the staple R, for draw¬
ing it up. D is a spiral or fusy fixed to the drum, on
which is wound the small rope T that goes over the
pulley U, under the pulley "V, and is fastened to the
top of the frame at 7. To the pulley-block V is^ hung
the counterpoise Wr, which hinders the follower 1 from
accelerating as it goes down to take hold of the ram;
for as the follower tends to acquire velocity in its descent,
the line T winds downwards upon the fusy, on a larger
and larger radius, by which means the counterpoise W
acts stronger and stronger against it; and so allows it
to come down with only a moderate and uniform velo¬
city. The bolt Y locks the drum to the great wheel,
being pushed upward by the small lever 2, which goes
through a mortise in the shaft A, turns upon a pin in
the bar 3, fixed to the great wheel B, and has a weight
4, which always tends to push up the holt Y through
the wheel into the drum. L is the great level turning
on the axis m, and resting upon the forcing bar 5, 5,
which goes through a hollow in the shaft A, and bears
up the little lever 2. .
By the horses going round, the great rope H is
wound about the drum C, and the ram Q is drawn up
by the tongs F in the follower G, until the tongs come
between the inclined planes E which, by shutting the
tongs at the top, opens it at the foot, and discharges
the ram, which falls down between the guides h h upon
the pile P, and drives it by a few strokes as far into the
mud as it will go; after which, the top part is sawed
off close to the mud by an engine for that purpose.
Immediately after the ram is discharged, the piece 6
upon the follower G takes hold of the ropes a a, which
raise the end of the lever L, and causes its end X to de¬
scend and press down the .forcing bar 5 upon the bttle
r lever
Macliiae for Taormg wooden PIPE S . 1*1^ATE ( ( ('('XIX.
t • - • ■
Vauloue'sPile Engine.
Fig-3.
Fig. 2.
T
PILE Engine.
Bence ’s Pile Engine .
Fig-2.
Williamj' sculp?
p 1 L r 553 J P I L
Pile, lever 2, which, by pulling down the bolt Y, unlocks the
—drum C from the great wheel B ; and then the follow¬
er being at liberty, comes down by its own weight to
the ram ; and the lower ends oi the tongs slip over the
staple R, and the weight of their heads causes them to
fall outward, and shut upon it. Then the weight 4
pushes up the bolt Y into the drum, which locks it
to the great wheel, and so the ram is drawn up as be¬
fore.
As the follower comes down, it causes the drum to
turn backward, and unwinds the rope from it, whilst
the horses, great wheel, trundle, and fly, go on with
an uninterrupted motion ; and as the drum is turning
backward, the counterpoise W is drawn up, and its rope
T wound upon the spiral fusy D.
There are several holes in the underside of the drum,
and the bolt Y always takes the first one that it finds
when the drum stops by the falling of the follower upon
the ram ; until which stoppage the bolt has not time to
slip into any of the holes.
This engine was placed upon a barge on the water,
and so was easily conveyed to any place desired. The
ram was a ton weight j and the guides bb^ by which it
was let fall, w'ere 30 feet high.
A new machine for driving piles has been invented
by Mr Bunce ot Kirby street, Hatton street, London.
It will drive a greater number of piles in a given time
than any other; and can be constructed more simply to
work by horses than Mr \'auloue’s engine above de¬
scribed.
■rrxiv 1 aru* 2 represent a side and front section of the
CCCXIX. machine. The chief parts are A, fig. 1, which are two
endless ropes, or chains, connected by cross pieces of iron
B (see fig. 2), corresponding with two cross grooves cut
diametrically opposite in the wheel C (fig. 1.), into
which they are received 5 and by which means the rope
or chain A is carried round. IHK is a side-view of a
strong wooden frame moveable on the axis H. D is a
wheel, over which the chain passes and turns within at
the top of the frame. It moves occasionally from F
to G upon the centre H, and is kept in the position F
by the weight I fixed to the end K. Fig. 3. L is the
iron ram, which is connected with the cross pieces by
the hook M. N is a cylindrical piece of wood suspended
at the hook at O, which by sliding freely upon the bar
that connects the hook to the ram, always brings the
hook upright upon the chain when at the bottom of the
machine, in the position of GP. See fig. 1.
When the man at S turns the usual crane work, the
ram being connected to the chain, and passing between
the guides, is drawn up in a perpendicular direction j
and when it is near the top of the machine, the pro¬
jecting har Q of the hook strikes against a cross piece of
wood at R (fig. 1.) j and consequently discharges the
ram, whilst the weight I of the moveable frame instant¬
ly draws the upper wheel into the position shown at F,
and keeps the chain free of the-ram in its descent. The
hook, while descending, is prevented from catching the
chain by the wooden piece N. For that piece being
specifically lighter than the iron weight below, and
moving with a less degree of velocity, cannot come in
contact with the iron till it is at the bottom and the ram Pilgrimage.
stops. It then falls and again connects the hook with -v—*“"J
the chain, which draws up the ram, as before.
Mr Bunce has made a model of this machine, which
performs perfectly well; and he observes, that, as the
motion of the wheel C is uninterrupted, there appears to
be the least possible time lost in the operation.
PiLE-JForms, are a kind of worms found in the piles
of the sea dikes in Holland. I hey are of very various
sizes j for some ot the young ones are not above an inch
or two in length, while others have been found thirteen
or fourteen inches long. The heads of these crea¬
tures are covered with two hard shells or henjicrania j
which together form a figure resembling an augre j
and with which they bore the wood. The best reme¬
dy against them is, to perforate the pile with many
small holes about an inch asunder 5 then it must he
done over with a varnish in the hottest sun j and, while
the varnish is hot, brick dust must be strewed over it.;
and this being several times repeated, the pile will be
covered with a strong crust absolutely impenetrable to
all insects.
PILES, in Medicine, the same with haemorrhoids.
See Medicine, N° 240, &c.
PILLUS, in Roman antiquity, was the ordinary cap
or hat worn at public shows and sacrifices, and by the
freed men. It was one of the common rewards assigned
to such gladiators as were slaves, in token of their ob¬
taining freedom.
r, I>!Li^V^^rr, {Ranunculus Jicaria, Lin.), the root.
I his is a very small plant, found in most meadows and
by hedge sides. The loots consist of slender fibres with
some little tubercles among them, which are supposed to
resemble the haemorrhoids. From thence it has been
concluded, that this root must needs be of wonderful
efficacy for the cure of that distemper: to the taste, it
is little other than mucilaginous j and although still re¬
tained in several of the toreign pharmacopoeias, it is
hardly in use in this country.
PILGRIM, one who travels through foreign coun¬
tries to visit holy places, and to pay his devotion to the
relicks of dead saints. See Pilgrimage.
The word is formed from the Flemish pelgrim, or
Italian pelegrino, which signifies the same j and those
originally from the Latin peregrinus, a “ stranger or
traveller.”
PILGRIMAGE, a kind of religious discipline,
whicli consists in taking a journey to some holy place
in order to adore the relicks of some deceased saint.
Pilgrimages began to be made about the middle ages
of the church; but they were most in vogue after the
end of the nth century, when every one was for visit¬
ing places of devotion, not excepting kings and princes
themselves; and even bishops made no difficulty of be¬
ing absent from their churches on the same account*
The places most visited were Jerusalem, Rome, Com-
postella (a), and Tours ; but the greatest numbers now
resort
(a) It deserves to be remarked here, that in the year 1428, under the reign of Henry VI. abundance of licences
were granted from the crown of England to captains of English ships, for carrying numbers of devout persons to
the shrine of St James of Compostella in Spain; provided, however, that those pilgrims should first take an oath
Vol. XVI. Part II. f 4A not
P I L [554
Pilgrim age. resort to Ijoretto, in order to visit the chamber of the
y  1 blessed virgin, in ‘which she was born, and brought up
her son Jesus till he was 12 years of age. For the pil¬
grimage of the followers ot Mahomet, see Mahome¬
tanism.
In every country where popery was established, pil-
]
P I L
grimages were common j and in those countries which
are still popish, they continue. In Fngland, the shrine
of St Thomas a Becket was the chief resort of the
pious-, and in Scotland, St Andrews $ where, as tradi¬
tion informs us, was deposited a leg of the holy apostle.
In Ireland they still continue , for, from the beginning
of May till the middle of August every year, crowds
of popish penitents from all parts of that country re¬
sort to an island near the centre of Lough jin, or White
Lake, in the county of Donnegal, to the amount of
3000 or 4000. These are mostly of the poorer sort,
and many of them are proxies for those who are richer-,
some of which, however, together with some of the
priests and bishops on occasion, make their appearance
there. When the pilgrim comes within sight of the
holy lake, he must uncover his hands and feet, and thus
walk to the water side, and is taken to the island tor
sixpence. Here there are two chapels and 15 other
houses \ to which are added confessionals, so contrived,
that the priest cannot see the person confessing. The
penance varies according to the circumstances of the
penitent 5 during the continuance of which (which is
sometimes three, six, or nine days) he subsists on oat¬
meal, sometimes made into bread. He traverses sharp
stones on his bare knees or feet, and goes through a va¬
riety of other forms, paying sixpence at every difterent
confession. When all is over, the priest bores a gimblet-
hole through the pilgrim’s staff near the top, in which
he fastens a cross peg; gives him as many holy pebbles
out of the lake as he cares to carry away, for amulets
to be presented to his friends, and so dismisses him, an
object of veneration to all other papists not thus initiated,
who no sooner see the pilgrim’s cross in his hands, than
they kneel down to get his blessing.
There are, however, other parts of Ireland sacred to
extraordinary worship and pilgrimage -, and the number
of holy wells, and miraculous cures, &c. produced by
them, is very great. That such things should exist in
this enlightened age, and in a Protestant country, is in¬
deed strange -, but our wonder ceases, when we reflect
that it is among the lowest, and perhaps the worst of
the people. They who carry external religion to an ex¬
treme, and place that confidence in ceremony which be¬
longs only to the spirit of it, are seldom distinguished ei¬
ther for their wisdom or their virtue. We do not deny,
however, that they who carry matters to the other ex¬
treme, may be equally destitute of real knowledge and
genuine morality.
Dr Johnson, in his Rasselas, gives us some observa¬
tions on pilgrimage, which are so much to the purpose,
that we think we cannot do better than lay them before
our readers. “ Pilgrimage (said Imlac, into whose Pilgrimage
mouth the observations are put), like many other acts (1 -
of piety, may be reasonable or superstitious according to , ,
the principles upon which it is performed. Long jour¬
neys in search of truth are not commanded. Truth, such
as is necessary to the regulation of life, is always found
where it is honestly sought: change of place is no natu¬
ral cause of the increase of piety, for it inevitably pro¬
duces dissipation of mind. Yet since men go every day
to view the fields where great actions have been perform¬
ed, and return with stronger impressions of the event,
curiosity of the sgme kind may naturally dispose us to
view that country whence oar religion had its begin¬
ning : and T believe no man surveys those awful scenes
without some confirmation of holy resolutions. That the
Supreme Being may he more easily propitiated in one
place than in another, is the dream of idle superstition j
but that some places may operate upon our own minds
in an uncommon manner, is an opinion which hourly ex¬
perience will justify. He who supposes that his vices
may be more successfully combated in Palestine, will,
perhaps, find himself mistaken ; yet he may go thither
without folly : he who thinks they will be more freely
pardoned, dishonours at once his reason and religion.”
PILKINGTON, LiETlTlA, a famous poetical ge¬
nius, the daughter of Dr Van Lewin, a physician of
Dublin, where she was born in 1712. She was married
very young to the Rev. Matthew Pilkington, a poet
also of no inconsiderable merit -, and the two wits, as is
often the case, lived very unhappily together. They
were at length totally separated, on the husband acci¬
dentally discovering a gentleman in her bedchamber at
two o’clock in the morning ; a circumstance which she
accounted for in a very unsatisfactory manner. The
story is told at large in her Memoirs where she says,
“ Lovers of Learning, I am sure, will pardon me, as I
solemnly declare it was the attractive charms of a new
book, which the gentleman would not lend me, but
consented to stay till I read it through, that was the sole
motive of my detaining him.” As there are not want¬
ing some who form objections to marrying learned
wives, the chance of such literary assignations may per¬
haps be added to the list of them. After this unlucky
adventure, Mrs Pilkington came to London } and ha¬
ving recourse to her pen for subsistence, through the
means of Colley Cibber, she lived for some time on the
contributions of the great. She was however thrown into
the Marshalsea for debt -, and being set a liberty, opened
a pamphlet shop. She raised at length a handsome sub¬
scription for her Memoirs ; which are written with great
sprighliness and wit, containing several entertaining
anecdotes of Dean Swift, with whom she was intimate,
as well as many pretty little pieces of her own poetry.
This ingenious woman is said at last to have killed her¬
self with drinking. She died at Dublin, in I750-
PILL, in Pharmacy, a form of medicine resembling
a little ball, to be swallowed whole $ invented for such
not to take any thing prejudicial to England, not to reveal any of its secrets, nor to cairy out wit 1 t em any more
gold or silver than what would be sufficient for their reasonable expences. In this year there went out t it er 10m
England, on the said pilgrimage, the following number of persons. Irom London 280 nsto 200, ey
mouth 122, Dartmouth 90, Yarmouth 60, Jersey 60, Plymouth 40, Exeter 30, Poole 24, Ipswich 20, m a
926 persons.
p * L [ 555 ] P r L
as cannot take bitter and ill-tasted medicinal draughts:
as also to keep in readiness for occasional use without
decaying. See Materia Medica Indtx.
PILLAR, in Architecture. See Architecture.
Pillar* in the manege, is the centre of the ring, or
manege-ground, round which a horse turns, whether
there be x pillar in it or not. Besides this, there are
pillars on the circumference or sides of the manege-
ground, placed at certain distances, by two and two,
from whence they are called the two pillars, to distin¬
guish them from that of the centre. The use of the pil •
lar in the centre is for regulating the extent of ground,
that the manege upon the volts may be performed with
method and justness, and that they may work in a
square, by rule and measure, upon the four lines of the
volts j and also to break unruly high mettled horses,
without endangering the rider. The two pillars are
placed at the distance of two or three paces one from the
other; and the horse is put between those, to teach him
to rise before and yerk out behind, and put himself upon
raised airs, &c. either by the aids or chastisements.
Pompey's Pillar. See Alexandria.
PILLARS, in antiquarian topography, are large
single stones set up perpendicularly. Those of them
which are found in this country have been the work of
the Druids ; but as they are the most simple of all mo¬
numents, they are unquestionably more ancient than
druidism itself. They were placed as memorials record¬
ing different events; such as remarkable instances of
God’s mercies, contracts, singular victories, boundaries,
and sometimes sepulchres. Various instances of these
monuments erected by the patriarchs occur in the Old
Testament: such was that raised by Jacob at Luz, af¬
terwards by him named Bethel; such also was the pillar
placed by him over the grave of Rachel. They were
likewise marks of execrations and magical talismans.
These stones, from having long been considered as
objects of veneration, at length were by the ignorant
and superstitious idolatrously worshipped; wherefore, af¬
ter the introduction of Christianity, some had crosses cut
on them, which was considered as snatching them from
the service of the devil. Vulgar superstition of a later
date has led the common people to consider them as per¬
sons transformed into stone for the punishment of some
crime, generally that of sabbath-breaking •, but this tale
is not confined to single stones, but is told also of whole
circles: witness the monuments called the hurlers in
Cornwall, and Rollorick stones in Warwickshire. The
first are by the vulgar supposed to have been once men,
and thus transformed as a punishment for playing on
the Lord’s day at a game called hurling ; the latter, a
pagan king and his army.
At Wilton, where the earl of Pembroke has a very
magnificent house, there is a pillar of one piece of white
Egyptian granite, which was brought from the temple
of Venus Genetrix at Rome, near 14 feet hi ah and 22
inches diameter, with an inscription to Astarte or Ve¬
nus.
PILLORY {collistrigium, “collum stringens pil-
lona, from the French pilleur, i. e. depeculator ; or pe-
lon, derived from the Greek 7rvA«, janua. a “ door,”
because one standing on the pillory puts his head as it
were through a door, and c^ctw video), is an enpane
made of wood to punish offenders, by exposing them to
public view, and rendering them infamous. There is a
statute of the pillory, 51 lien. III. And by statute it is
appointed for bakers, forestallers, and those who use
false weights, perjury, forgery, &c. 3. Inst. 219. Lords
of leets are to Inve a pillory and tumbrel, or it will be
the cause of forfeiture of the leet 5 and a village may be
bound by prescription to provide a pillory, &c. 2 Hawk.
P. C. 73.
PILOT, the officer who superintends the navigation,
either upon the sea-coast or on the main ocean. It is,
however, mare particularly applied by our mariners to
the person charged with the direction of a ship’s course
on or near the sea-coast, and into the roads, bays, rivers,
havens, &c. within his respective district.
Pilots of ships, taking upon them to conduct any ship
from Dover, &c. to any place up the river Thames, are
to be first examined and approved by the master and
wardens of the society of Trinity House, &c. or shall
forfeit 10I. for the first offence, 20I. for the second, and
40I. for every other offence j one moiety to the infor¬
mer, the other to the master and wardens j but any
master or mate of a ship may pilot his own vessel up the
river : and if any ship be lost through the negligence of
any pilot, he shall be for ever after disableu to act as a
pilot. 3 Geo. I. c. 13. Also the lord-warden of the
cinque ports may make rules for the government of pi¬
lots, and order a sufficient number to ply at sea to con¬
duct ships up to the Thames: 7 Geo. I. c. 21. No
person shall act as a pilot on the Thames, &c. (except
in collier ships) without a licence from the master and
wardens of Trinity House at Deptford, on pain of for¬
feiting 20I. And pilots are to be subject to the go¬
vernment of that corporation ; and pay ancient dues,
not exceeding is. in the pound, out of w-ages, for the
use of the poor thereof. Stat. 5 Geo. II. c. 20.
By the former laws of France, no person could be re¬
ceived as pilot till he had made several voyages and pas¬
sed a strict examination •, and after that, on his return
in long voyages, he was obliged to lodge a copy of his
journal in the admiralty 5 and if a pilot occasioned the
loss of a ship, he had to pay 100 livres fine, and to be
for ever deprived of the exercise of pilotage ; and if he
did it designedly, be punished with death. Lex Mercat.
7°» 71*
The laws of Oleron ordain, That if any pilot design¬
edly misguide a ship, that it may be cast away, he shall
be put to a rigoTous death, and hung in chains : and if
the lord of a place, where a ship be thus lost, abet such
villains in order to have a share of the wreck, he shall
be apprehended, and all his goods forfeited for the sa¬
tisfaction of the persons suffering; and his person shall
be fastened to a stake in the midst of his own mansion,
which, being fired on the four corners, shall be burned
to the ground, and he with it. Leg. 01. c. 25. And
if the fault ot a pilot be so notorious that the ship’s
crew see an apparent wreck, they may lead him to the
hatches, and strike off his head ; but the common law
denies this hasty execution : an ignorant pilot is sen¬
tenced to pass thrice under the ship’s keel by the laws
of Denmark. L^ex Mercat. 70.
The regulations with regard to pilots in the royal na¬
vy are as follow : “ The commanders of the king’s ships,
in order to give all reasonable encouragement to so use¬
ful a body of men as pilots, and to remove all their ob-
4 A 2 jections
Pilfory.
Pilot.
P I L
Pilot.
[ 556
Sections to his majesty’s service, are strictly charged to
treat them with good usage, and an equal respect with
warrant officers. _
“ The purser of the ship is always to have a set ot
bedding provided on board for the pilots •, and the cap¬
tain is to order the boatswain to supply them with ham¬
mocks, and a convenient place to lie in, near their du¬
ty, and apart from the common men •, which bedding
and hammocks are to be returned when the pilots leave
the ship. , .
“ A pilot, when conducting one of his majesty s ships
in pilot-water, shall have the sole charge and command
of the ship, and may give orders for steering, setting,
trimming, or furling the sails •, tacking the ship j or
whatever concerns the navigation j and the captain is to
take care that all the officers and crew obey his orders.
But the captain is diligently to observe the conduct of
the pilot ; and if he judges him to behave so ill as to
bring the ship into danger, he may remove him from
the command and charge ot the ship, and take such me¬
thods for her preservation as shall be judged necessa¬
ry ; remarking upon the log book, the exact hour and
time when the pilot was removed from his office, and
the reasons assigned for it.
“ Captains of the king’s ships, employing pilots in
foreign parts of his majesty’s dominions, shall, after
performance of the service, give a certificate thereof to
the pilot, which being produced to the proper naval of¬
ficer, he shall cause the same to be immediately paid ;
but if there be no naval officer there, the captain ot his
majesty’s ship shall pay him, and send the proper vouch¬
ers, with his bill, to the navy-board, in order to be paid
as bills of exchange.
“ Captains of his majesty’s ships, employing foreign
pilots to carry the ships they command into or out of
foreign ports,'shall pay them the rates due by the esta¬
blishment or custom of the country, before they dis¬
charge them : whose receipts being duly vouched, and
sent, with a certificate of the service performed, to the
navy-board, they shall cause them to be paid with the
same exactness as they do bills of exchange.” Regu¬
lations and Instruction^qf the Sea service, &c.
Pilot Fish. See Gasterosteus, Ichthyology
Index.
Osbec tells us, that they are shaped like those mack¬
erels which have a transverse line upon the body.
“ Sailors (continues he) give them the name of pilots,
because they closely follow the dog fish, swimming in
great shoals round it on all sides. It is thought that
they point out some prey to the dog-fish. I hey are not
only not touched, but also preserved by it against all
their enemies.
It'nkewise follows the shark, apparently for the pur¬
pose of devouring the remains of its prey. It is pre¬
tended that it acts as its pilot. The manner in which
it attends the shark, according to M. Daubenton, may
have given rise to this name. It is said to swim at the
height of a foot and a half from the snout of this vora¬
cious animal, to follow and imitate all its movements,
and to seize with address every part of its prey which
the shark allows to escape, and which is light enough to
buoy up towards the surface of the water. When the
shark, which has its mouth below, turns to seize any
fish, the pilot fish starts away, but as soon as the shark
resumes his ordinary position, it returns to its former
Pilot
] P I M
place. It is said, that in the gulf of Guinea those fishes
follow ships for the sake of the offals and human excre- jj
ments ; and hence the Dutch give them the name of Pimento.
dung fish. It is remarkable, that though so small they ^ 'rmmJ
can keep pace with ships in their swiltest course.
PILTEN, a division of Courland, which lies in Cour-
land properly so called, derives its name from the an¬
cient castle or palace of Pilten, built by Valdemar II.
King of Denmark about the year 1220, when he found¬
ed a bishop’s see ill this country for the more effectual
conversion of its Pagan inhabitants. This district after¬
wards successively belonged to the Germans, then again
to the king of Denmark, the duke of Courland, and to
Poland j and by virtue of the instrument of regency
drawn up for this district in the year 1717, the govern¬
ment is lodged in seven Polish senators or counsellors,
from whom an appeal lies to the king. The bishop of
Samogitia also styles himselr bishop of Pilten.
The most remarkable part of this district is the pro¬
montory of Domesness, which projects northward into
the gulf of Livonia. From this cape, a sand-bank runs
four German miles farther into the sea, half of which
lies under water, and cannot be discerned. To the east
of this promontory is an unfathomable abyss, which is
never observed to be agitated. For the safety of vessels
bound to Livonia, two square beacons have been erect¬
ed on the coast, near Domesness church, opposite to
the sand bank, and facing each other. One ot these is
twelve fathoms high, and the other eight $ and a large
fire is kept burning on them from the first of August to
the first of January. When the mariners see these fires
appear as one in a direct line, they may conclude that
they are clear of the extremity of the sand bank, and
consequently out of danger but if they see both bea¬
cons, they are in danger of running upon it. The dis¬
trict of Pilten contains seven parishes, but no towns
worthy of notice. The inhabitants are chiefly of the
Lutheran persuasion.
PILUM, a missive weapon used by the Roman sol¬
diers, and in a charge darted upon the enemy. Its
point, we are told by Polybius, was so long and small,
that after the first discharge it was generally so bent as
to be rendered useless. The legionary soldiers made use
of the pilum, and each man carried two. The pilum un¬
derwent many alterations and improvements, insomuch
that it is impossible with any precision to describe it.
Julius Scaliger laboured much to give an accurate ac¬
count of it, and would have esteemed success on this
head amongst the greatest blessings of his life. This
weapon appears, however, to have been sometimes round,
but most commonly square, to have been two cubits long
in the staff, and to have had an iron point of the same
length hooked and jagged at the end. Marius made a
material improvement in it ; for during the Cimbrian
war, he so contrived it, that when it stuck in the ene¬
mies shieid it should bend down in an angle in the pait
where the wood was connected with the iron, and thus
become useless to the person who received it.
PJMENTO, Piemento, Jamaica Pepper, or All¬
spice,* species ofmyrtus. See Myrtus, Botany In¬
dex. s > .
“ Thd pimento trees grow spontaneously, and in
great abundance, in many parts of Jamaica, but more
particularly on hilly situations near the sea, on the
northern side of that island) where they form the
most
P I M [ 5
most delicious groves that can possibly be imagined j
filling the air with iragrance, and giving reality, though
in a very distant part of the globe, to our great poet’s
description of those balmy gales which convey to the
delighted voyager
P I N
Sabean odours from the spicy shore
Of Araby the blest.
Cheer’d with the grateful smell, old ocean smiles.
“ This tree is purely a child of nature, and seems to
mock all the labours ot man in his endeavours to extend
or improve its growth : not one attempt in fifty to pro¬
pagate the young plants, or to raise them from the seeds,
in parts of the country where it is not found growing
spontaneously, having succeeded. The usual method of
forming a new pimento plantation (in Jamaica it is cal¬
led a walk) is nothing more than to appropriate a piece
of woodland, in the neighbourhood of a plantation al¬
ready existing, or in a country where the scattered trees
are found in a native state, the woods of which being
fallen, the trees are suffered to remain on the ground
till they become rotten and perish. In the coarse of
twelve months after the first season, abundance of young
pimento plants will be found growing vigorously in all
parts of the land, being without doubt produced from
ripe berries scattered there by the birds, while the fallen
trees, &c. afford them both shelter and shade. At the
end of two years it will be proper to give the land a
thorough cleansing, leaving such only of the pimento
trees as have a good appearance, which will then soon
form such groves as those I have described, and except
perhaps for the first four or five years, require very little
attention afterwards.
“ Soon after the trees are in blossom, the berries be¬
come fit for gathering •, the fruit not being suffered to
ripen on the tree, as the pulp in that state, being moist
and glutinous, is difficult to cure, and when dry be¬
comes black and tasteless. It is impossible, however, to
prevent some of the ripe berries from mixing with the
rest j but if the proportion of them be great, the price
of the commodity is considerably injured.
“ It is gathered by the hand j one labourer on the
tree, employed in gathering the small branches, will
give employment to three below (who are generally
women and children) in picking the berries 5 and an
industrious picker will fill a bag of 7oIbs. in the day.
“ The returns from a pimento walk in a favourable
season are prodigious. A single tree has been known
to yield Ijolbs. of the raw fruit, or one cwt. of the
dried spice; there being commonly a loss in weight of
one third in curing j but this, like many other of the
minor productions, is exceedingly uncertain, and per¬
haps a very plenteous crop occurs but once in five
years.
PIMP1NELLA, Burnet Saxifragej a genus of
plants belonging to the pentandria class. See Botany
Index.
PIMPLE, in Medicine, a small pustule arising on
the face. By mixing equal quantities of the juice of
liouse-leek {sedum minus), passed through paper, and of
spirit of wine rectified by itself, a white coagulum of a
very volatile nature is formed, which L)r Bughart com¬
mends for curing pimples of the face •, and says, that
the thin liquor separated from it with sugar-candy is
57 ]
an excellent remedy for thick viscid phlegm in the
breast.
PIN, in commerce, a little necessary instrument made
of brass-wire, chiefly used by women in fastening and
adjusting their dress.
In the year 1543, by statute 34 and 35 of Henry
\ III. cap. 6. it was enacted, “ That no person shall
put to sale any pinnes but only such as shall be doubie-
headed, and have the heads soldered fast to the shank
of the pins, well smoothed, the shank well-shapen, the
points well and round filed, cauted, and sharpened.”
From the above extract it should appear that the art of
pin-making was but of late invention, probably intro¬
duced from France; and that our manufactories Since
that period have wonderfully improved.
Though pins are apparently simple, their manufacture
is, however, not a little curious and complex. We shall
therefore give our readers an account of it from Ellis’s
Campagna of London.
“ When the brass-wire, of which the pins are form¬
ed, is first received at the manufactory, it is generally
too thick for the purpose of being cut into pins. The
first operation therefore is that of winding it off from
one wheel to another with great velocity, and causing
it to pass between the two, through a circle in a piece
of iron of smaller diameter: the wire being thus redu¬
ced to its proper dimensions, is straightened by drawing
it between iron pins, fixed on a board in a zig-xao-
manner, but so as to leave a straight line between them:
afterwards it is cut into lengths of three or four yards,
and then into smaller ones, eveiy length being sufficient
to make six pins; each end of these is ground to a
point, which was performed when I viewed the manu¬
factory by boys who sat each with two small grinding
stones before him, turned by a wheel. Taking up a
handful, he applies the ends to the coarsest of the two
stones, being careful at the same time to keep each
piece moving round between his fingers, so that the
points may not become flat : he then gives them a
smoother and sharper point, by applying them to the
other stone, and by that means a lad of 1 2 or I 4 years
of age is enabled to point about 16,000 pins in an
hour. When the wire is thus pointed, a pin is taken
off from each end, and this is repeated till it is cut in¬
to six pieces. The next operation is that of forming
the heads, or, as they term it, head spinning', which is
done by means of a spinning-wheel, one piece of wire
being thus with astonishing rapidity wound round an¬
other, and the interior one being drawn out, leaves a
hollow tube between the circumvolutions : it is then
cut with sheers ; every two circumvolutions or turns
of the wire forming one head; these are softened by
throwing them into iron pans, and placing them in a
furnace till they are red hot. As soon as they are
cold, they are distributed to children, who sit with
anvils and hammers before them, which they work
with their feet, by means of a lathe, and taking
up one of the lengths, they thrust the blunt end
into a quantity of the heads which lie before them,
and catching one at the extremity, they apply them
immediately to the anvil and hammer, and by a
motion or two of the foot, the point and the head
are fixed together in much less time than can it be
described, and with a dexterity only to be acquired
by practice; the spectator being in continual apprehen-
Pimple,
Pin.
P I N
[ 558 1
P I N
j4;n sion for the safety of their fingers ends. The pin is
|| now finished as to its form, but still it is merely brass ;
Pindar, it is therefore thrown into a copper containing a solu-
 V'-' tion of tin and the leys of wine. Here it remains for
some time j and when taken out assumes a white though
>dull appearance: in order therefore to give it a polish,
it is put into a tub containing a quantity of bran, which
is set in motion bv turning a shaft that runs through its
centre, and thus by means ot friction it becomes per¬
fectly bright. The pin being complete, nothing re¬
mains but to separate it from the bran, which is per¬
formed by a mode exactly similar to the winnowing of
corn ; the bran flying ofl and leaving the pin behind fit
for immediate sale. I was the more pleased with this
manufactory, as it appeared to afford employment to a
number of children of both sexes, who are thus not only
prevented from acquiring the habits ot idleness and vice,
but are on the contrary initiated in their early years in
those of a beneficial and virtuous industry.” See Nee¬
dles.
PINACIA, among the Athenians, were tablets of
brass inscribed with the names of all those citizens in
each tribe who were duly qualified and willing to be
judges of the court of Areopagus. These tablets were
cast into a vessel provided for the purpose, and the same
number of beans, a hundred being white and all the rest
black, were thrown into another. Then the names of
the candidates and the beans were drawn out one by one,
and they whose names were drawn out together with
the white beans were elected judges or senators. In So¬
lon’s time there were only four tribes, each of which
chose 100 senators; but the number of tribes afterwards
increasing, the number of senators and judges increased
to so many hundreds more.
PINANG, the Chinese name of the Areca Catechu
Lin. See Areca, Botany Index.
PINCHBECK, a factitious metallic substance, or an
alloy of zinc three parts, and of copper, four. See Che¬
mistry Index.
PINDAR, the prince of lyric poets, was born at
Thebes, about 520 years B. C. He received his first
musical instructions from his father, who was a flute-
player by profession *, after which, according to Sui-
das, he was placed under Myrtis, a lady of distinguish¬
ed abilities in lyric poetry. It was during this period
that he became acquainted with the poetess Corinna,
who was likewise a student under IVlyrtis. Plutarch
4 11s us, hat Pindar profited from the lessons which
Corinna, more advanced in her studies, gave him at
this school. It is very natural to suppose, that the
first poetical effusions of a genius so full of fire and
imagination as that of Pindar would be wild and luxu¬
riant $ and Lucian has preserved six verses, said to
have been the exordium of his first essay j in which he
crowded almost all the subjects for song which ancient
history and mythology then furnished. Upon commu¬
nicating this attempt to Corinna, she told him smiling,
that he should sow with the hand, and not empty his
whole sack at once. Pindar, however, soon quitted
the leading strings of these, ladies, his poetical nurses,
and became the disciple of Simonides, now arrived art
extreme old age : after which he soon surpassed all his
masters, and acquired great reputation over all Greece :
but, like a true prophet, he was less honoured in his
own country than elsewhere j for at 1 hebes he was fre¬
quently pronounced to be vanquished, in the musical and
poetical contests, by candidates of inferior merit.
The custom of having these public trials of skill in
all the great cities of Greece was now so prevalent,
that but little fame was to be acquired by a musician
or poet any other way than by entering the lists *,
and we find, that both Myrtis and Corinna publicly
disputed the prize with him at Thebes. He obtained
a victory over Myrtis, but was vanquished five dif¬
ferent times by Corinna. The judges, upon occasions
like these, have been frequently accused of partiality or
ignorance, not only by the vanquished, but by posteri¬
ty •, and if the merit of Pindar was pronounced inferior
to that of Corinna five several times, it was, says Pau-
sanias, because the judges were more sensible to the
charms ot beauty than to those of music and poetry (a).
Was it not strange, said the Scythian Anacharsis, that
the Grecian artists were never judged by artists, their
peers ?
Pindar, before he quitted Thebes, had the vexa¬
tion to see his Dithyrambics traduced, abused, and
turned into ridicule, by the comic poets of his time 5
and Athenseus tells us, that he was severely censured
by his brother lyrics, for being a lipogrammatist, and
composing an ode from which he had excommunicated
the letter S. Whether these censures proceeded from
envy or contempt cannot now be determined; but
they were certainly useful to Pindar, and it was neces¬
sary that he should be lashed for such puerilities.
Thebes seems to have been the purgatory of our
young bard : when he quitted that city, as his judge¬
ment was matured, he avoided most ot the errors for
which he had been chastised, and suddenly became the
wonder and delight of all Greece. Every hero, prince,
and potentate, desirous of lasting fame, courted the muse
of Pind; r.
He seems frequently to have been present at the
four great festivals, of the Olympian, Pythian, Nemean,
and Isthmian games, as maybe inferred from several cir¬
cumstances and expressions in the odes which he com¬
posed for the victors in them all. I hose at Olympia,
who were ambitious ot having their achievements cele¬
brated by Pindar, applied to him for an ode, which was
first sung in the Prytaneum or town-hall of Olympia,
where there was a banqueting room, set apart tor the
entert tinment of the conquerors. Here the ode was re¬
hearsed by a chorus, accompanied by instruments. It
was afterwards performed in the same manner at the
triumphal entry of the victor mto his own country, in
processions,or at the sacrifices that were made with great
pomp and solemnity on the occasion.
Finish
(a') Pausanias says, that Corinna Was One of the most beautiful women of her time, as he gp y a
ture of her which he saw at Tanagris at the place where the public exercises we e pertorn ed. >. P w®8 r
presented with her head ornamented by a riband) as a memorial ol the victories she had obtained over in ar
Thebes. 5
F I N
ndar. Pindar, in his second Isthmian ode, lias apologized
> for the mercenary custom among poets, of receiving
money for their compositions. “ The world (says he) is
grown interested, and thinks in general with the Spar¬
tan philosopher Aristodemus, that money only makes the
man: a truth which this sage himself experienced, ha¬
ving with his riches lost all his friends.” It is supposed
that Pindar here alludes to the avarice of Simonides,
who first allowed his muse to sell her favours to the
highest bidder.
There is no great poet in antiquity whose moral
character has been less censured than that of Pindar.
Plutarch has preserved a single verse of his Epicedium
or Dirge that was sung at his funeral ; which, short
and simple as it is, implies great praise : This man xvas
pleasing to strangers, and dear to his fellow-citi-zens.
His works abound with precepts of the purest morali¬
ty : and it does not appear that he ever traduced even
his enemies *, comforting himself, for their malignity, by
a maxim which he inserted in his first Pythic, and
which afterwards became proverbial, That it is better to
be envied than pitied.
Pausanias says, that the character of poet was truly
consecrated in the person of Pindar, by the god of
verse himself j who was pleased, by an express oracle,
to order the inhabitants of Delphos to set apart for
Pindar one half of the first-fruit offerings brought by
the religious to his shrine, and to allow him a conspi¬
cuous place in his temple, where, in an iron chair, he
used to sit and sing his hymns in honour of that god.
This chair was remaining in the time of Pausanias,
several centuries after, and shown to him as a relick
not unworthy of the sanctity and magnificence of that
place.
But though Pindar’s muse was pensioned at Delphos,
and well paid by princes and potentates elsewhere, she
seems, however, sometimes to have sung the sponta¬
neous strains of pure friendship. Of this kind were,
probably, the verses bestowed upon the musician Mi¬
das, of Agrigentum in Sicily, who had twice obtained
the palm of victory bv his performance on the flute
at the Pythic games (b). It is in his 12th Pythic ode
that Pindar celebrates the victory of Midas over all
Greece, upon that instrument which Minerva herself
had invented (c).
Fabricius tells us, that Pindar lived to the age of
90 •, and, according to the chronology of Dr Blair, he
died 435 years B. C. aged 86. His fellow citizens
erected a monument to him in the Hippodrome at
Thebes, which was still subsisting in the time of Pau¬
sanias ; and his renown was so great after his death,
that his posterity derived very considerable honours and
privileges from it. When Alexander the Great at-
P I N
tacked the city of Thebes, he gave express orders to Pindar
his soldiers to spare the house and family of Pindar. j|
The Lacedaemonians had done the same before this pe- fines,
riod; for when they ravaged Boeotia and burned the 'r""“
capital, the following words were written upon the
door of the poet: Forbear to burn this house ; it xvas
the dwelling of Pindar. Respect for the memory of
this great poet continued so long, that, even in Plu¬
tarch’s time, the best part of the sacred victim at the
Theoxenian festival was appropriated to his descend¬
ants.
PINDARIC ODE, in Poetry, an ode formed in
imitation of the manner of Pindar. See Poetry, N°
136, &c.
PLNDUS, in Ancient Geography, not a single
mountain, but a chain of mountains, inhabited by dif¬
ferent people of Epirus and Thessaly} separating Ma¬
cedonia, Thessaly, and Epirus: An extensive chain^
having Macedonia to the north, the Perrhoebi to the
west, the Dolopes to the south, and the mountain itself
of Thessaly (Strabo).
Pindus, a Doric city of ^Etolia, situated on the
cognominal river, which falls into the Cephissus (Stra-^
bo^.
PINE, in Botany. See Pinus, Botany Index.
PiNE-Apple. See Bromelia, Botany Index i,
and for an account of the mode of cultivating the pine¬
apple, see Gardening.
PINEA, or Pigne, in commerce, is a term used in
Peru and Chili, for a kind of light, porous masses, or
lumps, formed of a mixture of mercury and silver-dust
from the mines. The ore, or mineral, of silver, when
dug out of the veins of the mine, is first broken and
then ground in mills for the purpose, driven by water
with iron pestles, each of 200 pounds weight. The
mineral, when thus pulverized, is next sifted, and then
worked up with water into a paste', which, when half
dry, is cut into pieces, called cuerpos, a foot long,
weighing each about 25CO pounds.
Each piece or cuerpo is again kneaded up with sea-
salt, which, dissolving, incorporates with it. They
then add mercury, from 10 to 20 pounds for each
euerpo, kneading the paste afresh until the mercury
be incorporated therewith. This office, which is ex¬
ceedingly dangerous on account of the noxious quali¬
ties of the mercury, is always made the lot of the poor
Indians. This amalgamation is continued for eight or
nine days 5 and some add lime, lead, or tin ore, &c. to
forward it", and, in some mines, they are obliged to
use fire. To try whether or no the mixture and a-
malgamation be sufficient, they wash a piece in water 5
and if the mercury be white, it is a proof that it has
had its effect : if black, it must be still farther work¬
ed.
[ 559 ]
(B' This Midas is a very different personage from his long-eared majesty of Phrygia, whose decision in fa¬
vour of Pan had given such oflence to Apollo 5 as is manifest, indeed, from his having been contemporaiy with
Pindar.
(c) The most extraordinary part of this musician’s performance that can be gathered from the scholiast
upon Pindar, v\ns his finishing the solo, without a reed or mouth-piece, which broke accidentally while hi was
playing. The legendary account given by the poet in this ode, of the occasion upon which the flute was in¬
vented by Minerva, is diverting: “ It was (says he) to imitate he howling of thn Gorgons, and the hissing of
their snakes, which the goddess had heard when the head of Medusa (one of these throe an.i-graccs) was cut off.
by Perseus.”
P I N
[ 5^0 ]
P I N
Pinea ed. When finished, it is sent to the lavatories, which
|1 are large basons that empty successively into one ano-
Piueau. then The paste, &c. being laid in the uppermost of.
"‘““v " ‘ these, the earth is then washed from it into the rest by
a rivulet turned upon it; an Indian, all the while, stir¬
ring it with his feet, and two other Indians doing the
like in the other basons. When the water runs quite
clear out of the basons, the mercury and silver are found
at bottom incorporated. This matter they call pellet,
and of this they form the pineas, by expressing as much
of the mercury as they can 5 first, by putting it in
woollen batrs, and pressing and beating it strongly ;
then, by stamping it in a kind of wooden mould, of
an octagonal form, at bottom whereof is a brass plate
pierced full of little holes. The matter, when taken
out of the mould, is laid on a trivet, under which is a
larjje vessel full of water ; and the whole being cover¬
ed with an earthen head, a fire is made round it.
The mercury still remains in the mass, and is thus
reduced into fumes, and, at length, condensing, it is
precipitated into the water, leaving behind it a mass
of silver grains of different figures, which, only joining
or touching at the extremes, render the matter very
porous and light. This, therefore, is the pinea, or
pigne, which the workmen endeavour to sell, secretly
to vessels trading to the South sea ; and from which
those, who have ventured to engage in so dangerous a
commerce, have made such vast gains. Indeed the
traders herein must be very careful ; for the Spanish
miners are arrant knaves, and to make the pignes
weigh the more, they often fill the middle with sand
or iron.
PINEAL gland. See Brain, Anatomy Index.
PINEAU, Gabriel du, a distinguished lawyer, was
horn at Angers in 1573. He went afterwards to
Paris, and pled with eclat before the parliament and
great council. Upon his return to Angers, he became
a counsellor in the presidial court. He was consulted
by all the neighbouring provinces, and bad an active
hand in all the great affairs of his time. Mary de Me-
dicis conferred upon him the office of master of re¬
quests, and in her disgrace wished to support herself
by his credit and counsels ; but Hu Pineau, always at¬
tentive to what he owed on the one hand to the mo¬
ther of his king, and on the other to the king himself,
never ceased to inspire that princess with sentiments of
peace.
In 163 2 Louis XIII. by way of reward, appointed
him mayor and captain-general of the city of Angers ;
a situation in which he merited the flattering title of
Father of the People. He had no respect of persons j
for he was equallv accessible to the poor and the great.
This worthy citizen died the 15th of October 1644,
at the age of 71. His house was a kind of academy,
where regular conferences were held, and attended by
young officers, advocates, and other literary characters.
In those conferences every one freely stated the diffi¬
culties which occurred to him upon subjects either of
law or history j and when Pineau spoke, all was made
clear j but he was always the last in delivering his sen¬
timents, because he perceived that too much deference
was paid to his opinion. His writings are, 1. Latin
notes, in addition to those of Du Moulin, upon the ca¬
non law, and printed along with the works of that
eminent lawyer by the care of Francis Pinson. 2. Com¬
mentaries, obsejvations, and consultations, upon several
important questions respecting the laws both of Anjou
and of France, with some dissertations upon different
subjects, &c. reprinted in 1725, in 2 vols. folio, by the
care of Livoniere, who has enriched them with very
useful remarks. The editor says, that “ Du Pineau
is a little inferior to the celebrated Du Moulin on the
civil law, but that he is more accurate than the other
upon the canon law.”—Menage made these two verses
upon his death :
Pinellus per lit, Themidis plus tile sacerdos,
In proprio judex limine perpetuus.
PINEDA, John, a writer of history, was born at
Seville of a noble family, and entered into the society of
Jesuits in 1572. He taught philosophy and divinity in
several colleges ; and devoted bis time to the study of
the Holy Scriptures. That be might render that study
the easier, he made himself master of the oriental lan¬
guages. We have of his writings, I. Two volumes of
Commentaries upon the book ot Job, in folio. 2. I wo
upon Ecclesiastes. 3* A General History of the Church,
in Spanish, 4 vol. in folio. 4. A History of Ferdi¬
nand III. in the same language, in folio. He died in
1637, much regretted by the members of his society,
and by the public in general.
PI NELLI, John Vincent, a distinguished literary
character, was born at Naples, and was son of Count
Pinelli, a noble Genoese, who had settled in that city,
and had acquired a handsome fortune in the way of
trade. After receiving a liberal education, be quitted
the place of his nativity, and repaired to Padua, where
he took up his residence at the age of 24. Being a
great lover of science, he gave a preference to that city-
on account of its famous university, which brought to it
a number of learned men. He bad an excellent library,
which consisted of a choice collection of books and ma¬
nuscripts, and which he continued to enrich till the
hour of his death. His literary correspondence, not on¬
ly in Italy, hut through the most of Europe, procured
him all the new works which were worthy of a place in
his collection. The authors themselves were often for¬
ward to pay their respects to him. In many cities of
Italy he had persons employed to search, at least once a
month, the stalls of those artificers who make use of old
parchments, such as lute-makers, sievewrights, and
others ; and by this means he had the good fortune
often to save from destruction some valuable fragments.
His passion for knowledge embraced all the sciences j
but history,medals,antiquities, natural history, and pai-
ticularly botany, were his favourite studies. He was
consulted from all quarters, and the extent of Ins ac¬
quaintance with the learned world was very great. He
corresponded with Justus Lipsius, Joseph Scaliger, Si-
gonius, Possevin, Peter Pithou, and a great many
others, who have all paid the highest compliments to
his erudition. Insensible to all the pleasures of life, and
acquainted only with those of the mind, he had a gieat
dislike to plays, entertainments, shows, and every thing
which most excites the curiosity of other men. Duiing
the space of 43 years that he lived at Padua, he was
never known to be out of the city but twice ; once on
occasion of a plague which infested it *, and afterwarts
on a voyage to Naples, which be made at the earnest
solicitation of his friends. In short, linelli was genei
ous.
FIN [ 561 ] PIN
Pinclli 6us, sympathizing, anti compassionate, particularly to
(I men ot' letters, whose wants he often anticipated. His
mg'leang-zeai for the progress and advancement of science ren-
_ ° ~ ■ dered him very communicative of his knowledge and of
his books j but this was always done with judgment and
discretion. He died in 1601, aged 68, without having
published any work. Paul Gualdo, who has written
Pinelli’s life, does not specify the number of volumes
of which his rich library consisted : he only informs us,
that when it was transported by sea to Naples, it was
packed up in 130 chests, of which 14 contained manu¬
scripts ; but it did not go wholly to his heirs. The
senate of Venice cause-d their seal to be set upon the
manuscripts, and took away whatever concerned the
affairs of the republic, to the number of 200 pieces.—
“ I compare (says President de Thou) Pinelli to Titus
Pomponius 5 for, as that illustrious Roman was called
Attick, Pinelli also bore the title of Venetian, on ac¬
count of the great affection which the republic of Ve¬
nice had for him.
PINET, Antony du, lord of Noroy, an ecclesias¬
tical writer, who lived in the 16th century, and was a
native of Besan^on in France. He was strongly attach¬
ed to the Protestant religion, and a bitter enemy to the
church of Rome. His book, entitled La Conformite des
Egli ses Reformes de France, et de PEglise primitive,
printed at Lyons, 1564, in 8vo ; and the notes which he
added to the French translation of the Fees of the Pope’s
Chancery, which was printed at Lyons, in 8vo, 1564,
and reprinted at Amsterdam in 1700, in i2mo, plainly
discover his sentiments. He published the last mention¬
ed performance under this title: Taxe des parties ca-
suelles de la boutique du Pape, in Latin and French, with
some notes taken from decrees, councils, and canons, in
order to ascertain the discipline anciently observed in
the church. In the epistle dedicatory, he assumes the
tone of a declared enemy to the court of Rome. He
apologizes for having presented this book “ to a society
so holy as yours (the Protestants), in which are heard
only hymns, psalms, and^praises, to the Lord our God :
but it is proper to show to the villain his villany, and
the fool his folly, lest one should be thought to re¬
semble them.” We see by this specimen, that Pinet
had no more politeness in his style than in his manners.
His translation of Pliny’s Natural Plistory, printed at
Lyons in 2 vols folio, 1566, and at Paris, 1608, was
formerly much read. Though there are many errors
in it, it is yet very useful, especially for those who do
not understand Pliny’s Latin, on account of the trans¬
lators researches, and a great number of marginal notes.
Pi. mt also published “ Plans of the principal fortresses
in the world,” at Lyons, 1564, in folio.
rosier's PING-leang-Fou, a city of China in the pro-
™ra} vince of Chen-si. It is one of the most considerable
lnof c'ties the western part of the province, and is si-
tuated on the river Kin-ho. The air here is mild j
hi. p.92. and the agreeable views which the surrounding moun¬
tains present, added to the streams which water the
country, render it a very delightful residence. It has
under its jurisdiction three cities of the second class
and seven of the third. In this district is a valley so
deep and narrow, that it is almost impervious to the
light: a large highway, paved with square stones, runs
through it.
Vol. XVI. Part II.
PINGUICULA, Butterwort ; a genus of plants Pinguicuta
belonging to the diandria class. See Botany Index. i|
PINGU1N, or Penguin, in Ornithology, a genus ;J|nr|l)!p"i';
of birds of the order anseres. See Aptenodytes, Or- v
NITHOLOGY Index, or page 507.
PINION, in Mechanics, an arbor, or spindle, in the
body whereof are several notches, which catch the teeth
of a wheel that serves to turn it round ; or it is a lesser
wheel that plays in the teeth of a larger.
PINK, a name given to a ship with a very narrow
stern ; whence all vessels, however small, whose sterns
are fashioned in this manner, are called pink-sterned.
Pink. See Dianthus, Botany Index.
PINNA, in Zoology, a genus of shell-fish belonging
to the order of vermes testacea. See Conchology In¬
dex.—Pliny, who gives some account, perhaps not very
correct, of the history of some of the species of this ge¬
nus (lib. ix. 51.) says, the smallest of all the kinds'is
called the pinnoteres,, and therefore liable to injury ;
this has the prudence to hide itself in the shells of oy¬
sters. Again, lib. ix. 66. he says, the pinna is of the
genus of shell-fish ; it is produced in muddy waters, al-
wrays erect, nor ever without a companion, which some,
call the pinnoteres, others the pinnophylax. This some¬
times is a small squill, sometimes a crab, that follows
the pinna for the sake of food. The pinna, upon open¬
ing its shell, exposes itself as a prey to the smallest
kind of fishes j for they immediately assault her, and,
growing bolder upon finding no resistance, venture in.
The guard, watching its time, gives notice by a bite ;
upon which the pinna, closing its shell, shuts in, kills,
and gives part of whatever happens to be there to its
companion.
The pinna and the crab together dwell,
lor mutual succour, in one common shell.
They both to gain a livelihood combine ;
That takes the prey, when this has given the sign.
From hence this crab, above his fellows fam’d,
By ancient Greeks was pinnoteres nam’d.—Ofpian.
PINNACE, a small vessel navigated with oars anH
sails, and having generally two masts, which are rigged
like those of a schooner.
Pinnace is also a boat usually rowed with eight oars.
See the article Boat.
PINNACLE, in Architecture, the top or roof of
a house, terminating in a point. This kind of roof
among the ancients was appropriated to temples; their
ordinary roofs were ail flat, or made in the platform
way.
PINNATED leaves. See Botany Index.
PINNATH ID leaves. See Botany Index.
PINNOTERUS, or Pinnophylax, is a kind of
crab-fish, furnished with very good eyes. It is said to
be the companion of the pinna marina. They live
and lodge together in the same shell, which belongs to
the latter. When it has occasion to eat, it opens its
valves, and sends out its faithful purveyor to procure
food. If during their labour the pinnoterus perceives
the polypus, it immediately returns to warn its blind
friend of the danger, when, by shutting its valves, it
escapes the rage of its enemy ; but when the pinnoterus
loads itself with booty without molestation, it makes a
gentle noise at the opening of the shell, and when ad-
t 4 B mitted
Pinu-
PIN [ 5^2
JPinaotcrttS milted the two friends feast on the fruits of its indus-
U try. See PlNNA, &c.
PINT (pinta), a vessel or measure, used in estima-
ting the (juantity of liquids, and even sometimes of
dry things.—Budceus derives the word from the Greek
<riv9-<* • others from the German pint, a little measure
of wine} Nicod from the Greek ttosiv, “ to drink.”
The English pint is twofold j the one for wine mea¬
sure, the other for beer and ale measure. See Mea¬
sure.
PINTADA, a species of Procellaria.
PINTLES, certain points or hooks fastened upon
the back part of the rudder, with their points down¬
wards, in order to enter into, and rest upon, the goo-
gings, fixed in the stern-post, to hang the rudder. See
Heem. # .
PINTOP, Peter, physician, was born at Valentia
in Spain, in the year 1420, and was physician to Alex¬
ander VI. whom he followed to Home, where he prac¬
tised with great success. He has left behind him two
performances of considerable merit, 1. Aggregator Sen-
tentiarum Doctorum de Curatione in Pestilentia, print-
ted at Rome 1499, in folio. 2. Tie Morbo Fcedo et
Occulto his Temporibus Affligenti, &c. printed at
Rome, 1500, in 4to, black letter: a book extremely
scarce, unknown to Luisini and Astruc, and which
traces the venereal disease to the year 1496. Pintor
died at Rome in 1503, aged 83 years.
PINTURICCIO, Bernardino, a celebrated Ita¬
lian painter, was born at Perusia in 1454’ -^-e was
disciple of Peter Perugino, under whom he became so
good an artist, that he employed him on many occa¬
sions as his assistant, hie principally painted history
and grotesque ; but he also excelled in portraits, among
which those of Pope Pius II. and Innocent VIII. of
Giulia Earnese, Coesar Borgia, and Queen Isabella ol
Spain, are particularly distinguished. The most me¬
morable performance of Pinturiccio is the history of
Pius II. painted in ten compartments in the monastery
of Sienna ; in which undertaking, Raphael, then a young
man, and bred under the same master, assisted him so
far as to sketch out cartoons of many parts of the com¬
position. The story of his death is worth relating,
especially as it illustrates his character. The last work
he was engaged in was a Nativity for the monastery of
St Francis at Sienna: the monks accommodated him
with a chamber to work in, which they cleared of all
the furniture, except one old trunk or chest that ap¬
peared too rotten to move 5 but Pintnriecio, naturally
positive and peevish, insisted on its being taken away,
and the monks, willing to gratify him, complied. . It
was no sooner stirred than one of the planks bursting,
out tumbled 500 pieces of gold, which had been secret¬
ed there for many years. The monks were overjoyed
at finding this treasure, and the painter proportionably
mortified at losing his chance of the discovery by his
indiscreet obstinacy: it affected his spirits so much that
he survived but a few months, and it was generally
considered as the cause of his death.
PINUS, the Pine-tree ; a genus of plants belong¬
ing to the moncecia class. See Botany Index. The
pine-tree wras well known to the ancients, and has been
described and celebrated both by their philosophers and
poets. Pliny enumerates no less than six species of trees
of this genus; and it is mentioned by Virgil both in his
]
PIN
Eclogues, his Georgies, and his iEneid j by Horace pinm,
in his Odes ; by Ovid in his Metamorphoses j by Sta-y—j
tins ; and by Catullus, &c. Macrobius relates an anec¬
dote concerning the cones of pine-trees, which in com¬
mon language were c-aWhA poma pmea, “ pine-apples.”
There lived in the Augustan age one Vatinius, who by
some means had irritated the Roman people so much
that they pelted him with stones. When he entertain¬
ed them with gladiators, to save himself from such
treatment for the future, he procured an edict from tlie
ediles, that no person should throw any thing but apples
in the amphitheatre. It accidentally happened that at
this time Cascellius, eminent for his wit as well as know¬
ledge of the law, was consulted on the question, whether
a pine-apple (the cone of the pine) wras legally included
in the termpomum, “ an apple?” It is an apple (said
he) if you intend to fling it at Vatinius*. A decision
by which the edict in his favour did not much mend his 1 ‘
situation : for Martial represents it dangerous to come
under this tree, because the cones in his time were of
so great a size and weight, probably enlarged by culti¬
vation for ages.
Nnces PinecE.
Poma sumus Cijbeles : procul hinc discede, viator,
Ne cadat in miserum nostra ruina caput t Lib. xiii.
EP’ 25’
There are generally reckoned 14 species of this ge¬
nus 5 of which the most remarkable are these following:
1. The Pinea, pineaster, or wild pine, grows naturally
on the mountains in Italy and the south of France. It
grows to the size of a large tree j the branches extend
to a considerable distance j and while the trees are young,
they are fully garnished with leaves, especially where
they are not so close as to exclude the air from those
within } but as they advance in age, the branches ap¬
pear naked, and all those which are situated below be¬
come unsightly in a few years •, for which reason they
are now much less in esteem than formerly.
2. The pinus pinea, or stone pine, is a tall evergreen
tree, native of Italy and Spain. It delights in a sandy
loam, though like most others it will grow well in al¬
most any land. Respecting the uses of this species,
Hanbury tells us that “ the kernels are eatable, and by
many preferred to almonds. In Italy they are served
up at table in their desserts.—They are exceeding whole¬
some, being good for coughs, colds, consumptions, &c.
on which account only this tree deserves to be propa¬
gated.” Hanbury continues: “ It may be very proper
here to take notice of a very great and dangerous mis¬
take Mr Miller has committed, by saying, under his
article of stone-pine, that seeds kept in the cones will be
good, and grow if they are sown ten or twelve years
after the cones have been gathered from the trees j
whereas the seeds of this sort, whether kept in the cones
or taken out, are never good after the first year; and
though sometimes a few plants will come up from the
seeds that are kept in the cones for two years before, yet
this is but seldom; neither must a tenth part of a crop
be expected. This caution is the more necessary, as
several gentlemen who had cones, upon reading Mr
Miller’s book, and finding the seeds would take no
damage when kept there, deferred the work for a sea¬
son or two, when they thought they should have more
conveniency either of men or ground for their purpose ;
and were afterwards wholly disappointed, no plants ap¬
pearing,
PIN C 563 ] PIN
Pinus. pearing, the seeds being by that time spoiled and worth
■— nothing.”
3. The rubra, commonly called the Scots fir or pine.
It is common throughout Scotland, whence its name j
though it is also found in most of the other countries
of Europe. M. du Hamel, of the Royal Academy of
Sciences, mentions his having received some seeds of it
from St Domingo in the West Indies; and thence con¬
cludes, that it grows indifferently in the temperate,
frigid, and torrid zones. The wood of this tree is
the red or yellow deal, which is the most durable of
any of the kinds yet known. The leaves of this tree
are much shorter and broader than those of the former
sort, of a grayish colour, growing two out of one
sheath; the cones are small, pyramidal, and end in nar¬
row points ; they are of a light colour, and the seeds are
small.
4. The pinus picea, or yew-leaved fir, is a tall ever¬
green, and a native of Scotland, Sweden, and Germany.
This species includes the silver fir and the balm of Gi¬
lead fir. The first of these is a noble upright tree.
Mr Marsham says, “ The tallest trees I have seen were
spruce and silver firs in the valleys in Switzerland. I
saw several firs in the dockyards in Venice 40 yards
long ; and one of 39 yards was 18 inches diameter at
the small end. I was told they came from Switzer¬
land.”
\eathe on The branches are not very numerous, and the bark
ndOma sm00^1 an^ delicate. The leaves grow singly on the
Mttal branches, and their ends are slightly indented. Their
ardening. upper surface is of a fine strong green colour, and their
under has an ornament of two white lines running
lengthwise on each side the midrib ; on account of
which silvery look this sort is called the silver fir. The
cones are large, and grow erect; and, when the warm
weather comes on, they soon shed their seeds ; which
should be a caution to all who wish to raise this plant,
to gather the cones before that happens.
The balm of Gilead fir has of all the sorts been most
coveted, on account of the great fragrance of its leaves ;
though this is not its only good property : for it is a
very beautiful tree, naturally of an upright growth,
and the branches are so ornamented with their balmy
leaves, as to exceed any of the other sorts in beauty.
The leaves, which are very closely set on the branches,
are broad ; and their ends are indented. Their upper
surface, when healthy, is of a fine dark-green colour,
and their under has white lines on each side the mid¬
rib, lengthwise, nearly like those of the silver fir. These
leaves when bruised are very finely scented; and the
buds, which swell in the autumn for the next year’s
shoot, are very ornamental all winter, being turgid,
and of a fine brown colour : and from these also exudes
a kind of fine turpentine, of the same kind of (though
heightened) fragrancy. The tree being wounded in
any part, emits plenty of this turpentine; and Hanbury
says, “ it is supposed by many to be the sort from whence
the balm of Gilead is taken, which occasions this tree
being so called. But this is a mistake ; for the true
balm of Gilead is taken from a kind of terebinthus:
though I am informed, that what has been collected
from this tree has been sent over to England from A-
merica (where it grows naturally), and often sold in the
shops for the true sort.”
The silver fir is very hardy, and will grow in any
soil or situation, but always makes the greatest progress Finns,
in rich loamy earth. The balm of Gilead fir must be
planted in deep, rich, good earth ; nor will it live long
in any other. The soil may be a black mould, or of a
sandy nature, if it be deep enough, and if the roots have,
room enough to strike freely.
5. The pinus abies, or European spruce fir, a native
of the northern parts of Europe and of Asia, includes
the Norway spruce and long-coned Cornish fir. The
former of these is a tree of as much beauty while grow¬
ing, as its timber is valuable when propagated on that
account. Its growth is naturally like the silver, up- Ibid.
right: and the height it will aspire to may be easily
conceived, when we say that the white deal, so much
coveted by the joiners, &c. is the wood of this tree ;
and it may perhaps satisfy the curious reader to know,
that from this fir pitch is drawn. The leaves are of a
dark-green colour ; they stand singly on the branches,
but the younger shoots are very closely garnished with
them. They are very narrow ; their ends are pointed;
and they are possessed of such beauties as to excite admi¬
ration. The cones are eight or ten inches long, and
hang downwards.
The better the soil is, the faster will the spruce fir
grow, though it will thrive very well in most of our
English lands. In strong loamy earth it makes a sur¬
prising progress; and it delights in fresh land of all sorts,
which never has been worn out by ploughing, &c.
though it be ever so poor. The long-coned Cornish fir
differs scarcely in any respect from the Norway spruce,
except that the leaves and the cones are larger.
6. The pinus Canadensis, American or Newfoundland
spruce fir, a native of Canada, Pennsylvania, and other
parts of North America, includes three varieties. The
white Newfoundland spruce, the red Newfoundland
spruce, and the black Newfoundland spruce. These
however, differ so little, that one description is common
to them all. They are of a genteel upright growth,
though they do not shoot so freely or grow so fast with
us as the Norway spruce. The leaves are of the same
green, and garnish the branches in the same beautiful
manner as those of that species; only they are narrower,
shorter, and stand closer. The greatest difference is ob¬
servable in the cones ; for these are no more than about
an inch in length, and the scales are closely placed. In
the cones, indeed, consists the difference of these three
sorts: those of the white species are of a very light brown
colour ; those of the red species more of a nut-brown or
reddish colour ; and those of the black species of a dark
or blackish colour. Besides this, there is scarcely any
material difference ; though it is observable, that this
trifling variation seems to be pretty constant in the plants
raised from the like seeds. These sorts will often flower,
and produce cones when only about five or six feet high ;
and indeed look then very beautiful: but this is a sign
of weakness in the plant, which it does not often fairly
get over.
7. The pinus balsamea, or hemlock fir, a native of
Virginia and Canada, possesses as little beauty as any of
the fir tribe ; though, being rather scarce in proportion,
it is deemed valuable. It is called by some the yeiv-
leavedfir, from the resemblance of the leaves to those
of the yew-tree. It is a tree of low growth, with but
few branches; and these are long and slender, and spread
abroad without order. The leaves do not garnish the
4 B 2 branches
PIN t 54 3 PIN
Pinus. branches so plentifully as those of any other sort ol fir.
—y——^ The cones are very small and rounded j they are about
half an Inch long j'and the scales are loosely arranged.
We receive these cones from America, by which we
raise the plants j though this caution should be given to
the planter, that this tree is fond of moist rich ground,
and in such a kind of soil will make the greatest pro-
&ress' . -ci.
8. The pinus orientahs, or oriental hr, a native of the
East, is a low but elegant tree. The leaves are very
short, and nearly square. The fruit is exceeding small,
and hangs downward ; and the whole tree makes an
agreeable variety with the other kinds.
9. The strobus, Lord Weymouth’s pine, or North
American white pine. This grows sometimes to the
height of IOO feet and upwards, and is highly valued
on account of its beauty. rIhe bark ol the tree is very
smooth and delicate, especially when young-, the leaves
are long and slender, five growing out of one sheath ;
the branches are pretty closely garnished with them,
and thus make a fine appearance. The cones are long,
slender, and very loose, opening with the first warmth
of the spring ; so that if they are not gathered in win¬
ter, the scales open and let out the seeds. T he wood
of this sort is esteemed for making masts lor ships. In
Queen Anne’s time there was a law made for the pre¬
servation of these trees, and for the encouragement of
their growth in America. Within these last 50 years
they have been propagated in Britain in considerable
plenty. < _ __
With respect to the culture of this species, Mr Han*
bury, after some more general directions, continues thus,
“ I have known gentlemen, who, in attempting to raise
these trees, have seen the young plants go oil without
perceiving the cause ; and the more watering and pains
they have taken, have found the plants persist in this
way more and more, to their great mortification and
astonishment. In the spring following these plantsshould
be pricked out in beds half a foot asunder each way j and
here they may stand two years, when they may be either
finally planted out, or removed into the nursery, at the
distance of one foot asunder, and two leet in the rows.
If care has been taken of them in the nursery, they may
be removed at a considerable height with great assurance
of success : for it is much easier to make this pine grow
‘ than any of the other sorts : so that where they are
wanted for ornament in parks, open places, &c. a show
of them may be made in a little time.
“ The soil the Weymouth pine delights in most is a
sandy loam ; but it likes other soils of an inferior nature:
and although it is not generally to be planted on all lands
like the Scotch fir, yet I have seen it luxuriant and
healthy, making strong shoots, on blue and red clays,
and other sorts of strong ground. On stony and slaty
ground, likewise, I have seen some very fine trees j so
that I believe whoever is desirous of having plantations
of this pine, need not be curious in the choice ot his
ground.”
10. The pinus tceda, or swamp pine, is a tall evergreen
tree, a native of the swamps of Virginia and Canada.
There are several varieties of this genus which Ban¬
bury enumerates and describes : such as, 1st, The three¬
leaved American swamp-pine. 2d, The two-leaved
American pine. 3d, The yellow American pine, the
yellow tough pine, and the tough pine of the plains j
4
among which there is but little variety, 4th, The pjnuSt
bastard pine. 5th, The frankincense pine. And 6th, —v—
the dwarf pine.
“ There are (continues our author) many other
sorts of American pines, which we receive from thence
with the like cant names of those ot the above,
which I have chosen to retain, as they will probably be
continued to be sent over 5 and that the gardener re¬
ceiving them as such may best know what to do with
them. In many of those sorts I see at present no ma¬
terial difference j so am induced to think they are the
same, sent over with difierent names. Some of the
sorts above mentioned difi'er in very few respects ; but
I have chosen to mention them, as a person may be
supplied with the seeds from Pennsylvania, Jersey,
Virginia, Carolina, &c. where they all grow naturally:
and having once obtained the seeds, and from them
plants, they will become pleasing objects ol his nicest
observations.”
II. The pinus cedrus, ranked by Tournefort and
others under larix, famous for its duration, is that po¬
pularly called by us the cedar of Lebanon, by the an¬
cients cedrus magna or the great cedar; also cearelate,
xidgeAxm ; and sometimes the Phoenician or Syrian ce¬
dar, from the country where it grows in its greatest per¬
fection. It is a coniferous evergreen, of the bigger sort,
bearing large roundish cones of smooth scales, standing
erect, the leaves being small, narrow, and thick set.—
They sometimes counterfeit cedar, by dyeing wood of a
reddish hue : but the smell discovers the cheat, that ot
true cedar being very aromatic. In some places, the
wood of the cajou tree passes under the name of cedar,
on account of its reddish colour and its aromatic smell
which somewhat resemble that ot santal. Cedar-wood
is reputed almost immortal and incorruptible ; a prero¬
gative which it owes chiefly to its bitter taste, which the
w'orms cannot endure. lor this reason it was that the
ancients used cedar tablets to write upon, especially for
things ot importance, as appears from that expression of
Persius, Lt cedra digna locutus. A juice was also
drawn from cedar, with which they smeared their books
and writings, or other matters, to preserve them from
rotting } which is alluded to by Horace : by means of
which it was, that Numa’s books, written on papyrus,
were preserved entire to the year 53 5j a3 are inform*
ed by Pliny.
Solomon’s temple, as well as his palace, were both of
this wood. That prince gave Iving Hiram several cities
for the cedars he had furnished him on these occasions.
Cortes is said to have erected a palace at Mexico, in
which were 7000 beams of cedar, most of them 120
feet long, and 1 2 in circumference, as we are informed
by Herrera. Some tell us of a cedar felled in Cyprus
130 feet long, and 18 in diameter. It was used for the
main mast in the galley of King Demetrius. Le Bruyn
assures us, that the two biggest he saw on Mount Leba¬
non, measured, one of them 57 P^lms, auu the other.
47, in circumference. In the temple of Apollo at Uti¬
ca, there were cedar trees near 2000 years old ; which
yet were nothing to that beam in an oratory of Diana at
Seguntum in Spain, said to have been brought thither
200 years before the destruction of Iroy. Cedar is of
so dry a nature, that it will not endure to be fastened
with iron nails, from which it usually shrinks 3 so that
thev commonly fasten it with pins of the same wood.
J “ Jbe
P I N
inn*. lt s^a^ue (says Hanbury) of the great goddess
■'y—J at Ephesus was made of this material; and, if this tree
abounded with us in great plenty, it might have a
principal share in our most superb edifices. The efflu¬
via constantly emitted from its wood are said to purify
the air, and make rooms wholesome. Chapels and
places set apart for religious duties, being wainscotted
with this wood, inspire the worshippers with a more
solemn awe. It is not obnoxious to worms ; and emits
an oil which will preserve cloth or hooks from worms
or corruption. The saw-dust will preserve human bo¬
dies from putrefaction ; and is therefore said to be
plentifully used in the rites of embalming, where prac¬
tised.”
It is remarkable that this tree is not to he found as a
native in any other part of the world than Mount Li-
banus, as far as hath yet been discovered. What we find
mentioned in Scripture of the lofty cedax-s can be nowise
applicable to the common growth of this tx-ee j since,
from the experience we have of those now growing in
England, as also fx-om the testimony of several travellers
who have visited those few remaining trees on Mount
Libanus, they are not inclined to grow very lofty, but
on the contrary extend their branches vex-y far j to
which the allusion made by the Psalmist agrees vex-y
well, when he is describing the flourishing state of a
people, and says, “ They shall spread their branches
like the cedar-tree.”
Rauwolf, in his Travels, says, there wei'e not at that
time (i. e. anno 1574) upon Mount Libanus more than
26 trees remaining, 24 of which stood in a cii’cle j and
the other two, which stood at a small distance, had their
branches almost consumed with age; nor could he find
any younger tree coming up to succeed them, though he
looked about diligently for some. These trees (he says)
were growing at the foot of a small hill on the top of
the mountains, and amongst the snow. These having
very lai'ge branches, commonly bend the tree to one side,
hut ai’e extended to a gx*eat length, and in so delicate and
pleasant order, as if they were trimmed and made even
with great diligence, by which they are easily distin¬
guished, at a great distance, from fir-trees. The leaves
(continues he) ax-e very like to these of the larch tree,
growing close together in little branches upon small
brown shoots.
Maundi’el, in his Travels, says, there were but 16
large tx-ees remaining when he visited the mountain,
some of which were of a prodigious bulk, but that there
were many more young ones of a smaller size : he mea¬
sured one of the largest, and found it to he 12 yards six
inches in girth, and yet sound, and 37 vards in the
spread of its boughs. At about five or six yards from
the ground it was divided into five limbs, each of which
was equal to a great tree. What Maundrel hath related
P 1 N
was confirmed by a gentleman who was there in the year Pinus.
1720, with this difference only, viz. in. the dimensions l——y—
of the branches of the lai’gest tree, which he measured,
and found to be 22 yards diameter. Now, whether.
Mr Maundrel meant 37 yards in circumference of the
spreading branches, or the diameter of them, cannot he.
determined by his words j yet either of them well agrees
with this last account.
12. There is another species, viz. the larc/i tree, which
the old botanists ranked under larix, with deciduous
leaves, and oval obtuse cones. It grows naturally upon
the Alps and Apennines, and of late has been very
much propagated in Britain. It is of quick growth,
and the trunk rises to 50 feet or more; the branches
axe slender, their ends are generally hanging downward,
and are garnished with long narrow leaves which arise
in clusters from one point, spreading open above like
the hair of a painter’s brush : they are of a light green,
and fall away in autumn. In the month of April the
male flowei's appear, which are disposed in form of small,
cones; the female flowers axe collected into oval obtuse
cones, which in some species have bright purple tops,
and in others they are white : these differences are ac¬
cidental ; the cones are about an inch long, obtuse at
their points; the scales ax-e smooth, and lie over each
other: under each scale thei'e ax-e genexally lodged txvo
seeds which have wings. There ai’e other two varie¬
ties of this tree, one of which is a native of Amei’ica,
and the other of Siberia. The cones of the American
kind which have been brought to Britain seem in gene¬
ral to be larger than those of the common sort.
“ Many encomiums (says Hanbuiy when speaking
of this species) have been bestowed on the timber, of the
larch : and we find such a favourable account of it in
ancient authors, as should induce us to think it would
be proper for almost any use. Evelyn recites a stoxy of
Witseu, a Dutch writer, that a ship built of this timber
and cypi’ess had been found in the Numidian sea, twelve
fathoms under water, sound and entire, and reduced to
such a hardness as to resist the sharpest tool, after it had
lain submerged above 14CO years. Certain it is this is
an excellent wood for ship and house-building. At Ve¬
nice this wood is frequently used in building their houses,
as w'ell as in Switzerland, where these trees abound : so
that, without all doubt, the larch excels for masts for
ships, or beams for houses, doors, windows, &c. parti¬
cularly as it is said to x’esist the w’orm.
“ In Switzerland (a) their houses are covered with,
hoards of this wood cut out a foot square ; and, as it
emits a resinous substance, it so diffuses itself into every
joint and crevice, and becomes so compact and close, as
well as so hardened by the air, as to render the covering
proof against all weather. But as such covering for
houses would cause great devastation in case of fire, the
buildings
[ 5C5 ]
(a) “ Between Bex and Bevieux (says Coxe in his Travels in Switzerland}, I observed the larch in great
plenty. Painters, from the time of Pliny to that of Raphael, trusted their works to this wood, which the
Roman naturalist stiles immortale lignum. The wood is reckoned excellent for all works which are to lie un¬
der water : and the borderers on the lake of Geneva prefer it for building their vessels. In these parts I saw
most beautiful woods of chesnut. Haller says that they extend some leagues: he also informs us, that they are
found in other parts of Switzerland, and even in desert places in some of ihe transalpine parts. Accident must,
have brought them thither,, as it appears from Pliny that these trees were first introduced into Europe from
Sardis.”
P I N
[ 566 ]
P I N
buildings are confined to a limited distance by an order
of police from the magistrates. The wood, when first
laid on the houses, is said to be very white j but this
colour, in two or three years is changed, by means of
the sun and resin, to a black, which appears like a
smooth shining varnish.”
Of the common larch there are several varieties. The
flowers which the commonest sort exhibits early in the
spring are of a delicate red colour} another sort produ¬
ces white flowers at the same season, and these have a
delightful effect among those of the red sort} whilst ano¬
ther, called the Black Newfoundland larix, increases the
variety, though by an aspect little differing from the
others. There are also larches with greenish flowers,
pale red, &c. all of which are accidental varieties from
seeds. These varieties are easily distinguished, even
when out of blow: the young shoots of the white-flower¬
ing larch are of the lightest green, and the cones when
ripe are nearly white. The red flowering larch has its
shoots of a reddish cast, and the cones are of a brown
colour} whilst the cones and shoots of the black New¬
foundland larch are in the same manner proportionally
tinged. The cones, which are a very great ornament to
several sorts of the pines, are very little to these. Their
chief beauty consists in the manner of their growth, the
nature and beauty of their pencilled leaves and fair
flowers } for the cones that succeed them are small, of
a whitish, a reddish, or a blackish-brown colour, and
make no figure.
The pin us cedrus and pinus larix are propagated by
sowing in March on a bed of light earth exposed to the
morning sun. The seed must be covered half an inch
thick with fine light earth, and the beds watered at
times when the weather is dry. In about six weeks the
plants will appear ; they must at this time be carefully
guarded from the birds, shaded from the sun and winds,
and kept very clear of weeds. In the latter end of
April the following year, they may be removed into
beds of fresh earth, placing them at ten inches distance
every way. They are to be kept here two years, and
such of them as seem to bend must be tied up to a stake
to keep them upright. They may afterwards be plant¬
ed in the places where they are to remain. They
thrive well on the sides of barren hills, and make a very
pretty figure there.
Respecting the uses of this tree, Dr Pallas, in his
Flora Rossica, informs us, that if it is burnt, and the
wood consumed, the internal part of the wood distils
copiously a drying reddish gum, a little less glutinous
than gum arabic, somewhat of a resinous taste, but whol¬
ly soluble in water. At tbe instigation of M. Kinder,
this gum has lately been sold in the Russian shops under
the name of gummi Orenburgensis, but which our author
thinks should be called gummi Uraliense or laricis. It is
eaten by the Woguli as a dainty, and is said to be nutri¬
tious and antiscorbutic. Some manna was gathered from
the green leaves, but it could never be condensed. The
Russians use the boletus laricinus as an emetic in inter-
mittents, and to check the leucorrhcea. At Baschir and
Siberia the inhabitants sprinkle the dry powder on the
■wounds of oxen and horses, as a detergent and anthel¬
mintic. The nuts of the pinus cembra, the same author
asserts, are eaten as luxuries in Russia, and are even ex¬
ported with the same view. The unripe cones give a
very fragrant oil, termed balsamic. The inhabitants of
3
Siberia use the tender tops, and even the bark rubbed off
in the spring, as an antiscorbutic. The kernels of the w
nuts of the amygdalus nana give a very pleasing flavour
to brandy } and, when pressed, afford a bitter oil in large
quantities. The way of destroying the bitter is by di¬
gesting it in the sun with spirit of wine, and it then be¬
comes sweet and extremely agreeable.
From the larch-tree is extracted what is erroneously
called Venice turpentine. This substance, or natural bal¬
sam, flows at first without incision} when it has done
di'opping, the poor people who wait in the fir woods
make incisions at about two or three feet from the
ground into the trunks of the trees, into which they fix
narrow troughs about 20 inches long. The end of these
troughs is hollowed like a ladle } and in the middle is a
small hole bored for the turpentine to run into the re¬
ceiver which is placed below it. As the gummy sub¬
stance runs from the trees, it passes along the sloping
gutter or trough to the ladle, and from thence runs
through the holes into the receiver. The people who
gather it visit the trees morning and evening from tbe
end of May to September, to collect the turpentine out
of the receivers. When it flows out ol the tree, "Venice
turpentine is clear like water, and of a yellowish white }
but as it grows older, it thickens and becomes of a ci¬
tron colour. It is procured in the greatest abundance in
the neighbourhood of Lyons, and in the valley of St
Martin near Lucern in Switzerland.
Though we have already noticed the manner of cul¬
tivating some of the particular species of this genus, and
have also remarked the uses of some of them, we shall
finish the article with a few general observations on the
culture and uses of the whole.
Culture. All the sorts of pines are propagated by
seeds produced in hard woody cones. The way to get
the seeds out of these cones is to lay them before a gentle
fire, which will cause the cells to open, and then the
seed may be easily taken out. If the cones are kept en¬
tire, the seeds will remain good for some years } so that
the surest way of preserving them is to let them remain
in the cones till the time for sowing the seeds. If the
cones are kept in a warm place in summer, they will
open and emit the seeds } but if they are not exposed to
the heat, they will remain close lor a long time. Hie
best season for sowing the pines is about the end ol
March. When the seeds are sown, the place should be
covered with nets to keep oil the birds} otherwise,
when the plants begin to appear with the husk ol the
seed on the top of them, the birds will peck off the tops,
and thus destroy them.
Uses. From the first species is extracted the com¬
mon turpentine, much used by farriers, and from which
is drawn the oil of that name. The process of making
pitch, tar, resin, and turpentine, from these trees is very
familiar. In the spring time, when the sap is most free
in running, they pare off the bark of the pine tree, to
make the sap run down into a hole which they cut at
the bottom to receive it. In the way, as it runs down,
it leaves a white matter like cream, but a little thicker,
This is very different from all the kinds of resin and tur¬
pentine in use, and it is generally sold to be used in the
making of flambeaux instead of white bees wax. The
matter that is received in the hole at the bottom is taken
up with ladles, and put in a large basket. A great part
of this immediately runs through, and this is the com¬
mon
p I N [ 567 ]
’inns. m<>n turpentine. This is received into stone or earthen
—•v——' pots, and is ready for sale. The thicker matter, which
remains in the basket, they put into a common alembic,
adding a large quantity of water. They distil this as
long as any oil is seen swimming upon the water. This
nil they separate from the surface in large quantities, and
this is the common oil or spirit of turpentine. The re¬
maining matter at the bottom of the still is common yel¬
low resin. When they have thus obtained all that they
can from the sap of the tree, they cut it down, and hew¬
ing the wood into billets, they fill a pit dug in the earth
with these billets, and setting them on fire, there runs
from them, while they are burning, a black thick mat¬
ter. This naturally falls to the bottom of the pit, and
'this is the tar. The top of the pit is covered with tiles,
to keep in the heat; and there is at the bottom a little
hole, out at which the tar runs like oil. If this hole be
made too large, it sets the whole quantity of the tar on
fire ; but, if small enough, it runs quietly out.
The tar, being thus made, is put up in barrels ; and
if it be to be made into pitch, they put it into large
boiling vessels, without adding any thing to it. It is
then suffered to boil a while, and being then let out, is
found when cold to be what we call pitch.
A decoction of the nuts or seeds of the first species in
milk, or of the extremities of the branches pulled in
spring, is said, with a proper regimen, to cure the most
inveterate scurvy. The wood of this species is not va¬
lued ; but that of the Soots pine is superior to any of
the rest. It is observable of the Scots pine, that when
planted in bogs, or in a moist soil, though the plants
make great progress, yet the wood is white, soft, and
little esteemed ; but when planted in a dry soil, though
the growth of the trees is there very slow, yet the wood
is proportionably better. Few trees have been applied
to more uses than this. The tallest and straightest are
formed by nature for masts to our navy. The timber is
resinous, durable, and applicable to numberless domestic
purposes, such as flooring and wainscotting of rooms,
making of beds, chests, tables, boxes, &c. From the
trunk and branches of this, as wrell as most others of the
pine tribe, tar and pitch are obtained. By incision, bar-
ras, Burgundy pitch, and turpentine, are acquired and
prepared. The resinous roots are dug out of the ground
in many parts of the Flighlands, and, being divided into
small splinters, are used by the inhabitants to burn,
instead of candles.—At Loch-Broom, in Ross-shire,
the fishermen make ropes of the inner bark ; but hard
necessity has taught the inhabitants of Sweden, Lapland,
and Kamtschatka, to convert the same into bread. To
effect this, they, in the spring season, make choice of
the tallest and fairest trees 5 then stripping off carefully
the outer bark, they collect the soft, white, succulent
interior bark, and dry it in the shade. When they have
occasion to use it, they first toast it at the fire, then
grind, and after steeping the flour in warm water to take
off the resinous taste, they make it into thin cakes, which
are baked for use. On this strange food the poor inha¬
bitants are sometimes constrained to live for a whole
year ; and, we are told, through custom, become at last
even fond of it. Linnaeus remarks, that this same bark-
bread will fatten swine; and humanity obliges us to wish,
that men might never be reduced to the necessity of rob¬
bing them of such a food. The interior bark, of which
the above-mentioned bread is made, the Swedish boys
P I p
frequently peel off the trees in the spring, and eat raw
with greedy appetite. From the cones of this tree is ||
prepared a diuretic oil, like the oil of turpentine, and a F'l>e-
resinous extract, which has similar virtues with the bal- l""" v—"■
sam of Peru. An infusion or tea of the buds is highly
commended as an antiscorbutic. The farina, or yellow
powder, of the male-flowers, is sometimes in the spring
carried away by the winds, in such quantities, where
the trees abound, as to alarm the ignorant with the no¬
tion of its raining brimstone. The tree lives to a great
age ; Linnaeus affirms to 400 years.
PIONEERS, in the art of war, are such as are com¬
manded in from the country, to march with an army,
for mending the ways, for working on intrenchmeftts
and fortifications, and for making mines and ap-
proaches. Ihe soldiers are likewise employed for all
these purposes. Most of the foreign regiments of artil-
leiy have half a company of pioneers, well instructed in
that important branch of duty. Our regiments of in¬
fantry and cavalry have three or four pioneers each,
provided with aprons, hatchets, saws, spades, and pick-
axes. Each pioneer must have an axe, a saw, and an
apron ; a cap with a leather crown, and a black bears-
skin front, on which is to be the king’s crest in white,
on a red ground ; and the number of the regiment is to
be on the hack part of it.
PIP, or Pep, a disease among poultry, consisting of
a white thin skin, or film, that grows under the tip of
the tongue, and hinders their feeding. It usually arises
from want of water, or from the drinking puddle-water,
or eating filthy meat. It is cured by pulling off the film
with the fingers, and rubbing the tongue with salt.
Hawks are particularly liable to this disease, especially
from feeding on stinking flesh.
PIPE, in building, &c. a canal, or conduit, for the
conveyance of water and other liquids. Pipes for water,
water-engines, &c. are usually of lead, iron, earth, or
wood : the latter are usually made of oak or elder.
1 hose of iron are cast in forges ; their usual length is a-
bout two feet and a half: several of these are commonly
fastened together by means of four screws at each end,
with leather or old hat between them, to stop the wa¬
ter. Those of earth are made by the potters; these are
fitted into one another, one end being always made
wider than the other. To join them the closer, and pre¬
vent their breaking, they are covered with tow and
pitch : their length is usually about that of the iron pipes.
The wooden pipes are trees bored with large iron au-
gres, of different sizes, beginning with a less, and then
proceeding with a larger successively ; the first being
pointed, the rest being formed like spoons, increasing
m diameter, fioui one to six inches and more : they are
fitted into the extremities of each other (as represented p]ate
fig. 2.), and are sold by the foot. CCCCXIX
Wooden pipes are bored as follows. The machine % 2.
represented fig. 1. is put in motion by the wheel A, Fig. i.
which is moved by a current of water ; upon the axle
of this wheel is a cog-wheel B, which causes the lan¬
terns C, D, to turn horizontally, whose common -axis
is consequently in a perpendicular direction. The lan¬
tern D turns at the same time two cog-wheels, E and
F : the first, E, which is vertical, turns the augre which
bores the wood; and the second F, which is horizon¬
tal, causes the carriage bearing the piece to advance by
means of the arms II, I, which take hold of the not¬
ches
p I p
[ 568 ]
p I p
dies in tile wheel Tv. The first, H, by means of the
notches, draws the wheel towards F j and the other, 1,
' pushes the under-post of tiie wheel in an opposite direc¬
tion ’, both which motions tend to draw the carnage to¬
wards F, and consequently cause the augre to pierce the
wood. The augre being from 9 to 1 2 feet in length,
and of a proportionable bigness, it will be necessary to
have two pieces, as L, L, to support its weight, and
cause it to enter the piece to be bored wutb the same
uniformity. . ■ ,
For the construction of leaden pipes, see the article
Plumbery.
Air-Pipes. See Air-Pipes.
Pipes of an Organ. See Organ.
Pag- Pipe. See Bag-Pipe.
Horn-FiPE. See Hornpipe.
Tobacco-PiPE, a machine used in the smoking oi^ to¬
bacco, consisting of a long tube, made of earth or clay,
having at one end a little case, or furnace, called the
bowi, for the reception of the tobacco, the fumes where¬
of are drawn by the mouth through the other end.
Tobacco pipes are made of various fashions ; long, short,
plain, worked, white, varnished, unvarnished, and of
various colours, &c. The Turks use pipes three or
four feet long, made of rushes, or of wood bored at the
end whereof they fix a kind of a pot of baked earth,
which serves as a bowl, and which they take olf after
smoking. . .
Pipe, also denotes a vessel or measure lor wine, and
things measured by wine-measure. See Barrel and
Measure.
Pipe, in Mining, is where the ore runs forwards end¬
wise in a hole, and doth not sink downwards or in a vein.
Pipe, Pipa, in law, is a roll in the exchequer, call¬
ed also the great roll. See the next article.
PiPE-Ofice, is an office wherein a person called the
clerk of the pipe, makes out leases of crown-lands, by
warrant from the lord-treasurer, or commissioners ot the
treasury, or chancellor of the exchequer. The clerk of
the pipe makes out also all accounts of sheriffs,.&c.
and gives the accountants their quietus est. a 0 this of¬
fice are brought all accounts which pass the remembran¬
cer’s office, and remain there, that if any stated debt be
due from any person, the same may be drawn down in¬
to the great roll of the pipe : upon which the comptrol¬
ler issues out a writ, called the summons of the pipe,
for recovery thereof; and if there be no goods or chat¬
tels, the clerk then draws down the debts to the lord
treasurer’s remembrancer, to write estreats against then
lands. All tallies which vouch the payment of any sum
contained in such accounts are. examined and allowed
by the chief secondary ol the pipe. Besides the chief
clerk in this office, there are eight attorneys or sworn
clerks, and a comptroller.
Pipe- Fish. See Syngnathus. Tchth y ot.ogy Index.
Sea Pipes, the trivial name of univalve shells belong¬
ing to the genus dentalis. See Conchology Index.
PIPER, a species of fish. See T-Rigla, Ichthyo¬
logy Index.
Piper, Pepper; a genus of plants belonging to the j
diandria class. See Botany Index. There are 20 u-
species, of which the most remarkable is the siriboa,
with oval, heart-shaped, nerved leaves, and reflexed
spikes. This is the plant which produces the pepper so
much used in food. It is a shrub whose root is smali,
fibrous, and flexible 5 it rises into a stem, which re¬
quires a tree or prop to support it. Its wood has tbe
same sort of knots as the vine and when it is dry, it
exactly resembles the vine-branch. I he leaves, which
have a strong smell and a pungent taste, are ol an oval
shape but tbev diminish towards the extremity, and
terminate in appoint. From the flower-buds, which
are white, and are sometimes placed in the middle and
sometimes at the extremity of tbe branches, are produ¬
ced small berries resembling those of the currant tree.
Each of these contains between 20 and 30 corns of pep¬
per •, they are commonly gathered in October, and ex¬
posed to the sun seven or eight days. 1 he fruit which
Was green at fust, and afterwards red, when stripped
of its covering assumes the appearance it has when we
see it. The largest, heaviest, and least shrivelled, is
the best.
The pepper plant flourishes in the islands of Java, Su¬
matra (a), and Ceylon, and more particularly on the
Malabar coast. It is not sown, but planted j and great
nicety is required in the choice of the shoots. It pro¬
duces no fruit till the end of three years •, but bears so
plentifully the three succeeding years, that some plants
yield between six and seven pounds of pepper. The
bark then begins to shrink j and the shrub declines so
fast, that in 12 years time it ceases bearing.
The culture of pepper is not difficult: it is sufficient
to plant it in a rich soil, and carefully to pull up the
weeds that grow in great abundance round its roots,
especially the three first years. As the sun is highly ne¬
cessary to the growth of the pepper plant, when it is
ready to bear, the trees that support it must be lopped
to prevent their shade from injuring the fruit. When
the season is over, it is proper to crop the head of the
plant. Without this precaution, there would be too
much wood, and little fruit.
The pepper exported from Malabar, which was for¬
merly entirely in the hands of the Portuguese, and was
afterwards divided between the Dutch, British, and
French, amounted to about 10,000,000 weight. Betel,
or betle, is a species of this genus. See Betel. It is
a creeping and climbing plant like the ivy *, and its
leaves a good deal resemble those of the citron, though
they are°longer and narrower at the extremity. It
grows in all1 parts of India, but thrives best in moist
places. The natives cultivate it as we do the vine, pla¬
cing props for it to run and climb upon •, and it is a
common practice to plant it against the tree which
bears the areca-nut. ,
At all times of the day, and even in tU night, the
Indians chew the leaves of the betel, the bitterness ol
which is corrected by the areca that is wrapped up in
them. There is constantly mixed with it the chinaro,
(a) See a copious account of the mode of cultivating pepper in Sumatra, in Mr Marsden’s History of Sumatra,
or in the New Annual Register for 1783, p. 147.
p I Q [ 569 ] P I Q
piper a kind of burnt lime made of shells. 1 he rich frequent-
l( ly add perfumes, either to gratify their vanity or their
t>‘(luel:‘ , sensuality.
 v Jt would be thought a breach of politeness among the
Indians to take leave for any long time, without pre¬
senting each other with a purse of betel. It is a pledge
of friendship that relieves the pain of absence. No one
dares to speak to a superior unless his mouth is per¬
fumed with betel; it would even be rude to neglect this
precaution with an equal. The women of gallantry are
the most lavish in the use of betel, as being a powerful
incentive to love. Betel is taken after meals j it is
chewed during a visit} it is offered when you meet, and
when you separate 5 in short, nothing is to be done with¬
out betel. If it is prejudicial to the teeth, it assists and
strengthens the stomach. At least, it is a general fa¬
shion that prevails throughout India.
The piper amalago, or black pepper, and the piper
vurnal ine91iaie> °r long pepper of Jamaica, with some other
>1. viii.’ species, are indigenous, and known by the names of
ut iii. Joint ivood, or peppery elders. The first bears a small
376, See. spike, on which are attached a number of small seeds
of the size of mustard. The whole of the plant has the
exact taste of the East India black pepper. The long
pepper bush grows taller than the amalago. The leaves
are broad, smooth, and shining. The fruit is similar to
the long pepper of the shops, but smaller. The com¬
mon people in Jamaica season their messes with the
black pepper. To preserve both, the fruit may be
slightly scalded when green, then dried, and wrapped in
paper. Perhaps hereafter they may be deemed worthy
of attention.
PIPRA., a genus of birds, of the order of passeres.
See Ornithology Index.
PIQUET, or Picket, a celebrated game at cards,
much in use throughout the polite world.
It is played between two persons, with only 32 cards j
all the deuces, threes, fours, fives, and sixes, being set
aside.
In reckoning at this game, every card goes for the
number it bears, as a ten for ten j only all court cards
go for ten, and the ace for eleven : and the usual game
is one hundred up. In playing, the ace wins the king,
the king the queen, and so down.
Twelve cards are dealt round, usually by two and
two ; which done, the remainder are laid in the middle:
if one of the gamesters finds he has not a court card in
his hand, he is to declare he has carte-blanche, and tell
how many cards he will lay out, and desire the other
to discard, that he may show his game, and satisfy his
antagonist that the carte-blanche is real; for which he
reckons ten.
Each person discards, i. e. lays aside a certain num¬
ber ol his cards, and takes in a like number from the
stock. The first of the eight cards may take three,
four, or five j the dealer all the remainder, if he
pleases.
After discarding, the eldest hand examines what suit
he has most cards of; and reckoning how many points
he has in that suit, if the other have not so many in
that or any other suit, he tells one for every ten of
that suit. He who thus reckons most is said to win the
point.
The point being over, each examines what sequences
he has of the same suit, viz. how many tierces, or se-
Vol. XVI. Part II. f
quences of threes, quartes or fours, quiiites or fives, six- Piquet
iemes, or sixes, &c. For a tierce they reckon three  
points, for a quarte four, for a quinte 15, for a sixieme
16, &c. And the several sequences are distinguished
in dignity by the cards they begin from : thus ace,
king, and queen, are called tierce major ; king, queen,
and knave, tieixe to a king; knave, ten, and nine,
tierce to a knave, &e. and the best tierce, quarte, or
quinte, i. e. that which takes its descent from the best
card, prevails, so as to make ail the others in that
hand good, and destroy all those in the other hand.
In like manner, a quarte in one hand sets aside a tierce
in the other.
The sequences over, they proceed to examine how
many aces, kings, queens, knaves, and tens, each
holds 5 reckoning for every three of any sort, three:
but here too, as in sequences, he that with the same
number of threes has one that is higher than any the
other has, e. gr. three aces, has all his others made
good hereby, and his adversary’s all set aside. But four
of any sort, which is called a quator%e, always sets
aside three.
All the game in hand being thus reckoned, the eldest
proceeds to play, reckoning one for every card he plays
above a nine, and the other follows him in the suit; and
the highest card of the suit wins the trick. Note, un¬
less a trick be won with a card above a nine (except the
last trick), nothing is reckoned for it, though the trick
serves afterwards towards winning the cards ; and that
he who plays last does not reckon for his cards unless he
wins the trick.
The cards being played out, he that has most tricks
reckons ten for winning the cards. If they have tricks
alike, neither reckons any thing. The deal being fi¬
nished, and each having marked up his game, they pro¬
ceed to deal again as before, cutting afresh each time
for the deal.
If both parties be within a few points of being up,
the carte-blanche is the first thing that reckons, then
the point, then the sequences, then the quatorzes or
threes, then the tenth cards.
He that can reckon 30 in hand by carte-blanche,
points, quintes, &c. without playing, before the other
has reckoned any thing, reckons 90 for them ; and
this is called a repique. If he reckons above 30, he
reckons so many above 90. If he can make up 30,
part in hand and part play, ere the other has told any
thing, he reckons for them 6.0. And this is called
a pique. Whence the name of the game. He that
wins all the tricks, instead of ten, which is his right
for winning the cards, reckons 40. And this is called
a capot.
Mr de Moivre, who has made this game the object
of mathematical investigation, has proposed and solved
the following problems : 1. To find at piquet the pro¬
bability which the dealer has for taking one ace or more
in three cards, he having none in his hand. He con¬
cludes from his computation, that it is 29 to 28 that
the dealer takes one ace or more. 2. To find at piquet
the probability which the eldest has of taking an ace
or more in five cards, he having no ace in his hand.
Answer: 232 to 91, or 5 to 2, nearly. 3. To find
at piquet the probability which the eldest hand has of
taking an ace and a king in five cards, he having none
in his hand. Answer : the odds against the eldest hand
4 C taking
Piquet,
Pira.
PIE [ 57° ] PIE
taking an ace and a king are 331 to 315, or 21 to 20
nearly. 4. To find at piquet the probability of having
12 cards dealt to, without king, queen, er knaves,
which case is commonly called cartes blanches. An¬
swer ; the odds against cartes-blanches are 1791 to 1
nearly. 5. To find how many different sets, essential¬
ly different from one another, one may have at piquet
before taking in. Answer; 28,967,278. This num¬
ber falls short of the sum of all the distinct combina¬
tions, whereby 12 cards may be taken out of 32, this
number being 225,792,840; but it must be considered
that in that number several sets of the same import,
but differing in suit, might be taken, which would not
introduce art essential difference among the sets. The
same author gives also some observations on this game,
which he had from an experienced player. See Doc¬
trine of Chances, p. 179, &c. M. de Monmort has
treated of piquet in his Analyse des Jeux de Hazard,
p. 162.
PIKA, is a name by which a variety of foreign
fishes are distinguished. The pn'a aca is a little horn¬
ed fish of the West Indies, called by Clusius and others
the monoceros or unicorn-fish. The ptra acangata is
the name of a Brasilian fish, which resembles the perch
both in size and shape. It seldom exceeds four or five
inches in length ; its mouth is small ; its tail fork¬
ed. On the back it has only one long fin, which is
supported by rigid and prickly spines. This fin it can
depress at pleasure, and sink within a cavity made for
it in the back. Its scales are of a silvery white colour;
it is wholesome and well tasted. Dira bebe is the name
of the milvus, or kite-fish. Pira coaba is an American
fish of the truttaceous kind, of a very delicate flavour.
It grows to the length of 12 inches ; its nose is point¬
ed, and its mouth large, but without teeth ; the up¬
per jaw is longer than the under one, and hangs over
like a cartilaginous prominence ; its eyes ai-e very
large, and its tail is forked ; under each of the gill fins
there is a beard made of six white filaments, and cover¬
ed with silvery scales. Pira jurumenbeca is a Brasilian
fish otherwise called bocca molle. It lives in the muddy
bottom of the American seas, and is a long-bodied not
flatted fish. It grows to a great size, being found nine,
and sometimes even ten or eleven, feet long, and two
feet and a half thick. It has one long fin on the back,
the anterior part of which is thin and pellucid. There
is also a cavity on the back, as in the pira acangata,
into which the fin can be depressed at pleasure ; the
tail is not forked, and the scales are all of a silvery
colour and brightness. The fish is very well tasted ;
the pira pixanga is another Brasilian fish of the turdus
or wrasse kind, and called by some the gutvisch. It
is generally about four or five inches long; its mouth
is pretty large, and furnished with very small and very
sharp teeth ; its head is small, but its eyes are large and
prominent, the pupil being of a fine turquoise colour,
and the iris yellow and red in a variety of shades. The
coverings of the gills end in a triangular figure, and are
terminated by a short spine or prickle ; its scales are
very small, and so evenly arranged, and closely laid on
the flesh, that it is very smooth to the touch ; its tail is
rounded at the end ; its whole body, head, tail, and fins,
are of a pale yellow colour, variegated all over with
very beautiful blood-coloured spots ; these are round,
and of the bigness of hemp-seed on the back and sides, p{rS)
and something larger on the belly ; the fins are all spot- Emeus,
ed in the same manner, and are all marked with an ‘
edge of red. It is caught among the rocks, and about
the shores, and is a very well tasted fish. Piranha is
an American fish, more generally known by the name
piraya. Piraquiba, or ipiraquiba, is the name of a fish
originally Brasilian, which some writers apply to the
remora or sucking fish.
PIRAEUS foetus, in Ancient Geography, a cele¬
brated port to the west of Athens, consisting naturally
of three harbours or basons, (Thucydides) ; which lay
neglected, till Themistocles put the Athenians on mak¬
ing it a commodious port, (Nepos) ; the Phalerus, a
small port, and not far from the city, being what they
used before that time, (Pausanias, Nepos). Piraeus was
originally a village of Attica, (Pausanias) ; an island
(Strabo) ; and though distant 40 stadia from Athens,
was joined to it by two long walls, ("Thucydides), and
itself locked or walled round, (Nepos :) A very com¬
modious and safe harbour. The whole of its compass
was 60 stadia, including the Munichia. Not lar from
the Piraeus stood the sepulchre of Themistocles ; w hither
his friends conveyed his bones from Magnesia, into the
Hither Asia, (Cicero, Plutarch, Pausanias). The en- Chandlert
trance of the Piraeus is narrow, and formed by two rocky
points, one belonging to the promontory of Petion, thep l5 ^c.
other to that of Alcimus. Within were three stations
for shipping ; Kantharus, so named from a hero ; Aphro-
disium, from a temple of Venus ; and Zea, the resort of
vessels laden with grain. By it was a demos or borough
towm of the same name before the time of Themistocles,
who recommended the exchanging its triple harbour for
the single one of Phalerum, both as more capacious and
as better situated for navigators. The wall was begun
by him w-hen archon, in the second year of the 75th
Olympiad, 477 years before Christ; and altervvards he
urged the Athenians to complete it as the importance
of the place deserved. This whole fortification was of
hewn stone, without cement or other material, except
lead and iron, which were used to hold together the ex¬
terior ranges or facings. It was so wide that loaded
carts could pass on it in different directions, and it was
40 cubits high, which was about half what he had de¬
signed.
The Piraeus, as Athens flourished, became the com¬
mon emporium of all Greece. Hippodamus an architect,
celebrated, besides other monuments of his genius, as the
inventor of many improvements in house-building, was
employed to lay out the ground. Five porticoes, which
uniting formed the Long Portico, were erected by the
ports. Here was an agora, or market-place, and farther
from the sea, another called Hippodamia. By the ves¬
sels were dwellings for the mariners. A theatre was
opened, temples were raised, and the Piraeus, which
surpassed the city in utility, began to equal it in dignity.
The cavities and windings of Municia, natural and ar¬
tificial, were filled with houses ; and the whole settle¬
ment, comprehending Phalerum and the ports of the
Piraeus, with the arsenals, the storehouses, the famous
armoury of which Philo was the architect, and the sheds
for 300, and afterwards 400, triremes, resembled the
city of Rhodes, which had been planned by the same
Hippodamus. The ports, on the commencement of the
Peloponnesian
[ S7« ] P I R
“imii, Peleponncsian war, were secured with chains. Cen-
Piracy. tinels were stationed, and the Piraeus was carefully
- »' guarded.
The Piraeus was reduced with great difficulty by Syl-
!a, who demolished the walls, and set lire to the ar¬
moury and arsenals. In the civil war it was in a de¬
fenceless condition. Calenus, lieutenant to Ceesar, sei¬
zed it, invested Athens, and ravaged the territory.
Strabo, who lived under the emperors Augustus and Ti¬
berius, observes, that the many wars had destroyed the
long walls, with the fortress of Munychia, and had con¬
tracted the Piraeus into a small settlement by the ports
and the temple of Jupiter Saviour. This fabric was then
adorned with wonderful pictures, the works of illustrious
artists, and on the outside with statues. In the second
century, besides houses for triremes, the temple of Jupi¬
ter and Minerva remained, with their images in brass,
and a temple of Venus, a portico, and the tomb of The-
mistocles.
The port of the Piraeus has been named Porto Lioney
from the marble lion seen in the chart, and also Porto
Di'acco* The lion has been described as a piece of ad¬
mirable sculpture, 10 leet high, and as reposing on its
hinder parts. It was pierced, and, as some have conjec¬
tured, had belonged to a fountain. Near Athensj in
the way to Eleusis, was another, the posture couchant}
probably its companion. Both these were removed to
Venice by the famous general Morosini, and are to be
seen there before the arsenal. At the mouth of the port
are two ruined piers. A few vessels, mostly small craft,
frequent it. Some low' land at the head seems an in-
troachment on the water. The buildings are a mean
customhouse, with a few sheds ; and by the shore on
the east side, a warehouse belonging to the French, and
a Greek monastery dedicated to St Spiridion. On the
opposite side is a rocky ridge, on which are remnants of
the ancient wall, and of a gateway towards Athens.
By the water edge are vestiges of building j and going
from the customhouse to the city on the right hand,
traces of a small theatre in the side of the hill of Muny¬
chia.
PIRACY, the crime of robbery and depredation up¬
on the high seas.
By the ancient common law, piracy, if committed by
a subject, was held to be a species of treason, being con¬
trary to his natural allegiance *, and by an alien, to be
felony only : but now, since the statute of treasons,
25 Edw. III. c. 2. it is held to be only felony in a sub¬
ject. Formerly it was only cognizable by the admiralty
courts, which proceed by the rules of the civil law.
But, it being inconsistent with the liberties of the na¬
tion, that any man’s life should be taken away, unless
by the judgment of his peers, or the common law of the
land, the statute 28 Hen. VIII. c. 15. established a
new jurisdiction for this purpose; which proceeds ac¬
cording to the course of the common law.
The offence of piracy, by common law, consists in
committing those acts of robbery and depredation upon
the high seas, which, if committed upon land, would
have amounted to felony there. But, by statute, some
other offences are made piracy also: as, by statute n
and 12 W. III. c. 7. if any natural born subject com¬
mits any act of hostility upon the high seas,against others
of his majesty’s subjects, under colour of a commission
from any foreign power; this, though it would only be
an act of war in an alien, shall be construed piracy in a Piracy,
subject. And farther, any commander, or other scalar- Pirate
ing person, betraying his trust, and running away with
any ship, boat, ordnance, ammunition, or goods ; or
yielding them up voluntarily to a pirate ; or conspiring
to do these acts ; or any person assaulting the command¬
er of a vessel, to hinder him from fighting in defence of
his ship ; or confining him, or causing or endeavouring
to cause a revolt on hoard; shall, for each of these of¬
fences, be adjudged a pirate, felon, and robber, and
shall suffer death, whether he be principal, or merely
accessory by setting forth such pirates, or abetting them
before the fact, or receiving or concealing them or their
goods alter it. And the statute 4 Geo. I. c. 11. ex¬
pressly excludes the principals from the benefit of cler¬
gy. By the statute 8 Geo. I. c. 24. the trading with
known pirates, or lurnisliing them with ammunition, or
fitting out any vessel for that purpose, or in any wise con¬
sulting, combining, confederating, or corresponding with
them ; or the forcibly hoarding any merchant vessel,
though without seizing or carrying her off, and destroy¬
ing or throwing any of the goods overboard ; shall be
deemed piracy: and such accessories to piracy as are de¬
scribed by the statute of King William are declared to
be principal pirates ; and all pirates convicted by virtue
of this act are made felons without benefit of clergy.
By the same statutes also, (to encourage the defence of
merchant-vessels against pirates), the commandersor sea¬
men wounded, and the widows of such seamen as are
slain, in any piratical engagement, shall be entitled to
a bounty to be divided among them, not exceeding one-
fiftieth part of the value of the cargo on board : and
such wounded seamen shall be entitled to the pension of
Greenwich hospital; which no other seamen are, except
only such as have served in a ship of war. And if the
commander shall behave cowardly, by not defending the.
ship, if she carry guns or arms ; or shall discharge the
mariners from fighting, so that the ship falls into the
hands ot pirates ; such commander shall forfeit all his
wages, and suffer six months imprisonment. Lastly, by
statute 18 Geo. II. c. 30. any natural-born subject or
denizen, who in time of war shall commit hostilities at
sea against any of his fellow-subjects, or shall assist au
enemy on that element, is liable to be tried and convict¬
ed as a pirate.
PIRATE, (w«g*7>i5, Gr.); a sea-robber, or an arm¬
ed ship that roams the seas without any legal commis¬
sion, and seizes or plunders every vessel she meets in¬
discriminately, whether friends or enemies.
The colours usually displayed by pirates are said to be
a black field, with a death’s head, a battle-axe, and
hour-glass. The last instrument is generally supposed to
determine the time allowed to the prisoners, whom they
take, to consider whether they will join the pirates in
their felonious combination, or be put to death, which
is often perpetrated in the most cruel manner.
Among the most celebrated pirates of the north is re¬
corded Alvilda, daughter of a king of the Goths named
Syparaus. She embraced this occupation to deliver her¬
self from the violence imposed on her inclination, by a
marriage with Alf, son of Sigarus king of Denmark.
She dressed herself as a man ; and composed her band of
rowers, and the rest of her crew, of a number of young
women attired in the same manner. Among the first
of her cruizes, she touched at a place where a company
4 C 2 of
P I R
[ 572 1
P I R
Pirate pirat63 bewailed the death of their captain. I he
|| strangers were captivated with the agreeable maners of
Piron. Alvilda, and chose her for their chief. By this rein-
v forcemt nt she became so formidable upon the sea,, that
Prince Alf came to engage her. She sustained his at¬
tacks for a considerable time j but in a vigorous action,
Alf boarded her vessel, and having killed the greatest
part of her crew, seized the captain, namely herself}
whom nevertheless he knew not, because the princess
had a casque which covered her visage. Being master
of her person, he removed the casque } and in spite of
her disguise, instantly recognized her, and oflered her
his hand in wedlock.
PIRENE, (Pliny) ; a fountain sacred to the muses,
springing below the top of the Acrocorinthus, a high
and steep mountain which hangs over Corinth. Its wa¬
ters were agreeable to drink, (Pausamas) j extremely
clear, (Strabo) •, very light, (Athenteus) •, and pale,
(Persius) : having relation either to the grief of Pirene,
mother of Ceuchrea, from whose teais this fountain
arose, (Pausanias) 5 or to the paleness brought on by the
too eager pursuits of the muses.
PIROMALLI, Paul, a dominican of Calabria, w'as
sent a missionary into the east. He remained a long
time in Armenia, where he had the happiness to bung
back to the church many schismatics and Eutycheans,
and the patriarch himself who had before thrown e\eiy
obstacle in his way. He afterwards passed into Georgia
and Persia, then into Poland, in quality of I ope Ui-
ban VIII.’s nuncio, in order to appease the disturbances
which had been occasioned there by the disputes of the
Armenians, who wrere very numerous in that country.
Piromalli united them in the profession of the same
faith, and observance of the same ceremonies. In his
return to Italy he was taken by some corsairs who car¬
ried him prisoner to Tunis. As soon as he was ransomed
he went to Rome, and gave an account of his mission to
the pope, who conferred upon him some signal marks of
his esteem. His holiness entrusted him with the revisal
of an Armenian bible, and sent him again into the east,
where he was promoted, in 16551 bishopric of
Nassivan. After having governed that church for nine
years, he returned to Italy, and took the charge of the
church of Bassignano, where he died three years after
in 1667. His charity, his zeal, and other virtues, did
honour to the episcopal office. There are extant of his
writings, 1. Some works of Controversy and Theology.
2. Two Dictionaries j the one a Latin-Persian, and the
other an Armenian-Latin. 3. An Armenian Grammar.
4. A Directory, which is of great use in correcting Ar¬
menian books. All these works equally distinguish him
for virtue and for learning.
PIRON, Alexis, a French poet, was born at Dijon
in July 1689, where his father was an apothecary, and
where he passed more than 30 years in idle and destruc¬
tive dissipation. He was at length obliged to quit the
place of his nativity, in order to avoid the reproaches of
his fellow-citizens, on account of an ode which he had
written, and which gave great oflence. His relations
not being able to give him much assistance, he support¬
ed himself at Paris by means of his pen, the strokes of
which were as beautiful and fair as those of an engraver.
He lived in the house of M. de Belleisle as his secretary,
and afterwards with a financier, who did not know that
he had a man of genius under his roof. His reputation
as a writer commenced with some pieces which he pub-l-
lished for the entertainment of the populace, and which
showed strong marks of original invention but what
fully established his character in this wray was his come¬
dy intitled Metromany, which was the best that had ap¬
peared in France since Regnard’s Gamester. This per¬
formance, in five acts, well conducted, replete with ge¬
nius, wit, and humour, was acted with the greatest suc¬
cess upon the French stage in 1738. The author met
with every attention in the capital which was due to a
man of real genius, and whose flashes of wit were inex¬
haustible. We shall insert a few anecdotes of him,
which will serve to show his character and turn of mind.
In Burgundy the inhabitants of Beaune are called the
Asses of Beaune. Piron often indulged his satirical dis¬
position at their expence. One day as he w'as taking a
walk in the neighbourhood of that city, he diverted him¬
self with cutting down all the thistles which he met with.
When a friend asked him his reason for doing so, he re¬
plied, Bai a me plaindre des Beuunois ; je leur coupe les
vivres, i. e. “ I am sorry indeed for the Beaunians j foe
I am cutting down their food.” Being told again that
these people would certainly be revenged of him,
Allcx, (says he) Alle-z : je ne crains point leur im-
puissant couroux ;
Et quandje serois sail, je les batterois tons.
“ Get vou gone, get you gone: I fear not their feeble
revenge; for th* ugh alone, I shall beat them all.”
Going into a theatre one time where a play W'as acting,
he asked what it was ? The Cheats of Scapin, gravely
replied a young Beaunian. “ Ah ! Sir, (says Piron,
after thanking him), I took it to be the Cheats of
Orestes.” In the time of the play, some body addresses
the company with “ Silence there, gentlemen, we don’t
hear.” “ It is not at least (cried Piron) for want of
ears.” A bishop one day asked Piron, during the dis¬
putes about Jansenism, “ Did you read my mandate, Mr
Piron ?” No, my lord j and you The conversation
turning very warm, the bishop reminded him of the di¬
stance which birth and rank had put between them.
“ Sir (says Piron), I have plainly the superiority over
you at this moment; for I am in the right, and you are
in the wrong.”—Voltaire’s Semiramis did not meet with
a very favourable reception the first time it was acted.
The author finding Piron behind the scenes, asked him
what he thought of his performance ? “ I think (replied
he) you would have been pleased that I had been the
author of it.” The performer of the character Ferdi¬
nand Cortez (the title of one of Piron’s tragedies) hav¬
ing requested some corrections to be made on the play
the first time it was acted, Piron fired at the word cor¬
rections. The player, who was deputed to wait upon
the author with this request, cited the example of Vol¬
taire, who corrected some of his pieces in order to gra¬
tify the taste of the public. “ The cases are widely dif¬
ferent (replied Piron) ; Voltaire works in chequer-work,
and 1 cast in brass.” If this answer be not very modest,
we must allow that it does not want wit. He thought
himself, if not superior, at least equal to Voltaire.
Some person congratulating him on having composed
the best comedy of this age, he answered, with more
frankness than modesty, “ Add too, and the best tra-
rTPilv.15
Piion,
PIS £ ,
:ipon, ge^y-” The foliowing verses are well known, in which
Pisa, he says :
i,?i deux mots vouIck-vous distinguer et connoitre
Le nnieur Djonnois et le Par men V
Lc premier ne fut rien, et ne voulut rien etre ;
IP autre voulut tout etre, et ne Jut presque ricn.
We see by these different traits that Piron had a suf¬
ficient stock of self-conceit. What helped to increase
it, and make him fancy himself superior to the most ce¬
lebrated of his contemporaries, was, that his company,
on account of his original humour, of which he had an
uncommon share, was more courted than that of Vok
taiie, who was otherwise too lively, too captious, and
crabbed. But those who have favoured us with an ac¬
count of his many witticisms in conversation, would have
done more honour to his memory if they had passed over
such as were either indecent or insipid. A thing often
pleases over a glass of wine, which will not gfve the
same satisfaction when it is repeated, especially if, in re¬
peating it, you want to make it appear of some import¬
ance. Be that as it may, Piron’s mischievous ingenui¬
ty was partly the cause which excluded him from the
French Academy.—-“ I could not (said he) make thirty-
nine people think as [ do, and I could less think as
thirty-nine do.” He called that celebrated society very
unjustly les invalides du bel esprit, “ the invalids of
wit j” and yet he often endeavoured to be one of those
invalids. His death was hastened by a fall which he
got a little before. He died the 2ist of January 1773,
at the age of 83. He had prepared for himself the fol-
lowing epitaph, in the way of an epigram :
Ci gh Piron, qui ne fut rien,
Pas mime academicien.
Here lies Piron, who was nothing, not even an aca¬
demician.”
His wife Maria Theresa Quenandon, who died in
h® describes as a sweet and most agreeable com¬
panion. They lived together for several years ; and no
husband ever discharged his duty with more fidelity and
attention. J
A collection of his works appeared in 1776, in 7 vols.
8vo, and 9 vols. i2mo. The principal pieces, are, The
bchool of I'athersj a comedy acted in 1728 under the
title of Lngrateful Sons. Callisthenes 5 a tragedy, the
subject of which is taken from Justin. The Mysterious
Lover, a comedy. Gustavus and Ferdinand Cortez, two
tragedies j some scenes of which discover an original ge¬
nius, but the versification neither pleases the ear nor af-
fects the heart. Metromany, a comedy. The Courses
of Tempe, an ingenious pastoral, in which the manners
both ol the town and country are pleasantly drawn,
oome odes, poems, fables, and epigrams. In this last
kind of poetry he was very successful, and he may be
placed after Marot and Kousseau. There wras no occa¬
sion for loading the public with 7 vols of his works ; the
half of that number might have sufficed. For, excepting
Metromany, Gustavus, the Courses of Tempe, some
odes, about 20 epigrams, three or four fables, and some
epistles, the rest are but indifferent, and have no claim
to any extraordinary merit.
PISA, a large town of Tuscany in Italy, situated on
the river Arno, 52 miles from Florence. It was a fa¬
mous republic, till subdued, first by the duke of Milan,
73 3 P I s
and then by the Tiorentines in the year 1406. Before
it lost its freedom, it is said to have contained near
150,000 inhabitants, but now it has not above 16,000
0I; * 7»000* It was founded we are told by the Pisans
of 1 eloponnesus, and afterwards become one of the 12
municipia of Tuscany. Its neighbourhood to Leghorn,
which is now the chief port in the Mediterranean,
though formerly of little or no note for trade, has con¬
tributed greatly to the decay of Pisa, which, however,
begins to lift up its head again, Under the auspices of the
present grand duke, who has made it his winter resi¬
dence. Between Pisa and Leghorn is a canal 16 Ita¬
lian miles in length.—Its territory is .very fruitful ; a-
bounding in corn, wine, and fruit, and fine cattle. The
houses are well built, and the streets even, broad, and
well payed ; but in many places overrun with grass.
Hie university is well endowed, and has able professors,
but is not in a very flourishing condition. The exchange
is a stately structure, but little frequented. The grand
duke’s gaUeys are built, and commonly stationed here.
Ihis city is also the principal residence of the order of
ot Stephen, and the see of an archbishop. The cathe¬
dral a large Gothic pile, contains a great number of
excellent paintings and other curiosities. This church
is dedicated to St Mary; is very advantageously situated
in the middle of a large piazza, and built out of a great
heap of wrought marble, such as pillars, pedestals, capi¬
tals, cornices, and architraves, part of the spoils which
the Pisans took in their eastern expeditions, when the
republic was in a flourishing condition. The roof is sup¬
ported by 76 high marble pillars of different colours, and
finely gilt. Both the church and the cupola are covered
wuth lead. The choir is painted by good hands, and
the floor is mosaic work. The brazen doors are cu¬
riously wrought with the history of the Old and New
Testament, by Bonanno, an ancient statuary. The
chapel of St Rainerius is richly adorned with gilt me¬
tal-, columns of porphyry, and fine paintings. In the
middle of the nave of the church you see two brazen
tombs, raised upon pillars. The marble pulpit was car-
yed by John Pisano, and the choir by Julian da Ma-
jana. Joining thereto is the altar, over which is preser¬
ved a hollow globe or vessel of marble, wherein they
kept the sacrament for the new baptized, according to
the opinion of Father Mabillon. In the square before
the church, you see a pillar upon which is the measure
of the ancient Roman talent. In the same square with
the dome, stands the baptistery, a round fabric supported
by stately pillars, and remarkable for a very extraordi¬
nary echo.
On the north side of the cathedral is the burying-
place, called Campo Santo, being covered with earth
brought from the Holy Land. This burying-place is
inclosed with a broad portico, well painted, and paved
with grave stones. Here are a great many ancient tombs,
among the rest that of Beatrix, mother of the countess
Mathilda, with marble basso relievos, which the Pisans
brought from Greece, where you see the hunt of Mele-
ager, which assisted Nicholas of Pisa in the restoration
of sculpture. The walls of the Campo Santo are paint¬
ed by the best masters of their times. Giotto has drawn
six historical pieces of Job ; and Andrea Orgagna has
given a fine piece of the last judgment. Under the
portico there is a decree of the city, ordering the inha¬
bitants to wear mourning a year for the death’of Csesar.
Near
PIS t S'
Pisa Near tlie church you see a steeple in the form of a cylin-
II tier, to which you ascend by 153 steps } ^ inclines 15
TiscHia feet on one s^ej which some ascribe to art, but others
to the sinking of the toundation. Xts inclination is so
great that a plumb-line let fall from the top touches the
^ground at the distance of almost 15 feet from the bot¬
tom. It was built bv John ol Inspruck and Uonanno
of Pisa, in 1174* Near this steeple is a fine hospital,
dependent on that of St Maria Nuova in Florence.
The steeple of the church of the Augustinians is also
very fine, being an octagon, adorned with pillars, and
built by Nicholas of Pisa. In the great market-place
there is a statue of Plenty, by Pierino da Vinci. In the
chureh of St Matthew, the painting of the ceiling by
the brothers Melani, natives of this city, is au admired
performance. rIhe church ol the knights of St Stephen,
decorated with the trophies taken from the Saracens, is
all of marble, with marble steps, and a front adorned
with marble statues. In the square there is a statue ot
Cosmo I. upon a very fine pedestal. Contiguous to the
church is the convent ot palace of the knights, which
is worth seeing, as also the churches Della Madonna and
Della Spina •, the last of which was built by a beggar,
whose figure you may see on the outside of the Wall. It
is pretended that one of the thorns of the crown which
was placed on our Saviour’s head is preserved here.
Belonging to the university there is a great number of
- colleges, the chief of which is the Sapienza, where the
professors read their public lectures 5 next to which are
the colleges Puteano, Ferdinando, Kicci, and others.
Besides the public palace, and that of the grand duke,
there are several others with marble fronts, the finest of
which is that of Lanfranchi, which, with the rest along
the banks of the Arno, makes a very fine appearance.
There is here a good dock, where they build the galleys,
which are conveyed by the Arno to Leghorn. They
have a famous aqueduct in this town, consisting of 5000
arches, which conveys the water Irom the hills at five
miles distance. This Water is esteemed the best in Italy,
and is carried in flasks to Florence 4und Leghorn. The
neighbouring country produces great store of corn and
wine, but the latter is not much esteemed. They have
very good butter in this neighbourhood, which is a
scarce commodity in Italy. The city for its defence has
a moat, walls, a castle, fort, and citadel } the last of
which is a modern work. The Arrto is ot a consider¬
able breadth here, and has three bridges over it, one of
them of marble : two leagues below the town it falls in¬
to the sea. The physic-garden is very spacious, con-
f tains a great number of plants, and is decorated with
waterworks; over the door leading into it are these
words, Hie Argus sed non Brio reus esto : i. e. “ Em¬
ploy the eyes of Argus, but not the hands of ifiiareus.
The air is said to be unwholesome here in summer, on
account of the neighbouring morasses. Many buffaloes
are bred in the neighbouring country, and their flesh is
commonly eaten. Between Pisa and Lucca are hot
baths. E. Long. 10. 17. N. Lat 43. 43.
PISCARY, in our ancient statutes, the liberty of
fishing in another man’s waters.
PISCES, in Astronomy, the I2th sign or constella¬
tion of the zodiac.
PISCIDIA, a genus of plants belonging to the dia-
delphia class. See Botany Index.
■flSCIDU Erythrinu, or Dogwood-tree, is employed
5
4 ] P 1 9
to intoxicate fish. For this purpose, the bark is pound- piScJ,jia
ed small, put into bags, and soaked in salt water. The |j
juice, which is of a red colour, makes the fish stupid, so j isisiratm
that they are easily taken.
PISCINA, in antiquity, a large bason in a public
place or square, where the Roman youth learned to
swim : and which was surrounded with a high wall, to
prevent filth from being thrown into it.— Ibis word is
also used for a lavatory among the Turks, placed in
the middle court of a mosque or temple, where the
Mussulmans wash themselves before they offer their
prayers.
PISISTRATUS, an Athenian who early distin- Bihlktk
guished himself by his valour in the field, and by his ca (lama,
address and eloquence at home. After he had render- by Lempr-
ed himself the favourite of the populace by his libera-ere.
lity and by the intrepidity with which he had fought
their battles, particularly near Salamis, he resolved to
make himself master of his country. Every thing seem¬
ed favourable to his ambitious views •, but Solon alone,
who was then at the head of affairs, and who had late¬
ly enforced his celebrated laws, opposed lum, and dis¬
covered his duplicity and artful behaviour before the
public assembly. Pisistratus was not disheartened by
the measures of his relation Solon, but he had recourse
to artifice. In returning from his country-house, he
cut himself in various places ; and after he had exposed
his mangled body to the eyes ot the populace, deplo¬
red his misfortunes, and accused his enemies of at¬
tempts upon his life, because he was the friend ot the
people, the guardian ot the poor, and the reliever of
the oppressed, he claimed a chosen body ot 50 men
from the populace to defend his person in future from
the malevolence and the cruelty of his enemies. T. he
unsuspecting people unanimously granted his request,
though Solon opposed it With all his influence j and
Pisistratus had no sooner received an armed band on
whose fidelity and attachment he could rely, than he
seized the citadel of Athens, and made himself abso¬
lute. The people too late perceived their credulity •,
though the tyrant Was popular, two of the citizens, Me-
gacles and Lycurgus, conspired together against him,
and by their means he was forcibly ejected from the
city. His house and all his effects were exposed to
sale j but there was found in Athens only one man
who would buy them. The private dissensions of the
friends of liberty proved favourable to the expelled
tyrant j and Megacles, who was jealous of Lycurgus,
secretly promised to restore Pisistratus to all his rights
and privileges in Athens, if he would marry his daugh¬
ter. Pisistratus consented •, and by the assistance of
his father-in-law, he Was soon enabled to expel Lycur¬
gus, and to re-establish himsedf. By means of a wo¬
man called Phya, whose shape was tall, whose features
were noble and commanding, he imposed upon the
people, and created himself adherents even among his
enemies. Phya was conducted through the streets of
the city, and showing herself subservient to the arti¬
fice of Pisistratus, she was announced as Minerva, the
goddess of wisdom, and the patroness of Athens, who
was come down from Heaven to re-establish her favou¬
rite Pisistratus in a power which was sanctioned by the
will of Heaven, and favoured by the affection of the
people. In the midst of his triumph, however, Pisistra¬
tus found himself unsupported y and some time after,
when
PIS r 575 1 PIS
sistratus. ivlien he repudiated the daughter of Megacles, he found
—-v——that not only the citizens, but even his very troops,
were alienated from him by the influence, the intrigues,
and the bribery of his father-in-law. He fled from
Athens whex-e he no longer could maintain his power,
and retired to Euboea. Eleven years after he was
drawn from his obscure retreat, by means of his son
Hippias, and he was a third time received by the
people of Athens as their master and sovereign. Upon
this he sacrificed to his resentment the friends of Me¬
gacles. but he did not lose sight of the public good, and
while he sought the aggrandizment of his family, he did
not neglect the dignity and the honour of the Athenian
name. He died about 528 years before the Christian
era, after he had enjoyed the sovereign power at Athens
for 33 years, and he was succeeded by his son Hippar¬
chus. Pisistratus claims our admiration for his justice,
his liberality, and his moderation. If he was dreaded
and detested as a tyrant, the Athenians loved and respect¬
ed his private virtues and his patriotism as a fellow-
citizen : and the opprobrium which generally falls on
his head may be attributed not to the severity of his
administration, but to the republican principles of the
Athenians, who hated and exclaimed against the mo¬
deration and equity of the mildest sovereign, while
they flattered the pride and gratified the guilty desires
of the most tyrannical of their fellow subjects. Pisi¬
stratus often refused to punish the insolence of his ene¬
mies $ and when he had one day been virulently accu¬
sed of murder, rather than inflict immediate punish¬
ment upon the man who had criminated him, he went
to the areopagus, and there convinced the Athenians
that the accusations of his enemies were groundless,
and that his life was irreproachable. It is to his la¬
bours that we are indebted for the preservation of the
poems ot Homer j and he was the first, according to
Cicero, who introduced them at Athens in the order
in which they now stand. He also established a public
library at Athens j and the valuable books which he
had diligently collected were carried into Persia when
Xerxes made himself master of the capital of Attica.
Hipparchus and Hippias the sons of Pisistratus, who
had received the name of Pisistratid<r, rendered them¬
selves as illustrious as their father; but the flames of li¬
berty were too powerful to be extinguished. The Pi-
sistratidae governed with great moderation, but the
name of tyrant or sovereign was insupportable to the
Athenians. Two of the most respectable of the citi¬
zens,called Harmodiusa.nd Aristogr'toji, conspired against
them, and Hipparchus was dispatched in a public as¬
sembly. This murder was not, however, attended
with any advantages ; and though the two leaders of
the conspiracy, who have been celebrated through eve¬
ry age for their patriotism, were supported by the
people, yet Hippias quelled the tumult by his uncom¬
mon firmness and prudence, and for a while preserved
that peace in Athens which his father bad often been
unable to command. This was not long to continue.
Hippias was at last expelled by the united efforts of
the Athenians and of their allies, and he left Attica,
when he found himself unable to maintain bis power
and independence. The rest of the family of Pisistra-
tus followed him in his banishment; and after they had
refused to accept the liberal offers of the princes of
Thessaly, and the king of Macedonia, who wished them
to settle in their respective territories, the Pisistratidae Pisistratas
retired to Sigaeum, which their lather had in the sum- 11
mit of his power conquered and bequeathed to his
posterity. After the banishment of the Pisistratidse, " v
the Athenians became more than commonly jealous of
their liberty, and often sacrificed the most powerful of
their citizens, apprehensive of the influence which po¬
pularity and a well-directed liberality might gain among
a fickle and unsettled populace. The Pisistratidse were
banished from Athens about 18 years after the death
of Pisistratus.
PISMIRES, or Ants, are a kind of insects very
common in Africa; of which there is so great a variety,
and such innumerable swarms, that they destroy not on¬
ly the fruits of the ground but sometimes even men and
beasts in so little time as one single night ; and would,
without all doubt, prove more fatally destructive to the
inhabitants, were they not so happily destroyed by a
proportionable number of monkeys and other animals,
who greedily devour them. The far greater part of the v
vast continent of Africa is afflicted with these and some
other grievous plagues, and particularly with the horrid
visitation of locusts, which seldom fail a year of laying
waste some of the provinces.
PISO, Lucius Calpurnius, surnamed Frttgi on ac¬
count of his frugality, was descended of the illustrious
family of the Pisos, which gave so many great men to
the Roman republic. He was tribune of the people in
the year 149 before Christ, and afterwards consul.
During his tribuneship, be published a law against the
crime of concussion or extortion, intitled Lex Calpurnia
de pecuniis repetundis. He happily ended the war in
Sicily. To reward the services of one of his sons, who
had distinguished himself in that expedition, he left him.
by bis will a golden crown, weighing 20 pounds. Piso
joined to the qualties of a good citizen the talents of a
lawyer, an orator, and historian.
Piso, Cains Calpurnins, a Roman consul in the
year 67 before Christ, was author of the law which
forbade canvassing for public offices, intitled Lex Cal¬
purnia de ambitiu He displayed all the firmness worthy
of a consul in one of the most stormy periods of the
republic. The Roman people, deceived by the flat¬
tery of Marcus Palicanu-s, a turbulent and seditious fel¬
low, were on the eve of loading themselves with the
greatest disgrace, bv putting the supreme authority in¬
to the hands of this man, who deserved punishment
rather than honours. The tribunes of the people, by
their harangues, inflamed the blind fury of the multi¬
tude, already sufficiently mutinous of themselves. In
this situation, Piso mounted the rostrum, and being
asked if he would declare Palicanus consul, in case the
suffrages of the people should concur in the nomina¬
tion, he instantly replied, that “he did not think the
republic was yet involved in such darkness and despair
as to be capable of committing so infamous an action.”
Being afterwards strongly and repeatedly called upon
to say, “ what he would do, if the thing should hap¬
pen ?” his answer was, “ No, I would not name him.”
By this firm and laconic answer he deprived Palicanus
of the dignity to which he aspired. Piso, according to
Cicero, was not possessed of a quick conception, hut
he thought maturely, and with judgment, and, by a
proper firmness, he appeared to be an abler man than ;
he really was.,
PlS^
P I s
[ 576 ]
P I s
Pjs0) Piso, Cneius Calpurnius, was consul in the reign of
Pissasphal- Augustus, anti governor of Syria under Tiberius,
trnn. uliose confidant he was. It is said, that by the order
"vof this emperor he caused Germanicus to be poisoned.
Being accused of that crime, and seeing himself aban¬
doned by every body, he laid violent hands on himself
in the 20th year of our Lord. He was a man of insup¬
portable pride and excessive violence. Some instances
of his wicked cruelty have been handed down to us.
Having given orders in the heat of his passion to con¬
duct to punishment a soldier, as guilty of the death of
one of his companions, because he had gone out of the
camp with him and returned without him, no prayers or
intreaty could prevail with Piso to suspend the execution
of this sentence until the affair should be properly in¬
vestigated. The soldier was led without the entrench¬
ments, and had already presented his bead to receive
the fata! stroke, when his companion whom he was
accused of having killed made his appearance again.
’Whereupon the centurion, whose office it was to see
the sentence executed, ordered the executioner to put
up his sword into the scabbard. Those two companions,
after embracing each other, are conducted to Piso,
amidst the acclamations of the whole army, and a pro¬
digious crowd of people. Piso, foaming with rage,
ascends his tribune, and pronounces the same sentence
of death against the whole three, without excepting the
centurion who had brought back the condemned sol¬
dier, in these terms: “ You I order to be put to death
because you have been already condemned : you, be¬
cause you have been the cause of the condemnation
of your comrade 5 and you, because having got orders
to put that soldier to death, you have not obeyed your
prince.”
PISSASPHALTUM, or Asphaltum, Earth-
pitch ; a fluid, opaque, mineral body, of a thick con¬
sistence, strong smell, readily inflammable, but leaving
a residuum of grayish ashes after burning. It arises out
of the cracks of the rocks, in several places in the island
of Sumatra, and some other places in the East Indies,
where it is much esteemed in paralytic disorders. There
is a remarkable mine of it in the island of Bua, (see
Bua), of which the following curious description is gi¬
ven by the abbe Fortis. “The island is divided in¬
to two promontories between the north and west. Cros¬
sing over the top of the latter, which is not half a mile
broad, and descending in a right line towards the sea,
one is conducted to a hole well known to the inhabi¬
tants. This hole extends not much above 12 feet, and
from its bottom above 25 feet perpendicular, arise the
marble strata which sustain the irregular masses that pj^gp^j
surround the top of the mountain.
This pissasphaltum is of the most perfect quality,black
and shining, very pure, odorous, and cohesive 5 and it
comes out almost liquid, but hardens in large drops
when the sun sets. On breaking many of these drops
on the spot, I found that almost every one of them had
an inner cavity full of very clear Water.
“ The greatest breadth of the tears that I saw was
two inches, and the common breadth is half an inch.
The chinks and fissures of the marble, from whence this
bituminous pitch transudes, are not more than the thick¬
ness of a thread ; and for the most part are so imper¬
ceptible, that were it not for the pitch itself, whereby
they are blackened, they could not by any means be
distinguished by the naked eye. '10 the narrowness oi
these passages is, no doubt, in part owing the small
quantity of pissasphaltum that transpires.”
After some conjectures about the origin of this mine,
our author proceeds to inform us that the pissasphaltum
of Bua is correspondent to that fossil production which by
Hasselquist,in bis Travels, is called mumict miner ale, and
mumia nativa Perstana by Kempfer, which the Egyp¬
tians made use of to embalm their kings (a). It is
found 111 a cave of Mount Caucasus, which is kept shut,
and carefully guarded by order of the king of Persia.
One of the qualities assigned by Linnaeus to the
finest bitumen is to smoke when laid on the fire, as ours
does, emitting a smell of pitch not disagreeable. He
believes it would be very good for wounds, as the oriental
mumia is, and like the pitch of Castro, which is iie-
quently used by the Homan cliirurgeons tor fractures,
contusions, and in many external applications. See As-
phaltum, Mineralogy Index.
PISSELiEUM IND1CUM, Barbadoes Tar ; a mine¬
ral fluid of the nature of the thicker bitumens, and of all
others the most approaching, in appearance, colour, and
consistence, to the true pissasphaltum, but differing from
it in other respects. It is very frequent in many parts
of America, where it is found trickling down the sides
of mountains in large quantities, and sometimes floating
on the surface of the waters. It has been greatly re¬
commended internally in coughs and other disorders of
the breast and lungs.
PISTACIA, Turpentine-tree, Pistachia nut and
Mastich-tree; a genus of plants belonging to the di-
cecia class. The most remarkable species are, 1. The
terebinthus, or pistachia-tree, which grows naturally in
Arabia, Persia, and Syria, whence the nuts are annually
brought to Europe. In those countries it grows to the
height
(a) “ Mumiahi, or native Persian mummy. It proceeds from a hard rock in very small quantity. It is a 1-
tuminous juice, that transudes from the stony superficies of the hill, resembling in appearance coarse shoema¬
kers wax, as well in its colour as in its density and ductility. While adherent to the rock it is less soli , iu
is formed by the warmth of the hands. It is easily united with oil, but repels water j it is quite void ot snie ,
•and very like in substance to the Egyptian mummy. When laid on burning coals, it has the smell of su piur
tempered a little with that of naphtha, not disagreeable. There are two kinds ot this mummy 5 the one i3 va*
luable for its scarcity and great activity. The native place ot the best mummy is far from the access of men, iom
habitations, and from springs of water, in the province of Haraab. It is found in a narrow cave,^ not above two
fathoms deep, cut like a well out of the mass, at the foot of the rugged mountain Caucasus.” Kempjer. Amccn.
Pers. . . .
This description agrees perfectly with the pissasphaltum or fossil mummy of Bua, diilenng only m the piiva ion
of smell, which it is difficult to imagine is totally wanting in the Persian mummy.
P I S [ 5
■’istachia. I'ciglit of 25 or 30 feet: the bark t)f the stem and old
*v—branches is of a dark russet colour, hut that of the young
branches is of a light brown. These are garnished with
winged leaves, composed sometimes of two, at other
times of three, pair of lobes, terminated by an odd one j
these lobes approach towards an oval shape, and their
edges are turned backward; and these, w hen bruised,
emit a smell similar to that of the shell of the nut.
Some of these trees produce male and others female
flowers, and some have both male and female on the
same tree. The male flowers come out from the sides
of the branches in loose bunches or catkins. They have
iio petals, but five small stamina crowned by large four-
cornered summits filled wTith farina ; and when this is
discharged, the flowers fall off. The female flowers
come out in clusters from the sides of the branches:
they have no petals, but a large oval germen support¬
ing three reflexed styles, and are succeeded by oval
nuts. 2. The lentiscus, or common mastich tree, grows
naturally in Portugal, Spain, and Italy. Being an
evergreen, it has been preserved in this country in or¬
der to adorn the green-houses. In the countries where
it is a native, it rises to the height of 18 or 20 feet,
covered with a gray bark on the stem ; but the bran¬
ches, which are very numerous, are covered with a red¬
dish brown bark, and are garnished with winged leaves,
composed of three or four pair of small spear-shaped
lobes, without an odd one at the end. 3. The orienta-
iis, or true mastich tree of the Levant, from which the
mastich is gathered, has been confounded by most bota¬
nical writers with the lentiscus, or common mastich tree,
above described, though there are considerable differ¬
ences between them. The bark of the tree is brown $
the leaves are composed of two or three pair of spear-
shaped lobes, terminated by an odd one : the outer lobes
are the largest 5 the others gradually diminish, the in¬
nermost being the least. These turn of a brownish co¬
lour towards the autumn, when the plants are exposed
to the open air 5 but if they are under glasses, they keep
green. The leaves continue all the year, but are not so
thick as those of the common sort, nor are the plants so
hardy.
Culture. The first species is propagated by its nuts,
which should be planted in pots filled with light kitchen-
garden earth, and plunged into a moderate hot-bed to
bring up the plants 5 when these appear, they should
have a large share of air admitted to them, and by de¬
grees they should be exposed to the open air, which at
last they will bear in all seasons, though not without
great danger of being destroyed in severe winters. The
second sort is commonly propagated by laying down the
branches, though it may also be raised from the seed in
the manner already directed for the pistachia-nut tree ;
and in this manner also may the true mastich-tree be rai¬
sed. But this being more tender than any of the other
sorts, requires to be constantly sheltered in winter, and
to have a warm situation in summer.
Pistachia nuts are moderately large,containing a ker¬
nel of a pale greenish colour, covered with a reddish skin.
They have a pleasant, sweet, unctuous taste, resembling
that of almonds 5 and they abound with a sweet and
well-tasted oil, which they yield in great abundance on
being pressed after bruising them : they are reckoned
■among the analeptics, and are wholesome and nutri¬
tive, and are by some esteemed very proper to be pre-
Vol. XVI. Part II. t
7 3 PIS
scribed by way of restoratives,, eaten in small quantity, pLiw.i,;,.
to people emaciated by long illness. ^ g ‘
PIS1IL, among botanists, the little upright co- 1'isnni.
lumn which is generally found in the centre of every
flower. According to the Linnaean system, it is the
female part of generation, whose office is to receive and
secrete the pollen, and produce the fruit. It consists of
three parts, viz. germen, stylus, and stigma. See Bo¬
tany Index.
P1ST0IA is a city of Italy, in the duchy of Tus¬
cany, situated on the river Stella, in a beautiful plain
near the foot of the Apennine mountains. By Pliny
it is called Pistorium, and is said to have been once a
Roman colony. At present it is a bishop’s see, suffra¬
gan of Florence. The streets are broad and regular,
the houses tolerably well built, but poorly inhabited
for want of trade. Formerly it was an independent re¬
public, but since it was subdued by the Florentines in
1200, it lias been in a declining condition. The ca¬
thedral has a very handsome cupola, and a magnificent
staircase to ascend to it. In the chapel dedicated to St
James, where his relics are preserved, the walls are al¬
most covered with plates of silver. Here are four mar¬
ble statues of veiy good workmanship. The marble pul¬
pit, the basso-relievos, the vessel that holds the holy wa¬
ter, and the square-steeple, are the work of John Pisano.
The Jesuits have a very fine college, and the Francis¬
cans, Dominicans, and Augustinians, good churches.
In the church of Madonna dell’ Umilta there are two
statues, one of Leo X, and the other of Clement VII.
The public palace, situated in a large square, is a hand¬
some building; several of the nobility have also very
good houses. In the neighbouring mountains, called by
the name of Pistoia, there are many large villages, the
chief of which is that of S. Marcello, belonging to the
family of Cartoli. These mountains are a part of the
Apennines, and border on the territory of Bologna and
the county ofVernioj higher up is the source of the ri¬
ver Reno. The country about Pistoia, especially to¬
wards Florence, is exceeding fertile and delightful, co¬
vered with all sorts of fruits, corn, wine, &c. and con¬
taining a vast number of little towns, wealthy villages,
and country seats, so as to be reckoned the richest and
most beautiful in all Tuscany. It is about 20 miles N.
W. of Florence, and 30 N. E. of Pisa. E. Lone. 11. 20.
N. Eat. 43. 55.
PISTOL, the smallest piece of fire-arms, borne at
the saddle-bow, in the girdle, and in the pocket.
PISTOLE, a gold coin, struck in Spain and in se¬
veral parts of Italy, Switzerland, &c.—The pistole has
its augmentations and diminutions, which are quadruple
pistoles, double pistoles, and half pistoles. See Money-
Table.
PISTON, in pump-work, is a short cylinder of me¬
tal or other solid substance, fitted exactly to the cavity
of the barrel or body of the pump. See HydrodynAt
MICS.
PISUM, Pease ; a genus of plants belonging to the
diadelphia class. See Botany Index. The species are,
I. The sativum, or greater garden-pea, whose lower sti-
pulae are roundish, indented, with taper foot-stalks, and
many flowers on a foot-stalk. 2*The humile, or dwarf
pea, with an erect branching stalk, and leaves having
two pair of round lobes. . 3. The nmbellatum, rose or
crown-pea, with four pointed acute stipuli, and foot-
4 D stalks
P I s
[ 578 ]
P I s
Pi sum. stalks bearing many flowers, which terminate the stalks.
1 4. The maritimum, or sea-pea, with foot-stalks which
are plain on their upper side, an angular stalk, arrow-
pointed stipulse, and toot-stalks bearing many flowers.
5. The Americanum, commonly called Cape-Horn peat
with an angular trailing stalk, whose lower leaves are
spear-shaped, sharply indented, and those at the top ar¬
row-pointed. 6. The ochrus, with membranaceous
running foot-stalks, having two leaves and one flower
upon a foot-stalk.
There is a great variety of garden-pease now culti¬
vated in Britain, which are distinguished by gardeners
and seedsmen, and have their different titles j but as
great part of these have been seminal variations, so if
they are not very carefully managed, by taking away
all those plants which have a tendency to alter before
the seeds are formed, they will degenerate into their
original state : therefore all those persons who are cu¬
rious in the choice of their seeds, look carefully over
those which they design for seeds at the time when they
begin to flower, and draw out all the plants which they
dislike from the other. This is what they call roginng
their pease ; meaning hereby the taking out all the bad
plants from the good, that the farina of the former may
not impregnate the latter j to prevent which, they al¬
ways do it before the flowers open. By thus diligently
draiving out the bad, reserving those which come ear¬
liest to flower, they have greatly improved their pease
of late years, and are constantly endeavouring to get
forwarder varieties j so that it would be to little pur¬
pose in this place to attempt giving a particular account
of all the varieties now cultivated: we shall therefoi e
only mention the names by which they are commonly
known, placing them according to their time of coming
to the table, or gathering for use.
The golden hotspur. Nonpareil.
Sugar dwarf.
Sickle pea.
Marrowfat.
Rose or crown pea.
Rouncival pea.
Gray pea.
Pig pea *, with some others.
The English sea-pea is found wild upon the shore in
Sussex and several other counties in England, and is un¬
doubtedly a different species from the common pea.
The fifth species hath a biennial root, which conti¬
nues two years. This was brought from Cape Horn by
Lord Anson’s cook, when he passed that cape, where
these pease were a great relief to the sailors. It is kept
here as a curiosity, but the pease are not so good for
eating as the worst sort now cultivated in Britain. It
is a low trailing plant j the leaves have two lobes on
each foot-stalk : those below are spear-shaped, and
sharply indented bn their edges •, but the upper leaves
are small, and arrow-pointed. The flowers are blue,
each foot-stalk sustaining four or five flowers *, the pods
are taper, near three inches long j and the seeds are
sround, about the size of tares.
The sixth sort is annual. This grows naturally
among the corn in Sicily and some parts of Italy, but
is here preserved in botanic gardens for the sake of va¬
riety. It hath an angular stalk, rising near three feet
high $ the leaves stand upon winged foot-stalks, each
3
The Charlton.
The Reading hotspur.
Master’s hotspur.
Essex hotspur.
The dwarf pea.
The sugar pea.
Spanish Morotto.
sustaining two oblong lobes. The flowers are of a pale pisma.
yellow colour, shaped like those of the other sort of1 ■ ■■ y —
pea, but are small, each foot-stalk sustaining one
flower } these are succeeded by pods about two inches
long, containing five or six roundish seeds, which are a
little compressed on their sides. These are by some
persons eaten green j but unless they are gathered very
young, they are coarse, and at best not so good as the
common pea. It may be sown and managed in the
same way as the garden pea.
For an account of the method of cultivating the
several sorts of garden pease, so as to continue them
throughout the season, see Gardening.
The gray and other large winter pease are seldom
cultivated in gardens, because they require a great deal
of room ; they are therefore usually sown in fields. For
the proper method of managing them, see AGRICUL¬
TURE.
In the Museum Uusticum, vol. i. p. 109. we find the
following method of preparing pease for hog-meat,
which we shall give in the words of the ingenious far¬
mer who communicated it.
“ A few years ago (says he), I had a plentiful crop
of pease on a ten acre piece, which lies near my house :
when they were full poded and nearly ripe, I had
them hooked in the usual manner •, but before I could
get them in, there came a heavy shower of rain which
wetted them through and through j and the dull heavy
weather, with frequent showers which followed, pre¬
vented their drying for a considerable time.
“ I caused the wads to be from time to time turned,
to prevent the haulm from rotting; and at length a few
days sunshine dried them enough to be inned $ for as
they lay hollow, the wind was greatly assistant to the
operation.
“ Before I got them in, on examining some of the
pods, I found that the pease were all sprouted to a
considerable length : this was what I had expected, as
I gave my crop over for lost, till after a little recol¬
lection, as the weather still continued fine, I determin¬
ed to thresh them in the field.
“ This was accordingly done $ and the corn, after
it was cast and riddled to separate it from the rubbish,
was dried on my malt kiln.
“ When this operation was over, I began to reflect
in what manner I should dispose of my pease, being
sensible that they could not be proper for seed, and
standing no chance of disposing of them to any advan¬
tage in the market.
“ At length, as it was then a time of Avar, and of
course there was a great demand for pork for the use
of the navy, I determined to buy a considerable num¬
ber of lean hogs, that I might by their means consume
this crop on my own premises, and in that manner make
the most of it.
“ My expectations were more than answered ; for I
found, by repeated experience, that three bushels of
the pease I have mentioned ivent nearly as far in fat¬
tening the hogs I bought as four bushels got in dry
and hard in the manner usually practised.
“ This discovery I made several years ago, and it
has turned out to my advantage j for since that time
I have been quite indifferent as to the weather in
Avhich my pease are hooked, being rather better pleas¬
ed, as far as relates tq tjiem, with wet than dry wea-
* ther v
PIT t 579 3 PIT
Pisum ^ier > ^ut ^ ^ie weatlier happens to he ilry at the
|) time they are ripe, I always cause as many as I want
Titcairne. for feeding my hogs, which are not a few in a year,
J to be regularly malted in the same manner nearly as
my barley: this management has of late succeeded
very well with me, and I therefore intend to conti¬
nue it.
“ Besides feeding my hogs with these malted pease,
I have often given them to my horses, with which they
agree very well, and are heartening food.
“ Turkeys will fatten apace on them also, and be
fine meat.
“ I have applied my malted pease to many other
uses, which I have not at present time to enumerate :
but were they only used for feeding hogs and horses,
it is still worth while to prepare some in this manner
every year.”
PIT-coal, or Stone-coal^ See Coal, Minera¬
logy Index and CoAlery.
The coal-trade is of infinite importance to Great Bri¬
tain, which never could have arrived at its present com¬
mercial eminence without it; and this eminence it will
be impossible to retain if coal should ever become scarce*
This we trust is not likely to be the case, though Mr
Williams expresses great fears for it, and informs us that
at Newcastle and in many parts of Scotland, the mines
near the sea are already wasted, the first consequence of
which must be an enormous rise in the price. See
his observations on this subject in his Natural History
of the Mineral Kingdom. This author says, that coal
was not discovered till between the middle of the 12th
and beginning of the 13th centuries: it is, therefore, ac¬
cording to him, 400 years since it was first discovered
in Britain, but they have not been in common use for
more than 200 years. The same author makes many
excellent observations on the appearances and indications
of coal, instructions about searching for it, remarks on
false and doubtful symptoms of coal; for all which, to¬
gether with his observations on the different kinds of
Scots coal, we shall refer our readers to the work itself;
the first part of which, occupying a large proportion of
it, is upon the strata of coal, and on the concomitant
strata. See Geology and Strata of the earth.
PITAHAYA {Cactus Pitajuya. Lin. Syst. Vcgeta-
bilium. Jacquin. Amer. 151. ed. 2d. p. 75. M. E. Car-
thagend), a shrub peculiar to California, the fruit of
which forms the greatest part of the harvest of the na¬
tives. Its branches are finely fluted, and rise vertical¬
ly from the stem, so as to form a very beautiful top.
The fruit is like a borse-chesnut; in some white, in
others yellow, and in others red, but always exquisitely
delicious, being a rich sweet, tempered with a grateful
acid. See Cactus, Botany Index.
PITCAIRNE, Dr Archibald, an eminent physi¬
cian and ingenious poet, was descended from the ancient
family of the Pitcairnes of Pitcairne in Fifeshire, and
was born at Edinburgh on the 25th of December 1652.
He commenced his studies at the school of Dalkeith ;
and from thence he was removed to the university of
Edinburgh, where he improved himself in classical learn¬
ing, and completed a regular course of philosophy. Elis
friends, according to the authors of the Biographia Bri-
tannica, were desirous that he should follow the profes¬
sion of theology. The unpleasant gloom, however,
which at that time hang over religion and its professors Pitcairne.
in Scotland, could not but very ill suit with that native v~—'
cheerfulness of temper and liberality of mind which
made him, long after, a mark for the arrows of precise¬
ness and grimace. The law seems to have been his own
choice, and to this science he turned his attention. With
an ardour peculiar to himself, and an ambition to excel
in whatever he undertook, he pursued it with so much
intenseness, that his health began to be impaired. On
this account, his physicians advised him to set out for the
south of France. By the time he reached Paris, he was
happily so far recovered, that lie determined to renew
his studies; but being informed that there was no able
professor of law in that city, and finding several gentle¬
men of his acquaintance engaged in the study of physic,
he went with them to the lectures and hospitals, and
employed himself in this manner for several months till
his affairs called him home.
On his return, he applied himself chiefly to the ma¬
thematics. It is not usual to see the briars of this
science and the flowers of poetry growing in the same
soil. Here, however, they were happily united ; and
to this union perhaps was owing that singular command
^judgment, over one of the liveliest of fancies, which
appears in every part of his works. His.intimacy with
Dr David Gregory, the celebrated mathematical profes¬
sor, began about the same time ; and probably conduced
to cherish his natural aptitude for this study. It was
then in a great measure, new to him ; it soon became
his principal delight; his progress in it was rapid, and
correspondent to his progress in other pursuits. Elis im¬
provements on the method of infinite series then adopt¬
ed, which Dr Wallis of Oxford afterwards published,
were a conspicuous and early proof of his abilities in this
science.
Had Dr Pitcairne continued to prosecute the study of
the law, and could he have moulded his principles to
the times, the first offices and honours of the state might
have been looked for without presumption as the pro¬
bable reward of such talents as he possessed. Struck,
however, with the charms of mathematical truth which
had been lately introduced into the philosophy of medi¬
cine, and hoping to reduce the healing art to geometri¬
cal method, he unalterably determined on this less as¬
piring profession. At the period when be formed this
resolution, the ideas of the medical world, already suf¬
ficiently confused, were still farther jumbled by the dis¬
covery of the circulation of the blood, which had as yet
produced nothing but doubt, uncertainty, and astonish¬
ment. In Edinburgh at that time there was no school,
no hospital, no opportunity of improvement but the
chamber and the shop. He therefore soon after re¬
turned to Paris. Genius and industry are unhappily
not often united in the same character: of such an
union, however, Dr Pitcairne is a celebrated instance.
During his residence in France, he cultivated the object
of bis pursuit with his natural enthusiasm, and with a
steadiness from which he could not be diverted by the
allurements of that joy which, in his hours of social and
festive intercourse, he always felt and always gave.
Among his various occupations, the study of the ancient
physicians seems to have had a principal share. This
appears from a treatise which he published some time
alter his return; and it shows, that he wisely determined
4 D 2 to
Pitcaivne.
PIT [580] P 1
to know tlie progress of medicine from its earliest pe- sophorum secta tsM lib cram
' riods, before be attempted to reform and improve that
In this he clears medi- Pitcairn?.
science. .
On the 13th of August 1680, he received, from the
faculty of liheims, the degree of Doctor 5 which, on
the 7th of August 1699, was likewise conferred on him
by the university of Aberdeen 5 both being attended with
marks of peculiar distinction. Other medical honours
are said to have been conferred on him in France and
elsewhere •, but nothing affords a more unequivocal testi¬
mony to his abilities than that which the surgeons of
Edinburgh gave, in admitting him, freely and unsolicit¬
ed, a member of their college. None had such opportu¬
nities of judging of his merit as a practitioner, and on
no physician did they ever bestow the same public mark
of respect. Soon after lus graduation at Ixheims, he re¬
turned to Edinburgh *, where, on the 29th of Novem¬
ber 1681, the Koyal College of Physicians was insti¬
tuted j and his name, among others, graced the original
patent from the crown.
In his Solatia Problematis de Invcntoribus, the trea¬
tise above alluded to, he discovers a wonderful degree
of medical literature, and makes use of it in a manner
that does great honour both to his head and his heart.
His object is to vindicate Dr Harvey’s claim to the dis¬
covery of the circulation of the blood. The discovery
was, at first, controverted by envy, and reprobated by
ignorance. ben at length its truth was fully esta¬
blished, many invidiously attempted to tear the laurels
from the illustrious Englishman, and to plant them on
the brows of Hippocrates and others. Had the attempt
been directed against himself, the generous soul of Pit-
cairtie could not have-exerted more zeal in a defence ■,
and his arguments remain unanswered.
During his residence in Scotland, his reputation be¬
came so considerable, that, in the year 1691, the univer¬
sity of Leyden solicited him to fill the medical chair,
at that time vacant. Such an honourable testimony of
respect, from a foreign nation, and from such an univer¬
sity, cannot perhaps be produced in the medical biogra¬
phy of Great Britain. The lustre of such characters re¬
flects honour on their profession, and on the country
which has the good fortune of giving them birth j and
serves to give the individuals of that country not only
a useful estimation in their own eyes, but in those also
of the rest of the world. Dr Pitcairne’s well-known
political principles excluded him from public honours
and promotion at home : he therefore accepted the in¬
vitation from abroad j and, on the 26th of April 1692,
delivered, at Leyden, his elegant and masterly inaugural
oration: Oratio qua ostenditur medicinam ab omuipkilo-
cine from the rubbish of the old philosophy 5 separates
it from the influence of the different sects; places it on
the broad and only sure foundation of experience j
shows how little good inquiries into the manner how
medicines operate have done to the art j and demon¬
strates the necessity of a sedulous attention to their ef¬
fects, and to the various appearances ol disease.
Nothing (savs an elegant panegyrist * of our author) * Dr Cha*
marks a superiority of intellect so much as the cou-^™^
rage requisite to stem a torrent of obstinately prevailing0)o
and groundless opinions. For this the genius and ta,-tion Mi?.
lents of Pitcairne were admirably adapted ; and, in hisdinburgh
_. _ . « . t . *1 far 1 u.
oration, he displays them to the utmost. It was received 3™
with the highest commendations ; and the administra-, - ’ 11011
...... w.~ ...b   „ • ... which per.
tors, to testify their sense of such an acquisition to their formasce
university, greatly augmented the ordinary appointment the present
ox Ins chair. . chief!
He discharged the duties of his office at Leyden so traited.
as to answer the most sanguine expectations. He
taught with a perspicuity and eloquence which met
with universal applause. Independently of the enco¬
miums of Boerhaave and Mead, who were his pupils,
the numerous manuscript copies of his lectures, and
the mutilated specimen of them f which found its way f Element*
into the world without his knowledge, show how just-AfediaW.
ly it was bestowed. At the same time, he was not
more celebrated as a professor than as a practical phy¬
sician ; and notwithstanding the multiplicity of bis
business in both these characters, l?e found leisure to-
publish several treatises on the circulation, and some
other of the most important parts of the animal econo¬
my (a).
At the close of the session he set out for Scotland,
with an intention,of returning in time for the succeed¬
ing one. On his marrying (b) the daughter of Sir Ar¬
chibald Stevenson, the object of his journey, her rela¬
tions would on no account consent to part with him
again. He was therefore reluctantly obliged to re¬
main j and he wrote the university a polite apology,
which was received with the utmost regret. He even
declined the most flattering solicitations and tempting
offers to settle in London. Indeed he soon came into
that extensive practice to which lus abilities entitled
him, and was also appointed titular professor of medi¬
cine in the university of Edinburgh.
The uniformity of a professional life is seldom inter¬
rupted by incidents worthy of record. Specimens, hovy-
ever, of that brilliant wit with which he delighted his
friends in the hours of his leisure, continue to entertain
us (c) : and the effects of that eminent skill which he
exerted
(a) Dr Boerhaave gives the following character of these and some other of Dr Fxtcanne s isser a 10ns, wm 1
were collected and published at Rotterdam, anno iqoi : “ Hsec scripta optima sunt et per ecta, sxve **
sertationem de Motu Sauguinis per Pulmones, sive alia opuscula, sive ultimum tractatum de pio. e 10 1
studii, ab Hallero edita. p. 569. „ , , , , j 1
(b) He had been married before to a daughter of Colonel James Hay of Pitfour, by whom ic 1a a son
daughter, who both died young. • , j
(c) Vide Pitcarnii Poemata.—Several of his poems, however, are obscure, and some of them o a y unin e
ligible without a key. In those of them which are of a political kind, he wished not to expiess "n^s_e
clearly; and in others, he alludes to private occurrences which were not known beyond the cue e 0 is co
 tt:* r \ T.mdsev. is commented on by the authors ot the tuo-
in omers, ne auuues 10 private occurrences wmeu    —- - r tU . R Vi-
panions. His poem (Ad Linde sluin'), addressed to his friend Lindsey, is commented on by the aut 01s 0 ® 1
^raphia Britannic a ; and it is to be regretted that it is the only one on which they have been so ici ous 0 ^iro^
P 1 T [ 5
exerted in the cure of disease, still operate to the good
of posterity.
The discovery of the circulation, while in some mea¬
sure it exploded the chemical and Galenical doctrines,
tended to introduce mathematical and mechanical rea¬
soning in their stead. Of this theory fo) Dr Piteairne
was the principal support, and the first who introduced
it into Britain. A mathematical turn of mind, and a
wish for mathematical certainty in medicine, biassed him
in its favour, and he pushed it to its utmost extent. One
is at a loss whether most to admire or regret such a
waste of talents in propping a theory which, though
subversive of former ones, was to fall before others but
a little more satisfactory than itself. Mechanical phy¬
sicians expected more from geometry than that science
could grant. They made it the foundation instead of
an auxiliary to their inquiries, and applied it to parts of
nature not admitting mathematical calculations. By
paying more attention afterwards to the supreme influ¬
ence of the living principle, the source of all the mo¬
tions and functions of the body, it Avas found that these
could not be explained by any Ihavs of chemistry or me¬
chanism. They are still, however, involved in obscuri¬
ty ; and notwithstanding the numberless improvements
which have taken place in the sciences connected Avith
medicine, Avill perhaps remain inscrutable while man
continues in his present stage of existence.
!i ] PIT
In a science so slowly progressive as that of medi¬
cine, Dr Piteairne did a great deal. By labouring in
vain for truth in one road, he saved many the same
drudgery, and thereby showed the necessity of an¬
other. He not only exploded many false notions of
the chemists and Galenists which prevailed in his time,
but many ot those too of his own sect. In particu¬
lar, he showed the absurdity of referring all diseases
and their cures to an alkali er an acid (e). He refuted
the idea of secretion being performed by pores differ¬
ently shaped (f), Bellini’s opinion of effervescences in
the animal spirits Avith the blood, and Borelll’s of air
entering the blood by respiration (g). He proved the
continuity of the arteries and veins (h) ; and seems to
have been the first Avho showed that the blood Aoavs
from a smaller capacity into a larger ; that the aorta,
with respect to the arterial system, is the apex of a
cone (i). In this therefore he may be considered as
the latent spring of the discoveries respecting the poAvers
moving the blood. He introduced a simplicity of pre¬
scription unknown in pharmacy before his time (k) j
and such aviis the state of medicine in this country, that
scarcely have the Avorks of any cotemporary or preced¬
ing author been thought Avorthy even of preservation (l).
As to the errors of his philosophy, let it be remember¬
ed, that no theory has as yet stood the test of many
years in an enlightened period. His own hung very
light. “ Some parts (say they) of this poem, are hardly intelligible, without knowing a circumstance in the doc¬
tor’s life, Avhich he often told, and never Avithout some emotion. It is a Avell knoAvn story of the tAvo Platonic
philosophers, who promised one another, that Avhichever died first should make a visit to his surviving companion,
j his story being read by Mr Lindsey and our author together, they being both then very young, entered into.the
same engagement. Soon after, Pitcairne, at his father’s house in Fife, dreamed one morning drat Lindsey, who
was then at Paris, came to him, and told him he was not dead, as Avas commonly reported, but still alive, and
lived in a very agreeable place, to which he could not yet carry him. By the course of the post news came of,
Lindsey’s death, which happened very suddenly the morning of the dream. When this is knoAvn, the poem is
easily understood, and shines with no common degree of beauty.
“ Lyndesi ! Stygias jamdudum vecte per undas,
“ Stagnaque Cocyti non adeunda mihi ;
“ Excute paulisper Lethaei vincula somni,
“ Ut feriant animum carmina nostra tuum.
Te nobis, te redde tuis, promissa daturus
“ Gandia ; sed proavo sis comitante redux :
“ Namque novos viros mutataque regna videbis,
“ Passaque Teutonicas sceptra Britanna manus *. *
“He then proceeds to exclaim against the principles and practices which produced this Teutonic violence m
upon the British sceptre j and concludes Avith a wish, that Lindsey might bring.Ehadamanthus with him to pu¬
nish them.
“ Unus abest scelerum vindex Rhadamanthus j amice,
“ Dii faciant reditus sit comes ille tui.
“ Every one sees how much keener an edge is given to the satire upon the Revolution, by making it an addi¬
tional reason for his friend’s keeping his promise to return him a visit after his death.”
(d) See the article Physiology.
(e) Pitcarnii Dissertatioiies, Edin. edit. 1713. De opera quam pnestant corpora acida vel alkalica in cu-:
ratione morbornm.
(f) De circulatione sanguinis per vasa minima.
(g) De diversa mole qua sanguis fluit per pulmones.
(h) De circulatione sanguinis per vasa minima.
(1) De circulatione sanguinis in animalibus genitis et non genitis.
(k) Elementa Medicin.ee, lib. i. cap. 21. et passim.
(l) The first medical publication which distinguished this country, after Dr Pitcairne’s, Avas that of the Edin-1
burgh Mecical Essays, in the year 1732, Vide the article Monro.
P I T
t 582 ]
P I T
Pitcalme loosely about him (m) j and the present generally re-
11 ceived practice differs from his very little in reality.
Pitching. jje treateil inflammatory and hemorrhagic diseases by
y bleeding, purging, and blistering, as has been done uni¬
formly and solely on the different theories since. His
method of administering mercury and the bark is ob¬
served at this day 5 and with respect to febrile, ner¬
vous, glandular and dropsical affections, they seem to
be as often the opprobriums of the art now as they were
then.
Dr Pitcairne was universally considered as the first
physician of his time. No one appears ever to have
had so much practice in this country, or so many con¬
sultations from abroad j and no one, from all accounts,
‘ever practised with greater sagacity and success. T. he
highest thought themselves honoured by his acquaint¬
ance, and the lowest were never denied his assistance
and advice. The emoluments of his profession must
have been great; but his charities are known to haVe
been correspondent. The possession of money he post¬
poned to more liberal objects ; he collected one of the
finest private libraries in the world j which was pur¬
chased, after his death, by the Czar of Muscovy. Not¬
withstanding the fatigues he underwent in the exercise
of his profession, his constitution was naturally deli¬
cate. About the beginning of October 1713, he be¬
came affected with his last illness ; and on the 23d he
died, regretted by science as its ornament, by his coun¬
try as its boast, and by humanity as its friend. He
left a son and four daughters: of whom only one of the
latter now survives. The present noble family of Kelly
are his grandchildren.
Some anonymous publications are attributed to Dr
Pitcairne, particularly a treatise De Legibus Historic
Naturalis, &c. j but the only ones he thought proper
to legitimate are his Dissertationes Medicce, and a short
essay De Salute.
PITCAITHLY. See Pitkeathly.
PITCH, a tenacious oily substance, drawn chiefly
from pines and firs, and used in shipping, medicine,,and
various arts: or it is more properly tar inspissated by
boiling it over a slow fire. See Tar.
Fossil Fitch. See Petroleum, Mineralogy In¬
dex.
PITCHING, in sea-affairs, may be defined the ver¬
tical vibration which the length of a ship makes about
her centre of gravity •, or the movement by which she
plunges her head and after-part alternately into the hol¬
low of the sea. This motion may proceed from two
causes : the waves which agitate the vessel } and the
wind upon the sails, which makes her stoop to every
blast thereof. The first absolutely depends upon the
agitation of the sea, and is not susceptible of inquiry j
•and the second is occasioned by the inclination of the
masts, and may be submitted to Certain established
maxims.
When the wind acts upon the sails, the mast yields to
its effort, with an inclination which increases in propor¬
tion to the length of the mast, to the augmentation of
Pitching;
Pithou,
the wind, and to the comparative weight and distribu¬
tion of the ship’s lading.
The repulsion of the water, to the effort of gravity,
opposes itself to this inclination, or at least sustaitis it,
by as much as the repulsion exceeds the momentum,
or absolute effort of the mast, upon which the wind
operates. At the end of each blast, when the wind
suspends its action, this repulsion lifts the vessel j and
these successive inclinations and repulsions produce the
movement of pitching, which is very inconvenient;
and, when it is considerable, will greatly retard the
course, as well as endanger the mast, and strain the ves¬
sel.
PITH, in vegetation, the soft spongy substance con¬
tained in the central parts of plants and trees *. *SeeP4n
PITHO, in fabulous history, the goddess of per¬
suasion among the Homans. She was supposed to be
the daughter of Mercury and Venus, and was represent¬
ed with a diadem on her head, to intimate her influence
over the hearts of man. One of her arms appeared
raised as in the attitude of an orator haranguing in a
public assembly ; and with the other she holds a thun¬
derbolt and fetters, made with flowers, to signify the
powers of reasoning and the attractions of eloquence.
A caduceus, as a symbol of persuasion, appears at her
feetj with the writings of Demosthenes and Cicero, the
two most celebrated among the ancients, who under¬
stood how to command the attention of their audience,
and to rouse and animate their various passions. —A Ro¬
man courtezan. She received this name on account of
the allurements which her charms possessed, and of her
winning expressions.
PITHOM, one of the cities that the children of
Israel built for Pharaoh in Egypt (Exod. i. II.) du¬
ring the time of their servitude. This is probably the
same city with Pathumos mentioned by Herodotus,
which he places upon the canal made by the kings Ne-
cho and Darius to join the Red sea with the Nile, and
by that means with the Mediterranean. We find also
in the ancient geographers, that there was an arm of
the Nile called Fat/wieticus, F hat miens, Fhatnieus, or
Fhatniticus. Bochart says, that Pithom and Raamses
are about five leagues above the division of the Nile,
and beyond this river *, but this assertion has no proof
from antiquity. This author contents himself with re¬
lating what was said of Egypt in his own time. Mar-
sham will have Pithom to be the same as Pelusiuni or
Damietta.
PITHOU, or PiTHOEUS, Fetet', a Frenchman of
great literary eminence, was descended from an ancient
and noble family in Normandy, and born at Troyes in
1539. His taste for literature appeared very early, and
his father cultivated it to the utmost. He first studied
at Troyes, and was afterwards sent to Paris, where lie
became first the scholar, and then the friend, of Tur-
nebus. Having finished his pursuits in languages and
the belles lettres, he was removed to Bourges, and
placed under Cujacius in order to study civil law. His
father was well skilled in his profession, and has left no
inconsiderable
(m) Patet (says he) medicinam esse memoriam eorum quee cuilibet morbo usus ostendit fuisseutilia. Nam no
tas non esse corporum intra venas fluentium aut consistentium naturas, adeoque sola observatione innotescere qui
cuique morbo conveniat postquam saepius eadem eidem inorbo profuisse comperimus. De Div. iuo/A.
PIT [ 5S3 ] PIT
tl1(W> inconsiderable specimen of his judgment in the advice
liscus. he gave his son with regard to acquiring a knowledge
^ of it; which was, not to spend hi ; time and pains upon
voluminous and barren commentators, but to confine
his reading chiefly to original writers. He made so
rapid a progress, that at seventeen he was able to speak
extempore upon the most difficult questions ; and his
master was not ashamed to own, that even himself had
learned some things of him. Cujacius afterwards re¬
moved to Valence-, and Pithceus followed him, and con¬
tinued to profit by his lectures till the year 1560. He
then returned to Paris, and frequented the bar of the
parliament there, in order to join practical forms and
usages to his theoretic knowledge.
In 1563, being then 24, he published Adversaria
Subcesiva, a work highly applauded by Turnebus, Lip-
sius, and other learned men ; and which laid the foun¬
dation of that great and extensive fame he afterwards
acquired. Soon after this, Henry III. advanced him
to some considerable posts ; in which, as well as at the
bar, he acquitted himself most honourably. Pithoeus
being a Protestant, it was next to a miracle that he
was not involved in the terrible massacre of St Bartho¬
lomew in 1572 ? f°r he was at Paris when it was com¬
mitted, and in the same lodgings with several Hugue¬
nots, who were all killed. It seems indeed to have
frightened him out of his religion 5 which having, ac¬
cording to the custom of converts, examined and found
to be erroneous, he soon abjured, and openly embraced
the Catholic faith. He afterwards attended the duke
of Montmorency into England ; and on his return,
from his great wisdom, good nature, and amiable man¬
ners, he became a kind of oracle to his countrymen,
and even to foreigners, who consulted him on all im¬
portant occasions j an instance of which we have in
Ferdinand the grand duke of Tuscany, who not only
consulted him, but even submitted to his determination
in a point contrary to his interests. Henry III. and IV.
were greatly obliged to him for combating the League
in the most intrepid manner, and for many other ser¬
vices, in which he had recourse to his pen as well as
to other means.
Pithceus died upon his birth-day in 1596, leaving
behind him a wife whom he had married in 1579, and
some children. Thuanus says he was the mot excellent
and accomplished man of the age in which he lived j
and all the learned have agreed to speak well of him.
He collected a very valuable library, containing a va¬
riety of rare manuscripts, as well as printed books;
and he took many precautions to hinder its being dis¬
persed after his death, but in vain. He published a
great number of works upon law, history, and classical
literature 5 and he gave several new and correct edi¬
tions of ancient writers. He was the first who made
the world acquainted with the Fables of Phoedrus :
which, together with the name of their author, were
utterly unknown and unheard of, till published from a
manuscript of his.
PITISCUS, Samuel, a learned antiquary, was born
at Zutphen, and was rector of the college of that city,
and afterwards of St Jerome at Utrecht, where he died
on the first of February 1717, aged 90. He wrote,
1. Lexicon Antiquitaium Romariarum, in two volumes
fi)lio ; a work which is esteemed. 2. Editions of many
Latin authors, with notes $ and other works.
PITKEATHLY, or Pitcaithly, is the name ofpitkeathl
an estate in Strathern in Scotland, famous for its mine- Pitot.
ral waters. An intelligent traveller * gives the follow- —>
ing account of it. “ The situation of the mineral * HeronV
spring at Pitcaithly, the efficacy with which its waters
are said to operate in the cure of the diseases for which Western
they are used, and the accommodations which the neigh- bounties of
bourhood affords, are all of a nature to invite equal-
ly the sick and the healthy. Two or three houses are
kept in the style of hotels for the x-eception of strangers.
There is no long-room at the well; but there are plea¬
sing walks through the adjoining fields. Good roads
afford easy access to all the circumjacent country. This
delightful tract of Lower Strathern is filled with houses
and gardens, and stations from which wide and delight¬
ful prospects may be enjoyed : all of which offer agree¬
able points to which the company at the well may di¬
rect their forenoon excursions j conversation, music,
dances, whist, and that best friend to elegant, lively,
and social converse, the tea-table, are sufficient to pre¬
vent the afternoons from becoming languid : and in the
evenings nothing can be so delightful as a walk when
the setting-sun sheds a soft slanting light, and the dew
has just not begun to moisten the grass.—Thus is Pit¬
caithly truly a rural watering-place. The company
cannot be at any one time more in number than two or
three families. The amusements of the place are sim¬
ply such as a single family might enjoy in an agree¬
able situation in the country: only the society is more
diversified by the continual change and fluctuation of
the company.” The waters of this place are of a sul¬
phureous nature.
PITOT, Henry, of a noble family in Languedoc,
was born at Aramont in the diocese of Usez, on the
29th of May 1695, and died there on the 27th of De¬
cember 1771, aged 76. He learned the mathematics
without a master, and went to Paris in 1718, where he
formed a close friendship with the illustrious Reaumur.
In 1724, he was admitted a member of the Royal Aca¬
demy of Sciences at Paris, and in a few years rose to
the degree of a pensioner. Besides a vast number of
Memoirs printed in the collection of that society, he
published in 1731 the Theory of the Working of Ships,
in one volume 410 ; a work of considerable merit, which
was translated into English, and made the author be
admitted into the Royal Society of London. In 1740,
the states-general of Languedoc made choice of him for
their chief engineer, and gave him at the same time the
appointment of inspector general of the canal which
unites the two seas. That province is indebted to him
for several monuments of his genius, which will trans¬
mit his name with lustre to posterity. The city of
Montpellier being in want of water, Pitot brought from
the distance of three leagues the water of two springs
which furnish a plentiful supply of that necessary article..
They are brought to the magnificent Place du Peyron,
and thence are distributed through the city. Thus asto¬
nishing work is the admiration of all strangers. The il¬
lustrious marshal deSaxe was the great patron and friend
of Pitot, who had taught this hero the mathematics. In
1754 he was honoured with the order of St Michael.
In 1735, he had married Maria Leonina Pharambier de
Sabballoua, descended of a very ancient noble family of
Navarre. By this marriage he had only one son, who
was first advocate-general of the court of accounts,
■> aids,,
PIT [5!
Pitot aids, anil finances of Montpellier. Pitot was a practical
II philosopher, and a man of uncommon probity and ean-
Pitt. dour. He was also a member of the Royal Society of
Sciences of Montpellier; and his eulogium was pro¬
nounced in 1772 by M. de Ratte perpetual secretary, m
presence of the states of Languedoc ; as it likewise was
at the Royal Academy of Sciences of Pans by Abbe de
ITouchi, who was then secretary. t
PITS, John, the biographer, was born in 1560, at
Aulton in Hampshire, and educated at Wykeham s
school* near Winchester, till he was about 18 years of
age: when he was sent to New-coltege in Oxford, and
admitted probationer fellow. Having continued in that
university not quite two years, he left the kingdom as a
voluntary Romish exile, and retired to Douay } thence
he went to the English college at Rheims, where he re¬
mained about a year} and then proceeded to Rome,
where he continued a member of the English college
near seven years, and was made a priest. In 1589 he
returned to Rheims j and there, during two years,
taught rhetoric and the Greek language.. lie now
quitted Rheims on account of the civil war in trance j
and retired to Pont d Mousson in Lorrain, where he
took the degrees of master of arts and bachelor in divi¬
nity. Hence he travelled into Germany, and resided a
year and a half at Triers, where he commenced licen-
tiate in his faculty, From Triers he visited several of
the principal cities in Germany} and continuing t iree
years at Ingoldstadt in Bavaria, took the degree of doc¬
tor in divinity. Thence having made the tour of Italy,
he returned once more to Lorrain } where he was pa¬
tronised by the cardinal of that duchy, who preferred
him to a canonry of Verdun ", and about two years after
lie became confessor to the duchess of Cleves, daughter
to the-duke of Lorrain. During the leisure he enjoyed
in this employment, he wrote in Latin the lives of the
kings, bishops, apostolical men, and writers of
•land. The last of these, commonly known and quoted
by this title, De illustribus Anglia; scriptoribus, was
published after his death. The three first remain still
in manuscript among the archives of the collegiate
church of Liverdun. The duke of Cleves dying after
Pits had been about twelve years confessor to the duch¬
ess, she returned to Lorrain, attended by our author,
who was promoted to the deanery of Liverdun, which,
with a canonry and officialship, he enjoyed to the end
cf his life. He died in 1616, and was buried in the
collegiate church. Pits was undoubtedly a scholar,
and not an inelegant writer *, but he is justly accused
of ingratitude to Bale, from whom he borrowed his
materials, without acknowledgement. He quotes Le-
land with great familiarity, without ever having seen
his book *, his errors are innumerable, and his par¬
tiality to the Romish writers most obvious} neverthe¬
less we are obliged to him for his account of seveial po¬
pish authors, who lived abroad at the beginning of the
Reformation.
PITT, Christopher, an eminent English poet, ce¬
lebrated for his excellent translation of Virgil’s iEneid,
was born in the year 1699. Having studied four years
at New-college, Oxford, he was presented to the living
of Pimperne in Dorsetshire, which he held during the
remainder of bis life. He had so poetical a turn, that
while he was a school-boy he wrote two large folios
of manuscript poems, one of which contained an en-
4 3 PIT
tire translation of Lucan. He was much esteemed p;tL
while at the university } particularly by the celebrated'—-y-
J)r A oung, who used familiarly to call him his son.
Next to his fine translation of Virgil, Mr Pitt gained
the greatest reputation by his excellent English transla-
tion of Vida’s Art of Poetry. This amiable poet died
in the year 1748, without leaving, it is said, one enemy
behind him.
Pitt, William, earl of Chatham, a most celebrated
British statesmen and patriot, was born in November
1708. He was the youngest son of Robert Pitt, Esq.
of Boconnock in Cornwall •, and grandson of Thomas
Pitt, Esq. governor ol Fort St George in the East In¬
dies, in the reign of Queen Anne, who sold an extraor¬
dinary diamond to the king of France for 135,000!. and
thus obtained the name of Diamond Pitt. His intel¬
lectual faculties and powers of elocution very soon made
a distinguished appearance j but at the age of 16 he
felt the attacks of an hereditary and incurable gout, by
which he was tormented at times during the rest of his
life.
His lordship entered early into the army, and served
in a regiment of dragoons. Through the interest ot
the duchess of Marlborough he obtained a seat in
parliament before he was 21 years ot age. His first
appearance in the house was as representative ol the
borough of Old Sarum, in the ninth parliament oi
Great Britain. In the 10th lie represented Seaford,
Aldborough in the 11th, and the city of Bath in the
12th 5 where he continued till he was called up to the
house of peers in 1766. The intention of the duchess
in bringing him thus early into parliament was to op¬
pose Sir Robert Walpole, whom he kept in awe by the
force of his eloquence. At her death the duchess left
him io,oool. on condition, as was then reported, that
he never should receive a place in administration. How¬
ever, if any such condition was made, it ceitainly was
not kept on his lordship’s part. In 1746, he was ap¬
pointed vice-treasurer of Ireland, and soon alter pay¬
master general of the forces, and sworn a privy-counsel¬
lor. He discharged the oflice of paymaster with such
honour and inflexible integrity, refusing even many of
the perquisites of his office, that his bitterest enemies
could lay nothing to his charge, and he soon became
the darling of the people. In 1755 he resigned the of¬
fice of paymaster, on seeing Mr Fox preferred to him.
The people were alarmed at this resignation j and being
disgusted with the unsuccessful beginning of the War,
complained so loudly, that, on the 4th December 1756*.
Mr Pitt was appointed secretary of state in the room ot
Air Fox afterwards Lord Holland ", and other promo¬
tions were made in order to second his plans. He then
took such measures as were necessary for the honour and
interest of the nation", but in the month of February
1757, having refused to assent to the carrying on a war
in Germany for the sake of his majesty’s dominions on
the continent, he was deprived of the seals on the 5th
of April following. Upon this the complaints of the
people again became so violent, that on the 29th of June
he was again appointed secretary, and his friends filled
other important offices. The success with which the
war was now conducted is universally known ", yet on
the 5th of October 1761, Mr Pit, to the astonishment
of almost the whole kingdom, resigned the seals !«*<> bis
majesty’s own hands. The reason of this was, tbatMr
PIT [ 585 3 PIT
pjtt Pitt, having received certain intelligence that the fa-
mily-compact was signed between France and Spain,
and that the latter was about to join France against us,
thought it necessary to prevent her by commencing hos¬
tilities first. Having communicated this opinion in the
privy-council, the other ministers urged that they would
think twice before they declared war against that king¬
dom. “ I will not give them leave to think (replied
Mr Pitt) ; this is the time, let us crush the whole house
of Bourbon. But if the members of this board are of a
different opinion, this is the last time 1 shall ever mix in
its councils. I was called into the ministry bv the voice
of the people, and to them I hold myself answerable for
my conduct. I am to thank the ministers of the late
king for their support 5 I have served my country with
success ; but I will not be responsible for the conduct
of the war any longer than while I have the direction
of it.” To this bold declaration, the lord who then
presided in council made the following reply. “ I find
the gentleman is determined to leave us 5 nor can I say
that I am sorry for it, since he would otherwise have
certainly compelled us to leave him. But if he is re¬
solved to assume the right of advising his majesty, and
directing the operations of the war, to what purpose are
we called to this council ? When he talks of being
responsible to the people, he talks the language of the
house of commons, and forgets that at this board he is
responsible only to the king. However, though he may
possibly have convinced himself of his infallibility, still
it remains that we should be equally convinced before
we can resign our understandings to his direction, or
join with him in the measure he proposes.”
This conversation, which was followed by Mr Pitt’s
resignation, is sufficient to show the haughtiness and
imperious temper ot our minister. However, these very
qualities were sometimes productive of great and good
consequences, as appears from the following anecdote.
—Preparatory to one of the secret expeditions during
the war which ended in 1763 the minister had given
orders to the different presiding officers in the military,
navy, and ordnance departments, to prepare a large
body of forces, a certain number of ships, and a pro¬
portionable quantity of stores, &c. and to have them
all ready against a certain day. To these orders he re¬
ceived an answer from each of the officers, declaring
the total impossibility of a compliance with them. Not¬
withstanding it was then at a very late hour, he sent
immediately for his secretary j and after expressing
his resentment at the ignorance or negligence of his ma¬
jesty’s servants, he gave the following commands :—
“ I desire, Mr Mood, that you will immediately go to
Lord Anson j you need not trouble yourself to search the
admiralty, he is not to be found there ; you must pur¬
sue him to the gaming-house, and tell him from me, that
if he does not rbey the orders of government, which he
has received at my hands, that I will most assuredly im¬
peach him. Proceed from him to Lord Ligonier; and
though he should be bolstered with harlots, undraw his
curtains, and repeat the same message. Then direct your
course to Sir Charles Frederick, and assure him that if
his majesty’s orders are not obeyed, they shall be the last
which he shall receive from me.” In consequence of
these commands, Mr Wood proceeded to White’s, and
told his errand to the first lord of the admiralty; who
insisted that the secretary of state was out of his senses,
VOL. XVI. Part II.
and it was impossible to comply with his wishes: “ how- piu.
ever, (added he), as madmen must be answered, tell '-*—v—
him that I will do my utmost to satisfy him.” From
thence he went to the commander in chief of the forces,
and delivered the same message. He also said that it
was an impossible business ; “ and the secretary knows
it, (added the old lord) : nevertheless, he is in the right
to make us do what we can ; and what it is possible to
do, inform him, shall be done.” The surveyor general
of the ordnance was next informed of Mr Pitt’s resolu¬
tion ; and, after some little consideration, he began to
think that the orders might be completed within the
time prescribed. The consequence at last was, that
every thing, in spite of impossibilities themselves, was
ready at the time appointed.
After his resignation in 1761, Mr Pitt never had
any share in administration. He received a pension of
3000I. a-year, to be continued after his decease, during
the survivancy of his lady and son ; and this gratuity
was dignified with the title of Baroness of Chatham to
his lady, and that of Baron to her heirs male. Mr Pitt
at that time declined the title of nobility ; but in 1766
accepted of a peerage under the title of Baron Pi/nsent
and Bari of Chatham, and at the same time he was ap¬
pointed lord privy-seal.
This acceptance of a peerage proved very prejudicial
to his lordship’s character. However, he continued sted-
fast in his opposition to the measures of administration.
Has last appearance in the house of lords was on the 2d
of April 1778. He was then very ill and much debi¬
litated : but the question was important, being a mo¬
tion ot the duke ot Richmond to address his majesty
to remove the ministers, and make peace with America
on any terms. His lordship made a long speech, which
had certainly overcome his spirits : for attempting to
rise a second time, he fell down in a convulsive fit;
and though he recovered for that time, his disorder con¬
tinued to increase till the nth of May, when he died
at bis seat at Hayes. His death was lamented as a
national loss. As soon as the news reached the house
of commons, which was then sitting, Colonel Bane made
a motion, that an address should be presented to his ma¬
jesty, requesting that the earl of Chatham should be
buried at the public expence. But Mr Rigby having-
proposed the erecting of a statue to his memory, as
more likely to perpetuate the sense of his great merits
entertained by the public, this was unanimously carried.
A bill was soon after passed, by which 4000I. a-year
wras settled upon John now earl of Chatham, and the
heirs of the late earl to whom that title may descend.—
His lordship was married in 1754 to Lady Hester,
sister to the earl of Temple ; by whom he had three
sons and two daughters.
Never perhaps was any life so multifarious as that of
Lord Chatham; never did any comprise such a number
of interesting situations. To bring the scattered fea¬
tures of such a character into one point of view, is an
arduous task. The author of the history * of his life * Hist°ry
has attempted to do it; and with the outlines of what^^^j^
he has said in summing up his character, we shall finish put, Earl
our biographical sketch of this wonderful man. of Chat-
“ One of the first things that strikes us, in the re-ham-
collection of Chatham’s life, is the superior figure, he
makes among his contemporaries. Men ot genius and
attraction, a Carteret, a Townshend, and I had almost
f 5 E said
PIT [ 586 ] PIT
said a Mansfield, however pleasing in a limited view, ap¬
pear evidently in this comparison to shrink into narrow¬
er dimensions, and walk a humbler circle. All that de¬
serves to arrest the attention, in taking a general survey
of the age in which he lived, is comprised in the history
of Chatham. No character ever bore the more undisput¬
ed stamp of originality. Unresembled and himself, he
was not born to accommodate to the genius of his age.
While all around him were depressed by the uniformity
of fashion, or the contagion of venality, he stood aloof.
He consulted no judgment but his own ; and he acted
from the untainted dictates of a comprehensive soul.
“ The native royalty of his mind is eminently con¬
spicuous. He felt himself born to command $ and the
free sons of Britain implicitly obeyed him. In him was
realised the table of Orpheus j and his genius, his spirit,
his eloquence, led millions in his train, subdued the rug¬
ged savage, and disarmed the fangs of malignity and
envy. Nothing is in its nature so inconsistent as the
breath of popular applause : and yet that breath was
eminently his during the greater part of his life. Want
of success could not divert it; inconsistency ot conduct
could not change its tenor. The astonishing extent of
his views, and the mysterious comprehension of his plans,
did not in one respect set him above little things: no¬
thing that was necessary to the execution of his designs
was beneath him. In another respect, however, he was
infinitely estranged to little things : swallowed up in the
business of his country, he did not think of the derange¬
ment of his own private affairs 5 for, though indisposed
to all the modes of dissipated expence, his affairs, even
when his circumstances were much improved, were al¬
ways deranged. But the features that seem most emi¬
nently to have characterised him, were spirit and intre¬
pidity : they are conspicuous in every action and in every
turn of his life ; nor did this spirit and intrepidity leave
him even at the last.
“ The manners of Lord Chatham were easy and bland,
his conversation was spirited and gay, and he readily
adapted himself to the complexion of those with whom
he associated. That artificial reserve, which is the never-
failing refuge of self-diffidence and cowardice, was not
made for him. He was unconstrained as artless infancy,
and generous as the noon-day sun : yet had he something
impenetrable that hung about him. By an irresistible
energy of soul, he was haughty and imperious. He was
incapable of associating councils, and he was not formed
for the sweetest bands of society. He W’as a pleasing
companion, but an unpliant friend.
“ The ambition of our hero, however generous in its
strain, wras the source of repeated errors in his conduct.
To the resignation of Lord Carteret, and again, from the
commencement of the year 1770, his proceedings were
bold and uniform. In the intermediate period they were
marked with a versatility, incident only tn general to the
most flexible minds. We may occasionally trace in them
the indecision of acandidate, and the supplenessof a cour¬
tier. In a word, he aimed at the impossible task of flat¬
tering at once the prejudices of a monarch, and pursuing
unremittedly the interests of the people.
“ A feature, too, sufficiently prominent in his cha¬
racter, was vanity, or perhaps pride and conscious su¬
periority. He dealt surely somewhat too freely with
invective. He did not pretend to an ignorance of his
talents, or to manage the display of his important ser¬
vices. Himself was too often the hero of his tale } and FUt
the successes of the last war the burden of his song *. ' 
“ Patriotism was also the source of some of his im-f Ending
perfections. He loved his country too v 11 } or, if that111 I763‘
may sound absurd, the benevolence at i ast, that em¬
braces the species, had not sufficient scopr f" his mind.
Pie once styled himself a lover of honourable war ; and
in so doing he let us into one trait of his character.
The friend of human kind will be an enemy to all war.
He indulged too much a puerile antipathy to the house
of Bourbon: and it was surely the want of expansive af¬
fections that led him to so unqualified a condemnation of
American independency.
“ But the eloquence of Lord Chatham was one of his
most striking characteristics. He far outstripped his
competitors, and stood alone the rival of antiquity.
“ His eloquence was of every kind. No man excelled
him in close argument and methodical deduction : but
this was not the style into which he naturally fell. His
oratory was unlaboured and spontaneous : he rushed at
once upon the subject j and usually illustrated it rather
by glowing language and original conception, than by
cool reasoning. His person was tall and dignified j his
face was the face of an eagle j his piercing eye withered
the nerves, and looked through the souls of his oppon¬
ents j his countenance was stern, and the voice of thunder
sat upon his lips : anon, however, he could descend to
the easy and the playful. His voice seemed scarcely more
adapted to energy and to terror, than it did to the me¬
lodious, the insinuating, and the sportive. If, however,
in the enthusiasm of admiration, we can find room for
the frigidity of criticism, his action seemed the most open
to objection. It was forcible, uniform, and ungraceful.
In a word, the most celebrated orators of antiquity were
in a great'measure the children ol labour and cultivation.
Lord Chatham was always natural and himself.”
To the misfortune of letters, and of posterity, it has
been said, his lordship never published any thing. Lord
Chesterfield says, “ that he had a most happy turn for
poetry 5 but it is more than probable that Chesterfield
was deceived 5 for we are told by his biographer that
his verses to Garrick were very meagre, and Lord Cha¬
tham himself said that he seldom indulged and seldom
avowed it. It should seem, then, that he himself set
no great value upon it. Perhaps a proper confidence
of one’s self is essential to all extraordinary merit.
Why should we ambitiously ascribe to one mind every
species of human excellence ? But though he was no
poet, it is more than probable, that he would have ex»
celled as much in writing prose as he did in speaking
it.
Pitt, the Right Honourable William, was the fourth
child of that illustrious orator and consummate statesman,
William Pit, the first earl of Chatham, and was born
on the 28th of May 1739. Nicholas Pitt, who lived
in the reign of Henry VI. was the common ancestor of
the noble families of Chatham, Camelford, and Rivers.
Thomas Pitt, the. first of the name who attained any
considerable eminence, was governor of Fort St George
in the East Indies, wh -ie he purchased, as noticed in the
preceding life, for 20,400k sterling, the extraordinary
diamond called the regent, weighing 127 carats, and
which was sold to the king of France for the enormous
sum of 135,000!. sterling. The diamond it is said, now
occupies a conspicuous place in the imperial diadem of
Bonaparte;,
PIT
Bonaparte. By means of tins vast sum lie was enabled
J to purchase a considerable estate in Cornwall j yet his
grand-children were poorly provided for, particularly
the great earl of Chatham, but what he wanted in opu¬
lence was abundantly supplied by the uncommon talents
and abilities, which nature conferred upon him in the
profusest manner. Although he betook himself for sup¬
port to the profession of arms, he never rose higher than
to the rank of a cornet of horse, of which Sir Robert
Walpole, with unexampled meanness, deprived him, be¬
cause he had the boldness and integrity to oppose his ad¬
ministration. This, however, proved no real obstacle
to his preferment in the state, for in the year 1736 he
became prime minister.
As the present earl of Chatham was destined for the
army, and another son Jamts-Charles for the navy, lord
Chatham resolved to train up William to the profession
of a statesman. Having therefore confided the care of
his other two sons to others, he took William under his
own immediate inspection, whose rapid progress cheered
the solitude, and illumed the declining days of this ex¬
traordinary man, who already began to presage his fu¬
ture greatness. His school exercises were performed
under the caie of a private tutor, a Mr, afterwards Dr
Wilson, while his noble father embraced every oppor¬
tunity of conversing with him on every interesting topic
with the utmost freedom, in order to expand his mind,
and mature his judgment. He also made him declaim
from a chair or a table, well knowing that the gift of
eloquence is a valuable acquisition lor a young man who
wishes to arrive at eminence, and that it had supplied
the deficiencies of fortune in his own person.
It was resolved on, at a proper period, to send Wil¬
liam to one of the universities, and on this occasion Cam¬
bridge was preferred to Oxford, from a decided opinion
entertained by many, that the political doctrines incul¬
cated at the former were more liberal than those usually
propagated at the latter. He was accordingly placed
under the tuition of Dr Turner of Pembroke Hall. Dr
Prettyman, afterwards bishop of Lincoln, also partici¬
pated in the care of his education, and was his private
instructor. During his residence at Cambridge, it ap¬
pears certain that the morals and conduct of Mr Pitt
were unimpeachable, not in the smallest degree conta¬
minated by the powerful example of the young nobility.
Here he took his bachelor’s degree, and also that of
A. M. and acquired such reputation in the university for
talents, industry, and propriety of deportment, as proved
of great advantage to him in his subsequent pursuits
through life.
When Mr Pitt left the university, he was entered at
Lincoln’s Inn, much about the same time with Mr Ad¬
dington, whose father had been both the physician and
friend of his family, and was enabled to be called to the
bar in the space of three years, having received some
marks of favour on account of his degree. He made
choice of the western circuit as the scene of his first ef¬
forts j but having little practice as a lawyer, he had of
consequence but little celebrity ; and it is probable that
he was ill qualified, on the score of patient and labo¬
rious investigation, for a pursuit in which nothing great
can be accomplished, without the persevering industry
of a whole life.
Fortune at this time seemed eager to heap favours
upon him of another kind. Being bred a statesman, the
C 587 ]
PIT
house of commons was of course the place where he
was to begin his political career. He was advised by
numerous friends to propose himself a candidate for the
university of Cambridge, but he failed of success from
the want of sufficient influence. Accident, however,
brought about what the designs of his friends could not
accomplish. The duke of Rutland asked Sir Janies Low-
ther (afterwards earl of Lonsdale), if he could possibly
make room in any ol his boroughs, to bring in his young
friend Mr Pitt, who had thus lost his election for Cam¬
bridge. He was chosen member for the borough of Ap¬
pleby. About this time the American war was ragino-
with unabated violence, which Mr Pitt, following the
example and advice of his father, reprobated as one of
the most shameful and ruinous conflicts of modern times.
Having espoused the constitutional and popular side of
this important question, his opening talents were display¬
ed to no common advantage, and he wras not only re¬
garded as a promising speaker, but destined at some
future period to rank high in the councils of his native
country. I his was truly honourable to so young a man,
when it is remembered that one house could then boast
of a Rockingham, a Richmond, and a Shelburne, and
the other of a Saville, a Dunning, a Burke, a Barre,
and a Fox. Yet there was still room for our juvenile
orator, and the recollection of the eloquence, the talents,
and the meritorious services of his father, contributed
greatly to fix the attention of mankind on the deport¬
ment of a favourite son.
About this time the extent of the royal prerogative
engaged the attention both of the parliament and the
public, and a vote of the commons, “ that the influence
of the crown had increased, was increasing, and ought
to be diminished,” plainly pointed to an object, whether
real or imaginary, which occasioned a considerable de¬
gree of discontent. Mr Burke, then in the zenith of his
popularity, encouraged by numerous symptoms of jea¬
lousy, once more brought forward his plan of economy,
which being founded on a progressive retrenchment, ap¬
peared admirably calculated to diminish the influence of
the crown. It is needless to add that it was opposed by
the minister (Lord North), but it was ably supported by
Mr Pitt, who forcibly ridiculed every objection that could
be brought against it. The bill was rejected after a
long debate, but afterwards introduced at a more auspi¬
cious period, and to a certain extent carried into effect.
Mr Fox having moved that ministers should imme¬
diately take every possible measure for concluding a
peace with our American colonies, he was powerfully
supported by Mr Pitt, whose commanding eloquence en¬
gaged the whole attention of the house, while he repro¬
bated the cruelty and impolicy of the contest with our
colonies. He declared that it was conceived in in¬
justice, nurtured and brought forth in folly, and its foot¬
steps were marked with blood, slaughter, persecution,
and devastation. Many handsome compliments were
paid him by two eminent judges of real merit, we mean
the lord advocate of Scotland (now Viscount Melville),
and Mr Wilkes. The former, in particular, declared that
his powerful abilities and brilliant eloquence were uni¬
versally acknowledged proofs, that the astonishingextent
and force of an exalted understanding had descended,
in an hereditary line, from the late illustrious possessor
of them, to a son equally endow ed with all the fire, and
Strength, and grace of oratory.
4 E 2 A
Pitt.
PIT [ 588 ] P I 1
A more equal representation of the people in parlia
ment was one of the principal objects to which the na¬
tion directed its attention, next to tne American war.
It was admitted to be the undoubted prerogative of the
crown to declare war 5 but as the supplies were entrusted
to the management of the representatives of the people,
it was affirmed by some that ministers could not have
carried on a contest accompanied with the waste of so
much blood and treasure, had it not been owing to the
corruption and venality of parliament. To derive ad¬
vantage from past experience; to confer on the people
their due importance in such a mixed government as
that of Britain, and restore the constitution to its origi¬
nal purity, became by this time the grand object of Mr
Pitt’s exertions. He was as yet untainted by the fasci¬
nating charms of power and authority, and considered a
well-earned fame as the best, the only reward of his
laudable endeavours. He accordingly brought the prin¬
ciples and conduct of his opponents to such a test as they
successfully employed against himself, in order to wound
his feelings, and convict him of inconsistency, by turn¬
ing his back on his once favourite sentiments. When
many cities and counties endeavoured to obtain a reform
in parliament, Mr Pitt actually sat in a convention of
delegates, met together in the neighbourhood of the
place where the legislature held its sittings.
The American war in the mean time was drawing to
a termination, and the spoils of the office oi the former
minister became the reward of those who opposed him.
During the short existence of the Rockingham admini¬
stration, contractors were excluded from the house of
commons 5 officers belonging to the customs and excise
were declared unqualified to vote at elections } the pio-
ceedings respecting the Middlesex election were re¬
scinded : and while a more liberal policy was^ adopted
with regard to Ireland, many superfluous oflices were
abolished in England by means of a reform bill, which
tended powerfully to destroy corruption. Many more
important reforms would have been accomplished, had
not the death of the distinguished Rockingham brought
about great and sudden changes.
Mr Fox retired in consequence of new arrangements,
and Lord Shelburne, as first lord of the treasury, made
choice of Mr Pitt as chancellor of the exchequer, who
declared, although only 23 years of age, that he would
accept of no inferior office. Peace now seemed to be an
object generally desireable at any rate,and without much
regarding what sacrifices might be made in order to
procure it 5 but the terms met with powerful opposition
from two men formerly considered as mortal enemies,
viz. Lord North and Mr Fox, the latter of whom retired
from office. Soon alter the dismission of Mr Fox, Mr
Pitt again brought forward the question respecting a
reform in parliament, which he fondly hoped would be
the means of restoring him to his wonted popularity, and
pave the way to the increase of his power. He therefore
submitted three different motions to the consideration of
the house j but although in these motions he was ably
supported, he was left in a minority.
The coalition ministry, as it was called, had still a
considerable majority in parliament, notwithstanding the
popularity belonging to the name and talents of Mr Pitt,
but the celebrated India bill was productive of a change.
This bill owed its origin to Mr Burke, but it received
a regular and systematical opposition from the ex-chan¬
4
cellor of the exchequer. It was carried, however, in
the house of commons by a great majority, hut in the
house of lords it was opposed by the duke of Richmond,
Lord Thurlow, and Earl Temple (afterwards marquis
of Buckingham) j and on the 17th of December 17^3*
it was finally rejected by a majority of 19.
The king in the mean time determined on an entire
change of administration, and the two secretaries were
informedonthe iSthol December 1783,about 1 2 0 clock
at night, that his majesty had no further occasion for
their services. In consequence of this change, the im¬
portant offices of first lord of the treasury and chancel¬
lor of the exchequer were bestowed on Mr Pitt, who
thus became prime minister before he was lull 24 years
of age. Thurlow was created lord chancellor, the duke
of Richmond keeper of the privy seal} the marquis of
Caermarthen and Lord Sidney were chosen secretaries
of state, and Mr Dundas, treasurer of the navy.
Much about this time Mr Pitt brought forward a
new bill for the better government of India. He pro¬
posed that a board ol controul should he instituted, the
nomination of whose members was to be vested in the
crown, and to them the dispatches oi the company were
to be submitted. He also proposed that the appointment
of the commander in chief should belong to his majesty,
and having thus secured the political interests ol the
company, he left those of a commercial nature entirely
to the court of directors. This bill, after a short debate,
was rejected by a majority of eight. Such was the pre¬
sent temper of the house of commons, that a coalition 01
immediate dissolution became absolutely necessary ■, and
the former having been unsuccessfully attempted, the
latter was suddenly adopted, on the 25th of March 1784.
Mr Pitt having been returned for the university of Cam¬
bridge, again brought forward lus bill in an amended
state for the regulation of India, and carried it in tii-
umph through both houses of parliament. I be remain¬
ing part of the session gave birth to an act for the better
prevention of smuggling, and the commutation act, by
virtue of which certain duties were transferred from tea
to windows.
When Mr Alderman Sawbridge (June 16th 1784)
made a motion for inquiring into the present state ol the
commons of Great Britain in parliament, Mr Pitt, whose
political sentiments had undergone a revolution,felt him¬
self considerably embarrassed, as he was reminded that
he had brought forward questions on the same subject
upon a former occasion. Mr Pitt, however, declined it,
on account of the pressure of public business, and obser¬
ved that, in his opinion, the present was not the proper
time for bringing forward the question, and that it might
be urged with greater probability of success on some fu¬
ture occasion. ^ He did not wish it to bejliscussed in a
precipitate manner, yet the business itself should have
every support he was able to afiord it.
Having now attained the summit of power and influ-:
ence as prime minister, Mr Pitt exercised every function
of his important office, without any check or controul.
Possessed of a great majority in both houses of parlia¬
ment, as well as in the cabinet, his whole deportment
in the language of his opponents, seems to have become
lofty in the extreme *, and he paid little or no regard to
that popularity which he had formerly courted.
A commercial treaty about this time was entered into
with France, the terms of winch have been generally
acknowledged
PIT - [ 589 ] PIT
Pitt acknowledged to be advantageous to Britain. Mr Pitt,
J who deserves great credit for giving the plan his coun¬
tenance, adopted, much about the same time, another
respecting the finances, from which he derived a high
degree of reputation ; and, as he pointed at a pe¬
riod when the national debt might, in all probability,
be extinguished, the country, if it was not altogether
satisfied, appeared to be at least contented under his
administration : and it is not a little to the credit of his
financial system, that his opponents, when in power,
not only approved, hut adopted and extended it.
In this manner a commercial country began again to
flourish, by turning its attention to the arts of peace j
but, during his administration, its prosperity was threat¬
ened to be interrupted by the preparation for an attack
upon Russia at one time, and by an open rupture with
Spain at another, relative to Nootka Sound. In both
cases the blow vras warded off by negociation, and a
good understanding restored. The restoration of the
stadtholder, by the intervention of a Prussian army,
and his strenuous opposition of the prince of Wales’s
appointment to the regency during the king’s indispo¬
sition, were also two important measures pursued and
discussed in the course of his ministry.
Soon after the commencement of the French revolu¬
tion, Mr Pitt deemed a war with that country inevi¬
table. But for a full detail of the events of this Avar,
see Britain. Plaving held the reins of government
during 18 years, Mr Pitt, and all the members of the
cabinet, suddenly retired from office in 1801. On this
occasion all parties appeared to rejoice at the appoint¬
ment of Mr Addington; and France, from that mo¬
ment, as some assert, seemed to have neither friends nor
advocates in this island. When the articles of the treaty
of Amiens rvere debated in the house of commons, Mr
Pitt defended the new minister with the whole force of
his abilities and influence.
On the 15th of March 1804, Mr Pitt made a direct
attack on the administration j and the admiralty board
was accused by him of imbecility. Fie zealously sup¬
ported Mr Fox’s proposition relative to the Irish militia
bill for the national defence, which was lost on a divi¬
sion. The minister’s majority having dwindled to 37,
on the army of reserve suspension bill, Mr Addington
and some of his friends retired, and the ex-minister re¬
sumed his former seat. When parliament met on the
15th of January 1805, Mr Pitt warmly defended the
Avar Avith Spain 5 and, on the motion for an address, he
had a majority of 207.
But, in the mean time, a gouty habit, the predispo¬
sing causes of which appear to have been hereditary,
and Avhich, perhaps, Avas increased by his OAvn manner
of living, seized on a constitution never very strong.
It is alleged, by his opponents, that this, combined with
the miscarriage of his schemes, and the aspect of affairs
on the continent, preyed so much upon his mind, that
he is said to have died of a broken heart, at his house
near Putney, bettveen four and five on Wednesday
morning, January 23. 1806, in the 47th year of his
age-
As a financier, no man has obtained more praise,
Avho ever presided at the board of exchequer. During
his ministry some of our manufactures languished, but
many flourished, and our exports were greatly increased.
As a speaker he tvas unrivalled, and hi? generous scorn
of wealth must be admired. In 20 years his debts a-
mounted only to 40,000!. They Avere paid out of the
public purse. The house of commons also passed a
vote, that the expences of his funeral, and a monument
to his memory, should be defrayed by the nation.
PITTACUS, a native of Mitylene in Lesbos, Avas
one of the seven wise men of Greece : his father’s name
Avas Hyrradius. With the assistance of the sons of Al¬
caeus, he delivered his country from the oppression of
the tyrant Melanchrus j and in the Avar Avbich the
Athenians waged against Lesbos, he appeared at the
head of his countrymen, and challenged to single com¬
bat Phrynon the enemy’s general. As the event of the
war seemed to depend upon this combat, Pittacus had
recourse to artifice 5 and when he engaged, he entangled
his adversary in a net Avhich he had concealed under his
shield, and easily dispatched him. Fie was amply re¬
warded for this victory ; and his countrymen, sensible
of his merit, unanimously appointed him governor of
their city with unlimited authority. In this capacity
Pittacus behaved Avith great moderation and prudence ;
and after he had governed his felloAA’-citizens vvith the
strictest justice, and after he had established and en¬
forced the most salutary laws, he voluntarily resigned the
sovereign povver after having enjoyed it for 10 years,
observing that the virtues and innocence of private life
Avere incompatible with the povver and influence of a so¬
vereign. II is disinterestedness gained him many ad¬
mirers ; and when the Mityleneans vvished to reward
his public services by presenting him Avith an immense-
tract of territory, he refused to accept more land than
Avhat should be contained in the distance to Avhich he
he could throw a javelin. Fie died in the 70th year of
his age, about 579 years before Christ, after he had
spent the last 10 years of his life in literary ease and
peaceful retirement.
The following maxims and precepts are ascribed to.
Pittacns: The first office of prudence is to foresee
threatening misfortunes, and prevent them. PoAverdis-
coArers the man. Never talk of your schemes before
they are executed •, lest, if you fail to accomplish them,
you be exposed to the double mortification of disappoint¬
ment and ridicule. Whatever you do, do it Avell. Do
not that to your neighbour Avhich you vvould take ill
from him. Be watchful for opportunities.
Many of his maxims were inscribed en the Avails of
Apollo’s temple at Delphi, to show to the world hovv
great an opinion the Mityleneans entertained of his
abilities as a philosopher, a moralist, and a man. By
one of his laws, every fault committed by a man Avhen
intoxicated deserved double punishment.
PITTENWEEM, a small town situated on the frith
of Forth, towards the eastern extremity of the county of
Fife in North Britain. It take's its name from a small
ca\’e in the middle of it, anciently called a ivee?n ; and is
remarkable for nothing but the ruins of a religious house,
which is sometimes called an abbey and sometimes a
priory. Which of these is the proper denomination it is
hardly worth while to inquire; but it appears from the
arms of the monastery, still preserved over the principal
gate, that the superior, by whatever title be was called^
bad the privilege of Avearing a mitre. This edifice,
which seems never to haw been large, was, Avith other
monuments of mistaken piety, alienated from the church
at the Reformation; and Avhat parts of it now remain
I iit
.11
Pitten-
Aveem.
PilU
PIT [ 590
arc put to very different uses. Some of tlie cells of the
monks furnish habitations tolerably convenient for the
servants of him who, in the ceaseless change of property,
has got possession of the lands which formerly belonged
to them. That which seems to have been the granary
decent parish church. The porch ot the chapel,
J
P I U
PiTTOSPORUM, a genus of plants belonging to
the pentandria class. See Botany Index.
the only part of that building which exists, has been al¬
ternate! v employed as a stable and a slaughter-house j
and the meat killed there has been commonly exposed to
sale in the lower part of the steeple of that edifice which
is now dedicated to the offices of parochial devotion.
• * Johnson. Had the moralizing traveller *, who composed the beau¬
tiful and pathetic meditation on the ruins of Jona, con¬
descended to visit Pittenweem, he would not have view¬
ed the abbey without emotion. Insignificant as the
place at present is, it seems to have been of some con¬
sequence in the last century } and we are led to inler,
from the following extract from the records, that the
inhabitants were opulent, and that the town was lox-
tified.
“ Pittenweem, deeuwo quarto Feb. 1651* The bai¬
lies and council being convened, and having received in¬
formation that his majesty is to be in progress with his
court along the coast to-morrow, and to stay at Anstru-
ther house that night, have thought it expedient, ac¬
cording to their bounden duty, with all reverence and
due respect, and with all the same solemnity they can,
to wait upon his majesty, as he comes through this his
majesty’s burgh, and invite his majesty to eat and drink
as he passes j and for that effect hath ordained, that the
morn afternoon the town’s colours be put upon the ber-
tisene of the steeple, and that at three o’clock the bells
begin to ring, and ring on still till his majesty comes hi¬
ther, and passes to Anstruther: And sicklike, that the
minister be spoken to, to be with the bailies and coun¬
cil, who are to be in their best apparel, and with them
a guard of 24 of the ablest men, with pai tizans, and
other 24 with muskets, all in their best apparel, Wil¬
liam Sutherland commanding as captain of the guard *,
and to wait upon his majesty, and to receive his high¬
ness at the West Port, bringing his majesty and court
through the town, until they come to Robert Smith’s
4 The Earl yeet, where an table is to be covered with my Lord’s +
of Kelly. best carpet: and that George Hetherwick have in rea¬
diness, of fine flour, some great bunns, and other wheat-
bread of the best order, baken with sugar, cannell, and
other spices fitting j and that James Richardson and
Walter Airth have care to have ready eight or ten gal¬
lons of good strong ale, with Canary, sack, Rhenish
wine, tent, white and claret wines, that his majesty and
his court may eat and drink j and that in the mean
time, when his majesty is present, the guard do dili¬
gently attend about the court •, and so soon as his ma-
iesty is to go away, that a sign he made to Andrew Tod,
who is appointed to attend the colours on the steeple
head, to the effect he may give sign to those who attend
the cannon of his majesty’s departure, and then the kail
thirty six cannons to be all shot at once. It is also thought
fitting, that the minister and James Richardson the old¬
est bailie, when his majesty comes to the table, show
the great joy and sense this burgh has of his majesty’s
condescendence to visit the same, with some other ex¬
pressions of loyalty. All which was acted.” The po¬
pulation of this town, in 1790, was computed at 1157.
N. Lat. $6. 11. W. Long. 2. 49.
. ~ 5
PITUITARY gland. See Anatomy Index.
PlTYOC \MPASTS, in Entomology, the caterpillar,
of the pine-tree, received its compound name from that
substance. It was considered as a poison, and as a re¬
medy, according to its different mode of application.
Our chief information, concerning this caterpillar, is de¬
rived from M. Reaumur, who has attentively observed
its manner of life. The animal cannot bear much cold,
and is therefore never found in the higher latitudes. It
is styled processionary, because it never leaves its hold,
where many families reside, till the evening, when it
feeds in trains, led on by two or three, and this train
leaves a ribband of silk in its wray ; tor those behind fol¬
low exactly the steps of those winch preceded, and each
leaves its fibre of silk. Their nests are found in au¬
tumn ; they are produced in the middle of September,
become torpid in December, and recover their strength
again in spring. They then descend from the trees,
plunge into the earth, and underao their last change,
It is the bombix pitvocampaof Fabricius, {Mantissa ln-
sector. tom. ii. p. 114. N° 66.), and greatly resembled
the processionary caterpillar of the oak. The ancients
used it as a vesicatory, and the acrimony seems to reside
chiefly in a dust which is concealed in receptacles on its
back. This is its oflensive weapon, for it is thrown out
at will, and produces very troublesome effects, though
the hair of the animal and every part of its body seem
to have a similar, but weaker power. The effect is also
weaker in winter •, but this may depend on the diminish¬
ed irritability of the human body, as well as on the tor¬
pid state of the insect. Their silk is not sufficiently
strong for the loom, and in hot water melts almost to a
paste. In the earth it forms nests of stronger silk, but
it is then found with difficulty : in boxes its silk is ex¬
tremely tender. Adding to all these inconveniences,
handling the cones produces all the. bad effects of the
dust. M.itthiolns recommends them as a styptic, and
perhaps they may serve for burning on the skin, instead
of moxa the downy silk ol a species of artemisia. 1 he
ancients, afraid of its hurtful qualities, used them with
caution, and enacted laws against their being sold pro¬
miscuously : the modern planter is chiefly afraid of them,
because they destroy the beauty of his trees, and he en¬
deavours to collect the eggs by cutting oft the branches
which are burnt immediately.
PI VAT, or Pivot, a foot or shoe of iron or other
metal, usually conical or terminating in a point, where¬
by a body, intended to turn round, bears on another
fixed at rest, and performs its revolutions. The pivot
usually bears or turns round in a sole, or piece of iron
or brass hollowed to receive it.
PIUS II. (/Eneas SylviusPiccolomini), was born
on the 18th of October 1405, at Corsigni in the Siennese,
the name of which he afterwards changed into that of
Picn%a. His mother Victoria Forteguerra, when she
was with child of him, dreamed that she should he deli¬
vered of a mitred infant; and as the way of degrading
clergymen at that time was by crowning them with a
paper mitre, she believed that /Eneas would be a dis¬
grace to his family. But what to her had the appear¬
ance of being a disgrace, was a presage of the greatest
honours. /Eneas was carefully educated, and made
considerable proficiency in the belles lettres. After ha¬
ving
Pittosp*.
mm
p 1 u [ 591 1 P I u
vlng finished his studies at Sienna, he went in 1431 to
J the council of Bale with Cardinal Capranica, surnamed
D# Fermo, because he was entrusted with the govern¬
ment of that church. v'Eneas was his secretary, and
was then only 26 years of age. He afterwards acted in
the same capacity to some other prelates, and to Cardi¬
nal Albergati. The council of Bale honoured him with
different commissions, in order to recompense him for
the zeal with which he defended that assembly against
Pope Eugene IV. He was afterwards secretary to Fre¬
deric III. who decreed to him the poetic crown, and
sent him ambassador to Rome, Milan, Naples, Bohe¬
mia, and other places. Nicholas V. advanced him to
the bishopric of Trieste, which he quitted some time
after for that of Sienna. At last, after having distin¬
guished himself in various nunciatures, he was invested
with the Roman purple by Calixtus III. whom he suc¬
ceeded two years after, on the 27th of August 1458.
Pius II. now advanced to the holy see, made good the
proverb, Honores mutant mores. From the commence¬
ment of his pontificate, he appeared jealous of the papal
prerogatives. In 1460 he issued a bull, “declaring ap¬
peals from the pope to a council to be null, erroneous,
detestable, and contrary to the sacred canons.” That
bull, however, did not prevent the procurator-general
of the parliament of Paris from appealing to a council in
defence of the Pragmatic Sanction, which the pope had
strenuously opposed. Pius was then at Mantua, whither
he had gone in order to engage the Catholic princes to
unite in a war against the Turks. The greater part of
them had agreed to furnish troops or money ; others re¬
fused both, particularly France, who from that moment
incurred his holiness’s aversion. That aversion abated
under Louis XI. whom he persuaded in 1461 to abolish
the Pragmatic Sanction, which the parliament of Paris
had supported with so much vigour.
Hie following year, 1462, was rendered famous by
a controversy which took place between the Cordeliers
and Dominicans, whether or not the blood of Jesus
Christ was separated from his body while he lay in the
grave. It was also made a question whether it was se¬
parated from his divinity. The Cordeliers affirmed that
it was, but the Dominicans were of an opposite opinion.
They called each other heretics; which obliged the
pope to issue a bull, forbidding them under pain of cen¬
sure to brand one another with such odious epithets.
The bull which his holiness published on the 26th of
April, retracting what he had wi 1 to the council of
Bale when he was its secretary, did not redound much
to his honour. “ I am a man (says he), and as a man
I have erred. I am far from denying that a great ma¬
ny things which I have said and written may deserve
condemnation. Like Paul, I have preached through
deception, and I have persecuted the church of God
through ignorance. I imitate the blessed Augustin, who
having suffered some erroneous sentiments to creep into
his works, retracted them. I do the same thinij; I
frankly acknowledge my ignorance, from a fear lest
what I have written in my younger years should be tbe
occasion of any error that might afterwards be prejudi¬
cial to the interests of the holy see. For if it be proper
for any one to defend and support the eminence and glo¬
ry of the first throne of the church, it is in a peculiar
manner my duty, whom God, out of his mercy and
goodness aione? without any merit on my part, has rai¬
sed to the dignity of vicar of Jesus Christ. For all these
reasons, we exhort and admonish you in the Lord, not
to give credit to those writings of ours which tend in any
degree to hurt the authority of the apostolic see, and
which establish opinions that are not received by the Ro¬
man church. If you find, then, any thing contrary to
her doctrine, either in our dialogues, in our letters, or in
other of our works, despise these opinions, reject them,
and adopt our present sentiments. Believe me rather
now that I am an old man, than when I addressed you
in my earlier days. Esteem a sovereign pontiff more
than a private person ; except against iEneas Sylvius,
but receive Pius 11.” It might be objected to his holi¬
ness, that it was bis dignity alone which had made him
alter his opinion. He anticipates that objection, by giv¬
ing a short account of his life and actions, with the whole
history of tbe council of Bale, to which he went with
Cardinal Capranica in 1431 ; “ but (says he) I was then
a young man, and without any experience, like a bird
just come from its nest.” In the mean time, the Turks
were threatening Christendom. Pius, ever zealous in
the defence of religion against the infidels, forms the re¬
solution of fitting out a fleet at the expence of the church,
and of passing over into Asia himself, in order to ani¬
mate the Christian princes by his example. He repaired
to Ancona with a design to embark ; but he there fell
sick with the fatigue of the journey, and died on the
16th of August 1464, aged 59 years. Pius was one
of the most learned men of his time, and one of the most
zealous pontiffs; but being of an ambitious and pliant
disposition, he sometimes sacrificed to that ambition.
His principal works are, 1. Memoirs of the council of
Bale, from the suspension of Eugenius to the election of
Felix. 2. The history of the Bohemians, from their
origin to the year 1458. 3. Two books on cosmogra¬
phy. 4. The history of Frederic III. whose vice-chan¬
cellor he had been. This performance was published in
I7^5 in f°li0> and is believed to be pretty accurate and
very particular. 5. A treatise on the education of chil¬
dren. 6. A poem upon the passion of Jesus Christ.
7. A collection of 432 letters, printed at Milan, 1473,
in folio, in which are found some curious anecdotes.
8. The memoirs of his own life, published by John Go¬
belin Personne his secretary, and printed at Rome in 4to
in 1384. 1 here is no doubt of this being the genuine
production of that pontiff. 9. Historia rerum ubicumque
gestarum, of which only the first part was published at
Venice in 1477 folio* His works were printed at
Helmstadt in 1700, in folio, at the beginning of which
we find his life. That verse of Virgil’s iEneid (lib. i.„
382.) which begins thus,
Sum Pius /Eneas,     ..
and the end of the following verse,
—— -fama super ecthei'a not us,
have been applied to him.
Pius IV. (John Angel, Cardinal de Medic is'), of adif-
ferent family from that of Florence, was born at Milan
in 1499. He was son to Bernardin de Medechini, and
brother of the famous Marquis de Marignan, Charles
V.’s general. He raised himself by his own merit,
and filled several important offices under Popes Clement
\'II. and Paul III. Julius III. who had entrusted him
with several legations, honoured him with a cardinal’s
hat*.
P I U [ 592 ] P I U
hut in 1549. After the death of Paul IV. he was ad¬
vanced to at Peter’s chair on the 25th of December,
1559. His predecessor had rendered himself detestable
to the Romans, who treated his memory with every
mark of indignity, and Pius IV. commenced his pontifi¬
cate by pardoning them. He did not, however extend
the same clemency to the nephews of Pope Paul IV.;
for he caused Cardinal Caraffe to be strangled in the
castle of St Angelo, and his brother, the prince de Pal-
liano, to be beheaded. His zeal was afterwards direct¬
ed against the Turks and heretics. In order to stop, if
possible, the progress of these last, he renewed the Coun¬
cil of Trent, which had been suspended. He knew
well (says abbe de Choisy), that that council might
make some regulations which would have the effect to
lessen his authority j but, on the other hand, he perceiv¬
ed that great inconveniences might result from its not
being assembled j and “ in the main (sard he to his con¬
fidants) it is better to feel evilfor once than to be always
in dread of it." In 1561 he dispatched nuncios to all
the Catholic and Protestant princes, to present them with
the bull for calling that important assembly. An end
was, however, put to it by the industry of his nephew,
S. Charles Borromeus in 1563; and on the 26th of
January the year following, he issued a bull for confirm¬
ing its decrees. In 1565 a conspiracy was formed
against his life by Benedict Acolti, and some other vi¬
sionaries. Those madmen had taken it into their head
that Pius IV. was not a lawful pope, and that after his
death they would place another in St Peter’s chair, with
the title of Pope Angelicas, under whom errors might be
reformed, and peace restored to the church. The con¬
spiracy was discovered, and the fanatic Benedict put to
death. This pontiff died a little time after, on the 9th
of December 1565, aged 66 years, carrying to the
grave with him the hatred of the Romans, whom his
severities had exasperated. He was a man of great ad¬
dress, and very fruitful in his resources. He adorned
Rome with several public edifices ; but these ornaments
tended greatly to impoverish it. If he was the instru¬
ment of raising his relations in the world, it must be al¬
lowed, at least, that the greater part of them did him
honour.
Pius V. (5. Michael Ghislcri), born atBoschi or Bos-
co, in the diocese of Tortona, on the 17th of January
1504, was, according to Abbe de Choisy, son to a sena¬
tor of Milan. He turned a Dominican friar. Paul IV.
informed of his merit and virtue, gave him the bishopric
of Sutri, created him cardinal in 1557, and made him
inquisitor-general of the faith among the Milanese and
in Lombardy, but the severity with which he exercised
his office obliged him to quit that country. He was
sent to Venice, where the ardour of his zeal met with
still greater obstacles. Pius IV. added to the cardinal’s
hat the bishopric of Mondovi. After the death of that
pontiff he was advanced to St Peter’s chair in 1566.
The Romans expressed but little joy at his coronation :
he was very sensible of it, and said, “ 1 hope they will
be as sorry at my death as they are at my election but
he was mistaken. Raised by his merit to the first eccle¬
siastical preferment in Christendom, he could not divest
himself of the severity of his character*, and the situation
in which he found himself rendered, perhaps, that seve¬
rity necessary. One of his first objects was to repress
the luxury of the clergy, the pride of the cardinals, and
the licentious manners of the Romans. He caused the Pin?,
decrees of reformation enacted by the Council of Trent *—’’v—
to be put in execution 5 he prohibited bull-baiting in
the Circus *, he expelled from Rome the women of the
town j and allowed the cardinals to be prosecuted for
their debts. The errors which overflowed the Christian
world gave him great uneasiness. After having em¬
ployed gentle and lenient measures in the reclaiming,of
heretics, he had recourse to severity, and some of them
ended their days in the flames of the inquisition. lie
particularly displayed Ins zeal for the grandeur of the
holy see in 1568, by ordaining that the bull In coma
domini, which was published at Rome every year on
Maunday Thursday, and which Clement XIV. sup¬
pressed, should be published likewise throughout the
whole church. That bull, the work of several sove¬
reign pontiffs, principally regards the jurisdiction of the
ecclesiastical and civil power. It anathematizes those
who appeal from the decrees of popes to a general coun¬
cil 5 those who favour the appellants j the universities
which teach that the pope is subject to a general coun¬
cil 5 the princes who would restrain the ecclesiastical ju¬
risdiction, or who exact contributions from the clergy.
It was rejected by all the sovereign states, excepting a
very few. In 1580, some bishops having endeavoured
to introduce it into their dioceses, the parliament caused
their temporalities to be seized upon, and declared those
guilty of high treason who should imitate the fanati¬
cism of those prelates. Pius V. for some time medi¬
tated an expedition against the Turks. He had the
courage to make war on the Ottoman empire, by
forming a league with the Venetians and Philip 1J.
king of Spain. This was the first time that the stan¬
dard of the two keys was seen displayed against the
crescent The naval armies came to an engagement,
on the 7th of October 1571, in Lepanto bay, in which
the confederate Christian princes obtained a signal vic¬
tory over the Turks, who lost above 30,000 men, and
near 200 galleys. This success wras principally owing
to the pope, who exhausted both his purse and person
in fitting out that armament. He died ol the gravel
six months after, on the 30th of April 1572, aged 68.
He repeated often, in the midst of his sufferings, “ 0
Lord! increase my pains and my patience." His name
will for ever adorn the list of Roman pontiffs. It is
true, that his bull against Queen Elizabeth, and his
other bull in favour of the inquisition, with his rigorous
prosecution of heretics both in France and Ireland,
prove that he had more zeal than sweetness in his tem¬
per ; but in other respects he possessed the virtues of a
saint and the qualities of a king. He was the model of
the famous Sixtus Quintus, to whom he gave an example
of amassing in a few years such savings as were sufficient
to make the holy see be regarded as a formidable power.
Sultan Selim, who had no greater enemy than this pope,
caused public rejoicings to be made at Constantinople
for his death during the space of three days. The pon¬
tificate of Pius is also celebrated for the condemnation
of Baius, the extinction of the order of Humilies, and
the reformation of that of the Cistercians. He was ca¬
nonized by Clement XI. in 1712. There are extant
several of his letters, printed at Anvers in 1640, in 410.
Felibian, in 1672, published his Life, translated from
the Italian of Agatio di Somma; but we cannot vouch
for the fidelity of the translation.
FIX.
Viz
P L A [
PTX. See MiNT-Marks.
PIZARRO, Francis, a celebrated Spanish general,
Placenta, the discoverer and conqueror of Peru, in conjunction
with Diego Almagro, a Spanish navigator. They are
both charged with horrid cruelties to the inhabitants 5
and they fell victims to their own ambition, jealousy,
and avarice. Almagro revolting, was defeated and be¬
headed by Pizarro, who was assassinated by Almagro’s
friends in 1541. See Peru.
PLACE, Locus, in Philosophy, a mode of space, or
that part of immoveable space which anybody possesses.
See Metaphysics, N° 185.
Place, in Astronomy. The place of the sun, a star,
&c. denotes the sign and degree of the zodiac which
the luminary is in j or the degree of the ecliptic, reck¬
oning from the beginning of Aries, which the planet’s or
star’s circle of longitude cuts : and therefore coincides
with the longitude of the sun, planet, or star. As the
sine of the sun’s greatest declination 230 30': to the sine
of any present declination given or observed, for instance,
230 15' : : so is the radius 10 : to the sine of its longi¬
tude 8i° 52'; which, if the declination were north,
would give 20° 52' of Gemini ; if south, 20° 52' of
Capricorn for the sun’s place. See Declination, &c.
The place of the moon being that part of her orbit
wherein she is found at any time, is of various kinds,
by reason of the great inequalities of the lunar motions,
which render a number of equations and reductions
necessary before the just point be found. The moon’s fic¬
titious place is her place once equated ; her place nearly
true, is her place twice equated 5 and her true place
thrice equated. See Astronomy,
Place, in IFar, a general name for all kinds of for¬
tresses where a party may defend themselves. Thus, 1.
A strong or fortified place is one flanked, and covered
with bastions. 2. A regular place, one whose angles,
sides, bastions, and other parts, are equal; and this is
usually denominated from the number of its angles, as a
pentagon, hexagon, &c. 3. Irregular place is one
whose sides and angles are unequal.—4. Place of arms is
a strong city or town pitched upon for the chief maga¬
zine of an army ; or, in a city or garrison, it is a large
open spot of ground, usually near the centre of the place
where the grand guard is commonly kept, and the gar¬
rison holdsits rendezvous at reviews, and incases of alarm
to receive orders from the governor. 5. Places of arms
of an attack, in a siege, is a spacious place covered from
the enemy by a parapet or epaulement, where the sol¬
diers are posted ready to sustain those at work in the
trenches against the soldiers of the garrison. 6. Place of
arms particular, in a garrison, a place near every bas¬
tion, where the soldiers sent from the grand place to the
quarters assigned them relieve those that are either up¬
on the guard or in sight. 7. Place of arms without, is a
place allowed to the covert way for the planting of can¬
non, to oblige those who advance in their approaches to
retire. 8. Place of arms in a camp, a large place at the
head of the camp for the army to he ranged in and drawn
up in battalia. There is also a place for each particular
bodyq troop, or company, to assemble in.
Common- Place. See Common-Place.
PLACENTA, in Anatomy and Midwifery, a soft
roundish mass, found in the womb of pregnant women •,
which, from its resemblance to the liver, was called by
the ancients hepar uterinum, uterine liver.
Vol. XVI. Part II. f
553 ] P L A
PLACENTIA, called by the natives Piacenza, is pVaecntt t,
a town of Italy, and capital of a duchy of the same Plagiary,
name, with a bishop’s see. It is seated about 100 paces v"—1 ‘
from the river Po, in a very fertile pleasant plain wa¬
tered by a great number of rivulets, and surrounded
with hills, abounding in all sorts of fruits. In its terri¬
tory there are salt-springs, from which they make a very
white salt 5 and there are also mines of iron, woods, and
warrens. It contains a great number of merchants, and
is reckoned three miles in circumference. Its fortifica¬
tions are inconsiderable, hut the citadel is pretty strong.
The streets are straight, and the principal street called
Stradone, is 25 common paces broad, and 3000 feet
long, in a direct line, with 600 stone posts for separa¬
ting the foot from the carriage-way, and on both sides
are 11 spacious convents, ’ihe other buildings of the
city are not very remarkable, though it contains 43
churches, 28 convents, and two alms-houses. The ca¬
thedral is pretty much in the Gothic taste j but the
church of the Augustines is reckoned the most beauti¬
ful, and esteemed worthy of its architect, the celebra-
taed Vignoli. ihe ducal palace, though large, makes
no great appearance externally j but within there are some
good apartments. In the area before the town house
stand two admirable brass, statues of Alexander and Re-
natus IV. both of the house of Farnese, and dukes of
Parma and Placentia. The bishop is suffragan to the
archbishop of Milan. At this city begins the Via M-
milia, which extends as far as Rimini on the Adriatic.
Ihe number of the inhabitants is about 30,000, among
whom there are 2000 ecclesiastics. This city has been
taken several times in the wars of Italy. The king of
Sardinia took possession of it in 1744, it being ceded to
him by the queen of Hungary ; but it was taken from
him in 1746, after a bloody battle. The French got
possession of it in 1796. It has a famous university',
and the inhabitants are much esteemed for their polite¬
ness. The sovereignty of this duchy with that of Parma
now belongs to Maria Louisa, late empress of France.
Placentia is about 32 miles north-west of Parma and
83 east of Turin. E. Long. 10. 24. Lat. 45. 3.
PLAGIARY, in Philology, the purloining ano¬
ther man’s works, and putting them off as our own.
Among the Romans, plagiarius was properly a person
who bought, sold, or retained a freeman for a slave ; and
was so called, because, by the Flavian law, such persons
were condemned adplagas, “ to be whipped.”
Thomasius has an express treatise deplagio literario ;
wherein he lays down the laws and measures of the
right which authors have to one another’s writings.—
“ Dictionary writers, at least such as middle with arts
and sciences (as is pertinently observed by Mr Chalmers),
seem exempted from the common laws of meum and
tuum : they do not pretend to set up on their own bot¬
tom, nor to treat you at their own cost. Their works
aresupposed, in great measure, compositions of otherpeo-
plts ; and what they take from others, they do. it avoxv-
edly, and in the open sun.—In effect, their quality gives
them a title to every thing that may be for their pur¬
pose, wherever they find it 5 and if they rob, they do not
do it any otherwise than as the bee does, for the public
service. Their occupation is not pillaging, but collect¬
ing contributions ; and, if you ask them their authority,
they will produce you the practice of their predecessors
of all ages and nations.
4 F PLAGIUM,
Plagium,
Platrue.
? L A [
PLAGIUM, in Law. See KIDNAPPING.
PLAGUE, Pestilence, or Pestilential Fever, is a
1 very acute, malignant, and contagions disease; being a
putrid fever of the worst kind, and seldom failing to
prove mortal. Though it is generally defined a malign
nant fever, Diemerbrock thinks they ought to be distin¬
guished, since the fever is not the essence of the disease,
but merely a symptom or effect of it. feee HvIedicine,
221.
The plague, as is generally agreed, is never bred or
propagated in Britain, but always imported from abroad,
especially from the Levant, Lesser Asia, Egypt, &c.
where it is very common Sydenham has remarked
that it rarely infests this country oftener than once in 40
years, and happily we have been free of it for a much
longer period.
Authors are not as yet agreed concerning the nature
of this dreadful distemper. Some think that insects
are the cause of it, in the same way that they are the
cause of blights, being brought in swarms from other
climates by the wind, when they are taken into the
lungs in respiration the consequence of which is, that
they mix with the blood and juices, and attack and cor¬
rode the viscera. Mr Boyle, on the other hand, thinks
it originates from the effluvia or exhalations breathed
into the atmosphere from noxious minerals, to which
may be added stagnant waters and putrid bodies of every
kind-
Mr Gibbon thinks that the plague is derived from
damp, hot, and stagnating air, and the putrefaction of
animal substances, especially locusts. See Gibbon's Ro¬
man Histoiy, 410 edit. vol. iv. p. 327—332, where there
is also a very particular account of the plague which
depopulated the earth in the time of the emperor Justi¬
nian.
The Mahometans believe that the plague proceeds
from certain spirits, or goblins, armed with bows and
arrows, sent by God to punish men for their sins ; and
that when the wounds are given by spectres of a black
colour, they certainly prove fatal, but not so when the
arrows are shot by those that appear white. They there¬
fore take no precaution to guard themselves against it.
The wiser professors of this religion, however, at present
act otherwise j for we find a receipt recommended by
Sidy Mohammed Zerroke, one of the most celebrated
Marabouts, prefaced with these remarkable words :
“ The lives of us all are in the hands of God, when it
is we must die. However, it hath pleased him to save
many persons from the plague, by taking every morn¬
ing while the infection rages, one pill or two ol the fol¬
lowing composition j viz. of myrrh two parts, saffron
one part, of aloes two parts, of syrup of myrtle berries,
q. But this remedy is confined to the more enlighten¬
ed $ for the bigotry of the lower sort is so extreme as
to make them despise all precautions which people of
other nations use. Of this extreme and foolish preju¬
dice Dr Chandler gives an interesting account when speak¬
ing of the plague at Smyrna. This learned author is ol
opinion that the disease arises from animalcules, which
594. ] P L A
he supposes to be invisible. See Chandler''s Travels in
Asia Minor, p. 279, See. w
It is a remarkable fact, that plagues are sometimes
partial, and that they only attack particular animals, or
a particular description of persons, avoiding others alto¬
gether, or attacking them but slightly. Thus Eerne-
lius informs us of a plague, or murrain, in 1514, which
invaded only cats. Dionysius Halicarnasseus mentions
a plague which attacked none but maids ; and that
which raged in the time of Gentilis, killed scarcely
any women, and very few but lusty men. Boterus men¬
tions another plague, which assaulted none but the
younger sort •, and we have instances of the same kind
of a later standing (a). Cardan speaks of a plague at
Basil, with which the Switzers were infected, and the
Italians, Germans, or French, exempted : and John
Utenhovius takes notice of a dreadful one at Copeha-
gen, which, though it raged among the Danes, spared
the Germans, Dutch, and English, who went with all
freedom, and without the least danger, to the houses of
the infected. During the plague which ravaged Syria
in 1760, it was observed that people of the soundest
constitutions were the most liable to it, and that the
weak and delicate were either spared or easily cured. It
was most fatal to the Moors •, and, when it attacked
them, it was generally incurable.
When the plague raged in Holland in 1636,3 young
girl was seized with it, had three carbuncles, and was
removed to a garden, where her lover, who was be¬
trothed to her, attended her as a nurse, and slept with
her as his wife. He remained uninfected, and she re¬
covered, and was married to him. The story is related
by Vine. Fabricius in the Misc. Cur. Ann. II. Obs.
188.
Many methods have been adopted in different coun¬
tries to prevent the importation of this dreadful scourge
of the human race, and to stop the progress of infec¬
tion after it has been imported. In England, mayors,
bailiffs, head officers of corporations, and justices of
peace, have power to tax inhabitants, houses, and lands,
&c. within their precincts, for the relief of persons in¬
fected with the plague *, and justices of the county may
tax persons within five miles round, on a parish’s ina¬
bility *, the tax to be levied by distress and sale of goods,
or in default thereof by imprisonment. Infected per¬
sons going abroad, after being commanded to keep
house for avoiding farther infections, may be resisted by
watchmen, &c. and punished as vagrants, if they have
no sores upon them *, and if they have infectious sores
on them it is felony. Justices of the peace, &c. are to
appoint searchers, examiners, and buriers of the dead,
in places infected, and administer oaths to them for the
performance of their duties, &c. stat. I Jac. I. cap. 31*
See Quarantine.
The commission at Moscow having, in the year
1770, invented a fumigation powder, which, from se¬
veral lesser experiments, had proved efficacious in pre¬
venting the infection of the plague ; in order more
fully to ascertain its virtue in that respect, it was de¬
termined,
Plague,
(a) See account of the yellow fever under the article PHILADELPHIA, where it appears that the disease tvas
less fatal to some sorts of persons than to others.
p L A [ 595 ] P L A
Plague, termined, towards the end of the year, that ten ma!e-
—V—; factors under sentence of death should, without under¬
going any other precautions than the fumigations, be
confined three weeks in a lazaretto, be laid upon the
beds, and dressed in the clothes, which had been used
by persons sick, dying, and even dead, of the plague in
the hospital. The experiment was accordingly tried,
and none of the ten malefactors were then infected, or
have been since ill. The fumigation powder is prepar¬
ed as follows.
Powder of the first strength.^ Take leaves of juniper,
juniper-berries pounded, ears of wheat, guaiacum wood
pounded, of each six pounds ; common saltpetre pound¬
ed, eight pounds \ sulphur pounded, six pounds ; Smyrna
tar, or myrrh, two pounds: mix all the above ingredi¬
ents together, which will produce a pood of the powder
of fumigation of the first strength. [N.B. A pood is
40 pounds Russian, which are equal to 35 pounds and a
half or 36 pounds English avoirdupoise.J
Powder of the second strength.] Take southern¬
wood cut into small pieces, four pounds $ juniper-ber¬
ries pounded, three pounds j common saltpetre pound¬
ed, four pounds $ sulphur pounded, two pounds and a
halfj Smyrna tar, or myrrh, one pound and a half:
mix the above together which will produce half a
pood of the powder of fumigation of the second
strength.
Odoriferous powder.~\ Take the root called kalmus
eut into small pieces, three pounds •, leaves of jumper
cut into small pieces, four pounds ; frankincense pound¬
ed grossly, one pound 5 storax pounded, and rose flowers,
half a pound ; yellow amber pounded, one pound ; com¬
mon saltpetre pounded, one pound and a half $ sulphur,
a quarter of a pound : mix all the above together, which
will produce nine pounds and three quarters of the odo¬
riferous powder.
Remurk on the powder of fumigation If guaiacum
cannot be had, the cones of pines or firs may be used in
its stead ; likewise common tar of pines and firs may be
used instead of the Smyrna tar, or myrrh, and mugwort
may supply the place of southernwood.
Thucydides, who was himself infected, lib. ii. gives
us an account of a dreadful plague which happened at
Athens, about the year before Christ 430, while the
Peleponnesians under the command of Archidamus
wasted all their territory abroad 5 but of these two
enemies the plague was by far the most dreadful and
severe.
The most dreadful plague that ever raged at Rome
was in the reign of Titus, A. D. 80. The emperor left
no remedy unattempted to abate the malignity of the di¬
stemper, acting during its continuance like a father to
his people. The same fatal disease raged in all the pro¬
vinces of the Roman empire in the reign of M. Aurelius,
A. D. 167, and was followed by a dreadful famine, by
earthquakes, inundations, and other calamities. The
Romans believed that TEsculapius sometimes entered
into a serpent, and cured the plague.
About tbe year 430 the plague visited Britain, just
after the Piets and Scots had made a formidable inva¬
sion of the southern part of the island. The plague
raged with uncommon fury, and swept away most of
those whom the sword and famine had spared, so that
the living were scarcely sufficient to bury the dead.
About the year 1348 the plague became almost ge¬
neral over Europe. A great many authors give an ac-
count of this plague, which is said to have appeared first '
in the kingdom of Kathay in the year 1346, and to
have proceeded gradually westward to Constantinople
and Egypt. From Constantinople it passed into Greece,
Italy, France, and Africa, and by degrees along the
coasts of the ocean into Britain and Ireland, and after¬
wards into Germany, Hungary, Poland, Denmark and
the other northern kingdoms. According to Antoninus
archbishop of Florence the distemper carried off 60,000
people in that city, among whom was the historian John
Viilani.
In the year 1656 the plague was brought from Sar¬
dinia to Naples, being introduced into the city by a
transport with soldiers on board. It imaged with exces¬
sive violence, carrying off in less than six months
400,000 of the inhabitants. The distemper was at
first called by the physicians a malignant fever j but one
of them affirming it to be pestilential, the viceroy, who
was apprehensive lest such a report would occasion all
communication with Naples to be broke off, was offend¬
ed with this declaration, and ordered him to be impri¬
soned. As a favour, however, he allowed him to return
and die in his own house. By this proceeding of the
viceroy, the distemper being neglected, made a most ra¬
pid and furious progress, and filled the whole city with
consternation. The streets w’ere crowded with confused
processions, which served to spread the infection through
all the quarters. The terror of the people increased
their superstition } and it being reported that a certain
nun had prophesied that the pestilence would cease upon
building a hermitage for her sister nuns upon the hill of
St Martin’s, the edifice was immediately begun with
the most ardent zeal. Persons of the highest quality
strove who should perform the meanest offices ; some
loading themselves w ith beams, and others carrying bas¬
kets full of lime and nails, while persons of all ranks
stripped themselves of their most valuable effects, which
they threw into empty hogsheads placed in the streets
to receive the charitable contributions. Their violent
agitation, however, and the increasing heats, diffused
the malady through the whole city, and the streets and
the stairs of the churches were filled with the dead ; the
number of whom, for some time of the month ol July,
amounted daily to 15,000.
The viceroy now used all possible precautions to abate
the fury of the distemper, and to prevent its spreading
to the provinces. The infection, however, desolated the
whole kingdom, excepting the provinces of Otranto and
the Farther Calabria, and the cities of Gaeta, Sorrento,
Paolo, and Belvidere. The general calamity was in¬
creased in Naples by malecontents, who insinuated that
the distemper had been designedly introduced by the
Spaniards, and that there were people in disguise who
went through the city sowing poisoned dust. This idle
rumour enraged the populace, who began to insult the
Spanish soldiers, and threaten a sedition $ so that the
viceroy, to pacify the mob, caused a criminal to be broke
upon the wheel, under pretence that he was a disperser
of the dust. A violent and plentiful rain falling about
the middle of August, the distemper began to abate J
and on the eighth of December the physicians made a
solemn declaration that the city was entirely free from
infection.
Of the dreadful plague which raged at London ia
' 4 F 2 the
P L A [ 596 ] P L A
the year 1665, the reader will find an account in the
article London,. N° 21. In 1720 the city of Marseilles
was visited with this destructive disease, brought in a
ship from the Levant; and in seven months, during
which time it continued, it carried off not less than
60,000 people. This desolation is not yet obliterated
from the minds of the inhabitants 5 some survivors re¬
mained alive but a few years ago to transmit a tradi¬
tional account of it to after ages. There are two fine
pictures, painted by Puget, representing some of the
horrid scenes of that time. “ They are (says Lady
Craven) only too well executed. I saw several dying
figures taking leave of their friends, and looking their
last anxious, kind, and wishful prayers on their sick in¬
fants, that made the tears flow down my cheeks. I
was told the physicians and noblemen who were assist¬
ing the sick and dying, were all portraits : I can easily
conceive it; for in some faces there is a look of reflec¬
tion and concern which could only be drawn from the
life.” Letters, p. 34, 35. This fatal event has caused
the laws of quarantine to he very strictly enforced in
the lazaretto here, which is an extensive insulated
building.
The ravages ofthis disease have been dreadful wherever
it has made its appearance. On the first arrival of the
Europeans at the island of Gran Canaria, it contained
14,000 fighting men, soon after which, two thirds of
the whole inhabitants fell a sacrifice to the plague, which
had doubtless been introduced by their new visitors.
The destruction it has made in Turkey in Europe, and
particularly in Constantinople, must be known to every
reader ; and its fatal effects have been particularly
heightened there by that firm belief which prevails
among the people of predestination, &c. as has been al¬
ready mentioned. It is generally brought into Euro¬
pean Turkey from Egypt; where it is very frequent,
especially at Grand Cairo. To give even a list of all
the plagues which have desolated many flourishing coun¬
tries, would extend this article beyond all bounds; and
minutely to describe them all, would be impossible. For
the plague at Smyrna, we refer to Chandler’s Travels
as above. Respecting that which raged in Syria in
1760, we refer to the Abbe Mariti’s Travels through
Cyprus, Syria, and Palestine, vol. i. p. 278—296.
This plague was one of the most malignant and fatal
that Syria ever experienced •, for it scarcely made its
appearance in any part of the body when it carried oft’
the patient.
In addition to what the reader will find upon this
subject in the article Medicine, and the observations
which have now been offered, we beg leave to state the
sentiments of Berthier on this subject, in his account of
Bonaparte’s expedition into Syria.
“ At the time of our entry into Syria (says he), all
the towns were infected by the plague , a malady which
ignorance and barbarity render so fatal in the east.
Those who are affected by it give themselves up for
dead j they are immediately abandoned by every body,
and are left to die, when they might have been saved
by medicine and attention.
“ Citizen Degenettes, principal physician to the ar¬
my, displayed a courage and character which entitle
him to the national gratitude. When our soldiers were
attacked by the least fever, it was supposed that they
had caught the plague, and these maladies were con¬
founded. The fever hospitals were abandoned by the Plague,
officers of health and their attendants. Citizen Dege-
nettes repaired in person to the hospitals, visited all tire
patients, felt the glandular swellings, dressed them, de¬
clared and maintained that the distemper was not the
plague, but a malignant fever with glandular swellings,
which might easily be cured by attention, and keeping
the patient’s mind easy.”
The views of Degenettes in making this distinction
were worthy of the highest commendation ; but Dr
Moseley maintains that this fever was actually the
plague. The physician, however, carried his courage
so far, as to make two incisions, and to inoculate tire
suppurated matter from one of these buboes above his
breast, and under his armpits, but was not affected with
the malady. He thus eased the minds of the soldiers,
the first step to a cure j and, by his assiduity and con¬
stant attendance in the hospitals, a number of men at¬
tacked with the plague were cured. His example was
followed by other officers of health. “ There are, says
Dr Moseley, annual or seasonal disorders, more or less
severe, in all countries ; but the plague, and other
great depopulating epidemics, do not always obey the
seasons of the year. Like comets, their course is ec¬
centric. They have their revolutions j but from whence
they come, or whither they go after they have made
their revolution, no mortal can tell.
“ Diseases originating in the atmosphere seize some,
and pass by others; and act exclusively on bodies gra¬
duated to received their impressions ; otherwise whole
nations would be destroyed. In some constitutions of
the body the access is easy, in some difficult, and in
others impossible.
“ The air of confined places may be so vitiated as to
be unfit for the purposes of the healthy existence of any
person. Hence gaol, hospital, and ship fevers. But, as
these distempers are the offspring of a local cause, that
local cause, and not the distempered people, communi¬
cate the disease.
“ The infection, were it not in the atmosphere, would
be confined within very narrow limits j have a determi¬
nate sphere of action j and none but physicians and at¬
tendants on the sick would suffer j and these must suf¬
fer j and the cause and the effects would be palpable to
our senses. Upon this ground, the precaution of qua¬
rantine would he rational. But who then would visit
and attend the sick, or could live in hospitals, prisons,
and lazarettoes ?”
The author is convinced from these reasonings, that
the bubo and carbuncle, of which we hear so much in
Turkey, and read so much in our own history of plagues,
arise from heating food and improper treatment j that
t-.ey contain no infection •, and consequently that they
are not the natural deposit of the morbific virus sepa¬
rated from the contagion.
Speaking of the plague, Mr Brown says, “ the first
symptoms are said to be thirst j 2. Cephalagiaj 3. A
stiff'and uneasy sensation, with redness and tumour about
the eyes •, 4. Watering of the eyes ; 5. White pustules
on the tongue. Not uncommonly, all these have suc¬
cessively shown themselves, yet the patient has recover¬
ed ; in which case, where suppuration has had place*
the skin always remains discoloured, commonly of a
purple hue. Many who have been bled in an early
stage of the disorder, have recovered without any fatal
symptoms \
P L A [ 597 1 P L A
symptoms j but whether from that or any other cause,
does not appear certain.”
Oil rubbed into the skin acts as a preventive, as
well as a cure of the plague. When the operation is
performed to prevent infection, it is successfully per¬
formed with that view at Smyrna, as often as the plague
make its appearance in the city. As it is not done for
the purpose of promoting perspiration, it is not requisite
that it should be performed with the same speed as
w hen for curing the disorder j nor is it necessary to ab¬
stain from flesh, and to use soups j but it will be proper
to use only fowls or veal for some days, without any
seasoning. It will in fine be necessary to guard against
indigestible food, and such liquors as might put in mo¬
tion or inflame the mass of the blood.
This interesting discovery merits the attention of all
medical men j for if olive oil has been found efficacious
in curing or preserving against one species of infection,
it is not absurd to suppose that the same or other kinds
of oil might be productive of much benefit in other ma¬
lignant infectious diseases. We hope soon to hear of
some trial being made with it in this country. Would
it be of any service in the yellow fever, so prevalent in
the western world ?
PLAIN, or Plane, in general, an appellation given
to whatever is smooth and even, or simple, obvious, and
easy to be understood ; and, consequently, stands oppo¬
sed to rough, enriched, or laboured.
A plain figure, in geometry, is an uniform surface 5
from every point of whose perimeter right lines may
be drawn to every other point in the same.
A plain angle is one contained under two lines, or
surfaces, in contradistinction to a solid angle. See An¬
gle under Geometry.
The doctrine of plain triangles, as those included un¬
der three right lines, is termed plain trigonometry.
See the article Trigonometry.
PLAiN-C/iart. See the article Chart.
Plain-Sailing. See Navigation.
PLAISE, the English name of a species of pleuro-
nectes. See Pleuronectes, Ichthyology Index.
PLAN, in general, denotes the representation of
something drawn on a plane j such are maps, charts,
ichnographies, &c. See Map, Chart, &c.
The term plan, however, is particularly used for a
draught of a building, such as it appears, or is intended
to appear, on the ground, showing the extent, division,
and distribution of its area or ground-plot into apart¬
ments, rooms, passages, &c.
A geometrical plan is that wherein the solid and
vacant parts are represented in their natural propor¬
tions.
The raised plan of a building is the same with what
is otherwise called an elevation or orthography. See
Orthography.
A perspective plan is that exhibited by degradations
on diminutions, according to the rules of perspective.
See Perspective.
To render plans intelligible, it is usual to distinguish
the massives with a black rvash *, the projectures of the
ground are drawn in full lines, and those supposed over
them in dotted lines. The augmentations or alterations
to be made are distinguished by a colour different from
what is already built \ and the tints of each plan made
lighter, as the stories are raised.
In large buildings it is usual to have three several plan
plans for the three first stories. ||
PLANCUS, Francis, doctor of physic, was born Planet. ^
at Amiens in 1696, and died on the 19th of September
1765, aged 69 years. He is the author of some works
which have had considerable reputation. 1. A complete
System of Surgery, in 2 vols in 12mo; a treatise much
recommended by surgeons to their pupils. 2. A choice
Library of Medicine, taken from periodical publica¬
tions, both French and others : this curious collection,
continued and completed by M. Goulin, makes 9 vols
in 4to, or 18 vols in i2mo. 3. A Translation of Van-
der Wiel’s Observations on Medicine and Surgery,
1758} 2 vols in i2mo. Plancus was also the editor
of various editions of works on medicine and surgery,
which he enriched with notes.
PLANE, in Geometry, denotes a plain surface, or
one that lies evenly between its bounding lines : and as
a right line is the shortest extension from one point to
another, so a plane surface is the shortest extension
from one line to another.
In astronomy, conics, &c. the term plane is frequent¬
ly used for an imaginary surface, supposed to cut and
pass through solid bodies 5 and on this foundation is-
the whole doctrine of conic sections built. See Astro¬
nomy, Conic Sections, &c.
In mechanics, planes are either horizontal, that isr
.parallel to the horizon, or inclined thereto. See Me¬
chanics.
The determining how far any given plane deviates
from an horizontal line, makes the whole business of
levelling. See the article Levelling.
In optics, the planes of reflection and refraction are
those drawn through the incident and reflected or re¬
fracted rays. See Optics.
In perspective we meet with the perspective plane,
which is supposed to be pellucid, and perpendicular to
the horizon j the horizontal plane, supposed to pass
through the spectator’s eye, parallel to the horizon 5
the geometrical plane, likewise parallel to the horizon,
wherein the object to be represented is supposed to be
placed, &c. See Perspective.
The plane of projection in the stereographic projec¬
tion of the sphere, is that on which the projection is
made, corresponding to the perspective plane. See
Projection.
Plane, in joinery, an edged tool or instrument for
paring and shaving of wood smooth. It consists of a
piece of wood very smooth at bottom, as a stock or
shaft; in the midst of which is an aperture, through
which a steel edge, or chissel, placed obliquely, passes,*
which, being very sharp, takes off the inequalities of
the wmod along which it slides.
PLANE-T'ree, in Bota?iy. See Platanus.
PLANET, a celestial body, revolving round the sun
as a centre, and continually changing its position with
respect to the fixed stars $ whence the name planet^
which is a Greek word, signifying “ wanderer.”
The planets are usually distinguished into primary
and secondary. The primary ones, called by way of
eminence planets, are those which revolve round the
sun as a centre; and the secondary planets, more usually
called satellites or moons, are those which revolve round
a primary planet as a centre, and constantly attend it
in its revolution round the sun.
Ue
P L A [ 598 ] P L A
Tlanct The primary planets are again distinguished Into su-
f! perlor and Inferior. The superior planets are those far-
Planetary. tlier from the sun than our earth*, as Mars, Jupiter,
Saturn, and the Georgium Sidus *, and the inferior
planets are those nearer the sun than our earth, as
Venus and Mercury. For an account of the planets
lately discovered, see Vesta.
That the planets are opaque bodies, like our earth,
is thought probable for the following reasons. 1. Since
in Venus, Mercury, and Mars, only that part of the
disk illuminated by the sun is found to shine 5 and
again, Venus and Mercury, when between the earth
and the sun, appear like dark spots or maculae on the
sun’s disk j it is evident, that Mars, Venus, and Mer¬
cury, are opaque bodies, illuminated with the borrowed
light of the sun. And the same appear1' of Jupiter,
from its being void of light in that part to which the
shadow of the satellites reaches, as well as in that part
turned from the sun j and that his satellites are opaque,
and reflect the sun’s light, is abundantly shown. Again,
since Saturn, with his ring and satellites, only yield a
faint light, fainter considerably than that of the fixed
stars, though these be vastly more remote, and than that
of the rest of the planets ; it is past doubt that he too
with his attendants are opaque bodies. 2. Since the
sun’s light is not transmitted through Mercury and Ve¬
nus, when placed against him, it is plain they are dense
opaque bodies j which is likewise evident of Jupiter,
from his hiding the satellites in his shadow *, and there¬
fore, by analogy, the same may be concluded of Sa¬
turn. 3. From the variable spots of Venus, Mars, and
Jupiter, it is evident these planets have a changeable
atmosphere j which changeable atmosphere may, by a
like argument, be inferred of the satellites of Jupiter j
and therefore, by similitude, the same may be concluded
of the other planets. 4. In like manner, from the moun¬
tains observed in Venus, the same may be supposed in
the other planets. 5. Since, then, Saturn, Jupiter, and
the satellites of both, Mars, Venus, and Mercury, are
opaque bodies shining with the sun’s borrowed light,
are furnished with mountains, and encompassed with a
changeable atmosphere j they have, it is concluded, wa¬
ters, seas, &c. as well as dry land, and are bodies like
the moon, and therefore like the earth. And hence it
seems also highly probable, that the other planets have
their animal inhabitants as well as our earth.
PLANETARIUM, an astronomical machine, so
called from its representing the motions, orbits, &c. of
the planets, agreeable to the Copernican system. See
Astronomy.
PLANETARY, something that relates to the pla¬
nets. Hence we say, planetary worlds, planetary inha¬
bitants, &c. See Planet.
Planetary System, is the system or assemblage of
the planets, primary and secondary, moving in their re¬
spective orbits, round their common centre the sun.
See Astronomy.
Planetary Days.—Among the ancients, the week
was shared among the seven planets, each planet having
its day. This we learn from Dion Cassius and Plutarch,
Sytnpos. 1. 4. q. 7. Hex*odotus adds, that it was the
Egyptians who first discovered what god, that is, what
planet, presides over each day $ for that among this peo¬
ple the planets were directors. And hence it is, that in
i
most European languages the days of the week are still Planetary W.|
denominated from the planets; Sunday, Monday, &c. |j ^
See Week. ' 1>lam. v
Planetary Years, the periods of time in which |
the several planets make their revolutions round the sun
or earth.—As from the proper revolution of the sun, the
solar year takes its original; so from the proper revolu¬
tions of the rest of the planets about the earth, so many
sorts of years do arise, viz. the Saturnian year, which is
defined by 29 Egyptian years, 174 hours, 58 minutes,
equivalent in a round number to 30 solar years. The
Jovial year, containing 317 days, 14 hours, 59 minutes.
—The Martial year, containing 321 days, 23 hours,
31 minutes. For Venus and Mercury, as their years,
when judged of with regard to the earth, are almost
equal to the solar year ; they are more usually estimated
from the sun, the true centre of their motions: in
which case, the former is equal to 224 days, 16 hours,
40 minutes; the latter to 87 days, 23 hours, 14 mi¬
nutes.
PLANIMETRY, that part of geometry which con¬
siders lines and plain figures, without considering their
height or depth. See Geometry.
PLANISPHERE, signifies a projection of the
sphere, and its various circles, on a plane ; in which
sense, maps, whereon are exhibited the meridians and
other circles of the sphere, are planispheres. See Map.
PLANT is defined to be an organical body, desti¬
tute of sense and spontaneous motion, adhering to an¬
other body in such a manner as to draw from it its nou¬
rishment, and having a power of propagating itself by
seeds.
The vegetation and economy of plants is one of those
subjects in which our knowledge is extremely circum¬
scribed. A total inattention to the structure aud eco¬
nomy of plants is the chief reason of the small progress
that has been made in the principles of vegetation, and
of the instability and fluctuation of our theories con¬
cerning it; for which reason we shall give a short de¬
scription of the structure of plants, beginning with the
seed, and tracing its progress and evolution to a state of
maturity.
1. OJ" Seeds.] The seeds of plants are of various fi¬
gures and sizes. Most of them are divided into two
lobes ; though some, as those of the cress-kind, have
six ; and others, as the grains of corn, are not divided,
but entire.
But as the essential properties of all seeds are the
same, when considered with regard to the principles of
vegetation, our particular descriptions shall be limited
to one seed, viz. the great garden-bean. Neither is
the choice of this seed altogether arbitrary; for, after
it begins to vegetate, its parts are more conspicuous
than many others, and consequently better calculated,
for investigation.
This seed is covered with two coats or membranes.
The outer coat is extremely thin, and full of pores ; but
may be easily separated from the inner one (which is
much thicker), after the bean has been boiled, or lain a
few days in the soil. At the thick end of the bean there
is a small hole visible to the naked eye, immediately
over the radicle or future root, that it may have a tree
passage into the soil (fig. 1. A). When these coats are plate j
taken off, the body of the seed appears, which is divid- CCCCX&
ed
V L A C 599 ] P L A
int, ed into two smooth portions or lobes. The smoothness
J of the lobes is owing to a thin film or cuticle with which
they are covered.
At the basis of the bean is placed the radicle or future
root (fig. 3. A). The trunk of the radicle, just as it
enters into the body of the seed, divides into two capi¬
tal branches, one of which is inserted into each lobe,
and sends off smaller ones in all directions through the
whole substance of the lobes (fig. 4. AA). These ra¬
mifications become so extremely minute towards the
edges of the lobes, that they require the finest glasses to
render them visible. To these ramifications Grew and
Malpighi have given the name of seminal root; because,
by means of it, the radicle and plume, before they are
expanded, derive their principal nourishment.
The plume, bud, or germ (fig. 3.), is inclosed in two
small corresponding cavities in each lobe. Its colour
and consistence is much the same with those of the ra¬
dicle, of which it is only a continuation, but having a
quite contrary direction ; for the radicle descends into
the earth, and divides into a great number of smaller
branches or filaments j but the plume ascends into the
open air, and unfolds itself into all the beautiful variety
of stem, branches, leaves, flower, fruit, &c. The plume
in corn shoots from the smaller end of the grain, and
amongst maltsters goes by the name of acrospire.
The next thing to be taken notice of is the substance
or parenchymatous part of the lobes. This is not a mere
concreted juice, but is curiously organized, and consists
of a vast number of small bladders resembling those in
the pith of trees (fig. 5.)
Besides the coats, cuticle, and parenchymatous parts,
there is a substance perfectly distinct from these, distri¬
buted in different proportions through the radicle, plume,
and lobes. This inner substance appears very plainly in
a transverse section of the radicle or plume. Towards
the extremity of the radicle it is one entire trunk ; but
higher up it divides into three branches ; the middle
one runs directly up to the plume, and the other two
pass into the lobes on each side, and spread out into a
great variety of small branches through the whole bo¬
dy of the lobes (fig. 4.). This substance is very properly
termed the seminal root: for when the seed is sown, the
moisture is first absorbed by the outer coats, which are
everywhere furnished with sap and air-vessels j from these
it is conveyed to the cuticle j from the cuticle it pro¬
ceeds to the pulpy part of the lobes $ when it has got
thus far, it is taken up by the mouths of the small bran¬
ches of the seminal root, and passes from one branch in¬
to another, till it is all collected into the main trunk,
which communicates both with the plume and radicle,
the two principal involved organs of the future plant.
After this the sap or vegetable food runs in two oppo¬
site directions: part of it ascends into the plume, and
promotes the growth and expansion of that organ ; and
part of it descends into the radicle, for nourishing and
evolving the root and its various filaments. Thus the
plume and radicle continue their progress in opposite
directions till the plant arrives at maturity.
It is here worth remarking, that every plant is really
possessed of two roots, both of which are contained in
the seed. The plume and radicle, when the seed is first
deposited in the earth, derive their nourishment from the
seminal root; but afterwards, when the radicle begins
to shoot out its filaments, and to absorb some moisture,
rnt, however, in a sufficient quantity to supply the ex- Plant
igencies of the plume, the two lobes, or main body of —v~——
the seed, rise along with the plume, assume the appear¬
ance oi two leaves, resembling the lobes of the seed in
size and shape, but having no resemblance to those of the
plume, for which reason they have got the name of dis¬
similar leaves.
I hese dissimilar leaves defend the young plume from
the injuries of the weather, and at the same time, by
absorbing dew, air, &c. assist the tender radicle in nou¬
rishing the plume, with which they have still a connec¬
tion by means of the seminal root above described. But
when the radicle or second root has descended deep
enough into the earth, and has acquired a sufficient num¬
ber of filaments or branches for absorbing as much ali¬
ment as is proper for the growth of the plume; then
the seminal or dissimilar leaves, their utility being en¬
tirely superseded, begin to decay and fall off. pi,)te
! ig. 1. A, the foramen or hole in the bean through CCCtxX.
which the radicle shoots into the soil. fig. t.
Fig. 2. A transverse section of the bean ; the dots Flg’ 2-
being the branches of the seminal root.
I' ig. 3. A, the radicle. B, the plume or bud. Fig. 3.
Fig. 4. A view of the seminal root branched out up-Fig, 4.
on the lobes.
Fig* 5- A longitudinal section of one of the lobes Fig. 5.
of the bean a little magnified, to show the small bladders
of which the pulpy or parenchymatous part is compo¬
sed.
Figs. 6. 7. A, a transverse section of the radicle. B, Fig. 6. 7.
a transverse sect ion of the plume, showing the organs or
vessels of the seminal root.
Fig. 8. The appearance of the radicle, plume, and se- Fig. S.
minal root, when a little further advanced in growth.
Having thus briefly described the seed, and traced its
evolution into three principal organic parts, viz. the
plume, radicle, and seminal leaves, we shall next take
an anatomical view of the root, trunk, leaves, &c.
2. Of the 7'oot.~\ In examining the root of plants,
the first thing that presents itself is the skin, which is of
various colours in different plants. Every root, after
it has arrived at a certain age, has a double skin. The
first is coeval with the other parts, and exists in the seed:
but afterwards there is a ring sent off from the bark,
and forms a second skin •, e. g. in the root of the dande¬
lion, towards the end of May, the original or outer skin
appears shrivelled, and is easily separated from the new
one, which is fresher, and adheres more firmly to the
bark. Perennial plants are supplied in this manner
with a new skin every year; the outer one always falls
off in the autumn and winter, and a new one is formed
from the bark in the succeeding spring. The skin has
numerous cells or vessels, and is a continuation of the
parenchymatous part of the radicle. However, it does
not consist solely of parenchyma ; for the microscope
shows that there are many tubular ligneous vessels inter¬
spersed through it.
When the skin is removed, the true cortical substance
or bark appears, which is also a continuation of the pa¬
renchymatous part of the radicle, but greatly augment¬
ed. The bark is of very different sizes. In most trees
it is exceeding thin in proportion to the wood and pith.
On the other hand, in carrots, it is almost one-half of
the semidiameter of the root; and, in dandelion, it is
nearly twice as thick as the woody part.
The
P L A
[ <300 ]
P L A
Plant. The bark is composed of two substances ; the paren-
chyma or pulp, which is the principal part, and a few
woody fibres. The parenchyma is exceedingly porous,
and has a great resemblance to a sponge •, for it shrivels
considerably when dried, and dilates to its former di¬
mensions when infused in water. These pores or ves¬
sels are not pervious, so as to communicate with each
other*, but consist of distinct little cells or bladders,
scarcely visible without the assistance of the microscope.
In all roots, these cells are constantly filled with a thin
watery liquor. They are generally of a spherical figure ;
though in some roots, as the bugloss and dandelion, they
are oblong. In many roots, as the horse-radish, peony,
asparagus, potato, &c. the parenchyma is of one uni¬
form structure. But in others it is more diversified,
and puts on the shape of rays, running from the centre
towards the circumference of the bark. These rays
sometimes run quite through the bark, as in lovage 5
and sometimes advance towards the middle ol it, as in
melilot and most of the leguminous and umbelliferous
plants. These rays generally stand at an equal distance
from each other in the same plant ; but the distance
varies greatly in different plants. Neither are they of
equal sizes : in carrot they are exceedingly small, and
scarcely discernible ; in melilot and chervil, they are
thicker. They are likewise more numerous in some
plants than in others. Sometimes they are of the same
thickness from one edge of the bark to the other j and
some grow wider as they approach to the skin. The
vessels with which these rays are amply furnished, are
supposed to be air-vessels, because they are always
found to be dry, and not so transparent as the vessels
which evidently contain the sap.
In all roots there are ligneous vessels dispersed in dif¬
ferent proportions through the parenchyma ot the bark.
These ligneous vessels run longitudinally through the
bark in the form of small threads, which are tubular, as
is evident from the rising of the sap in them when a
root is cut transversely. These ligneous sap-vessels do
not run in direct lines through the bark, but at small
distances incline towards one another, in such a man¬
ner that they appear to the naked eye to be inoscula¬
ted ; but the microscope discovers them to be only con¬
tiguous, and braced together by the parenchyma.
These braces or coarctations are very various both in
size and number in different roots ; but in all plants
they are most numerous towards the inner edge ol the
bark. Neither are these vessels single tubes 5 but,
like the nerves in animals, are bundles of 20 or 30
small contiguous cylindrical tubes, which uniformly run
from the extremity of the root, without sending off any
branches or suffering any change in their size or shape.
-In some roots, as parsnep, especially in the ring next
the inner extremity of the bark, these vessels contain a
kind of lymph, which is sweeter than the sap contained
in the bladders of the parenchyma. From this circum¬
stance they have got the name of lymph ducts.
These lymph-ducts sometimes yield a mucilaginous
lymph, as in the comfrey; and sometimes a white
milky glutinous lymph, as in the angelica, sonchus, bur¬
dock, scorzonera, dandelion, &c. The lymph-ducts are
supposed to be the vessels from which the gums and bal¬
sams are secerned. The lymph of fennel, when expo¬
sed to the air, becomes a clear transparent balsam 3 and
3
Hafit
that of the scorzonera, dandelion, Stc. condenses into a
gum. v——y^.
The situation of the vessels is various. In some plants
they stand in a ring or circle at the inner edge of the
bark, as in asparagus *, in others, they appear in lines or
rays, as in borage 3 in the parsnep, and several other
plants, they are most conspicuous towards the outer edge
of the bark 3 and in the dandelion, they are disposed in
the form of concentric circles.
The wood of roots is that part which appears after tire
bark is taken off, and is firmer and less porous than the
bark or pith. It consists of two distinct substances, viz.
the pulpy or parenchymatous, and the ligneous. The
wood is connected to the bark by large portions of the
bark inserted into it. These insertions are mostly in the
form of rays, tending to the centre of the pith, which
are easily discernible by the eye in a transverse section
of most roots. These insertions, like the bark, consist
of many vessels, mostly of a round or oval figure.
The ligneous vessels are generally disposed in collate¬
ral rows running longitudinally through the root. Some
of these contain air, and others sap. The air-vessels are
so called, because they contain no liquor. These air-
vessels are distinguished by being whiter than the others.
The pith is the centrical part of the root. Some roots
have no pith, as the stramonium, nicotiana, &c.; others
have little or none at the extremities of the roots, but
have a considerable quantity of it near the top. The
pith, like every other part of a plant, is derived from
the seed 3 but in some it is more immediately derived
from the bark : for the insertions of the bark running in
betwixt the rays of the wood, meet in the centre, and
constitute the pith. It is owing to this circumstance,
that, among roots which have no pith in their lower
parts, they are amply provided with it towards the top,
as in columbine, lovage, &c.
The bladders of the pith are of very different sizes,
and generally of a circular figure. Their position is
more uniform than in the bark. Their sides are not
mere films, but a composition of small fibres or threads 3
which gives the pith, when viewed with a microscope,
the appearance of a piece of fine gauze or net-w'ork.
We shall conclude the description of roots with ob¬
serving, that their whole substance is nothing but a
congeries of tubes and fibres, adapted by nature for the
absorption of nourishment, and oi course the extension ^
and augmentation of their parts. CCCCXX.
Fig. 9. A transverse section of the root of worm- ^
wood as it appears to the naked eye.
Fig. 10. A section of fig. 9. magnified. AA, thej-jg.io,
skin, with its vessels. BBBB, the bark. The round
holes CCC, &c. are the lymph-ducts of the bask : All
the other holes are little cells and sap-vessels. DDT),
parenchymatous insertions from the bark, with the cells,
&c. FEEE, the rays of the wood, in which the holes
are the air-vessels. N. B. This root has no pith.
3. Of the Trank, Stalk, or Stem.] In describing
the trunks of plants, it is necessary to premise, that
whatever is said with regard them applies equally to
the branches.
The trunk, like the root, consists of three parts, viz.
the bark, wood, and pith. These parts, though sub¬
stantially the same in the trunk as in the root, are in
many cases very different in theirtexture and appearance.
The
ANATOMYov PLANTS.
  ' ^.
<’ * wroxs, Jrrfi/,, rf f/c 1/ . //a
PLATE (XECXXt.
y/'/// ?(/ .
■s'7n7'f* Jtr/ty*?
A
’ y . /X.
A
,/'V // ,rf . / i/; r: ’
Plant.
( ICXXI.
;• xi.
12.
P ^ A i (Soi
The skin of the bark is composed of very minute
-bladders, interspersed with longitudinal woody fibres,
as in the nettle, thistle, and most herbs. The oustide
of the skin is visibly porous in some plants, particularly
the cane.
The principal body of the bark is composed of pulp
or parenchyma, and innumerable vessels much larger
than those of the skin. The texture of the pulpy part,
though the same substance with the parenchyma in
loots, yet seldom appears in the form of rays running
towards the pith j and when these rays do appear, they
do not extend above halt-way to the circumference.
The vessels of the bark are very differentlv situated,
and destined for various purposes in different plants.
Toi example, in the bark of the pine, the innermost
are lymph-ducts, and exceedingly small; the outermost
are gum or resiniferous vessels, destined for the secre¬
tion of turpentine } and are so large as to be distinctly
visible to the naked eye.
The wood lies between the bark and pith, and consists
of two pai ts, viz,, a parenchymatous and a ligneous. In
all trees, the parenchymatous part of the wood, though
much diversified as to size and consistence, is uniform¬
ly disposed in diametrical j’ays, or insertions running
betwixt similar rays of the ligneous part.
T-he true wood is nothing but a congeries of old dried
lymph-ducts. Between the bark and the wood a new
ring of these ducts is formed every year, which gradu¬
ally loses its softness as the cold season approaches, and
towards the middle of winter is condensed into a solid
ring of wood. Ihese annual rings, which are distinctly
visible in most trees when cut through, serve as natural
marks to distinguish their age (fig. 11, i 2.). The rinos
of one year are sometimes larger, sometimes less, than
those of another, probably owing to the favourableness
or unfavourableness of the season.
The pith, though of a different texture, is exactly of
the same substance with the parenchyma of the bark,
and the insertions of the wood. The quantity of pith is
various in different plants. Instead of being increased
every year like the wood, it is annually diminished, its
vessels drying up, and assuming the appearance and
structure of wood ; insomuch that in old trees there is
scarce such a thing as pith to be discerned.
A ring of sap-vessels is usually placed at the outer
edge of the pith next the wood. In the pine, fig, and
walnut, they are very large. The parenchyma of the
pith is composed of small cells or bladders, of the same
kind with those of the bark, only of a larger size. The
general figure of these bladders is circular ; though in
some plants, as the thistle and borage, they are angu¬
lar. 1 hough the pith is originally one connected chain
of bladders, yet as the plant grows old they shrivel, and
open in different directions. In the walnut, after a cer¬
tain age, it appears in the form of a regular transverse
hollow division. In some plants it is altogether want¬
ing-, in others, as the sonchus, nettle, &c. there is only
a transverse partition of it at every joint. Many other-
varieties might be mentioned ; but these must he left to
the observation of the reader.
I ig. 11. A transverse section of a branch of ash, as
it appears to the eye.
Tig. 12. The same section magnified. A A, the
hark. BBB, an arched ring of sap-vessels next the
skin. CtC, the parenchyma of the bark with its cells,
Vol. XVI. Part II.
]
P L A
and another arched ring of sap-vessels. DD, a circu- pjant,
lar line of lymph-ducts immediately below the above '——v—-
arched ring. EE, the wood. E, the first year’s
growth. G, the second. H, the third year’s growth.
HI, the true wood. KK, the great air vessels. LL,
the lesser ones. MMM, the parenchymatous insertions
of the bark represented by the white rjys. NO, the
pith, with its bladders or cells.
4. Of the Leaves.] The leaves of plants consist of
the same substance with that of the trunk. They are
full of nerves or woody portions, running in all direc¬
tions, and branching out into innumerable small threads,
interwoven with the parenchyma like fine lace or
gauze.
I he skin of the leaf, like that of an animal, is full
of pores, which both serve lor perspiration and for the
absorption of dews, air, &c. These pores or orifices
difier both in shape and magnitude in different plants,
which is the cause of that variety of texture or grain
peculiar to every plant.
The pulpy or parenchymatous part consists of very
minute fibres, wound up into small cells or bladders.
These cells are of various sizes iu the same leaf.
All leaves, of whatever figure, have a marginal fibre,
by which all the rest are bounded. The particular shape
of this fibre determines the figure of the leaf.
The vessels of leaves have the appearance of inoscu¬
lating \ but, when examined by the microscope, they
are found only to be interwoven or laid along each
other.
What are called air-vessels, or those which carry no
sap, are visible even to the naked eye in some leaves.
V hen a leaf is slowly broken, they appear like small
woolly fibres, connected to both ends of the broken
piece. Plate
Fin. rn 'PI - , . , , CCCCXXI.
rig. 13. Ihe appearance of the air-vessels to the eye, fig. 13.
in a vine leaf drawn gently asunder.
Tjg. 14- V small piece cut off that leaf. Fl-ff_ I4_
I5- The same piece magnified, in which the Pig. 15.
vessels have the appearance of a screw.
Tig- 16. The appearance of these vessels as they ex-Fig. 16.
1st in the leal before they are stretched out.
i 5- Of the L lowerIt is needless here to mention any
thing of the texture, or of the vessels, &c. of flowers,
as they are pretty similar to those of the leaf. It would
be foreign to our present purpose to take any notice of
the characters and distinctions of flowers. These be¬
long to the science of Botany, to which the reader is
referred.
I lieie is one curious fact, however, which must not
be omitted, viz. That every flower is perfectly formed
in its parts many months before it appears outwardly ;
that is, the flowers which appear this year are not pro¬
perly speaking the flowers of this year, hut of the last.
For example, mezereon generally flowers in January;
but these flowers were completely formed in the month
of August preceding. Of this fact any one may satisfy
himself by separating the coats of a tulip-root about the
beginning of September; and he will find that the two
innermost form a kind of cell, in the centre of which
stands the young flower, which is not to make its ap¬
pearance till the following April or May. Fig. 17. ex-Fig. 17.
hibits a view of the tulip-root when dissected in Sep¬
tember, with the young flower towards the hotlom.
6. Of the Fruit.] In describing the structure of fruits,
4 G a
Plant.
fig. 18.
Tig. 19.
ria. 20.
Tig. 21.
P L A [602
a few examples shall be taken from such as are most ge¬
nera! iy known. . . . . . r,,
A pear, besides the skin, which is a production ot the
skin of the bark, consists of a double parenchyma or
pulp, sap, and air-vessels, calculary and acetary.
The outer parenchyma is the same substance continu¬
ed from the bark, only its bladders are larger and more
It is everywhere Interspersed with small globules or
.rrains, and the bladders respect these grains as a kind of
centres, every grain being the centre of a number of
bladders. The sap and air-vessels m tins pulp are ex¬
tremely small. ...
Next the core in the inner pulp or parenchyma, winch
consists of bladders of the same kind with the outer, only
larger and more oblong, corresponding to those of the
pulp, from which it seems to be derived. Hus inner
pulp is much sourer than the other, and has none of the
small grains interspersed through it; and hence it has
got the name of acetary.
Between the acetary and outer pulp, the globules or
grains begin to grow larger, and gradually unite into a
hard stony body, especially towards the corculum or stool
of the fruit j and from this circumstance it has been call¬
ed the calculary.
These grains are not derived from any of the orgam-
cal parts of the tree 5 but seem rather to be a kind ot
concretions precipitated from the sap, similar to the pre¬
cipitation from wine, urine, and other liquors.
The core is a roundish cavity in the centre ot the pear,
lined with a hard woody membrane, in which the seed
is inclosed. At the bottom of the core there is a small
duct or canal, which runs up to the top of the pear j
this canal allows the air to get into the core, tor the
purpose of drying and ripening the seeds.
Fig. 18. a transverse section of a pear, as it appears
to the naked eye. A, the skin, and a ring of sap-ves¬
sels. B, the outer parenchyma, or pulp, with its ves¬
sels, and ligneous fibres interspersed. C, the inner pa¬
renchyma, or acetary, with its vessels, which are larger
than the outer one. II, the core and seeds.
Fig. IQ- a piece cut oft, fig. *9' ^ „
Fig. 20. is fig. 19. magnified. A A A, the small
grains, or globules, with the vessels radiated from them.
Fig. 21. a longitudinal section of the pear, showing
a different view of the same parts with those of fig. 18.
A the channel, or duct, which runs from the top ot the
pear to the bottom of the core. _
In a lemon, the parenchyma appears in three different
forms. The parenchyma of the rind is of a coarse tex¬
ture, being composed of thick fibres, woven into lai ge
bladders. Those nearest the surface contain the essen¬
tial oil of the fruit, which bursts into a flame when the
skin is squeezed over a candle. From this outmost pa¬
renchyma nine or ten insertions or lamellae are produ¬
ced which run between as many portions of the pulp,
and unite into one body in the centre of the fruit, which
corresponds to the pith in trunks or roots. At the bot¬
tom and top of the lemon, this pith evidently joins with
the rind, without the intervention of any lamellae. I ins
circumstance shows, that the pith and bark are actually
connected in the trunk and roots of plants, though it is
difficult to demonstrate the connection, on account of the
closeness of their texture, and the minuteness of their
fibres Many vessels are dispersed through the whole of
] P L A
this parenchyma j but the largest ones stand on the in- piant
ner edge of the rind, and the outer edge of the pith, just—«
at the two extremities of each lamella.
The second kind of parenchyma is placed between
the rind and the pith j is divided into distinct bodies
by the lamellae j and each of these bodies forms a large
bag-
These bags contain a third parenchyma, which is
a cluster of smaller bags, distinct and unconnected with
each other, having a small stalk by which they are fixed
to the large bag. Within each ot these small bags are
many hundreds of bladders, composed of extremely mi¬
nute fibres. These bladders contain the acid juice of the
lemon.
Fig. 22. a longitudinal section of a lemon. A A A, Fig. 22,
the rind with the vessels which contain the essential oil.
B B, the substance corresponding to the pith, formed
by the union of the lamella: or insertions. C C, its
continuation and connection wTith the rind, independent
of the insertions.
Fig. 23. a transverse section of the lemon. B B B,Fig. 25.
&c. the nine pulpy bags, or second parenchyma, placed
between the rind and the pith} and the cluster ot small
bags, which contain the acid juice, inclosed in the large
ones. C C, the large vessels that surround the pith.
D D, two of the large bags laid open, showing the
seeds, and their connection with the lamellse or mem¬
branes which form the large bags.
Of the Perspiration -of Plants, and the quantity of
moisture daily imbibed by them.—T hese curious particu¬
lars have been determined with great accuracy by Hi
Hales. The method he took to accomplish his purpose
was as follows.—In the month of July, commonly the
warmest season of the year, he took a large sun-flower
three feet and ahalf high, which had been purposely plant ¬
ed in a flower-pot when young. He covered the pot with
thin milled lead, leaving only a small hole to preserve a
communication with the external air, and another by
which be might occasionally supply the plant with wa¬
ter. Into the former he inserted a glass tube nine inches
long, and another shorter tube into the hole by which he
poured in the water} and the latter was kept close stop¬
ped with a cork, except when there was occasion to use
it. The holes in the bottom of the pot were also stopped
up with corks, and all the crevices shut with cement.—
Things being thus prepared, the pot and plant were
weighed for 15 several days} after which the plant was
cut off close to the leaden plate, and the stump well co¬
vered with cement. By weighing, he found that there
perspired through the unglazed porous pot two ounces
every 1 2 hours } which being allowed for in the daily
weighing of the plant and pot, the greatest perspiration,
in a warm day, was found to be one pound 14 ounces }
the middle rate of perspiration, one pound four ounces;
the perspiration of a dry warm night, without any sen¬
sible dew, wras about three ounces; but when there was
any sensible though small dew, the perspiration was no¬
thing; and when there was a large dew, or some little
rain in the night, the plant and pot was increased in
weight two or three ounces.
In order to know what quantity w^as perspired from a
square inch of surface, our author cut off all the leaves
of the plant, and laid them in five several parcels, ac¬
cording to their several sizes; and then measured the sur¬
face of a leaf of each parcel, by laying over it a large
lattice
Plant
^ talk
fWs, vol,
10(42.
P L A [ 603
, lattice maile with threads, in which each of the little
—' squares was ^ of an inch ; by numbering of which, he
had the surface of the leaves in square inches ; which,
multiplied by the number of leaves in the corresponding
parcels, gave the area of all the leaves. ]3y this method
he found the surface of the whole plant above ground to
he 5616 square inches, or 39 square feet. He dug up
another sun-flower of nearly the same size, which had
eight main roots, reaching 15 inches deep and sidewise,
from the stem. It had besides a very thick bush of la'
teral roots from the eight mam roots, extending every
way in a hemisphere about nine inches from the stem
and main roots. In order to estimate the length of all
the roots, hr took one of the main roots with its laterals,
and measured and weighed them ; and then weighed
the other seven with their laterals; by which means he
found the sum of all their lengths to be 1448 feet.
Supposing then the periphery of these roots at a medium
to be 0.131 of an inch, then their surface will be 2276
square inches, or 15.8 square feet; that is, equal to 0.4
of the surface of the plant above ground. From calcula¬
tions drawn from these observations, it appears, that a
square inch of the upper surface of this plant perspires
XfiT Palt an inch in a day and a night; and that a
square inch of the surface underground imbibed grT of
an inch in the same time.
The quantity perspired by different plants, however,
is by no means equal. A vine-leaf perspires only j-Jt
of an inch in 1 2 hours ; a cabbage pei’spires of an
inch in the same time ; an apple-tree in 12 hours;
and a lemon 2-J-g- in 12 hours.
Of the circulation of the Sap in Plaxts.—Concerning
this there have been great disputes ; some maintaining,
that the vegetable sap has a circulation analogous to the
blood of animals; while others affirm, that it only as¬
cends in the day-time, and descends again in the night.
In favour of the doctrine of circulation it has been urged,
that upon making a transverse incision into the trunk of
a tree, the juice which runs out proceeds in greater-
quantity from the upper than the lower part; and the
swelling in the upper lip is also much greater than in
the lower. It appears, however, that w hen two similar
incisions are made, one near the top and the other near
the root, the latter expends much more sap than the
former. Hence it is concluded, that the juice ascends
by one set of vessels and descends by another. But, in
order to show this clearly, it would be necessary first to
prove that there is in plants, as in animals, some kind
of centre from which the circulation begins, and to
which it returns; but no such centre has been discovered
by any naturalist; neither is there the least provision ap¬
parently made by nature whereby the sap might be pre¬
vented from descending in the very same vessels through
which it ascends. In the lacteal vessels of animals,
which we may suppose to be analogous to the roots of
vegetables, there are valves which effectually prevent
the chyle when once absorbed from returning into the
intestines; but no such thing is observed in the vessels
of vegetables; whence it must be very probable, that
when the propelling force ceases, the juice descends by
the very same vessels through which it ascended.—This
matter, however, has been cleared up almost as well as
the nature of the subject will admit of by the experiments
of Dr Halesf. These experiments are so numerous,
that for a particular account of them we must refer to
]
P L A
tie work itself; how-ever, his reasoning against the cir-
culation of the sap will be sufficiently intelligible with-
out them. “ We see (says he), in many of the forego¬
ing experiments, what quantities of moisture trees daily
imbibe and perspire : now the celerity of the sap must
be very great, it that quantity of moisture must, most
ot it, ascend to the top of the tree, then descend, and
ascend again, before it is carried off by perspiration.
I he defect ot a circulation in vegetables seems in
some measure to be supplied by the much greater quan¬
tity of liquor, which the vegetable takes ‘ in, than the
animal, whereby its motion is accelerated ; for we find
the sun-flower, bulk for bulk, imbibes and perspires 17
time^more fresh liquor than a man, every 24 hours.
Besides, Nature’s great aim in vegetables beiim
only that the vegetable life be carried on and maintain-
ed, there was no occasion to give its sap the rapid mo¬
tion, which was necessary for the blood of animals.
“ In animals, it is the heart which sets the blood in
motion, and makes it continually circulate ; but in ve¬
getables we can discover no other cause of the sap’s
motion but the strong attraction of the capillary sap-
vessels, assisted by the brisk undulations and vibrations
caused by the sun’s warmth, whereby the sap is carried
up to the top of the tallest trees, and is there perspired
oil through the leaves : but when the surface of the tree
is greatly diminished by the loss of its leaves, then also
the perspiration and motion of the sap is proportionably
diminished, as is plain from many of the foregoing ex¬
periments: so that the ascending velocity of the sap is
principally accelerated by the plentiful perspiration of
the leaves, thereby making room for the fine capillary
vessels to exert their vastly attracting power, which
perspiration is effected by the brisk rarefying vibrations
of warmth ; a power that does not seem to be any ways
well adapted to make the sap descend from the tops of
vegetables by different vessels to the root.
If the sap cu culated, it must needs have been seen de¬
scending from the upper part of large gashes cut in bran¬
ches set in water, and with columns of water pressing on
their bottoms in long glass tubes. In both which cases
it is certain that great quantities of water passed through
the stem, so that it must needs have been seen descending,
if the return of the sap downwards were by trusion or pul¬
sion, whereby the bloodin animals is returned through the
veins tot he heart; and that pulsion, if there were any, must
necessarily be exerted with prodigious force, to be able to
drive the sap through the finer capillaries. So that, if
there be a return of the sap downwards, it must be by at¬
traction, and that a very powerful one, as we may see by
many of these experiments. But it is hard to conceive
what and where that power is which can be equivalent
to that provision nature has made for the ascent of the sap
in consequence of the great perspiration of the leaves.
“ The instances of the jessamine-tree, and of the pas¬
sion tree, have been looked upon as strong proofs of the
circulation of the sap, because their branches, which
were far below the inoculated bud, were gilded: but we
have many visible proofs in the vine, and other bleeding
trees, of the sap’s receding back, and pushing forwards
alternately, at different times of the day and night. And
there is great reason to think that the sap of all other-
trees, has such an alternate, receding, and progressive
motion occasioned by the alternacies of day and night,
warm and cool, moist and dry.
4 G 2
Plant.
“ For
P L A
[ 604 J
P L A
Pl uit “ For the sap in all vegetables does probably recede
v—> in some measure from the tops of the branches, as the
sun leaves them 5 because its rarefying power then
ceasing, the greatly rarefied sap, and air mixed with it,
will condense, and take up less room than they did, and
the dew and rain will then be strongly imbibed by the
leaves j whereby the body and branches of the vegetable
which have been much exhausted by the great evapora¬
tion of the day, may at night imbibe sap and dew
from the leaves •, for by several experiments, plants were
found to increase considerably in weight, in dewy and
moist nights. And by other experiments on the vine,
it was found that the trunk and branches of vines were
always in an imbibing state, caused by the great perspi¬
ration f the leaves, except in the bleeding season j but
when at night that perspiring power ceases, then the con¬
trary imbibing power will prevail, and draw the sap atu
dew from the leaves, as well as moisture from the roots.
“ And we have a farther proof of this by lixing mer¬
curial gages to the stems of several trees which do not
bleed, whereby it is found that they are always in a
strongly imbibing state, by drawing up the mercury se¬
veral inches : whence it is easy to conceive, how some
of the particles of the gilded bud in the inoculated jes¬
samine may he absorbed by it, and thereby communicate
their gilding miasma to the sap of other branches j espe¬
cially when, some months after the inoculation, the
stock of the inoculated jessamine is cut oil a little
above the bud j whereby the stock, which was the
counteracting part to the stem, being taken away, the
stem attracts more vigorously from the hud.
“ Another argument for the circulation of the sap is,
that some sorts of the gvaffs will infect and canker the
stocks they are grafted on: but by mercurial gages
fixed to fresh cut stems of trees, it is evident that those
stems were in a strongly imbibing state ; and conse¬
quently the cankered stocks might very likely draw sap
from tire graft, as well as the graft alternately fiom
the stock j just in the same manner as leaves and
branches do from each other, in the vicissitudes of day
and night. And this imbibing power of the stock is
so great, where only some of the branches of a tree
are grafted, that the remaining branches of the stock
■will, by their strong attraction, starve those grafts; for
which reason it is usual to cut off the greatest part of
the branches of the stock, leaving only a few small ones
to draw up the sap.
“ The instance of the ilex grafted upon the English
oak, seems to afford a very considerable argument
against a circulation. For, if there were a free uni¬
form circulation of the sap through the oak and ilex,
why should the leaves of the oak fall in winter, and not
those of the ilex ? ...
“ Another ai’gument against an uniform circulation
of the sap in trees, as in animals, may be drawn from an
experiment, where it was found by the three mercuiial
gages fixed to the same vine, that while some of its
branches changed their state of protruding sap into a
state of imbibing, others continued protruding sap ; one
nine, and the other thirteen days longer.1’
To this reasoning of Dr Hales we shall subjoin an ex¬
periment made by Air Mustel of the Academy of Scien¬
ces at Rouen, which seems decisive against the doctrine
of circulation. His account of it is as follows.—“ On
the 12th of January I placed several shrubs in pots
4
against the windows of my hot-house, some within the Plant.
house and others without it. Through holes made for ' v—1
this purpose in the panes of glass, I passed a branch of
each of the shrubs, so that those in the inside had a
branch without, and those on the outside one within;
after this, I took care that the holes should be exactly
closed and luted. This inverse experiment, I thought,
if followed closely, could not fail aftording sufficient
points of comparison, to trace out the differences, by the
observation of the effects.
“ The 20th of January, a week after this disposition,
all the branches that were in the hot house began to dis¬
close their buds. 1 n the beginning of February there ap¬
peared leaves; and towards the end of it, shoots of a
considerable length, which presented the young flowers.
A dwarf apple-tree, and several rose-trees, being submit¬
ted to the same experiment, showed the same appearance
then as they commonly put on in May; in short, all the
branches which were within the hot-house, and conse¬
quently kept in the warm air, were green at the end of
February, and had their shoots in great forwardness.
Very different were those parts of the same tree which
were without and exposed to the cold. ^None of these
gave the least sign of vegetation ; and the frost, which
was intense at that time, broke a rose-pot piaced on the
outside, and killed some of the branches of that very tree
which, on the inside, was every day putting forth more
and more shoots, leaves, and buds, so that it was in full
vegetation on one side, whilst frozen on the othei.
“ The continuance of the frost occasioned no change
in any of the internal branches. rI hey all continued in
a very brisk and verdant state, as if they did not belong
to the tree which, on the outside, appeared in the state
of the greatest suffering. On the 15th of March, not¬
withstanding the severity of the season, all was in full
bloom. The apple-tree had its root, its stem, and pint
of its branches, in the hot-house. I hese branches were
covered with leaves and flowers; but the branches of
the same tree, whitF were carried on the outside, and
exposed to the cold air, did not in the least partake of
the activity of the rest, but were absolutely in the same
state which all trees are in daring winter. A rose-tree,
in the same position, showed long shoots with leaves and
buds; it had even shot a vigorous branch upon its
stalk ; whilst a branch which passed through to the
outside had not begun to produce any thing, but was
in the same state with other rose-trees leit m the
ground. This branch is four lines in diameter, and
18 inches high.
“ The rose tree on the outside was in the same state
but one of its branches drawn through to the inside of
the hot-house was covered with leaves and rose-buds.
It was not without astonishment that I saw this branch
shoot as briskly as the rose-tree which was in the hot¬
house, whose roots and stalk, exposed as they were to
the warm air, ought, it should seem, to have made it
get forwarder than a branch belonging to a tree, whose
roots, trunk, and all its other branches, were at the very
time frost-nipped. Notwithstanding this, the branch
did not seem affected by the state of its trunk ; but the
action of the heat upon it produced the same eftect as ^mo{nS
if the whole tree had been in the hot house.” _ . del’ Acd
Of the Perpendicular tty of Plants.—This curH^f
ous phenomenon in natural history, which ivas first ° " ^
served by M. Dodart, and published in an essay on the
J affectation
P L A [605
Plant, affectation of perpendicularity observed in the stems or
—r—' stalks of all plants, in the roots of many, and even in
their branches, as much as possible. Though almost all
plants rise a little crooked, yet the stems shoot up per¬
pendicularly, and the roots sink down perpendicularly :
even those, which by the declivity of the soil come out
inclined, or those which are diverted out of the perpen¬
dicular by any violent means, again redress and straight¬
en themselves and recover their perpendicularity, by
making a second and contrary bend or elbow without
rectifying the first. We commonly look upon this af¬
fectation without any surprise ; but the naturalist who
knows what a plant is, and how it is formed, finds it a
subject of astonishment.
Each seed we know contains in it a little plant, al¬
ready formed, and needing nothing but to be unfolded ;
the little plant has its root 5 and the pulp which is usu¬
ally separated into two lobes, is the foundation of the
first food it draws by its root when it begins to germi¬
nate. If a seed in the earth, therefore, be disposed so as
that the root of the little plant be turned downwards,
and the stem upwards, and even perpendicularly up¬
wards, it is easy to conceive that the little plant coming
to unfold itself, its stalk and root need only follow the
direction they have to grow perpendicularly. But we
know that the seeds of plants, whether sown of them¬
selves or by man, fall in the ground at random ; and
among the great variety of situations with regard to the
stalk of their plant, the perpendicular one upwards is
but one. In all the rest, therefore, it is necessary that
the stalk rectify itself, so as to get out of the ground :
but what force effects this change, which is unquestion¬
ably a violent action P Does the stalk find a less load of
earth above it, and therefore go naturally that w'ay
where it finds the least obstacle ? Were this so, the lit¬
tle root, when it happens to be uppermost, must also fol¬
low that direction, and mount up.
To account for two such different actions, M. Dodart
supposes that the fibres of the stalks are of such a nature
as to be contracted and shortened by the heat of the sun,
and lengthened out by the moisture of the earth j and,
on the contrary, that the fibres of the roots are contract¬
ed by the moisture of the earth, and lengthened by the
heat of the sun. When the plantule therefore is invert¬
ed, and the root at the top, the fibres which compose
one of the branches of the root are not alike exposed to
the moisture of the earth, the lower part being more ex¬
posed than the upper. The lower must of course con¬
tract the most •, and this contraction is again promoted
by the lengthening of the upper, whereon the sun acts
with the greatest force. This branch of the root must
therefore recoil towards the earth, and, insinuating
through the pores thereof, must get underneath the bulb,
&c. By inverting this reasoning we discover how the
stalk comes to get uppermost.
We suppose then that the earth attracts the root to it¬
self, and that the sun contributes to its descent j and, on
the other hand, that the sun attracts the stem, and the
earth contributes to send it towards the same. With re¬
spect to the straightening of the stalks in the open air,
our author imagines that it arises from the impression of
external causes, particularly the sun and rain. For the
upper part of a stalk that is bent is more exposed to the
rain, dew, and even the sun, &c. than the under 5 and
these causes, in a certain structure of the fibres, both
]
P L A
equally tend to straighten the part most exposed by the
shortening they successively occasion in it ; for moisture
shortens by swelling and heat by dissipating. What that
structure is which gives the fibres such different qualities,
or whereon it depends, is a mystery as yet beyond our
depth.
M. de la Hire accounts for the perpendicularity of the
stems or stalks of plants in this manner : he supposes that
the root of plants draws a coarser and heavier juice, and
the stem and branches a finer and more volatile one.
Most naturalists indeed conceive the root to be the sto¬
mach of the plant, where the juices of the earth are sub-
tiliz.cd so as to become able to rise through the stem to
the extremity of the branches. This difference of juices
supposes larger pores in the roots than the stalk, &c.
and, in a word, a different contexture. This difference
must be found even in the little invisible plant inclosed
in the seed : in it, therefore, we may conceive a point
of separation ; such as, that all on one side, for example
the root, shall he unfolded by the grosser juices, and all
on the other side by the more subtle ones. Suppose the
plantule, when its parts begin to unfold, to be entirely
inverted, the root at the top, and the stalk below j the
juices entering the root will be coarsest, and when they
have opened and enlarged the pores so as to admit juices
of a determinate weight, those juices pressing the root
more and more will drive it downwards ; and this will
increase as the root is more extended or enlarged : for
the point of separation being conceived as the fixed point
of a lever, they will act by the longer arm. The vola¬
tile juices at the same time having penetrated the stalk,
will give it a direction from below upwards j and, by
reason of the lever, will give it more and more every
day. The little plant is thus turned on its fixed point of
separation till it become perfectly erect.
When the plant is thus erected, the stalk should still
rise perpendicularly, in order to give it the more firm
hiding, and enable it to withstand the effort of wind and
weather. M. Parent thus accounts for this effect: If
the nutritious juice which arrived at the extremity of a
rising stalk evaporate, the weight of the air which en¬
compasses it on all sides will make it ascend vertically :
but if, instead of evaporating, it congeal, and remain
fixed to that extremity whence it was ready to go off,
the weight of the air will give it the same direction ; so
that the stalk will have acquired a small new part verti¬
cally laid over it, just as the flame in a candle held in
any way obliquely to the horizon still continues verti¬
cal by the pressure of the atmosphere. The new drops
of juice that succeed will follow the same direction j and
as all together form the stalk, that must of course be
vertical, unless some particular circumstance intervene.
The branches, which are at first supposed to proceed
laterally out of the stalk in the first embryo of the plant,
though they should even come out in an horizontal di¬
rection, must also raise themselves upwards by the con¬
stant direction of the nutritious juice, which at first
scarcely meets any resistance in a tender supple branch ;
and afterwards, even though the branch grow more
firm, it will act with the more advantage ; since the
branch, being become longer, furnishes it with a longer
arm or lever. The slender action of even a little drop
becomes very considerable by its continuity, and by the
assistance of such circumstances. Hence we may ac¬
count for that regular situation and direction of the
branches^
Plant.
P L A
Plant, brandies, since they all make nearly the same constant
—\r—^ angle of 450 with the stem, and with one another.
M. Astnic accounts for the perpendicularity of the
stems, and their redressing themselves, thus: 1. He
thinks the nutritious juice arises from the circumference
of the plant, and terminates in the pith: And, 2. rIhat
fluids, contained in tubes either parallel or oblique to
the horizon, gravitate on the lower part ot the tubes,
and not at all on the upper. Hence it follows, that, in a
plant placed either obliquely or parallel to the horizon,
the nutritious juice will act more on the lower part of
the canals than on the upper; and by this means they
will insinuate more into the canals communicating there*-
with, and be collected more copiously therein : thus
the parts on the lower side will receive more accretion
and be more nourished than those on the upper, the ex¬
tremity of the plant will therefore be obliged to bend
upwards.
This principle brings the seed into its due situation
at first. In a bean planted upside down, the plume and
radicle may be seen with the naked eye shooting at first
directly for about an inch , after which they begin to
bend, the one downward, and the other upward. I he
same is the case in a heap of barley to be made into
malt, or in a quantity of acorns laid to sprout in a moist
place, &.c. Each grain of barley and each acorn has a
different situation •, and yet every sprout tends directly
upward, and every root downward, and the curvity or
bend they make is greater or less as their situation ap¬
proaches more or less to the direction wherein no curva¬
ture at all would be necessary. But two such opposite
motions cannot possibly arise without supposing some
•difference between the two parts : the only one we know
of is, that the plume is fed by a juice imported to it by
tubes parallel to its sides, whereas the radicle imbibes
its nourishment at every pore in its surface. When the
plume therefore is either parallel or inclined to the hori¬
zon, the nutritious juice, feeding the lower parts more
than the upper, will determine its extremes to turn up¬
ward, for the reasons before given. On the contrary,
when the radicle is in the like situation, the nutritious
juice penetrating through the upper part more copious¬
ly than through the uuder, there will be a greater accre¬
tion of the former than of the latter •, and the radicle
will therefore be bent downwards, and this mutual cur¬
vity of the plume and radicle must continue till such
time as their sides are nourishedalike, which cannot be
. till they are perpendicular.
Of the Food of PLAyrs.—This hath been so fully
discussed under the article Agriculture, that little
remains to be said upon the subject in this place. The
method of making dephlogisticated or vital air de novo,
is now so much improved, that numberless experiments
may be made with it both ©n animals and vegetables.
It appears, indeed, that these two parts of the creation
are a kind of counterbalance to one another 5 and the
noxious parts or excrements of the one prove salutary
food to the other. Thus, from the animal body conti¬
nually pass off certain effluvia, which vitiate or phlogis-
ticate the air. Nothing can be more prejudicial to ani¬
mal life than an accumulation of these effluvia: on the
other hand, nothing is more favourable to vegetables
than those excrementitious effluvia of animals j and ac¬
cordingly they greedily absorb them from the earth, or
Irom the air. With respect to the excrementitious parts
P L A
of living vegetables, the case is reversed. The purest plant
air is the common effluvium which passes off from vege- u—-v—
tables ; and this, however favourable to animal life, is
by no means so to vegetable 5 whence we have an addi¬
tional proof of the doctrine concerning the food of plants
delivered under the article AGRICULTURE.
With regard to the effects of other kinds of air on
vegetation, a difference of some consequence took place
between Dr Priestley and Dr Percival. The former, in
the first volume of his Experiments and Observations on
Air, had asserted that fixed air is fatal to vegetable as
well as to animal life. This opinion, however, was op¬
posed by Dr Percival, and the contrary one adopted by
Dr Hunter of York in the Georgical Essays, vol. v.
The experiments related by these tw'O gentlemen would
indeed have been decisive, had they been made with suf¬
ficient accuracy. That this was the case, however, Dr
Priestley denies; and in the 3d volume of his Treatise
on Air has fully detected the mistakes in Dr Percival’a
Experiments ; which proceeded in fact from his having
used, not fixed air, but common air mixed with a small
quantity of fixed air. His experiments, when repeated
with the purest fixed air, and in the most careful man¬
ner, were always attended with the same efiect, namely,
the killing of the plant.
It had also been asserted by Drs Percival and Hun¬
ter, that water impregnated with fixed air was more fa¬
vourable to vegetation than simple water. This opinion
was likewise examined by Dr Priestley ; however, his
experiments were indecisive; but seem rather unfa¬
vourable to the use of fixed air than otherwise.
Another very remarkable fact with regard to the food
of plants has been discovered by Dr Priestley ; namely,
that some of them, such as the willow, comfrey, and
duckweed, are nourished by inflammable air. The first,
he says, flourishes in this species of air so remarkably,
that, “ it may be said to feed upon it with great avidity. Priestky
This process terminates in the change of what remains
of the inflammable air into phlogisticated air, and some-'0 ' V' ^
times into a species of air as good as common air, or
even better ; so that it must be the inflammable princi¬
ple in the air that the plant takes, converting it, no
doubt, into its proper nourishment.”
What the followers of Stahl call phlogisticated air
and inflammable air, are so closely allied to each other,
that it is no wonder they should serve promiscuously for
the food of plants. The reason why both are not agree¬
able to all kinds of plants, most probably is the different
quantity of phlogistic matter contained in them, and the
different action of the latent fire they contain ; for all
plants do not require an equal quantity of nourishment:
and such as require but little, will be destroyed by hav¬
ing too much. The action of heat also is essentially ne¬
cessary to vegetation; and it is probable that very much
of this principle is absorbed from the air by vegetables.
But if the air by which plants are partly nourished con¬
tains too much of that principle, it is very probable that
they may be destroyed from this cause as well as the
other; and thus inflammable air, which contains a vast
quantity of that active principle, may destroy such
plants as grow in a dry soil, though it preserves those
which grow in a wet one. See Vegetation.
Dissemination of Plants.—So great are the prolific
powers of the vegetable kingdom, that a single plant al¬
most of any kind, if left to itself, would, in a short time,
overrun
f 606 ]
P L A [ 607 ] P L A
•lant overrun the whole world. Indeed, supposing the plant
/ to have been only a single annual, with two seeds, it
would, in 20 years, produce more than a million of its
own species 5 what numbers then must have been pro¬
duced by a plant whose seeds are so numerous as many
of those with which we are acquainted ? In that part
of our wmrk we have given particular examples of the
very prolific nature of plants, which tve need not repeat
here ; and we have made some observation on the means
by which they are carried to distant places. This is a
very curious matter of fact, and as such we shall now
give a fuller account of it.
If nature had appointed no means for the scattering
of these numerous seeds, but allowed them to fall down
in the place where they grew, the young vegetables
must of necessity have choked one another as they grew
up, and not a single plant could have arrived at perfec¬
tion. But so many ways are there appointed for the
dissemination of plants, that we see they not only do
not hinder each others growth, but a single plant will
in a short time spread through different countries. The
most evident means for this purpose are,
1. The force of the air.—That the efficacy of this
may be the greater, nature has raised the seeds of vege¬
tables upon stalks, so that the wind has thus an oppor¬
tunity of acting upon them with the greater advantage.
The seed-capsules also open at the apex, lest the ripe
seeds should drop out without being widely dispersed by
the wind. Others are furnished with wings, and a pap-
pous down, by which after they come to maturity, they
are carried up into the air, and have been known to fly
the distance of 50 miles: 138 genera are found to have
winged seeds.
2- In some plants the seed-vessels open with violence
when the seeds are ripe, and thus throw them to a con¬
siderable distance ; and we have an enumeration of 30
genera whose seeds are thus dispersed.
3. Other seeds are furnished with hooks, by which,
when ripe, they adhere to the coats of animals, and are
carried by them to their lodging places. Linnaeus rec¬
kons 50 genera armed in this manner.
4. Many seeds are dispersed by means of birds and
other animals ; who pick up the berries, and afterwards
eject the seeds uninjured. Thus the fox disseminates
the privet, and man many species of fruit. The plants
found growing upon walls and houses, on the tops of
high rocks, &c. are mostly brought there by birds ; and
it is universally known, that by manuring a field with
new dung, innumerable weeds will spring up which did
not exist there before : 193 species are reckoned up
which may be disseminated in this manner.
5. The growth of other seeds is promoted by animals
in a difterent way. While some are eaten, others are
scattered and trodden into the ground by them. The
squirrel gnaws the cones of the pine, and many of the
seeds fall out. When the loxia eats off their bark, al¬
most his only food, many of their seeds are committed
to the earth, or mixed in the morass with moss, where
he had retired. The glandularia, when she hides up
her nuts, often forgets them, and they strike root. The
same is observable of the walnut 1 mice collect and bury
great quantities of them, and being afterwards killed by
different animals, the nuts germinate.
6. We are astonished to find mosses, fungi, byssus,
and mucor, growing everywhere j but it is for want of
2
reflecting that their seeds are so minute that they are Plant,
almost invisible to the naked eye. They float in the —y—*
air like atoms, and are dropped everywhere, but grow
only in those places where there was no vegetation be¬
fore ; and hence we find the same mosses in North
America and in Europe.
7. Seeds are also dispersed by the ocean, and by rivers,
“ In Lapland (says Linnaeus), we see the most evident
proofs how far rivers contribute to deposit the seeds of Acad.
plants. I have seen Alpine plants growing upon their
shores frequently 36 miles distant from the Alps ; for
their seeds falling into the rivers, and being carried
along and left by the stream, take root there.—We may
gather likewise from many circumstances how much the
sea furthers this business.—In Roslagia, the island of
Grsescea, Oeland, Gothland, and the shores of Scania,
there are many foreign and German plants not yet na¬
turalized in Sweden. The centaury is a German plant,
whose seeds being carried by the wind into the sea, the
waves landed this foreigner upon the coasts of Sweden.
I was astonished to see the veronica maritima, a German
plant, growing atTornea, which hitherto had been found
only in Graesoea : the sea was the vehicle by which this
plant was transported thither from Germany 5 or possibly
it was brought from Germany to Graescea, and from
thence to Tornea. Many have imagined, but erroneous¬
ly, that seed corrupts in water, and loses its principle of
vegetation. Water at the bottom of the sea is seldom
tvarm enough to destroy seeds j we have seen water cover
the surface of a field for a whole winter, while the seed
which it contained remained unhurt, unless at the be¬
ginning of spring the waters were let down so low by
drains, that the warmth of the sun-beams reached to the
bottom. Then the seeds germinate, but presently be¬
come putrescent ; so that for the rest of the year the
earth remains naked and barren. Rain and showers
carry seeds into the cracks of the earth, streams, and
rivers 5 which last, conveying them to a distance from
their native places, plant them in a foreign soil.”
8. Lastly, some seeds assist their projection to a di¬
stance in a very surprising manner. The crupina, a spe¬
cies of centaury, has its seeds covered over with erect
bristles, by whose assistance it creeps and moves about in
such a manner, that it is by no means to be kept in the
hand. If you confine one of them between the stock¬
ing and the foot, it creeps out either at the sleeve or
neck-band, travelling over the whole body. If the
bearded oat, after harvest, be left with other grain in
the barn, it extricates itself from the glume j nor does it
stop in its progress till it gets to the walls of the build¬
ing. Hence, says Linnaeus, the Dalecarlian, after he has
cut and carried it into the barn, in a few days finds all
the glumes empty, and the oats separate from them; for
every oat has a spiral arista or beard annexed to it, which
is contracted in wet, and extended in dry weather.
When the spiral is contracted, it drags the oat along
with it : the arista being bearded with minute hairs
pointing downward, the grain necessarily follows it; but
when it expands again, the oat does not go back to its
former place, the roughness of the beard the contrary
way px-eventing its return. If you take the seeds of equi-
setum, or fex-n, these being laid upon paper, and viewed
in a microscope, will be seen to leap over any obstacle
as if they had feet; by which they are separated and
dispersed one from another; so that a person ignorant of
P L A [ 608 ] P L A
Plant.
this property would pronounce these seeds to be so many
mites or small insects.
We cannot finish this article without remarking, that
many ingenious men believe that plants have a power of
perception. Of this opinion we shall now give an ac¬
count from the second volume of the Manchester Trans¬
actions, where we find some speculations on the percep¬
tive power of vegetables by Dr Percival, who attempts
to show, by the several analogies of organization, life,
instinct, spontaneity, and self motion, that plants, like
animals, are endued with the powers both of perception
and enjoyment. The attempt is ingenious, and is in¬
geniously supported, but in our opinion fails to con¬
vince. That there is an analogy between animals and
vegetables is certain ; but we cannot from thence con¬
clude that they either perceive or enjoy. Botanists have,
it is true, derived from anatomy and physiology, almost
all the terms employed in the description of plants. But
we cannot from thence conclude, that their organization,
though it bears an analogy to that of animals, is the sign
of a living principle, if to this principle we, annex the idea
of perception; yet so fully is our author convinced of the
truth of it, that he does not think it extravagant to
suppose, that, in some future period, perceptivity may
be discovered to extend even beyond the limits now as¬
signed to vegetable life. Corallines, madrepores, mille-
pores, and sponges, w'ere formerly considered as fossil
bodies: bu*. the experiments of Count Marsigli evinced,
that they are endued with life, and led him to class them
with the maritime plants. And the observations of El¬
lis, Jussieu, and Peysonel, have since raised them to the
rank of animals. The detection of error in long esta¬
blished opinions concerning one branch of natural know¬
ledge, justifies the suspicion of its existence in others,
which are nearly allied to it. And it wilt appear from
the prosecution of our inquiry into the instincts, spon¬
taneity, and self-moving power of vegetables, that the
suspicion is not without foundation.
He then goes on to draw a comparison between the
instincts of animals and those of vegetables 5 the calf, as
soon as it comes into the world, applies to the teats of
the cow *, and the duckling, though hatched under a
hen, runs to the water.
“ Instincts analogous to these (says our author), ope- Plant,
rate with equal energy on the vegetable tribe. A seed
contains a germ, or plant in miniature, and a radicle,
or little root, intended by nature to supply it with nou¬
rishment. If the seed be sown in an inverted position,
still each part pursues its proper direction. The plumula
turns upward, and the radicle strikes downward into
the ground. A hop-plant, turning round a pole, follows
the course of the sun, from south to west, and soon dies,
when forced into an opposite line of motion: but re¬
move the obstacle, and the plant will quickly return to
its ordinary position. The branches of a honeysuckle
shoot out longitudinally, till they become unable to bear
their own weight 5 and then strengthen themselves, by
changing their form into a spiral : when they meet with
other living branches, of the same kind, they coalesce,
for mutual support, and one spiral turns to the right and
the other to the ’eft j thus seeking, by an instinctive im¬
pulse, some body on which to climb, and increasing the
probability of finding one bythe diversityof theircourse:
for if the auxiliary branch be dead, the other uniformly
winds itself round from the right to the left.
“ These examples of the instinctive economy of vege¬
tables have been purposely taken from subjects familiar
to our daily observation. But the plants of warmer cli¬
mates, were we sufficiently acquainted with them, would
probably furnish better illustrations of this acknowledged
power of animality : and I shall briefly recite the history
of a very curious exotic, which has been delivered to us
from good authority ; and confirmed by the observa¬
tions of several European botanists,”
The doctor then goes on to give a description of the
dioncea muscipula (b), for which see vol. vi. p. 32. j and
concludes, that if he has furnished any presumptive
proof of the instinctive power of vegetables, it will ne¬
cessarily follow that they are endued with some degree
of spontaneity More fully to evince this, however, the
doctor points out a few of those phenomena in the vege¬
table kingdom which seem to indicate spontaneity.—
“ Several years ago (says he), whilst engagedin a course
of experiments to ascertain the influence of fixed air on
vegetation, the following fact repeatedly occurred tome.
A sprig of mint, suspended by the root, with the head
downwards,
(b) Dr Watson, the bishop of Landaff, who has espoused the same side of the question with Dr Percival (see
the 5th vol. of his Chemical Essays), reasons thus on the motions of vegetables. “ Whatever can produce any
effect (says he) upon an animal organ, as the impact of external bodies, heat and cold, the vapour of burning
sulphur, of volatile alkali, want of air, &c. are found to act also upon the plants called sensitive. But not to insist
upon any more instances, the muscular motions of the dionsea muscipula, lately brought into Europe from America,
seem far superior in quickness to those of a variety of animals. Now to refer the muscular motions of shell-fish
and zoophytes to an internal principle of volition, to make them indicative of the perceptivity of the being, and
to attribute the more notable ones of vegetables to certain mechanical dilatations and contractions of parts occa¬
sioned by external impulse, is to err against that rule of philosophizing which assigns the same causes for efiects
of the same kind. The motions in both cases are equally accommodated to the preservation of the being to which
they belong, are equally distinct and uniform, and should be equally derived from mechanism, or equally admit¬
ted as criterions of perception.
“ I am sensible that these and other similar motions of vegetables may by some be considered as analogous to
the automatic or involuntary motions of animals $ but as it is not yet determined amongst the physiologists, whe¬
ther the motion of the heart, the peristaltic motion of the bowels, the contractions observable upon external im¬
pulse in the muscles of animals deprived of their heads and hearts, be attributable to an irritability, unaccompanied
with perceptivity, or to an uneasy sensation, there seems to be no reason for entering into so obscure a disquisition*,
especially since irritability, if admitted as the cause of the motions of vegetables, must afortiori be admitted as
the cause of the less exquisite and discernible motions of being universally referred to the animal kingdom.”
^ ^ A [ 609
Wants, downwards, in the middle glass vessel of Dr Nooth’s
._*v ’ machine, continued to thrive vigorously, without any
other pabulum than what was supplied by the stream of
mephitic gas to which it was exposed. In 24 hours the
stem formed into a curve, the iiead became erect, and
gradually ascended towards the mouth of the vessel •
thus producing, by successive efforts, a new and unusual
configuration of its parts. Such exertions in the sprig
of mint, to rectify its inverted position, and to remove
from a foreign to its natural element, seems to evince a
volition to avoid what was evil, and to recover what
had been experienced to be good. If a plant, in a gar-
gen plot, be placed in a room which has no light except
from a hole in die wall, k will shoot towards the hole,
pass through it into the open air, and then vegetate up¬
wards in its proper direction. Lord Karnes relates,
that, ‘ amongst the ruins of New Abbey, formerly a mo¬
nastery in Galloway, there grows on the top of a wall a
plane tree, 20 feet high. Straitened for nourishment
in that barren situation, it several years ago directed
roots down the side of the wall till they reached the
ground ten feet below: and now the nourishment it
afforded to these roots, during the time of descendino-,
is amply repaid ; having every year since that time made
vigorous shoots. From the top of the wall to the sur¬
face of the earth, these roots have not thrown out a
single fibre, but are now united into a pretty thick hard
root.’ J
“ The regular movements by which the sun-flower
presents its splendid disk to the sun have been known
to naturalists, and celebrated by poets, both of ancient
and modern times. Ovid founds upon it a beautiful
story; and Thomson describes it as an attachment of
love to the celestial luminary.
‘ But one, the lofty follower of the sun,
Sad when he sets, shuts up her yellow leaves
‘ Drooping all night, and when he wrarm returns,
‘ Points her enamour’d bosom to his ray.’
Summer, line 216.
]
P L A
* e Pen
taka, Os
M Myti
4kc.
Dr Percival next touches on motion j he mentions co¬
rallines, sea-pens*, oysters, &c.as endued with the power
of motion in a very small degree, and then he speaks in
the following manner. “ Mr Miller (says he), in his
late account ot the island of Sumatra, mentions a spe¬
cies of coral, which the inhabitants have mistaken for a
plant, and have denominated it lalan-cout, or sea-grass.
It is found in shallow bays, where it appears like a
straight stick, but when touched withdraws itself into
the sand. Now if self-moving faculties like these indi¬
cate animality, can such a distinction be denied to vege¬
tables possessed of them in an equal or superior degree ?
■The water-lily, be the pond deep or shallow in which it
grows, pushes up its flower-stems till they reach the open
air, that the farina fecundans may perform w'ithout in¬
jury its proper office. About 7 in the morning the stalk
erects itself, and the flowers rise above the surface of the
water: in this state they continue till four in the after¬
noon, when the stalk becomes relaxed, and the flowers
sink and close. The motions of the sensitive plant have
been long noticed with admiration, as exhibiting the
most obvious signs of perceptivity. And if we admit
«uch motions as criteria of a like power in other be-
Angs, to attribute them in this instance to mere mecha-
Vox.. XVI. Part It. J-
msm, actuated solely by external impulse, is to deviate
rom the soundest rule of philosophizing, which directs
us not to multiply causes when the effects appear to be
the same. Neither will the laws of electricity better
solve the phenomena of this animated vegetable : for its
leaves are equally affected by the contact of electric and
non-electric bodies ; show no change in their sensibility
whether the atmosphere be dry or moist j and instantly
close when the vapour of volatile alkali or the fumes of
burning sulphur are applied to them. The powers of
chemical stimuli to produce contractions in the fibres of
t ns plant, may perhaps lead some philosophers to refer
them to the vis insitn, or irritability, which they assign
o certain parts of organized matter, totally'distinct
trom, and independent of, any sentient energy. But the
hypothesis is evidently a solecism, and refutes itself,
lor the presence of irritability can only be proved by
the experience of irritations, and the idea of irritation
involves m it that of feeling.
But there is a species of the order of decandria,
which constantly and uniformly exerts a self moving
power, uninfluenced either by chemical stimuli, or by
any external impulse whatsoever. This curious shrub,
which was unknown to Linnaeus, is a native of the East
Indies, but has been cultivated in several botanical gar¬
dens here. I had an opportunity of examining it in the
collection of the late Dr Brown. See Hedysarum. 
I cannot better comment on this wonderful degree of
vegetable animation than in the words of Cicero. Ina-
mmum est omne quod pulsu agitatur externa ; quod au-
tern est animal, id motu cietur interiore i t suo.
“ I llave tllus attempted, with the brevity presciibcd
by the laws of this society, to extend our views of ani¬
mated nature ; to gratify the mind with the contempla-
hon of multiplied accessions to the general aggregate of
felicity ; and to exalt our conceptions of the wisdom,
power, and beneficence of God. In an undertaking ne¬
ver yet accomplished,disappointment can be no disgrace:
in one directed to such noble objects, the motives are a
justification, independently of success. Truth, indeed,
obliges me to acknowledge, that I review mv specula^
tions with much diffidence j and that I dare not pre¬
sume to expect they will produce any permanent con¬
viction in others, because I experience an instability of
opinion in myself. For, to use the language of Tully,
NesciO' quomodo, dum lego,assentior ; cum posui lihrum,
assensio omnis ilia elabitur.—But this scepticism is per¬
haps. to be ascribed to the influence of habitual precon¬
ceptions, rather than to a deficiency of reasonable proof,
lor besides the various arguments which have been ad¬
vanced in favour of vegetable perceptivity, it may be
further urged, that the hypothesis recommends itself by
its consonance to those higher analogies of nature, which
lead us to conclude, that the greatest possible sum of
happiness exists in the universe. The bottom of the
ocean is overspread with plants of the most luxuriant
magnitude. Immense regions of the earth are covered
with perennial forests. Nor are the Alps, or the An¬
des destitute of herbage, though buried in deeps of
snow. And can it be imagined that such profusion of
life subsists without the least sensation or enjoyment ?
Let us rather, .with humble reverence, suppose, that ve¬
getables participate, in some low degree, of the common
allotment of vitality j and that our great Creator hath
4 U apportioned
Plants.
6i
Tlanls.
P L A [
apportioned good to all living things, ‘in nomber,
weight, and measure.” See SmsiTiyE Plant MmO-
SA, D,0XJtA Muscipula, Vegetable Motion, Sfc.
To these ingenious and spirited observations, we shall
subjoin nothing of our own, but leave our readers to
determine for themselves (c). Speculations of this kind,
■when carried on by sober men, will never be productive
of bad consequences} but by the subtle sceptic, oi the
more unwary inquirer, they may be made the engine ol
very dangerous errors. By this we do not mean to in¬
sinuate that the spirit of inquiry should be suppressed
because that spirit, in the hands of weak or o wicked
men, may be abused. By those, however, who know
the bad consequences that may be drawn, and indeed
that have been drawn, from the opinions we have now
oiven an account of, our caution will not be deemed
impertinent. See Anatomy Vegetable, Supple-
MENT. _ . .
Plants growing on Animals. See Insects giving
root to Plants.
Seres of Plants. See Sexes and Botany.
Colours of Plants. See Colour of Plants.
Colours extracted from Plants. Set CoLOUn-mahng.
Method of Drying and Preserving Plants for Bota¬
nists. Many methods have been devised tor the preser¬
vation of plants : we shall relate only those that have
been found most successful. .
First prepare a press, which a workman will make by
ing'TBota- the following directions. Take two planks of wood not
meal Ar- JJable to warp. The planks must be two inches thick,
rangement, xg ;nciies long, and 12 inches broad. Get tour male
r”W and four female screws, such as are commonly used for
securing sash windows. Let the four female screws be
let into the four corners of one of the planks, and cor¬
responding holes made through the four corners ot the
other plank for the male screws to pass through, so as to
allow the two planks to be screwed tightly together. It
will not be amiss to face the bearing of the male screws
upon the wood with iron plates 5 and if the iron plates
went across from corner to corner of the wood, it would
be a good security against the warping.
Secondly, get half a dozen quires of large soft spongy
paper (such as the stationers call blossom blotting paper
is the best), and a few sheets of strong pasteboard.
The plants you wish to preserve should be gathered
in a dry day, after the sun hath exhaled the dew } ta¬
king particular care to collect them in that state where¬
in their generic and specific characters are most conspi¬
cuous. Carry them home in a tin box nine inches
long, four inches and a half wide, and one inch and a
half deep. Get the box made of the thinnest tinned
iron that can be procured *, and let the lid open upon
hinges. If any thing happen to prevent the immediate
use of the specimens you have collected, they will be
Wither-
Introd.
p. 48.
0 j PL A
kept fresh two or three days in this box much better pjaats
than by putting them in water. When you are going < 
to preserve them, suffer them to lie upon a table until
they become limber ; and then they should be laid upon
a pasteboard, as much as possible in their natural form,
but at the same time with a particular view to their ge¬
neric and specific characters. For this purpose it will
be adviseable to separate one of the flowers, and to dis¬
play the generic character. If the specific character ue-
pend upon the flower or upon the root, a particular
display of that will be likewise necessary. When the
plant is thus disposed upon the pasteboard, coyer it with
eight or ten layers of spongy paper, and put it into the
press. Exert only a small degree of pressure for the
first two or three days } then examine it, unfold any un¬
natural plaits, rectify any mistakes, and, alter putting
fresh paper over it, screw the press harder. In about
three days more separate the plant from the pasteboard,
if it is sufficiently firm to allow of a change of place j put
it upon a fresh pasteboard, and, covering it with fresh
blossom paper, let it remain in the press a lew days lon¬
ger. The press should stand in the sunshine, or within
the influence of a fire. r
When it is perfectly dry, the usual method is to la-
sten it down, with paste or gum water, on the right-
hand inner page of a sheet of large strong wnting-
paper. It requires some dexterity to glue the plant
neatly down, so that none of the gum or paste may
appear to defile the paper. Press it gently again for
a day or two, with a half sheet of blossom-paper be¬
twixt the folds of the writing-paper. When it is quite
dry write upon the left-hand inner page ot the paper
the name of the plant; the specific character; the
place where, and the time when, it was found ; and
any other remarks you may think proper. Upon the
back of the same page, near the iold of the paper,
write the name of the plant, and then place it in your
cabinet. A small quantity of finely powdered arsenic,
or corrosive sublimate, is usually mixed with the paste
or gum-water, to prevent the devastations of insects ;
but the seeds of staves acre finely powdered will an¬
swer the same purpose, without being liable to cor¬
rode or to change the colour of the more delicate
plants. Some people put the dried plants into the
sheets of writing- paper, without fastening them down at
all ; and others only fasten them by means of small slips
of paper, pasted across the stem or branches. Where
the species of any genus are numerous, and the speci¬
mens are small, several of them may be put into one
sheet ol paper. ... 1 1 1 .
Another more expeditious method is to take the plants
out of the press after the first or second day ; let them
remain upon the pasteboard; cover them with five or
six leaves of blossom paper, and iron them with a hot
smoothing
(c) In the 2d volume of Transactions of the Lmna-an Sonety we ^ B ig argUP| that mo-
bated, as far as he draws his consequences from the external mo^,0 ^ , P be’eXplained, without concluding that
tions, though in some respects similar to those of animals, can and ought o b ’in these words . « When
they are endowed either with perception or volition. Mr 1 ownson - iniremous flights of the imagina-
all is considered (says he), I think we shall place this opinion among • cZisation and perceptivity to animal
tion, and soberly follow that blind impulse which leads us natura y ° gi ter Linnaeus, Vegetabilia cre-
life, and to deny it to vegetables ; and so still say with Aristotle, and our great master S
saint Sf vivunt ; animalai crescunt, vivunt, § sentiuntP
P L A [ 6u J P L A
■lants. smoothing iron until they are perfectly dry. If the iron
,-y—j be too hot, it will change the colours ; but some people,
taught by long practice, will succeed very happily. This
is quite the best method to treat the orchis and other
slimy mucilaginous plants.
Another method is to take the plants when fresh ga¬
thered, and, instead of putting them into the press, im¬
mediately to fasten them down to the paper with strong
gum-water : then dip a camel-hair pencil into spirit-var¬
nish, and varnish the whole surface of the plant two or
three times over. This method succeeds very well with
plants that are readily laid flat, and it preserves their co¬
lours better than any other. The spirit varnish is made
thus. To a quart of highly rectified spirit of wine put
five ounces of gum sandarach •, two ounces of mastich in
drops; one ounce of pale gum elemi, and one ounce of oil
of spike-lavender. Let it stand in a warm place, and
shake it frequently to expedite the solution of the gums.
Where no better convenience can be had, the speci¬
mens may be disposed systematically in a large folio
book ; but a vegetable cabinet is upon all accounts more
eligible. With the assistance of the following descrip¬
tion a workman may readily make one. The drawers
must have backs and sides, but no other front than a
small ledge. Each drawer will be 14 inches wide, and
jo inches from the back to the front, after allowing half
an inch for the thickness of the two sides, and a quarter
of an inch for the thickness of the back. The sides of
the drawers, in the part next the front, must be sloped
off in a serpentine line, something like what the work¬
men call an ogee. The bottoms of the drawers must be
made to slide in grooves cut in the uprights, so that no
space may be lost betwixt drawer and drawer. After
allowing a quarter of an inch for the thickness of the
bottom of each drawer, the clear perpendicular space
in each must be as in the following table.
I. Two-tenths of an inch.
II. One inch and two-tenths.
III. Four inches and six-tenths.
IV. Two inches and three-
tenths
V. Seven inches and eight-
tenths
VI. Two inches and two-
tenths.
VII. Two-tenths of an inch.
VIII. One inch and four-tenths.
IX. Two-tenths of an inch.
X. Two inches and eight-
tenths.
XI. One inch and two-tenths.
Xll. Three inches and five-
tenths
XIII. Two inches and four-
tenths.
XIV. Three inches and eight-
tenths.
XV. Three inches and four-
tenths.
XVI. One inch and three-
tenths.
XVII. Two inches and eight-
tenths.
XVIII. Six-tenths of an inch.
XIX. Ten inches.
XX. One inch and nine-
tenths.
XXI. Four inches and four-
tenths.
XXII. Two inches and six-
tenths.
XXIII. One inch and two-
tenths.
XXIV. Seventeen inches.
This cabinet shuts up with two doors in front; and
the whole may stand upon a base, containing a few
drawers for the reception of duplicates and papers.
Fossil Plants. Many species of tender and herba¬
ceous plants are found at this day in great abundance,
buried at considerable depths in the earth, and converted,
as it were, inro the nature of the matter they lie among;
fossil wood is often found very little altered, and olten
impregnated with substances of almost all the different
fossil kinds, and lodged in all the several strata, some¬
times firmly imbedded in bard matter; sometimes loose;
but this is by no means the case with the tenderer and
more delicate subjects of the vegetable world. These
are usually immersed either in a blackish slaty substance,
found lying over the strata of coal, else in loose nodules
ot ferruginous matter of a pebble-like form, and they are
always altered into the nature of the substance they lie
among: what we meet with of these are principally of
the fern kind ; and what is very singular, though a very
certain truth, is, that these are principally the ferns of
American growth, not those of our own climate. The
most frequent fossil plants are the polypody, spleenwort,
osmund, trichomanes, and the several larger and smaller
ferns ; but besides these there are also found pieces of
the equisetum or horse-tail, and joints of the stellated
plants, as the clivers, madder, and the like; and these
have been too often mistaken for flowers ; sometimes
there are also found complete grasses, or parts of them,
as also reeds, and other watery plants ; sometimes the
ears of corn, and not unfrequently the twigs or bark,
and impressions of the bark and fruit of the pine or fir
kind, which have been, from their scaly appearance,
mistaken for the skins of fishes; and sometimes but
that very rarely, we meet with mosses and sea-plants.
Many of the ferns not unfrequently found, are of
very singular kinds, and some species yet unknown to
us ; and the leaves of some appear set at regular distan¬
ces, with round protuberances and cavities. The stones
which contain these plants split readily, and are often
found to contain, on one side, the impression of the
plant, and on the other the prominent plant itself;
and, beside all that have been mentioned, there have
been frequently supposed to have been found with ua
ears of common wheat, and of the maize or Indian
corn ; the first being in reality no other than the com¬
mon endmost branches of the firs, and the other the
thicker boughs of various species of that and of the pine
kind, with their leaves fallen off; such branches in such
a state cannot but afford many irregular tubercles and
papillae, and, in some species, such as are more regu¬
larly disposed.
These are the kinds most obvious in England ; and
these are either immersed in the slaty stone which consti¬
tutes whole strata, or in flatted nodules usually of about
three inches broad, which readily split into two pieces
on being struck.
They are most common in Kent, in coal-pits near
Newcastle, and the forest of Dean in Gloucestershire ;
hut are more or less found about almost all our coal-pits,
and many of our iron mines. Though these seem the
only species of plants found with us, yet in Germany
there are many others, and those found in different sub¬
stances. A whitish stone, a little harder than chalk,
frequently contains them: they are found also often in
a gray slaty stone of a firmer texture, not unfrequently
in a blackish one, and at times in many others. Nor
are the bodies themselves less various here than the mat¬
ter in which they are contained : the leaves of trees are
found in great abundance, among which those of the
willow, poplar, white thorn, and pear trees, are the
most common ; small branches of box, leaves of the
olive tree, and stalks of garden thyme, are also found
there ; and sometimes ears of the various species of
corn, and the larger as well as the smaller mosses in
great abundance.
These seem the tender vegetables, or herbaceous
plants, certainly found thus immersed in hard stone, and
4 H 2 buried
Plants.
P L A' [ .61
Kants buried at great depths in the earth : others of many kinds
|| there are also named by authors *, but as in bodies so im-
Plantago. perfect errors are easily fallen into, these seem all that
' can be ascertained beyond mere conjecture.
Plants, method of preserving them in their original
shape and colour. Wash a sufficient quantity of fine sand,
so as perfectly to separate it from all other substances j
dry it; pass it through a sieve to clear it from any gross
particles which would not rise in the washing: take an
earthen vessel of a proper size and form, for every plant
and flower which you intend to preserve j gather your
plants and flowers when they are in a state of perfection,
and in dry weather, and always with a convenient por¬
tion of the stalk : heat a little of the dry sand prepared
as above, and lay it in the bottom of the vessel, so as
equally to cover it; lay the plant or flower upon it so
as that no part of it may touch the sides of the vessel:
sift or shake in more of the same sand by little upon it,
so that the leaves may be extended by degrees, and with¬
out injury, till the plant or flower is covered about two
inches thick : put the vessel into a stove, or hot-house,
heated by little and little to the 50th degree ; let it
stand there a day or two, or perhaps more, according to
the thickness and succulence of the flower or plant ;
then gently shake the sand out upon a sheet of paper,
and take out the plant, which you will find in all its
beauty, the shape as elegant, and the colour as vivid, as
when it grew.
Some flowers require certain little operations to pre¬
serve the adherence of their petals, particularly the tu¬
lip-, with respect to which it is necessary, before it is
buried in the sand, to cut the triangular fruit which rises
in the middle of the flower for the petals will then re¬
main more firmly attached to the stalk.
A hortus siccus prepared in this manner would be
one of the most beautiful and useful curiosities that
can be.
Moving Plant. See Hedysarum, Botany Index.
Sea Plants. See Sea Plants.
Sensitive Plant. See Mimosa, Botany Index.
Plant-Hcc, Vine-fretters, or Puccrons. See Aphis,
Entomology Index.
PLANTA, a Plant. See Plant.
Planta Fccminea, a female plant, is one which bears
female flowers only. It is opposed to a male plant,
which bears only male flowers j and to an androgynous
one, which bears flowers of both sexes. Female plants
are produced from the same seed with the male, and
arrange themselves under the class of dicecia in the
sexual method.
PLANTAGENET, the surname of the kings of
England from Henry II. to Richard III. inclusive.
Antiquarians are much at a loss to account for the ori¬
gin of this name 5 and the best derivation they can find
for it is, that Fulk, the first earl of Anjou of that name,
being stung with remorse for some wicked action, went
in pilgrimage to Jerusalem as a work of atonement }
where, being soundly scourged with broom twigs, which
grew plentifully on the spot, he ever after took the sur¬
name of Plantagcnet or broomstalk, which was retained
by his noble posterity.
PLANTAGO, Plantain ; a genus of plants be¬
longing to the tetrandria class. See Botany Index.—
Of the plantain thgre are the following species : The
eommon broad-leaved plantain, called waybred or way-
2 ] P L A
born ; because it commonly grows by the wayside j the pianta
great hoary plantain, or lambs-tongue j the narrow-lea- || ^
ved plantain, or ribwort. Planter-
PLANTAIN. See Plantago, Botany Index. S,"P'
Plantain Tree. See Musa, Botany Index.
PLANTATION, in the West Indies, denotes a
spot of ground which a planter, or person arrived in a
new colony, pitches on to cultivate for his own use, or¬
is assigned for that purpose. However, the term plan¬
tation is often used in a term synonymous with colony.
See Colony.
PLANTERSHIP, in a general sense, the business
of a planter.
Plantership, in the West Indies, denotes the ma¬
nagement of a sugar plantation, including not only the
cultivation of the cane, but the various processes for the
extraction of the sugar, together with the making of su¬
gar-spirits. See Rum, Saccharum, and Sugar.
To effect a design so comprehensive, it is necessary
for a planter to understand every branch of the art pre¬
cisely, and to use the utmost attention and caution both
in the laying down and executing of his plans. It is
therefore the duty of a good planter to inspect every
part of his plantation with his own eyes to place his
provisions, stores, and utensils, in regular order, and in
safe repositories ; that by preserving them in perfec¬
tion, all kinds of waste may be prevented.
But as negroes, cattle, mules, and horses, are as it
were the nerves of a sugar-plantation, it is expedient to
treat that subject with some accuracy.
Of Negroes, Cattle, &c.] In the first place, then, as
it is the interest of every planter to preserve his negroes
in health and strength 5 so every act of cruelty is not less
repugnant to the master’s real profit, than it is contrary
to the laws of humanity : and if a manager considers his
own ease and his employer’s interest, he will treat all
negroes under his care with due benevolence 5 for good
discipline is by no means inconsistent with humanity : on
the contrary, it is evident from experience, that he who
feeds his negroes well, proportions their labour to their
age, sex, and strength, and treats them with kindness
and good nature, will reap a much larger product, and
with infinitely more ease and self-satisfaction, than the
most cruel taskmaster, who starves his negroes, or cha¬
stises them with undue severity. Every planter then who Maijin on
wishes to grow rich with ease, must be a good economist; Planter.
must feed his negroes with the most wholesome food, suf-s^-
ficient to preserve them in health and vigour. Common
experience points out the methods by which a planter
may preserve his people in health and strength. Some
of his most fruitful land should be allotted to each negro
in proportion to his family, and a sufficient portion of
time allowed for the cultivation of it 5 but because such
allotment cannot in long droughts produce enough for
his comfortable support, it is the incumbent duty of a
good planter to have always his stores well filled with
Guinea corn, yarns, or eddoes, besides potatoes growing
in regular succession : for plenty begets cheerfulness of
heart, as well as strength of body; by which more work
is effected in a day by the same hands than in a week
when enervated by want and severity. Scanty meals
may sustain life ; but it is evident, that more is requiste
to enable a negro or any other person to go through the
necessary labours. He, therefore, who will reap plenti¬
fully, must plant great abundance of provisions as well
as
P L A
[ 6
Jl’iter
ip.
. as sugar canes ; ami it is nature’s economy so to fructify
the soil by the growth of yams, plantains, and potatoes,
J as to yield better harvests of sugar, by that very means,
than can be produced by many other arts of cultivation.
Plantains are the principal support of all the negroes in
Jamaica j and are also much cultivated, at great expence
of manure, in Barbadoes 5 but ought not to be solely de¬
pended upon in climates subject to hurricanes. A cele¬
brated planter and economist of the last-mentioned island,
who raised an immense fortune from very small begin¬
nings only by planting, affirmed, that he fed constantly
at least 300 negroes out of I 2 acres of plantains. How
that excellent produce came to be so long neglected in
some of the islands it is hard to guess ; but at present the
neglect seems to be founded upon a vulgar error, that
plantains cannot thrive in any other than low moist soils.
In such places, no doubt, they flourish most luxuriantly,
but yet they thrive and bear fruit abundantly on moun¬
tains and marshes, and in the driest black mould upon
marie or rocks, and even in sharp gravelly soils, as may
be evinced by numberless instances.
However plenty of wholesome food may be condu¬
cive to health, there are also other means, equally neces¬
sary to the strength and longevity of negroes, well worth
the planter’s attention ; and those are, to choose airy
dry situations for their houses j and to observe frequently
that they be kept clean, in good repair, and perfectly
water-tight j for nastiness, and the inclemencies of wea¬
ther, generate the most malignant diseases. If these
houses are situated also in regular order, and at due
distances, the spaces may at once prevent general deva¬
stations by fire, and furnish plenty of fruits and pot¬
herbs, to please an unvitiated palate, and to purify the
blood. Thus then ought every planter to treat his ne¬
groes with tenderness and generosity, that they may be
induced to love and obey him out of mere gratitude, and
become real good beings by the imitation of his beha¬
viour ; and therefore a good planter, for his own ease
and happiness, will be careful of setting a good ex¬
ample.
Having thus hinted the duties of a planter to his ne¬
groes, let the next care be of cattle, mules, and horses.
'Hie planters of Barbadoes (who are perhaps the most
skilful of all others, and exact to a nicety in calculations
of profit and loss), are, with respect to their cattle, the
most remiss of any in all the islands j as if the carriage of
canes to the mill, and of plantation produce to the mar¬
ket, was not as essential as any other branch of planter-
ship. At Barbadoes, in particular, the care of these
animals is of more importance: because the soil, worn
out by long culture, cannot yield any produce without
plenty of dung. Some planters are nevertheless so in¬
geniously thrifty, as to carry their canes upon negroes
heads j acting in that respect diametrically opposite to
their own apparent interest, which cannot be served
more effectually than by saving the labour of buman
hands, in all cases where the labour of brutes can be
Substituted ; and for that end, no means of preserving
those creatures in health and strength ought to be ne¬
glected.
The first care therefore is to provide plenty and va¬
riety of fond. In crop-time, profusion of cane-tops may
be had for the labour of carriage 5 but they will be more
wholesome and nutritious if tedded like hay by the sun’s
heat, and sweated by laying them in heaps a few days
13 ] P L A ''
before they are eaten. In this season of abundance, Planter*
great ricks of cane-tops (the butt ends turned inwards) ship,
should be made in the most convenient corner of each 1 " ' v
field, to supply the want of pasturage and other food :
and these are very w holesome if chopped into small parts,
and mixed sometimes with common salt or sprinkled
with melasses mixed with water 5 but yet the cattle re¬
quire change of food to preserve them in strength 5 such
as Guinea-corn, and a varie ty of grass, which every soil
produces with a little care in moist weather 5 and indeed
this variety is found necessary in all climes.
But since that variety is not to be had during those
severe droughts to which hot climates are liable, and
much less in those small islands which cannot furnish
large tracts of meadow-lands for hay, the only resource
is the fodder of cane-tops or tedded Guinea-corn leaves j
which are very nutritious, and may he preserved in per¬
fection for more than a whole year, provided the tops
or Guinea-corn are well tedded for three or four hot
days as they lie spread in the field •, and then, being tied
into bundles or sheaves, must lie in the hot sun for three
or four days more, when they may be fit to be put up
into ricks. Tbe best method of making them is in an
oblong figure, about 30 feet in length, and 16 or 18 feet
wide ; seven feet high at the sides, and from thence slop¬
ing like the roof of an house, the ridge of which must
be thatched very carefully ; for the sides may be secured
from wet by placing the bundles with the butts upwards
towards the ridge, in courses, and lapping the upper
over the lower course.
The best method of forming those ricks is to place
the first course of bundles all over the base one way ;
the second course reversely; and so alternately till the.
rick be finished.
When cattle are to be fed with this fodder, it must be
observed to take down the bundles from the top, at the
west end of the rick, to the bottom 5 for all these ricks
must stand east and west lengthwise, as well to secure
them from being overturned by high winds, as for
the convenience of preserving them from wet, which
cannot be done when ricks are made round. By this
husbandry, an herd of cattle may be kept in strength,
either in severe droughts, or in wet seasons when grass
is purgative} and thus the necessity or expence of
large pastures may be totally saved. The hay-knife
used in England for cutting hay, answers for cutting
ricks of tops.
The method of tedding Guinea-corn to make a kind
of hay, will require a little explanation here. When
Guinea-corn is planted in May, and to be cut down in
July, in order to bear seed that year, that cutting, ted¬
ded properly, will make an excellent hay, which cattle
prefer to meadow hay. In like manner, after Guinea-
corn has done bearing seed, the after crop will furnish a
great abundance of that kind of fodder which will keep
well in ricks for two or three years.
The next care of a planter is to provide shade for his
cattle} either by trees where they are fed in the heat
of the day, if his soil requires not dung j or by building
a flat shed over the pen where cattle are confined for
making it. That such sheds are essentially necessary
to the well-being of all animals in. hot weather, is appa¬
rent to every common observer, who cannot fail of see¬
ing each creature forsaking the most luxuriant pastures-
in the heat of the day for the sake of shade : thus con¬
vincing „
P L A
vincing the owners, by instinctive argument, that shade
is almost as necessary to the well-being of the brute
creatures as food. Yet, notwithstanding that demon¬
stration from the unerring course of nature, throughout
all our islands (except in a very few instances), these
poor creatures are exposed to the scorching sun-beams
without mercy Such inhuman neglect is not always
so much the effect of inattention as of a mistaken no¬
tion that sheds are impedimental to the making of
much dung; but a flat shed, covered with cane-trash,
may be so made as to let rain pass through it without
admission of sun-beams. This will do for cattle ; but
mules, which are spirited creatures, and work them¬
selves by draught into a foaming heat, should be put in¬
to a warm stable, until quite cool : for turning them
loose to pasture when so hot, is probably the cause of
their destruction by the glanders.
If the care of providing shade for brute creatures is
so much the duty and interest of their owners, bow
much more is it agreeable to the laws of humanity to
provide shade for human creatures travelling upon the
high-roads in this hot climate ? Nothing surely of so
much beauty costs so little expence as planting cocoa-
nut or spreading timber trees in avenues along the high¬
ways, if each proprietor of the lands adjoining hath any
taste of elegance, or feeling for other men : but both
those kinds of trees will yield also great profit to the
proprietor, by furnishing him with timber, when per¬
haps not otherwise to be had •, or with a delicious milk,
fitted by nature to cool the effervescence of the blood
in this hot region ; and also to improve the spirits made
from sugar to the delicacy and softness of arrack. Co¬
coa-nut and cabbage trees are both very beautiful and
shady, bearing round heads of great expansion, upon
natural trunks or pillars of elegant proportion, and of
such a height as to furnish a large shade, with a free
circulation of air equally refreshing to man and beast.
The common objection of injury to canes by the
roots of such trees growing on their borders, may be
easily removed by digging a small trench between the
canes and trees, which may intercept their roots, and
oblige them to seek sustenance in the common road.
Let it also be considered, besides the benefits above sug¬
gested, that the planter will thus beautify his estate to
the resemblance of a most sumptuous garden. And
probably that very beauty might not only render the
islands more healthful to the inhabitants, by preserving
them from fevers kindled by the burning sun-beams,
but also much more fruitful, by making the weather more
seasonable : for as, by cutting down all its wood, a hot
country becomes more subject to excessive droughts 5 so,
by replanting it in the manner above described, this in¬
convenience would probably be prevented.
Let then the planter be kind not only to his fellow-
creatures, but merciful to his beasts j giving them plenty
and variety of wholesome food, clear water, cool shade,
and a clean bed, bleeding them after a long course of
P L A
hard labour, currying their hides from filth and ticks (a) j P];,rltcr.
a Hording them salt and other physic when necessary j ship,
protecting them from the flaying rope-lashes of a cruel
driver (who needs no other instrument than a goad) ;
proportioning their labour to their strength ; and by
every art rendering their work as easy as possible. The
general management of planters is not, perhaps, more
defective in any other respect than in this : for, by
pairing the cattle unequally, and by the drivers ill con¬
duct in writhing to the right and left, the poor creatures
are f tigued by much needless labour. A horse ought
therefore to be harnessed before them as a leader. This
docile creature, by being led in a straight line, will soon
learn to be an unerring guide, and the cattle will fol¬
low in the same direction with united strength, and con¬
sequently with more effect and less fatigue to each indi¬
vidual.
The Portuguese of Madeira, by their poverty and
scantiness of pasture, breed the smallest kind of cattle }
and yet one yoke of them will draw a much greater
weight than a pair of our largest oxen, solely by an
equal exertion of their joint strength. That equality
or evenness of draught is preserved by boring gimblet
holes through their horns, within two inches of the
points, and running a thong of leather, through those
holes, so as to tie the horns of each pair at six inches
distance from each other. By this ligature the pair of
cattle are absolutely hindered from turning different
ways, and draw in an even direction with united force.
Thus it appears evidently from reason, as well as from
experience, that the labour of our beasts may, by a little
contrivance, be rendered more easy and effectual.
Of the Culture of various Soils.In the British sugar-
colonies there is as great a variety of soils as in any
country of Europe •, some naturally very rich or fruit¬
ful, yielding a luxuriant product with little labour or
culture. This fruitful soil is of three kinds : a loose
hazel mould mixed with sand, like that of St Christo¬
pher’s, and is the best in the known world for produ¬
cing sugar in great quantity, and of the best quality.
The brick mould of Jamaica is somewhat of the same
nature, and next in value 5 and then the various mix¬
tures of mould and gravel, to be found in veins or plats
over all the other islands. When any of these soils are
exhausted of their fertility by long and injudicious cul¬
ture, they may be restored by any kind cf dung well
rotted } for these (b) warm soils cannot bear hot un-
rotten dung, without being laid fallow for a consider¬
able time after it. Another improvement is by sea-
sand or sea-weed ; or by digging in the cane-trash into
steep lands, and by letting it lie to rot for some months.
A third method is, by ploughing and laying it fallow J
and the fourth method (the best of all), is by folding
the fallows by sheep. But this can be practised only
where there are extensive pastures •, nor can the plough
be employed where the soil abounds with large stones.
In that case, however, the former method of digging in
trash
[ 6r4 ]
(a) One pound of native sulphur, a quart of lamp-oil, and the like quantity of hog’s-lard, intimately mixed and
made into an ointment, is a cure for the mange, lice, &c.
(b) These soils, which are naturally loose and upon marie, Mr Martin calls hoi soils; and these, he says, have
been much injured in some of the islands by dung hastily made tvith marie ; but if the sediment of lees were throws
into these pens, after being turned over, it would much improve the dung.
P L A
trash will be nearly as effectual, though more expensive,
by hand-labour or hoe-ploughing.
The next best soil for producing good sugar is a
mould upon clay, which if shallow requires much cul¬
ture and good labour, or its produce will he small in
quantity, though of a strong grain and bright colour,
so as to yield most profit to the refiner of any sugar,
except that produced from an hazel or gravelly soil, as
before mentioned. All the black mould soils upon marie
are generally fruitful, and will take any kind of dung;
but yield not so strong or large-grained sugar. Marie,
however, of a white, yellow, or blue colour, or rich
mould from washes, or ashes of every kind, are excellent
for every strong soil, as the chief ingredient in the com¬
post of dung : either of them will do alone for stiff
lands; but the yellow and chocolate marie are the most
soapy, and the richest kind of manure (except fine
mould) for all stiff lands. If these are well opened,
pulverized by culture, and mixed with hot dung, or any
kind of loose earth or marie, they will produce as plen¬
tifully as lighter soils : and all kinds of clay-soils, except
that of a white colour, have these two advantages above
the finest gravel soils, that they do not scorch soon by
dry weather; and never grow weary of the same manure,
as most other soils do.
The extraordinary hand-labour bestowed in making
dung, may be saved by the art of caving, now in gene-
ral use in England. Ten mules or horses, and trvo light
tumbrels with broad wheels, and ten able negroes, may,
by the common use of spades, shovels, and light mat¬
tocks or grubbing hoes, make more dung than 60 able
negroes can do in the present methods.
If marl lies upon rising grounds, or in hillocks, as it
often does, the pit is to be opened at the foot of the
declivity; which being dug inwards, till the bank is
three feet high, then it is to be caved thus. Dig an
hollow space of i 2 or 18 inches deep under the foot of
the bank ; then dig into each side of it another perpen¬
dicular cut of the same depth, and 18 inches wide from
the top of the bank to the bottom : that being finished,
make a small trench a foot or two from the brink of
the bank ; pour into it water till full ; and when that
is done, fill it again, till the water soaking downward
makes the marie separate and fall down all at once.
This may be repeated till the pit rises to 50 feet high ;
and then many hundreds of cart-loads of marie may be
thrown down by four negroes in two hours; from
whence it may be carted into /cattle pens, or laid out up¬
on lands, as occasion requires. Five or six negroes with
spades or shovels will keep two or three tumbrels em¬
ployed according to the distance of cartage : and thus
as much dung may be made by ten negro men as will
dung richly at least 70 or 80 acres of land every year,
and laid out also with the assistance of cattle-carts : An
improvement highly worthy every planter’sconsideration,
when negroes and feeding them are so expensive ; and
this is no speculation, but has been confirmed by prac¬
tice. In level lands, the same operation may be as ef¬
fectual, provided the mouth of the pit be opened by
gradual descent to any depth : but when marie is to be
found on the sides of hills, the operation is less laborious
for the horses. But if the surface of the marle-pits
(as it often happens) be covered with clay or stiff soil,
so that the water cannot quickly soak from the trench
above ; in that case, pieces of hard wood, made like
[ 615 ]
P L A
piles, tour feet long, and four inches square, pointed at
one end, and secured at the other square head by an iron
clamp, may be driven by heavy mauls into the trench
as so many wedges, which will make the caved part
tumble down : but a skilful eye must watch the last ope¬
ration, or the labourers may be buried or hurt.
^ But then clay soils that are level, and subject to be
drowned, or to retain water in stagnated pools, can ne¬
ver be made fruitful by any kind of manure, without
being first well drained : for water lying upon any soil
Avill most certainly transfoim it to a stiff unfruitful clay ;
as appears evidently by the bogs of Ireland, the fens of
Lincoln and Cambridgeshire, and even by the ponds of
Barbadoes situated in the deepest and lightest black
mould ; for that fine soil being washed into those ponds,
becomes the stillest black clay, not fit even for an ingre¬
dient in dung, until it has been laid dry, and exposed to
the sun for a whole year: but when these bogs and fens
are well drained, they become the most fruitful soils,
Natural clay the celebrated Boerhaave thinks the fattest
of all soils ; but then it must be opened by culture,
marie, or sandy manures. It is hard to conjecture how
the opinion prevailed in the British plantations, that
sandy gut-mould was most unfit for clay-soils, as being
the means of binding them to the compactness of brick5
whereas it is proved, from long experience, to be one of
the best means of opening clay soils, and rendering them
abundantly fruitful. Brick is made of clay alone ; no
sand being used in it, farther than to sprinkle the
board, on which it is moulded into shape. From re¬
peated experience it appears, that a mixture of sand in
gut-mould is the best of all manure for stiff and barren
clay-lands; provided they be well drained, by throwing
the whole soil into round ridges of 12 feet wide, with
furrows of three feet wide between each ridge. And
this is done with little more hand-labour than that of
hoe-ploughing well in the common way. For if a piece
of land be marked in lines at seven feet and a half di¬
stance from each other, and the labourers are set in to
hoe-plough at the second line, hauling back each clod 12
inches ; half the ridge, and near half the furrow, is made
at the same time : and thus a piece of land may be
round-ridged, and the furrows all made at once, by the
common operation of hoe-ploughing, provided the dig¬
ger drives his hoe up to the eye at every stroke. Hoe-
ploughing in clay soils that have lain long under water,
is indeed hard labour ; but it will every year grow the
lighter by being well drained by round-ridging: and in
the meanwhile the labour may be rendered much more
eqsy by the plough conducted by the lines above de¬
scribed. As therefore sandy mould is the best manure
for stiff clay, so, by parity of reason, confirmed by long
experience, stiff clay is the best manure for sandy or
chaffy soils.
rIhe method of round-ridging before described, is, by
several years experience, found the most essential im¬
provement of flat c!a\ey soils : and yet there are some
who will prefer speculation to ocular demonstration, fan¬
cying that all kinds of ridges will carry off the mould
in heavy rains. The fact is otherwise in clay soils : and
plain reason, wiihout experience, vouches, that where
great confluxes of water are divided into many small rills,
the force is broken ; and therefore less mould carried
off the land. Another objection made to round
fog, B that by digging much clay to ffo v.
riantcr-
ship.
i'limter-
ishij).
P L A
the ridge, the soil is impoverished
stands good only against those ridges which are raised
too high, and made too broau j but if land is ridged in
the manner before directed, that is, 12 feet broad, and
not above six or eight inches higher in the middle than
at the sides, the objection vanishes. Ilidges were never
proposed for light soils or steep lands; and even in flat
soils upon loam they should be made with great cau¬
tion, because loam melts away by water. But there are
poachy land# of a white clay, even upon small descents,
too retentive of water ; these may certainly be impro¬
ved much by ridges ol 12 feet wide, as above described,
without fear of washes.
But supposing, as the objection urges, that a little
clay should be turned up at the sides of such ridges, can
it not be manured somewhat more than the other parts
with marie or sandy mould, so as to become equally
good with any other part of the soil ? And is not this
well worth the labour, since round-ridging not only im¬
proves the soil by draining it to a surprising degree, but
adds one-fifth part to the depth of the staple ? And will
not a ridge made a little rounding, throw oft the water
much better than a flat ridge ?
The general maxim of not burning cane-trash (which
may be called the stubble of cane-lands') upon any kind
of soil is surely a great mistake; as may be evinced by
observing the contrary practice of the best husbandmen
'in England, where buru-baiting or bastard burn-baiting
is found by experience an admirable method of fertili¬
zing cold, stiff, or clayey lands. It must indeed be a
constant practice, not only for the sake of contributing
to warm and divide the soil, but as the only effectual
means of destroying pernicious insects, and Weeds of va¬
rious kinds, such as French weed, wild pease, and wild
vines. . , . .
Soon after the disuse of burning trash upon our land
in the islands, the blast made its first appearance with in¬
credible devastation : to revive that practice therefore
seems to be the most obvious means of expelling it. It
may be presumed that the disuse of burning trash was
founded upon the mistaken notion of burn-baiting,
which is turning up a thick sod of very dry, light, and
shallow soils, and burning the whole superficies or staple
to ashes. This practice the writers upon husbandry
condemn universally, and very justly: for though by tins
practice the land will produce two or three crops more
plentifully than ever, yet the soil is blown away by the
wind, and the substratum being generally a hungry
gravel or chalk, can never be restored to fertility by the
common arts of husbandry. But surely this has no re¬
semblance to our superficial burning of the little trash
we can spare from dung: and though this method of
burn-baiting light and shallow soils be justly condemn¬
ed, yet the best writers recommend that very practice
in cold, moist, and heavy soils, as is observed above ;
and long expexience justifies it.
Deep mould upon clay or loam being subject to the
grub-worm (c), will not take any kind of dung, till
perfectly rotten, except that of the sheep-fold ; which
[ C16 ] P L A
but this objection is the best manure for all kinds of light soils, and is of ]
all others the least expensive, as not requiring hand-la- ship,
bour. But the use of the fold is impracticable in any
island not abounding with large savannas or sheep pa¬
stures, as in Jamaica.
Those soils thex-efore which are subject to the grub,
and must be fertilized by common dung, which is a
proper nest for the mother-beetle to deposite its eggs,
must be well impregnated with the brine of dissolved
salt, after the dung is first cut up; two large hogsheads
of salt will make brine enough for a dung-pen of 50 feet
square.
This cure for the grub is a late discovery; and which
has been attended with success, so far as the experi¬
ment is made. But though it proves effectual to de¬
stroy that pernicious insect in plant-canes, it probably
will not be sufficient to save x-attoons, without a new
application of salt in powder ; because the first brine
must be washed away by the time when rattoons spring
up.
The planter who would save his rattoons from the
grub ought therefore to cut off the heads of his stools
with sharp hoes three inches below the surface of the
soil, and then strew an handful of salt round each stool,
and cover it up to a level with fine mould taken from
the edges'.
In soils where there is no grub, and the planter wish¬
es to have very good rattoons, let him, as soon as his
canes are cut, draw all the trash from the stools into the
alternate spaces, if planted in that manner; or into the
furrows, if his land be round-ridged ; and then cut off
the head of his stools with sharp hoes, as above dix-ected.
Experience has shown the advantage of this practice,
and reason demonstrates the great benefit of the rattoon*
sprouts rising from three inches below the sui*face, in¬
stead of superficial shoots which come to nothing, and
only starve the strong sprouts. Besides, the stubs which
ai-e left upon the stools after the canes are cut, canker,
and rot the stools ; which is one reason why good rat¬
toons are uncommon in soils long cultivated. Yet it is
the opinion of some, that by hoe-ploughing and even
dunging rattoons, the produce might be as good plant-
canes, which would save the labour of holing and plant¬
ing so often as planters commonly do.
Fallowing is of incredible advantage to every soil, not
only by being divided into the minutest parts, but also
by imbibing those vegetative powers with which the air
is impregnated by the bountiful hand of Providence,
whenever rain falls. WhatHhose powers are has been
explained under the articles Agriculture andPLANT;
and experience evinces, that the tender vegetables of the
earth are invigoi'ated more by the smallest shower of
rain, than by all the water which human art can bestow.
Let it therefore be a constant maxim of the planter, ne¬
ver to plant his ground until the soil is well mellowed
by fallowing, even though he bestows upon it a due pro¬
portion of dung: we say a due proportion ; for too much
will force up rank canes, which never yield good sugar;
and though some advantage may be reaped from the rat¬
toons,
(c) This pernicious insect is most apt to engender in dung made from mill-trash, which therefore never ougit
to be put into dung compost or still ponds ; but after being burnt, the ashes will be as good as any other kin
Bound-ridging, with manure of unwet ashes, sea-sand, or lime, or dry marie, kills the grub.
5
P L A [ 617
Planter- toons, yet it will be found by experience not to com-
ship. pensate the loss by the plants. In stony or steep soils,
» where the plough cannot be used, or where a sufficient
strength of cattle cannot be supported for that purpose,
hand-labour or hoe-ploughing must be substituted : but
even in that case, much labour may be saved by spread¬
ing the dung according to the English husbandry, and
digging it into the soil. To evince this truth, let any
planter compute his negroes labour of distributing dung
by baskets, and by spreading it with dung-forks ; and
then judge for himself by one single experiment which
is the most profitable.
But if some planters are so devoted to the old custom
of distributing dung by baskets instead of wheel-barrows
in level ground, or hand-barrows in uneven land, by
which three times the labour may be accomplished in
the same time and by the same hands; let them at least
save much of their hand-labour, by the following me¬
thod of laying out dung, before the distribution by
baskets.
In holing a piece of land, let a space be left after 80
holes from the first interval, and then the like space af¬
ter 80 holes throughout the whole plat, which spaces
must run exactly parallel to the intervals on the right
and left of the holes. Into these spaces the dung may
be carted, even before it be rotten (d), at the most lei¬
sure times, and covered with mould or cane-trash, to pre¬
vent exhalation ; and in such quantity as will suffice on¬
ly to dung a row of 4c holes, from the point opposite to
each side of it. In the intervals at each side of the cane-
piece, which are parallel to those spaces, there must be
dung enough carted to manure a row of 40 holes, and
covered in like manner.
By thus placing the dung or gut-mould, it is evident
at the first sight, that the farthest distance cannot be
above 40 holes in distributing the dung: and in case it
be not sufficiently rotten for present use, it may be dis¬
tributed even in dry weather, and covered by the bank ;
which will both prevent its spirit from exhalation, and
occasion it to rot sooner, which is no small advantage.
Moreover, bv being thus laid out at the most leisure
times, and covered with the banks, the dung will be
more intimately mixed with the soil, and therefore con¬
tinue to nourish the plant for a longer time than if laid
as usual at the bottom of the holes. A farther advan¬
tage of thus distributing the dung, and covering it, re¬
sults from the more expeditious planting the land after
a short or sudden shower: for the labour of covering the
dung, and uncovering it when the land is planted, how¬
ever it may appear in speculation, is in practice a trifle;
and besides all the other advantages arising by the distri¬
bution of dung from the spaces above described, this is
not the least, that not a bank is trodden under foot.
But it is evident, that by distributing the dung with
baskets in the present method, the soil is much trampled
] P L A
under foot ; and by that means, the very end of hoe-
ploughing, or loosening the soil, is much defeated. In
like manner, by the present method of hoe-ploughing,
the same ill effect is produced ; for as the negroes hoe-
plough or dig the soil directly forward, so they must
necessarily tread the ground as fast as they dig it:
whereas by putting the labourers to dig sidewise, no
one puts a foot upon the soil after it is dug ; and by lin¬
ing the land before it is hoe-ploughed, each negro may
have an equal share to dig. The only difficulty of hoe-
ploughing sidewise is in first setting the negroes to that
work ; but it may be done without loss of time when
working in a contiguous field. Whether hoe-ploughing
before or after the land be holed for canes is most eli¬
gible, experience must determine ; but certainly both
operations will be most effectual : and therefore it will
be advisable (e), first to plough the soil where the land
will admit the plough ; and where it will not, to hoe-
plough it with or without dung, as requisite ; then let
it lie fallow till perfectly mellowed ; then hole, and plant
it; and instead of weeding in the usual manner, let the
weeds in all the spaces be dug into the soil : but as this
is not to be done so well with the hoe, it is submitted to
future experience, whether the dexterous use of spades,
as in England, will not answer the purpose much bet¬
ter, and with equal dispatch. But whatever method is
preferred, most certain it is, that by loosening the soil
m all the spaces between the young canes after being
come up, their fibres will more easily expand on every
side, and acquire more nutrition to invigorate their
growth. But where the planter grudges this labour, by
thinking it needless in a rich loose soil, he may dispatch
more weeding-work by the Dutch hoe than by any
other ; which being fastened upon the end of a stick, is
pushed forward under the roots of the small weeds, in
such a manner as to cut them up a little below the sur¬
face of the soil, and will do more execution at one shove
than can be done at three strokes of the common hoe;
but there is yet another practice of the horse-hoe plough,
whereby all weeds growing in rows between beans and
pease, are extirpated with incredible ease and exjiedi-
tion. It is a very simple machine, drawn by one or two
horses, consisting of a pair of low wheels turning upon
a common axis ; from whence two square irons are let
down at equal distances, and triangular hoes made at
the ends, the points of the triangles being placed for¬
ward, and so fixed as to cut all weeds an inch below the
surface, in the same manner as the Dutch garden-hoe
above-mentioned. By this machine a man and a bov,
with two horses or mules, will clear perfectly all the
spaces of a field of ten acres in two days, and may be of
admirable use in all loose and dry soils in the sugar-
islands : for while two horses or mules draw in the space
before each other, the wheels pass on the outside of each
row of canes, without doing the least injury, while the
plough-
Planter-
ship
(d) In order to make dung rot the sooner, much labour is bestowed in digging and turning it over by
hoes: but two-thirds of that labour may be saved by the use of hay-knives ; six of which, used dexterously, will
cut up a pen in less time than 60 negroes can do by hoes : but hay knives cannot be used where gritty mould is
employed in pens.
(e) Deep and loose soils may be ploughed with a small strength of cattle or mules : but stiff lands in hot cli¬
mates require more strength of cattle than can be maintained in the small pastures of the planters ; for if those
strong soils are either too wet or too dry (as is generally the case), ploughing is impracticable.
VOL. XVI. Part II. f 4 I
P L A [ 618 ] P L A
Plnnter- plough-holder attends to his business. In slid soils
ship. which require draining, neither the horse-hoe plough
 nor the Dutch hoe can be proper •, or any other instru¬
ment so eftectual as the spade used in the manner above
hinted, where the staple is deep.
But where the staple of land is shallow, care must be
taken not to dig much below it, according to the uni¬
versal opinion of all the best writers, supported by the
experience of 100 years. Yet some good planters are
fallen into the contrary practice, and dig up still clay
far below the staple. This, Mr Martin says, was done
in his own lands, during his absence, by injudiciously
ploughing below the staple } and so injured the soil, that
all the arts of culture for many years hardly retrieved its
former fertility. Indeed, where the staple is shallow,
upon a fat clay, the turning up a little of it at a time,
from the bottom of the cane-boles, and mixing it with
rich hot dung, made of marie, or sandy mould, which
may take oil its cohesive quality, will in due time, and
by "long fallow, convert it into good soil: but if stiff clay
be turned up, without any such mixture, in large quan¬
tities, it will infallibly disappoint the operator’s hopes :
for though solid clay will moulder, by exposure, to a
seeming fine earth, yet it will return to its primitive state
very soon after being wet, and covered from the exter¬
nal air, if not divided, as above suggested.
After all, the-common horse-hoeing plough drawn by
two mules in a line before each other, or the hand-hoe
in common use, will answer the purpose very well, where
the lands are planted in Mr Tull’s method; that is,
where the spaces are equal to the land planted, in the
following manner.
Suppose six feet planted in two rows of canes, and six
feet of land left as a space un planted j and so a whole
piece of land, planted in alternate double rows (f), with
equal spaces, may be hoe-ploughed with ease, as before
hinted j and that at any time during the growth of canes,
when it is most convenient to the planter, which is a
considerable advantage j and yet it is the least of all at¬
tending this method of culturefor, by leaving these
spaces, the canes will have both more air and sun : by
hoe-ploughing them, the roots of each double row will
have large room for expansion, and consequently, by
gaining more nutriment, will grow more luxuriantly :
by these spaces the canes may be cleaned from the blast
with much more ease and convenienceand will serve
as proper beds to plant great corn, without the least in¬
jury to the canes j as well as to contain the tiash taken
off the land, where, by rotting, and being hoe-ploughed
into the soil, it will wonderfully enrich it, and will fit
it to be planted immediately after the canes in the neigh¬
bouring double rows are cut down. Besides all these
admirable advantages ot planting the land in alternate
double rows with equal spaces, the canes, when at full
age, may he easily stripped of their trash, and by that
means the juice rendered so mature as to yield double
the produce, and much better sugars than unstripped
canes. This method of culture may he recommended Planter,'
for all kinds of soil : for as by this practice the rank ship,
luxuriant canes will be more matured, so the poor soils
will be rendered more fruitful j and as the roots of the
canes which expand into these spaces will be kept moist
by being covered with rotten trash, so they must bear
dry weather much longer in the burning soils. In those
low lands which require draining by furrows, the alter¬
nate double rows and spaces must be made cross the
ridges ; by which means those spaces, being hoe-plough-
ed from the centre to the sides, will be always preserved
in a proper state of roundness. By this method of plant¬
ing, the canes may be so well ripened as to yield double
the quantity of sugar of canes planted in the close man¬
ner j which saves half the labour of cartage, half the
time of grinding and boiling, and halt the fuel, besides
yielding finer sugar.
Ygt, how well soever the method of planting in single
or double alternate rows has succeeded in the loose and
stiff’ soils, experience has shown that it is a wrong prac¬
tice in stiff lands that are thrown into round 01 flat
ridges : for these being most apt to crack, the sun-bcams
penetrate soon to the cane-roots, stop their growth, and
have an ill influence upon the sugar. It is therefore ad¬
visable to plant such lands full, but in large holes, of
four feet, by five feet towards the banks : after the
plant-canes are cut, to dig out one, and leave two rows
standing, hoc-ploughing the spaces after turning all the
trash into furrows till almost rotten } for if the trash is
drawn upon the hoe-ploughed spaces, they will hardly
ever moulder, at least not till the trash is quite rotten.
This is an infallible proof from experience of how little
advantage trash is to the soil, unless it he in great
droughts, to keep out the intense sun-beams : for, in all
other respects, it prevents that joint operation of the
sun and air, in mouldering and fructifying the soil, as
has been proved by repeated experiments.
But in fiat stiff soils that are properly drained by
round-ridging, no culture prevents cracking so effec¬
tually as hoe-ploughing into them a quantity of loose
marie, of which that of a chocolate or of a yellow co¬
lour is best > and it will be still much better, by lying
upon the land, in small heaps, or in cane-holes, for
some time, to imbibe the vegetative powers of the air
before it is intimately mixed with the soil.
As to the manner of planting canes, the general prac¬
tice of allowing four feet by five to a hole, and two
fresh (g) plants, is found by common experience to be
right and good in alternate rows. But the following
precautions are necessary to he observed. First, let all
the cane-rows run east and west, that the trade-wind
may pass freely through them 5 because air and sunshine
are as conducive to the growth and maturation of sugar-
canes as of any other vegetable. Secondly, let not any
accession of mould be drawn into hills round the young
canes, except Avhere water stagnates (h) j because the
fibres which run horizontally, and near the surface, are
much
(f) In stiff lands, the single alternate rows of four feet distance, as preventive of much labour in weeding, aie
found best j and also yield more sugar by the acre •, and are less apt to be affected by drought.
(g) It is an odd fancy that stale plants grow best, when both reason and experience vouch that the most suc¬
culent plants are best : one good plant in the centre of a large hole is sufficient when the land is full holed.
(h) The stagnation of water in pools (usual in stiff level lands) is ffie most injurious circumstance attending it,
P L A
much broken nnd spoiled by that practice. Thirdly, let
ship. the sugar-canes be cut at their full maturity : which, in
"v ' a dry loose soil, is generally at the end of 14 or 15
months after being planted j but in cold clay-soils, not
till 16 or 17 months. Fourthly, as the cane-rows run
east and west in as proper a direction as possible for cart¬
age to the sugar-work, so canes must be cut the con¬
trary way if the planter expects any great produce from
his rattoons: for by beginning to cut canes at the part
of bis field most remote from the works, the carts can¬
not often pass over the same tract, and consequently the
cane-stools cannot be injured, more especially if he takes
due care to cut the canes very close to their roots; for,
by leaving a long stub (which must perish) the cane-
stools are much injured. It may be objected to the
practice of cutting canes transversely to the row's,
that the negroes labour wvll not be so equally divided :
but let every man consider both sides of the question,
and be determined by his owm experience ; and then be
will be convinced, that it matters very little which way
he cuts straight standing canes; but in cases where the
sugar-canes lean, or are lodged by preceding high
winds, it is a point of great importance to place the la¬
bourers so as to cut the canes first at the roots, and
then, drawing them, cut ofi’the tops: for thus by two
strokes each cane will be cut; and twice the quantity
cut in the same time, and by the same hands, more
than by cutting in any other direction. In round rid¬
ged land, it is proper to cut canes in the same direc¬
tion of the ridges, throwing the tops and trash into
the furrows to render the cartage easy, and to preserve
the ridges in their proper form.
It is almost needless to suggest the expediency of plan¬
ning the cane-pieces of a plantation in exact squares, so
that the intervals may intersect at right angles ; since
such regularity is not only more beautiful, more safe in
case of accidental fires, and a better disposition of the
whole for dividing and planting one third or fourth part
of a plantation every year, but also much easier guarded
by a few watchmen : for one of these walking in a line
from east to west, and the other from north to south,
look through every avenue, where the most subtle thief
cannot escape the watchful eye. And if the intervals
surrounding the boundary of a regular plantation be
made 24 feet wide, the proprietor wull receive ample re¬
compense for so much land, by the security of his canes
from fires kindled in the neighbourhood, and by plant¬
ing all that land in plantain-trees, which may at once
yield food and shade to the watchmen, who by that
means can have no excuse for absence from their proper
stations. But as fuel grows very scarce in most of our
islands, it is also expedient to plant a logwood or
flower-fence in all the boundaries of every plantation,
which, being cut every year, rvill furnish good store of
faggots. Logwood makes the strongest and quickest
of all fences, and agrees with every soil: the cuttings
make excellent oven-fuel.
So much for the general operations of plantership,
according to the approved directions of Mr Martin.
[ 619 1
P L A
I1 or the particular cultivation of the sugar-canes, the
extraction of the sugar, and the distillation of rum, see
the articles Sugar and Rum.
PLANTING, in Agriculture and Gardening, is
setting a tree or plant, taken from its proper place, in
a new hole or pit ; throwing fresh earth over its root,
and filling up the hole to the level of the surface of the
ground.
1 he first thing in planting is to prepare the ground
before the trees or plants are taken out of the earth,
that they may remain out of the ground as short a time
as possible ; and the next is, to take up the trees or
plants, in order to their being transplanted. In taking
up the trees, carefully dig away the earth round the
roots, so as to come at their several parts to cut them
oft; for if they are torn out of the ground without care,
the roots will be broken and bruised, to the great injury
of the trees. When you have taken them up, the next
thing is to prepare them for planting by pruning the
roots and heads. And first, as to the roots; all the
small fibres are to be cut off, as near to the place from
whence they are produced as may be, except they are
to be replanted immediately after they are taken up.
Then prune off all the bruised or broken roots, all such
as are irregular and cross each other, and all downright
roots, especially in fruit-trees : shorten the larger roots
in proportion to the age, the strength, and nature of
the tree; observing that the walnut, mulberry, and
some other tender-rooted kinds should not be pruned so
close as the more hardy sorts of fruit and forest trees:
in young fruit-trees, such as pears, apples, plums, peach¬
es, &c. that are one year old from the time of their
budding or grafting, the roots may be left only about
eight or nine inches long ; but in older trees, they must
be left of a much greater length ; but this is only to be
understood of the larger roots; for the small ones must
be chiefly cut quite out, or pruned very short. The
next thing is the pruning of their heads, which must be
differently performed in different trees ; and the design
of the trees must also be considered. Thus, if they are
designed for walls or espaliers, it is best to plant them
with the greatest part of their heads, which should re¬
main on till they begin to shoot in the spring, when they
must be cut down to five or six eyes, at the same time
taking care not to disturb the roots. But if the trees
are designed for standards, you should prune off all the
small branches close to the place where they are produ¬
ced, as also the irregular ones which cross each other;
and after having displaced these branches, you should
also cut off all such parts of branches as have bv any ac-
cident been broken or wounded ; but by no means cut
oft the main leading shoots which are necessaryto attract
the sap from the root, and thereby promote the growth
of the tree. Having thus prepared the trees for plant¬
ing, you must now proceed to place them in the earth:
but first, if the trees have been long out of the ground,
so that the fibres of the roots are dried, place them eight
or ten hours in water, before they are planted, with
their heads erect, and the roots only immersed therein ;
which
Pkritei
ship,
Phimiii:
for that, by long duration, will convert the finest mould into stiff clay. The proprietor of such a soil must there¬
fore grudge no labour to drain it well; and yet by such easy gradation as to prevent the mould from being wash¬
ed away by great floods in case the under stratum be a loam.
4 I 2
P L A [620
Planting, which will swell the dried vessels of the roots, and pre-
>——ypare them to imbibe nourishment from the earth. In
planting them, great regard should be had to the nature
of the soil; for if that be cold and moist, the trees
should be planted very shallow 5 artd if it be a haid rock
or gravel, it will be better to raise a hill of earth where
each tree is to be planted, than to dig into the rock or
gravel, and fill it up with earth, as is too often practised,
bv which means the trees are planted as it were in a tub,
and have but little room to extend their roots. _ The
next thing to be observed is, to place the trees in the
hole in such a manner that the roots may be about the
same depth in the ground as before they were taken up J
then break the earth fine with a spade, and scatter it in¬
to the hole, so that it may fall in between every root,
that there may be no hollowness in the earth : then ha¬
ving filled up the hole, gently tread down the earth
with your feet, but do not make it too hard ; which is
a great fault, especially if the ground be strong or wet.
Having thus planted the trees, they should be fastened
to stakes driven into the ground to prevent their being
displaced by the wind, and some mulch laid upon the
surface of the ground about their roots; as to such as
are planted against walls, their roots should be placed
about five or six inches from the wall, to which their
heads should be nailed to prevent their being blown
up by the wind. The seasons for planting are various,
according to the different sorts of trees, or the soil in
which they are planted. For the trees whose leaves fall
off in winter, the best time is the beginning of Octo¬
ber, provided the soil be dry 5 but if it be a very wet
soil, it is better to defer it till the latter end of Febru¬
ary, or the beginning of March : and for many kinds
of evergreens, the beginning of April is by far the
best season ; though they may be safely removed at
midsummer, provided they are not to be carried very
far j but should always make choice of a cloudy wet
season.
In the second volume of the papers, &c. of the Bath
Society there is a letter on planting waste grounds.
The gentleman who writes it informs ns, that in the
county of Norfolk, where he resides, there were about
60 or 70 years ago vast tracts of uncultivated ground,
which were then thought totally barren. “ The western
parts of it (says he) abounded with sand of so light a
texture, that they were carried about by every wind 5
and in many places the sands were so loose that no
grass could grow upon them. Art and industry, how¬
ever, have now so altered the face of this once Ara¬
bian desert, that it wears a very different appearance.
Most of these tracts are either planted or rendered
very good coin-land and sheep-walks.
“ About 30 years since, the sides of many of our little
sand-hills were sown with the seeds of French furze, and
when a wet season followed, they succeeded very well,
and grew so fast, that once in three or four years they
are cut for fuel, and sell at a good price at Thetford,
Brandon, Harling, Swaffham, and places adjacent.
This excited some public-spirited gentlemen, among
whom was the late Mr Buxton of Shadwell-Lodge, near
Thetford, to attempt the planting of Scotch and spruce
firs, and other hardy forest-trees. At first they found
some difficulty from the extreme looseness of the sand.
But as there is in all this part of the country fine white
and yellow marie, at about three feet depth below the
a
]
P L A
sand, they very judiciously thought that incorporating it planting,
with the sand in the holes where their young trees were ' 
planted, would insure success •, nor were they disappoint¬
ed. The method succeeded beyond expectation 5 the
plantations throve exceedingly, and the roots soon reach¬
ed below the sand, after which they were out of danger.
This excited them to further attempts.
“ On the spots where they intended to raise new plan¬
tations from seeds and acorns, they laid on a thick coat
of marie and clay, which after being rough spread, and
lying a winter in that state, was made fine, and plough¬
ed in just before planting. By these means the soil be¬
came fixed, and in a little time covered with grass and
herbage ; so that there are now vast plantations of firs,
Oakland forest-trees, in the most healthy and vigorous
state, where within my memory ten acres of land would
not maintain a single sheep three months.
“ But the benefit of plantations, whether of shrubs,
copse, or trees, is not confined to the immediate advan¬
tage, or even the future value of the wood. By annual¬
ly shedding a great number of leaves, which the winds
disperse, and the rains wash into the soil, it is consider¬
ably improved j and whenever such copses have been
stubbed up, the ground (however unfruitful before plant¬
ing) has thereby been so enriched as to bear excellent
crops for many years, without the additional help of ma¬
nure. How much land-owners are interested in planting
waste or barren spots I need not mention j and nothing
but a degree of indolence or ignorance unpardonable in
this enlightened age could induce them to neglect it.
“ Nature has furnished us with plants, trees, and
shrubs, adapted to almost every soil and situation j and
as the laws of vegetation are now much better understood
than formerly, it is a reproach to those whose practise
does not keep pace with their knowledge in making the
best use of her bounty. Let no man repine and say tlw
land is barren; for those spots which appear to be so,
owe that appearance to human negligence. Industry
and art might soon render an eighth part of this king¬
dom nearly as valuable as the rest, which now remains
in a state unprofitable to the owners, and disgraceful to
the community.”
Reverse Planting, a method of planting in which
the natural position of the plant or shoot is inverted j
the branches being set into the earth, and the root rear¬
ed into the air. Hr Agricola mentions this monstrous
method of planting, which he found to succeed very
well in most of all sorts of fruit-trees, timber-trees, &c.
Bradley affirms, that he has seen a lime-tree in Holland
growing with its first roots in the air, which had shot
out branches in great plenty, at the same time that its
first branches produced roots and fed the tree. Mr I air-
child of Hoxton has practised the same with us, and
gives the following directions for performing it: Make
choice of a young tree of one shoot, of alder, elm, wil¬
low, or any other tree that easily takes root by laying ;
bend the shoot gently down into the earth, and so let it
remain until it has taken root. Then dig about the first
root, and raise it gently out of the ground, till the stem
be nearly upright, and stake it up. Then prune the
roots, now erected in the air, from the bruises and
wounds they received in being dug up; and anoint the
pruned parts with a composition of two ounces of tur¬
pentine, four ounces of tallow, and four ounces of bees
wax, melted together, and applied pretty warm. Af¬
terwards
P ^ A [621
anting terwards prune off all the buds or shoots that are upon
U the stem, and dress the wounds with the same composi-
adiing- tion, to prevent any collateral shootings, that might
spoil the beauty of the stem.
PLANUDLS, Maximus, a Greek monk of Con¬
stantinople, towards the end of the 14th century, who
published a collection of epigrams intitled Anthologia;
a Greek translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses ; a Life
of iEsop, which is rather a romance than a history j and
some other works. We know nothing more of him,
than that he suffered some persecution on account of his
attachment to the Latin church.
PLASHING o/"Hedges, is an operation thought
by some persons to promote the growth and continuance
of old hedges ; but whether the fact be so or not will
admit of some dispute. See Hedges.
It is performed in this manner : The old stubs must be
cut off, &c. within two or three inches of the ground;
and the best and longest of the middle-sized shoots must
be left to lay down. Some of the strongest of these must
also be left to answer the purpose of stakes. These are
to be cut off to the height at which the hedge is intend¬
ed to be left; and they are to stand at ten feet distance
one from another: when there are not proper shoots for
these at the due distances, their places must be supplied
with common stakes of dead wood. The hedge is to be
first thinned, by cutting away all but those shoots which
are intended to be used either as stakes, or the other
work of the plashing : the ditch is to be cleaned out
with the spade ; and it must be now dug as at first, with
sloping sides each way ; and when there is any cavity on
the bank on which the hedge grows, or the earth has
i>een washed away from the roots of the shrubs, it is to
be made good by facing it, as they express it, with the
mould dug from the upper part of the ditch : all the rest
of the earth dug out of the ditch is to be laid upon the
top of the bank : and the owner should look carefully
into it that this be done ; for the workmen, to spare
themselves trouble, are apt to throw as much as they
can upon the face of the bank ; which being by this
means overloaded, is soon washed off into the ditch
again, and a very great part of the work undone;
whereas what is laid on the top of the bank always re¬
mains there, and makes a good fence of an indifferent
hedge.
In the plashing the quick, two extremes are to be
avoided ; these are the laying it too low, and the lay¬
ing it too thick. The latter makes the sap run all into
the shoots, and leaves the plashes without sufficient nou¬
rishment ; which, with the thickness of the hedge, fi¬
nally kills them. The other extreme of laying them too
high, is equally to be avoided ; for this carries up all
the nourishment into the plashes, and so makes the shoots
small and weak at the bottom, and consequently the
hedge thin. This is a common error in the north of
England. The best hedges made anywhere in England
are those in Hertfordshire ; for they are plashed in a
middle way between the two extremes, and the cattle
are by that prevented both from cropping the young
shoots, and from going through ; and a new and vigo¬
rous hedge soon forms itself.
When the shoot is bent down that is intended to be
plashed, it must be cut half way through with the bill :
the cut must be given sloping, somewhat downwards,
] P L A
and then it is to be wound about the stakes, and after
this its superfluous branches are to be cut off as they
stand out at the sides of the hedge. If for the first year
or two, the field where a new hedge is made can be '
ploughed, it will thrive the better for it; but if the
stubs are very old, it is best to cut them quite down,
and to secure them with good dead hedges on both
sides, till the shoots are grown up jfrom them strong e-
nough to plash ; and wherever void spaces are seen, new
sets are to be planted to fill them up. A new hedge rais¬
ed from sets in the common way, generally requires
plashing in about eight or nine years after.
PLASSEY, is a grove near the city ef Muxadab iu
India, famous for a battle fought betAveen the English
under Lord Clive, and the native Hindoos under the
nabob Surajah HoAvlah. The British army consisted of
about 3200 men, of whom the Europeans did not ex¬
ceed poo ; while that of the nabob consisted of 50,000
foot, and 18,000 horse. NotAvithstanding this great
disproportion, hoAvever, Lord Clive effectually routed
the nabob and his forces, with the loss of three Euro¬
peans and 26 Seapoys killed, and fNe Europeans and 40
Seapoys wounded. The nabob’s loss was estimated at
about 200 men, besides oxen and elephants. See
Clive.
PLASTER, or Emflaster, in Pharmacy, an ex¬
ternal application of a harder consistence than an oint¬
ment ; to be spread according to the different circum¬
stances of the Avound, place, or patient, either upon li¬
nen or leather.
Plaster, or Plaister, in building, a composition of
lime, sometimes Avith sand, &c. to parget, or coA'er
the nudities of a building. See Pargeting and
Stucco.
Plaster of Paris, a preparation of several species of
gypsum dug near Mount Martre, a village in the neigh¬
bourhood of Paris; Avhence the name. See Alabas¬
ter, Gypsum, and Sulphate of Lime, under Che¬
mistry.
The best sort is hard, Avhite, shining, and marbly;
known by the name of plaster-stone or parget of Mount
Martre. It Avill neither give fire with steel, nor fer¬
ment Avith aquafortis; but very freely and readily cal¬
cines in the fire into a fine plaster, the use of Avhich in
building and casting statues is well knoAvn.
The method of representing a face truly in plaster of
Paris is this : The person, Avhose figure is designed, is
laid on his back, with any convenient thing to keep off
the hair. Into each nostril is conveyed a conical piece
of stiff paper, open at both ends, to alloAV of respiration.
These tubes being anointed with oil, are supported by
the hand of an assistant; then the face is lightly oiled
over, and the eyes being kept shut, alabaster fresh cal¬
cined, and tempered to a thinnish consistence Avith wa¬
ter, is by spoonfuls nimbly thrown all over the face, till
it lies near the thickness of an inch. This matter groAvs
sensibly hot, and in about a quarter of an hour hardens
into a kind of stony concretion ; Avhich being gently
taken off, represents, on its concave surface, the minu¬
test part of the original face. In this a head of good
clay may be moulded ; and therein the eyes are to be
opened, and other necessary amendments made. This
second face being anointed Avith oil, a second mould of
calcined alabaster is made, consisting oftAVO parts joined
lengthAvise
Plashing-
11
Plaster.
P L A [62
Plaster, lengthwise along the ridge of the nose 5 and herein may
—be cast, with the same matter, a face extremely like the
original.
If finely powdered alabaster, or plaster of Paris, he
put into a bason over a fire, it will, when hot, assume
the appearance of a fluid, by rolling in waves, yielding
to the touch, steaming, &c. all which properties it again
loses on the departure of the heat j and being thrown
upon paper, will not at all wet it, but immediately dis¬
cover itself to be as motionless as betore it was set over
the fire; whereby it appears, that a heap of such little
bodies, as are neither spherical nor otherwise regularly
shaped, noi small enough to be below the discernment
of the eye, may, without fusion, be made fluid, barely
by a sufficiently strong and various agitation of the par¬
ticles which compose it j and moreover lose its fluidity
immediately upon the cessation thereof.
Two or three spoonfuls of burnt alabaster, mixed up
thin with water, in a short time coagulate, at the bot¬
tom of a vessel full of water, into a hard lump, notwith¬
standing the water that surrounded it. Artificers ob¬
serve, that the coagulating property of burnt alabaster
will be very much impaired or lost, if the powder be
kept too long, especially if in the open air, before it is
made use of; and when it hath been once tempered with
water, and suffered to grow hard, they cannot, by any
burning or powdering of it again, make it serviceable
for their purpose as before.
This matter, when wrought into vessels, &c. is still
of so loose and spongy a texture, that the air has easy
passage through it. Mr Boyle gives an account, among
his experiments with the air-pump, of his preparing a
tube of this plaster, closed at one end and open at the
other j and on applying the open end to the cement, as
is usually done with the receivers, it was found utterly
impossible to exhaust all the air out of it; for fresh air
from without pressed in as fast as the other, or internal
air, was exhausted, though the sides of the tube were of
a considerable thickness. A tube of iron was then put
on the engine 5 so that being filled with water, the tube
of plaster of Paris was covered with it j and on using
the pump, it was immediately seen, that the water pas¬
sed through into it as easily as the air had done, when
that was the ambient fluid. After this, trying it with
Venice turpentine instead of water, the thing succeeded
very well j and the tube might be perfectly exhausted,
and would remain in that state several hours. After
this, on pouring some hot oil upon the turpentine, the
case was much altered } for the turpentine melting with
this, that became a thinner fluid, and in this state capa¬
ble of passing like water into the pores of the plaster.
On taking away the tube after this, it was remarkable
that the turpentine, which had pervaded and filled its
pores, rendered it transparent, in the manner that water
gives transparency to that singular stone called oculun
mundi. In this manner, the weight of air, under pro¬
per management, will be capable of making several sorts
of glues penetrate plaster of Paris ; and not only this,
but baked earth, w'ood, and all other bodies, porous
enough to admit water on this occasion.
Plaster of Paris is used asa manure inPennsylvania, as
we find mentioned in a letter from a gentleman in that
country inserted in the 5th volume of the Bath Society
Papers, and which we shall insert here for the satisfac¬
tion and information of our agricultural readers. “ The
2 ] PL A
best kind is imported from hills in the vicinity of Paris :
it is brought down to the Seine, and exported Irom Havre '■
de Grace. 1 am informed there are large beds of it in
the hay of Fundy, some of which i have seen nearly as
good as that from France *, nevertheless several cargoes
brought from thence to Philadelphia have been used
without ellect. It is probable this was taken from the
top of the ground, and by the influence of the sun and
atmosphere dispossessed of the qualities necessary for the
purposes of vegetation. The lumps composed of flat
shining specula are ptrferred to those which are formed
of round particles like sand : the simple method of find¬
ing out the quality is to pulverize some, and put it dry
into an iron pot over the fire, when that which is good
will soon boil, and great quantities of the fixed air es¬
cape by ebullition. It is pulverized by first putting it
in a stamping-mill. The finer its pulverization the bet¬
ter, as it will thereby be more generally diffused.
“ It is best to sow it in a wret day. The most appro¬
ved quantity for grass is six bushels per acre. No art is
required in sowing it more than making the distribution
as equal as possible on the sward of grass. It operates
altogether as a top manure, and therefore should not be
put on in the spring until the principal frosts are over
and vegetation hath begun. The general time for sow¬
ing with us is in April, May, June, July, August, and
even as late as September. Its effects will generally ap¬
pear in 10 or 15 days; after which the growth of the
grass will be so great as to produce a large burden at
the end of six w'eeks after sowing.
“ It must be sown on dry land, not subject to be over¬
flown. I have sown it on sand, loam, and clay, and it
is difficult to say on which it has best answered, although
the effect is sooner visible on sand. It has been used as
a manure in this state for upwards of 12-years. Its du¬
ration may, from the best information ! can collect, be
estimated from 7 to 1 2 years; for, like other manure,
its continuance very much depends on the nature of the
soil on which it is placed.
<c,One of my neighbours sowed some of his grass
ground six years ago, another four years ago ; a great
part of my own farm was sown in May 1788. V e re¬
gularly mow two crops, and pasture in autumn ; no ap¬
pearance of failure, the present crop being full as good
as any preceding. I have this season mowed 50 acres of
red clover, timothy grass, white clover, &c. which was
plastered last May, July, and September: many who
saw the grass estimated the produce at two tons per acre,
but I calculate the two crops at three tons. Several
stripes were left in the different fields without plaster;
these were in a measure unproductive, being scarcely
worth mowing. In April 1788, I covered a piece of
grass land upwards of two inches thick with barn ma¬
nure ; in the same worn-out field I sowed plaster, to
contrast it with the dung. I mowed the dunged and
plastered land twice last year and once this; in every
crop the plaster has produced the most. You will re¬
member, in all experiments with clover, to mix about
one-third timothy grass seed ; it is of great advantage in
serving as a support for the clover; it very much facili¬
tates the curing of clover, and when cured is a superior
fodder. The plaster operates equally as well on the
other grasses as on clover. Its effect is said to be good
on wheat, if sown in the spring; but I cannot say this
from experience. On Indian corn I know its operation
Piaslc
aster
II.
astie.
P L A [6
to le great i tve use it at the rate of a table spoonful
for a hill, put in immediately after dressing.
“ From some accurate experiments last year made
and reported to our Agricultural Society, it appears
that nine bushels ol additional corn per acre were pro¬
duced by tliis method of using plaster.”
PLASTERING. See Pargetting.
U
iv.
PLASTIC, denotes a thing endowed with a forma¬
tive power, or a faculty of forming or fashioning a mass
of matter after the likeness of a living being.
Plastic Nature, a certain power, by which, as an
instrument, many philosophers, both ancient and mo¬
dern, have supposed the great motions in the corporeal
world, and the various processes of generation and cor¬
ruption, to be perpetually carried on.
Among the philosophers of Greece, such a power
was almost universally admitted. It seems, indeed, to
have been rejected only by the followers of Democritus
and Epicurus, who talk as it they had thought gravity
essential to matter, and the fortuitous motion of atoms,
which they held to have been from eternity, the source
not only of all the regular motions in the universe, but
also of the organization of all corporeal systems, and
even ol sensation and intellection, in brutes and in mtn.
It is needless to say, that those men, whatever they
might profess, were in reality atheists 5 and Democritus,
it is universally known, avowed his atheism.
The greater part of the philosophers who held the
existence of a plastic nature, considered it not as an
agent in the strict sense of the word, but merely as
an instrument in the hand of the Deity; though even
among them there were some who held no superior
power, and were of course as gross atheists as Demo¬
critus himself. Such was Strata of Lampsacus. This
man was originally of the peripatetic school, over which
he presided many years, with no small degree of repu¬
tation for learning and eloquence, tie was the first
and chief assertor of what has been termed Hijlozoic
atheism; a system which admits of no power superior
to a certain natural or plastic life, essential, ingenerahle,
and incorruptible, inherent in manner, but withont sense
and consciousness. That such was his doctrine we learn
from Cicero, who makes Velleius the Epicurean say,
“ Nec audiendus Strata qui Physic,us appellatur, qui
omnem vim divinam in Natura sitam esse censet, quae
.VflRi-causas gignendi, augendi, minuendive babeaf, sed careat
‘"'wi.omni sensu That Strato in admitting this plastic
L<1’* principle, differed widely from Democritus, is apparent
from the following account of him by the same author:
Strato Lampsaeenus negat opera deorum se uti ad fa-
bricandum mundum, qufecunque sint docet omnia esse
effecta nature, nec ut ille, qui asperis, et levibus, et
hamatis uncinatisque corporibus concreta haec esse dicat,
y. mterjecta inani; somnia censet haec esseDeniocriti, non
1 lib. docentis sed optantis f.”
>.38. That the rough and smooth, and hooked and crook¬
ed, atoms of Democritus, were indeed dreams and do¬
tages, is a position which no man will controvert; but
surely Strato was himself as great a dreamer when he
made sensation and intelligence result from a certain
plastic or spermatic life in matter, which is itself devoid
of sense and consciousness. It is, indeed, inconceivable,
to use the emphatic language of Cudworth, “ how any
one in his senses should admit such a monstrous paradox
as this, that every atom of dust has in itself as much
2
] P L A
wisdom as the greatest politician and most profound phi- plastic-
losopher, and yet is neither conscious nor intelligent!” -y—-
t is 10 be observed of Strato likewise, that though
he attributed a certain kind of life to matter, he by
no means allowed of one common life as ruling over
ctie whole material universe. He supposed the several
parts of matter to have so many several plastic lives of
their own, and seems % to have attributed something tof Cut Lit.
chance in the production and preservation of the mun-shst- cd-
dane system. Mosheim,
In denying the existence of a God, perpetually di- ^ ^ Cap'
recting his plastic principle, and in supposing as many^
of these principles as there are atoms of matter, Strato
deviated far from the doctrine of Aristotle. The great
founder of the peripatetic school, as well as his apostate
disciple, taught that mundane things are not effected by
foituitous mechanism, but by such a nature as acts regu-
laily and artificially for ends; yet he never considers this
nature as the highest principle, or supreme Numen, but
as subordmate to a perfect mind or intellect j and he ex¬
pressly affirms, that “ mind together with nature, forn>
ed or fashioned this universe.” He evidently considers
mind as the principal and intelligent agent, and nature
as the subservient and executive instrument. Indeed,
we are strongly inclined to adopt the opinion of the
learned Mosheim, who thinks that by nature Aristotle
meant nothing more than that or animal
heat, to which he attributes immortality, and of which
he expressly says $ that all things are full. Be this as 5 Be Gene
it may, he always joins God and nature together, andrat‘°'»e A-
affirms that they do nothing in vain. The same doc----"^ lil>'
trine was taught before him by Plato* who affirms thatUI’Cap’ U*
“ nature, together with reason, and according to it, or¬
ders all things.” It must not, however, he concealed,
that Plato seems to have attributed intelligence to the
principle by which he supposed the world to be animat¬
ed 5 for Chalcidius, commenting on the Timaeus J, thus! Sect. 53.
expresses himself: Hrec est ilia rationabilis amnia mun-
di, quae gemina juxta meliorem naturam veneratione tu-
telam prsebet inferioribus, divinis dispositionibus obse-
quens, providentiam nativis impertiens, ceternorum si.
militudine propter cognationem beata.”—Apuleius too,
tells us ||, “ Illam ccelestem animam, fontem animarum
omnium, optimam virtutem esse genetricem, subserviri7”8^ L^a~
etiam Fabricatori Deo, et prsesto esse ad omnia inventa
ejus.” Plato pronunciat.
The doctrine of Plato has been adopted by many mo¬
derns of great eminence both for genius and for learn¬
ing. The celebrated Berkeley bishop of Cloyne, after
giving the view of Plato’s anima mundi, which the rea¬
der will find in our article AIotion, N° xo, thus recom*
mends the stndy of his philosoply * : “ If that plriloso-* Sins,
pher himself was not read only, hut studied also withN° 33S‘
care, and made his own interpreter, I believe the pre¬
judice that now lies against him would soon wear off,
or be even converted into high esteem, for those ex¬
alted notions, and fine hints, that sparkle and shine
throughout his writings; which seem to contain not on¬
ly the most valuable learning of Athens and Greece, but
also a treasure of the most remote traditions and early
science of the east.” Cudworth, and the learned author
of Ancient Metaphysics, are likewise strenuous advocates
for the Aristotelian doctrine of a plastic nature diffused
through the material world; (see Metaphysics, N°
200, 201, 20 2.) : and a notion very similar has lately;
occurred
P L A
Plastic, occurred to a writer who does not appear to have bor-
' v ' rowed it either from the Lyceum or the Academy.
This writer is Mr Young, of whose active substance,
and its agency in moving bodies, some account has been
given elsewhere, (see Motion). As a mere unconsci¬
ous agent, immaterial, and, as he expresses himself, im-
mental, it bears a striking resemblance to the plastic na¬
ture or vegetable life of Cudworth : but the author holds
it to be not only the principle of motion, but also the
basis or substratum of matter itself; in the production of
which, by certain motions, it may be said to be more
strictly plastic than the hylarchical principle, or vis ge-
nitriix, of any other philosopher with whose writings we
have any acquaintance. Though this opinion be singu¬
lar, yet as its author is evidently a man who thinks for
himself, unawed by the authority of celebrated names,
and as one great part of the utility of such works as oui*s
consists in their serving as indexes to science and litera¬
ture, we shall lay before our readers a short abstract of
the reasonings by which Mr Young endeavours to sup-
poi't his hypothesis, and we shall take the liberty of re¬
marking upon those reasonings as we proceed.
The author, after a short introduction, enters upon
$ An Essay his work J, in a chapter intitled, Analysis of Matter in
onthc pow-generai' In that chapter there is little novelty. He
ThanisniTf treats> as ot*iers have done, of primary and secondary
nature. J qualities, and adheres too closely to the language of
Locke, when he says, that “ the nature of bodies signi¬
fies the aggregate of all those ideas with which they
furnish us, and by which they are made known.” To
say the best of it, this sentence is inaccurately expressed.
An aggregate of ideas may be occasioned by the impulse
of bodies on the organs of sense, but the effect of impulse
cannot be that which impels. We should not have made
this remark, which may perhaps be deemed captious,
were we not persuaded that the vague and inaccurate
•use of terms is the source of those mistakes into which,
we cannot help thinking, that the very ingenious author
has sometimes fallen. Having justly observed, that We
know nothing directly of bodies but their qualities, he
proceeds to investigate the nature of solidity.
“ Solidity (he says) is the quality of body which prin¬
cipally requires our notice. It is that which fills ex¬
tension, and which resists other solids, occupying the
place which it occupies 5 thus making extension and
figure real, and different from mere space and vacuity.
P L A
If the secondary qualities of bodies, or their powers va- p]asiic
riously to affect our senses, depend on their primary y-,
qualities, it is chiefly on this of solidity; which is there¬
fore the most important of the primary qualities, and
that in which the essence of body is by some conceived
to consist. This idea of solidity has been judged to be
incapable of any analysis ; but it appears evident to me
(continues our author), that the idea of solidity may be
resolved into another idea, which is that of the power
of resisting within the extension of body. Hence it be¬
comes unnecessary, and even inadmissible, to suppose
that solidity in the body is at all a pattern or archetype
of our sensation.”
That solidity in the body, and we know nothing of
solidity any where else, is no pattern of any sensation of
ours, is indeed most true, as we have shown at large in
another place, (see Metaphysics, N° 44 and 171):
but to reconcile this with what our author asserts imme¬
diately afterwards, that “ solidity is no more in bodies
than colours and flavours are, and that it is equally with
them a sensation and an idea," would be a task to which
our ingenuity is by no means equal. He affirms, in¬
deed, that solidity, as it is said to be in bodies, is ut¬
terly incomprehensible; that we can perfectly compre¬
hend it as a sensation in ourselves, but that in bodies
nothing more is required than a power of active resistance
to make upon our senses those impressions from which
we infer the reality of primary and secondary qualities.
This power of resistance, whether it ought to be called
active or passive, We apprehend to be that which all
other philosophers have meant by the word solidity;
and though Locke, who uses the words idea and notion
indiscriminately, often talks of the idea of solidity, we
believe our author to be the first of human beings who
has thought of treating solidity as a sensation in the
mind.
Though it is wrong to innovate in language, when
writing on subjects which require much attention, we
must, however, acknowledge it to be unworthy of in¬
quirers after truth to dispute about the proper or impro¬
per use of terms, so long as the meaning of him who
employs them can be easily discovered. We shall, there¬
fore, follow our author in his endeavours to ascertain
what this power of resistance is which is commonly
known by the name of solidity. All power he justly
holds to be active; and having, by an argument (a) of
which
t 624 ]
“ (a) We can only conceive of solidity as being a resistance of the paj'ts of any body, to a power which endea¬
vours to sepa?uite them, or to bring them neai'er together. Now that which resists any power, and prevents its effect,
is also a power. By resistance, I mean here an active resistance, such as an animal can employ against an animal.
If ahorse pulls against a load, he draws it along; but if he draws against another horse, he is put to a stand, and
his endeavour is defeated. When any endeavour to change the situation of the parts of any solid is in like mannei
prevented from taking effect, and the parts retain their situation, the situation has plainly been preserved by an
active resistance or power, equivalent to that which was fruitlessly exerted on them.”
Such is our author’s reasoning to prove that matter is essentially active, and that from this activity results our
notion of its solidity: but does he not here confound solidity with hardness, and impenetrability with cohesion .
He certainly does; for water is as solid, in the proper sense of the word, as adamant, and the particles ol air as the
particles of iron. The parts of water are, indeed, separated with ease, and those ot adamant with difficulty; but
it is not because the latter have more solidity than the former, but because the power of cohesion, whatever it may
be, operates upon them with greater force. Solidity is an attribute ot a whole ; hardness and softness icsu t
from the cohesion of parts. We do not at ■ill perceive the propriety of the simile ot the horse pulling a load, an
afterwards pulling against another horse. Is it because both horses are active that one of them cannot prevail against
the other, and because the load is inactive that either of them may drag along a mass of iron of hall a ton weight .
p L A [ 625 ] P L A
■kstlc. which we do not perceive the force, attempted to prove
-V—^ that it is by an inward power, and not by its inertia,
that one body prevents another from occupying the same
place with itself, he naturally enough infers matter to
be essentially active. “ But the activity of matter is
to be considered in a certain limited sense, and its in¬
ertness is to be. regarded in another limited sense ; so
that these are compatible within their respective limits.
The activity of body may be considered as belonging to
the parts of a compound j its inertia as the inertia form¬
ed of those parts. I he actions ol the parts are every¬
where opposed to each other, and equal j and hence re¬
sults the inactivity of the whole.”
Solidity alone of the primary qualities being po¬
sitive, and peculiar to bodies, and our author having re¬
solved this into action or power, it follows, by bis
analysis, that the essence of body is reduced to pow¬
er likewise. But, as he properly observes, power is an
idea of reflection, not acquired by the senses, but sug¬
gested by thought. Hence our knowledge of real ex¬
istence in body must be such as is suggested to us by
our thoughts exercised about our sensations. “ We are
capable of acting and producing changes in appearances j
and this faculty, which we experience to exist in our¬
selves, we call power. We are conscious of the exer¬
tion of our own power ; and, therefore, when we see
action or CHANGE happen without any exertion of
ours, we refer this to other powers without us, and ne¬
cessarily conclude the power to exist where the change
begins or the action is exerted. This pow-er, then, re¬
ferred to bodies, must exist in them, or it can exist no
where.”
In two chapters, which might easily have been com¬
pressed into one not so long as the shortest of them, our
author analyzes atoms or the primary particles of matter,
and strenuously opposes their impenetrability. He allows
that there are atoms of matter not divisible by any known
force ; but as these, however small, must still be concei¬
ved as having extension, each of them must be compo¬
sed of parts held together by the same power which
binds together many atoms in the same body. This
power, indeed, he acknowledges to operate much more
forcibly when it cements the parts of a primary atom
than when it makes many atoms cohere in one mass •,
but still it operates in the same manner : and as the ideal
analysis may be carried on ad infinitum, the only positive
idea which is suggested by atoms, or the parts of atoms,
is the idea of a resisting power. That this power of re¬
sistance, which constitutes what is vulgarly called the
solidity of bodies, may not be absolutely impenetrable,
he attempts to prove, by showing that resistance does
in fact take place in cases where impenetrability, and
even solidity, are not supposed by any man.
“ Let us endeavour (says he) to bring together two
like poles of a magnet, and we shall experience a re¬
sistance to their approximation. Why, then, may not
a piece of iron, which between our fingers resists their
coining together, resist by an efficacy perfectly similar,
though more strongly exerted ? If magnetism were to act
upon our bodies as upon iron, we should feel it; or were
Vol. XVI. Part II.
magnets endowed with sensation, they would feel that Plastic,
which resists their nearer approach. The resisting ex-l——
tension between the two magnets is permeable to all the
rays of light, and reflecting none is therefore unseen ;
but it is easy to conceive that the same power which re¬
sists the approach of the iron might resist and reflect some
rays of light. We should then have a visible object in¬
terposed between the two magnets, as we have before
supposed it might be a tangible one. It is likewise easy
to conceive that which is tangible and visible so applied
to our organs of tasting, of smelling, and of hearing, as
to excite ideas of flavours, odours, and sounds. Thus
we see that an action, in which no supposition of solidi¬
ty or impenetrability is involved, may be conceived to
assume all the qualities of matter, by only supposing a
familiar effect extended in its operation.”
This reasoning is exceedingly ingenious, though per¬
haps not original ; but what is of more importance,
it does not approach so near to demonstration as the
author seems to imagine. If magnets operate by means
of a fluid issuing from them (see Magnetism), those
who hold the solidity or impenetrability of matter will
maintain, that each atom of the magnetic fluid is
solid and impenetrable. That we do not see nor feel
these atoms, will be considered as no argument that
they do not exist; for we do not see, nor in a close room
feel, the atoms of the surrounding atmosphere ; which
yet Mr Young will acknowledge to have a real existence,
and to be capable of operating upon our senses of hear¬
ing and smelling. Let us, however, suppose, that by this
reasoning he has established the non-existence of every
thing in the primary atoms of matter but active powers
of resistance, and let us see how he conceives the ac¬
tions of these powers to constitute what gives us the
notion of inert and solid body ; for that we have such
a notion cannot be denied.
To act he allows to be an attribute, and justly ob¬
serves, that we cannot conceive an attribute to exist
without a substance. “ But (says he) we have traced
all phenomena to action as to a generic idea, compre¬
hending under it all forms of matter and motion as spe¬
cies of that genus. By this analysis, that complex idea
we have usually denominated matter, and considered as
the substance or substratum to which motion appertain¬
ed as an attribute, is found to change its character, and
to be itself an attribute of a substance essentially active,
of which one modification of motion produces matter
and another generates motion.” The action of this
substance Mr Young determines to be motion, (see
Motion, N° 16.) ; and he proceeds to inquire by what
kind of motion it produces matter, or inert and resist¬
ing atoms.
“ Whatever portion of the ACTIVE substance is
given to form an atom, the following things are neces¬
sary to be united in such portion of active substance:
\st, It must in some respect continually move ; for
otherwise it would lose its nature, and cease to be ac¬
tive. idly. It must also in some other respect be at
rest, for otherwise it could not form an inactive atom.
3f//y, It must preserve unity within itself.” The author’s
t 4 K proof
If so, double or triple the mass, and a very strange phenomenon will be the result; for we shall have an active
whole compounded of two or three inactive parts, even though those parts should not be in contact!
P L A [ 626 ] P L A
prooY of liie first of these positions we have given else¬
where. The secoml he holds to be self-evident $ and the
third he thinks established by the following reasoning :
“ Solidity is the result of those actions among the parts
cf any whole, whereby the unity of the whole is pre¬
served within itself. Several uncohering tilings may be
united by an external bond: this does not constitute
these one solid ; it may be one bundle ; but if several
things cohere, and have an unity preserved within them¬
selves, they become one solid. An atom is the least
and most simple sojid.”
Having thus proved the necessity of these three re¬
quisites to the formation of an atom, he observes, that
“ the two first can only be united in a rotation of the
portion of active substance about a centre or axis at rest.
I!y such a motion, all the parts successively occupy dif¬
ferent places in the orbit of rotation, and therefore move 5
the centre round which they revolve being at rest, the
n'holc portion is also at rest; and thus the portion is at
once moving and quiescent, as is required. The same
kind of motion will also fulfil the terms of the third re¬
quisite •, for a substance having a revolving motion a-
round its own centre, preserves its unity by reason of
all the parts preserving the same relation to the centre :
and further, a motion of the active substance about a
centre or axis will be an activity in the same orbit, which
will act upon and resist whatever shall interfere to op¬
pose its activity, or destroy the unity of the sphere, by
diverting the course of the revolving motions. The ac¬
tivity or motion of a portion of active substance a-
bout a centre will, therefore, give solidity to such por¬
tion ; for it will give it unity and resistance, and in a
manner tie together all the parts, forming them into one
mass about their common centre : for they move or are
active not towards the centre, in which case they would
be lost in non-extension ; nor from the centre, where
they would dissipate in boundless space j but about the
centre, preserving the same limits of extension : and be¬
ing in this way active, they in this way resist any other
activity opposed to them, that is, they resist any action
which tends to penetrate or divide this sphere of revol¬
ving activity. Therefore, since any portion of active
substance does, by revolving about a centre, become an
united, resisting, and quiescent whole, the smallest por¬
tions of the active SUBSTANCE which have such mo¬
tions will become atoms, or make the smallest portions
of matter.”
Having thus shown to his own satisfaction how atoms
of matter are formed, he next explains what at first he
confesses may have appeared a paradox, “ how the ac¬
tive substance, retaining its own nature and essential
properties, continuing immaterial, unsolid, and active,
puts on at the same time the form of matter, and becomes
material, solid, and inert. A sphere of revolving active
substance, as it revolves continually about a centre, and
as parts of the substance are considered as successively
passing through every point in the orbit j considered
thus in its parts, and in its motions, it is active sub¬
stance, immaterial, and unsolid ; but the whole sphere,
considered unitically, collectively, and as quiescent, is in
this point of vieiy a solid atom, material, and inert.”
Such is the active substance of Mr Young, and such
his theory of the formation of matter. That he has
not with servility copied from the ancients, every reader
of bis book, who is not an absolute stranger to Greek
and Roman literature, will readily acknowledge •, and Piast;
yet if his theory he well founded, he has discovered a'—-v»
iniddle substance between mind and matter, more pro¬
perly plastic than Aristotle or Plato, Cudworth or Ber¬
keley, ever conceived. But truth compels us to add,
that to us his theory appears to labour under insuperable
objections. That there may be in the* universe a sub¬
stance essentially active, and at the same time not intel¬
ligent, is a proposition which we are by no means in¬
clined to controvert. Various phenomena, both in ve¬
getable and animal life, lead us to suspect that there is
such a substance 5 but it does not follow that we are in¬
clined to adopt our author’s doctrine respecting the for¬
mation of matter. He conceives his proof, indeed, to
be “ in its nature not at all imperfect, or to fall short of
demonstration } and if any one refuse it, he thinks it
will be necessary for him to show, either that the expla¬
nation offered is not sufficient, or that some other expla¬
nation will serve equally well.”
To show that the explanation offered is not sufficient,
will not, we apprehend, be a very arduous task $ but we
have no inclination to attempt ourselves another expla¬
nation, because we believe that of the formation of mat¬
ter no other account can be given than that which re¬
solves it into the fiat of the Creator. That it cannot be
formed by the motion of an immaterial substance in the
manner which our author has very clearly described,
seems to be a truth so evident as not to admit of proof j
for if motion be, as he defines it, a change of place,
every thing that is moved must have the quality of ex¬
tension. But all the parts of this active substance which
are given to form an atom, move round a centre, and are.
expressly said to occupy successively different places in
the orbit of rotation. Every one of these parts, there¬
fore, is an extended being: and since, according to our
author, solidity is nothing but an active power of resist¬
ance, and the parts of this active substance, in their ro¬
tation round their centre, act upon and resist whatever
interferes to oppose their activity, it follows that each of
these parts is likewise a, solid being. But, in the opinion
of Mr Young himself, and of all mankind, whatever is
extended and solid is material. This theory, therefore,
exhibits a process in which atoms are formed of a sub¬
stance, which, though it is said to be active, immaterial,
and unsolid, appears, when narrowly inspected, to be
nothing else than a collection of those very atoms of
which the author pretends to explain the formation.
Mr Young, who examines and very freely censures some
of the doctrines of Newton and others, is too much a
man of science to be offended at us for stating objections
to a theory which is quite new, to a transformation
which he himself acknowledges may to many “ appear
not onlt-problematical and difficult to conceive, but
wholly impossible, and implying contradictions abso¬
lutely and for ever irreconcileable.” Whether this he a
just character of it our readers must determine ; but if
we did not believe the author to be a man of ingenuity,
we should not have introduced him or his work to their
acquaintance.
Plastic Jrt, the art of representing all sorts of fi¬
gures by the means of moulds. This term is derived
from the Greek word TrAacrMcu, which signifies the “ art
of forming, modelling, or casting, in a mould.” A mould
in general is a body that is made hollow for that pur¬
pose. The artist makes use of it to form figures m
bronze.
? L A [ 627
PlsKtie. bronze, lead, gold, silver, or any other metal or fusible
substance. The mould is made of clay, stucco, or other
composition, and is hollowed into the form of the figure
that is to be produced ; they then apply the jet, which
is a sort of funnel, through which the metalis ,poured
that is to form the figures, and that is called running
the metal into the mould.
It is in this manner, but with much practice and at¬
tention, that the artist forms, 1. Equestrian and pedes¬
trian statues of every kind j 2. Groups 5 3. Pedestals ;
4. Bass-reliefs j 5. Medallionsj 6. Cannons, mortars, and
other pieces of artillery j 7. Ornaments of architecture,
as capitals, bases, &c. •, 8. Various sorts of furniture, as
lustres, branches, &c. in every kind of metal : and in
the same manner figures are cast in stucco, plaster, or
any other fusible matter. See Plaster of Paris.
Wax being a substance that is very easily put in fu¬
sion, plastics make much use of it. There are impres¬
sions which are highly pleasing in coloured wax, of me¬
dallions, basso and alto relievos, and of detached figures;
which, however, are somewhat brittle. But this mat¬
ter has been carried too far : they have not only formed
moulds to represent the likeness and the bust of a living
person, by applying the plaster to the face itself, and
afterwards casting melted wax into the mould ; but
they have also painted that waxen bust with the natural
colours of the face, and have then applied glass eyes and
natural hair; to which they have joined a stuffed body
and limbs, with hands of wax ; and have, lastly, dressed
their figure in a real habit; and by these means have
produced an object the most shocking and detestable
that it is possible to conceive. It is not a statue, a bust,
a natural resemblance that they form ; but a dead body,
a lifeless countenance, a mere carcase. The stiff air,
the inflexible muscles, the haggard eyes of glass, all
contribute to produce an object that is hideous and dis¬
gustful to every man of taste. Figures like these offend
by affording too exact an imitation/)f nature. In no one
of the polite arts ought imitation ever to approach so
near the truth as to be taken for nature herself. Illu¬
sion must have its bounds ; without which it becomes
ridiculous.
There is another invention far more ingenious and
pleasing, which is that wherein M. Lippart, antiquary
and artist at Dresden, has so much excelled. He has
found the means of resembling, by indefatigable labour,
great expence, and infinite taste, that immense number
of stones, engraved and in camaieu, which are to be
seen in the most celebrated cabinets. He has made
choice of those that are the most beautiful ; and, with a
paste of his own invention, he takes from these stones an
impression that is surprisingly accurate, and which after¬
wards become as marble: these impressionsheeallspasti.
He then gives them a proper colour, and incloses each
with a gold rim ; and by ranging them in a judicious
order, forms of them an admirable system. 'I hey are
fixed on pasteboards, which form so many drawers, and
are then enclosed in cases, which represent folio volumes,
and have titles wrote on their backs; so that these fic¬
titious books may conveniently occupy a place in a li¬
brary. Nothing can be more ingenious than this in¬
vention ; and, by means of it, persons of moderate for¬
tune are enabled to make a complete collection of all
antiquity has left that is excellent of this kind ; and the
copies are very little inferior to the originals.
] P L A
There is also another method of taking the iittpres*
sions of camaieus, medals, and coins, which is as fol¬
lows : They wash or properly clean the piece whose im¬
pression is to be taken, and surround it with a border
of wax. They then dissolve isinglass in water, and make
a decoction of it, mixing with it some vermilion, to give
it an agreeable red colour. They pour this paste, when
hot, on the stone or medal, to the thickness of about the
tenth part of an inch ; they then leave it exposed to the
sun, in a place free from dust. After a few' days this
paste becomes hard, and offers to the eye file most ad¬
mirable and faithful representation of the medal that it
is possible to conceive : they are then carefully placed
in drawrers ; and thousands of these impressions, which
comprehend many ages, may be included in a small
compass.
The proficients in plastics have likewise invented the
art of casting in a mould papier mache or dissolved paper,
and forming it into figures in imitation of sculpture, of
ornaments and decorations for ceilings, furniture, &c.
and which they afterwards paint or gild. There are,
however, some inconveniencies attending this art; as, for
example, the imperfections in the moulds, which render
the contours of the figures inelegant, and give them a
heavy air : these ornaments, moreover, are not so dur¬
able as those of bronze or wood, seeing that in a few
years they are preyed on by the worm.
The figures that are given to porcelain, Delft ware,
&c. belong also to plastics; for they are formed by
moulds, as well as by the art of the sculptor and turner;
and by all these arts united are made vases of every
kind, figures, groups, and other designs, either for use
or ornament.
From this general article the reader is referred to
Foundery, Cast, Glazing, Porcelain, Papier.
Mache, Pottery, Delft Ware.
PLATA, the name of a very great river of South
America, running through the province of Paraguay :
whence the whole country is sometimes called Plata;
though this name is usually bestowed only upon a part
of Paraguay. In the latter sense it comprehends all
that country bounded on the east and south-east by the
Atlantic ocean ; on the south by Terra Magellanica;
on the west by Tucuman ; and on the north, by the
provinces of Paraguay Proper and Parana. The great
liver La Plata, from which the country has its name,
was first discovered, in 1515, by Juan Diaz de Solis ;
but denominated La Plata by Sebastian Gabato, from
the great quantity of the precious metals he procured
from the adjacent inhabitants, imagining it was the pro¬
duce of the country, though in fact they brought it from
Peru.
The country lies between 32° and 370 of south la¬
titude. The climate is pleasant and healthy. Their
winter is in May, June, and July, when the nights are
indeed very cold, but the days moderately warm ; the
frost is neither violent nor lasting, and the snows are
very inconsiderable.
The. country consists mostly of plains of a vast ex¬
tent, and exceeding rich soil, producing all sorts of Eu¬
ropean and American fruits, wheat, maize, cotton, su¬
gar, honey. &c. and abounding with such excellent pa¬
stures, that the beasts brought thither from Spain are
multiplied to such a degree, that they are all in com¬
mon, no man claiming any property in them, but every
4 K 2 maa
pHsifc,
Mata
Plata,
Plats®.
P L A
man takes what lie hath occasion for
black cattle, especially, is so prodigious, that many thou-
: sands of them are killed merely for their hides, every
time the ships go tor Spain, and their carcases left to
he devoured by‘wild beasts and birds of prey, which are
also very numerous. Sometimes, when they cannot
vend their hides, they will kill them for their tongues*,
and those who care not to be at the trouble to fetch
them from the plains, may buy them for a trifle. There
is a curious account in Lord Anson’s voyage of the
manner of hunting them on horseback j and ol cate lung
and killing them, by throwing a noose on their horns at
full gallop, the horses being trained to the sport. Horses
are no less numerous, and in common like the other
cattle: so that a man may have as many as he pleases
for the catching*, and of those that are already broke,
one may buy some ot the best, and of the true Spanish
breed, for a piece-of-eight per head. Wild-fowl also is
in great plenty here 5 partridges in particular are more
numerous, and as large and tame as our hens, so that one
may kill them with a stick. Their wheat makes the
finest and whitest of bread j and, in a word, they seem
to want for nothing here, especially the natives, but salt
and fuel. The former the Spaniards have brought to
them from other parts } and the latter they supply them¬
selves with, by planting vast numbers of almond, peach,
and other trees, which require no other trouble than
putting the kernels into the ground, and bv the next
vear, we are told, thev begin to bear Iruit. 1 he return
for European commodities is so greatphere, that it al¬
most exceeds belief; an ordinary two-penny knife
fetching a crown, and a gun of the value of 10 or 12
shillings 20 or 30 crowns, and so of the rest.
The river Plata rises in Peru, and receives a great
many others in its course ; the chief of which is the Pa¬
raguay. The water of it is said to he very clear and
sweet, and to petrify wood ; and contains such plenty
•and variety of fish, that the people catch great quanti¬
ties of them without any other instrument than their
hands. It runs mostly to the south and south-east} and
is navigable the greater part of its course by the laigest
vessels, and full of delightful islands. All along its
banks are seen the most beautiful birds of all kinds ;
but it sometimes overflows the adjacent country to a
great extent, and is infested by serpents of a prodigious
bigness. From its junction with the Paraguay to its
mouth it is above 200 leagues. We may form some
judgment of its largeness by the width of its mouth,
which is said to be about 70 leagues. Before it fells in¬
to the Paraguay it is called Panama. See Panama.
PLATiETE, in Ancient Geography, a very strong
town of Boeotia, in its situation exposed to the north
wind (Theophrastus'); burnt to the ground by Xerxes
(Herodotus, Justinus-) ; mentioned much in the course
of the Persian war : Famous for the defeat of Mardoni-
us, the Persian general ; and for the most signal victory
of the Lacedtemonians and other Greeks under Pausani-
as the Lacedaemonian, and Aristides an Athenian gene¬
ral (Nepos, Diodorus, Plutarch) ; in memory of which
the Greeks erected a temple to Jupiter Fdeutherius, and
instituted games which they called E lent her ta; and
there they show the tombs of those who fell in that bat¬
tle (Strabo). It stood at the foot of Mount Cithaeron,
between that and Thebes to the north, on the road to A-
Plalai
II
Plati1, I
[ 628 ] P L A
The number of thens and Megara, and on the confines of Attica and
Megaris. Now in ruins.
PLATALEA, the Spoonbill, a genus of birds be-   
longing to the order of grallse. See ORNITHOLOGY I/idciP.
PL AT ANUS, the Plane-tree ; a genus of plants
belonging to the monoecia class. See Botany lnde.v.
PLATBAND, in Gardening,'A border or bed of
flowers, along a wall, on the side ot a parterre, fie-
quently edged with box, See.
Platband of a door or window, is used for the lin¬
tel, where that is made square, or not much marked.
PLATE, a term which denotes a piece ot wrought
silver, such as the shallow vessel off which meat is eat¬
en. It is likewise used by sportsmen to express the re¬
ward given to the best horse at our races.
The winning a plate is not the work of a few days to Sports-
the owner ol the horse ; but great care and preparationA
is to be made for it, if there is any great dependence ^
on the success. A month is the least time that can be
allowed to draw the horse’s body clear, and to refine
his wind to that degree of perfectrou that is attainable
by art.
It is first necessary to take an exact view of his bony,
whether he be low or high in flesh ; and it is also neces¬
sary to consider whether he be dull and heavy, or brisk
and lively when abroad. If he appear dull and heavy,
and there is reason to suppose it is owing to too hard
riding, or, as the jockeys express it, to some grease that
has been dissolved in hunting, and has not been removed
by scouring, then the proper remedy is half an ounce of
diapente given in a pint of good sack; this will at once
remove the cause, and revive the creature’s spirits.
After this, for the first week of the month, he is to be
fed with oats, bread, and split beans ; giving him some¬
times the one and sometimes the other as he likes best;
and always leaving some in the locker, that he may
feed at leisure when he is left alone. When the groom
returns at the feeding time, whatever is left of this must
be removed, and fresh given ; by this means the crea¬
ture will soon become high-spirited, wanton, and full ot
play. Every day he must be rode out an airing, and
every other "day it will be proper to give him a little
more exercise ; but not so much as to make him sweat
too much. The beans and oats in this case are to be
put into a bag, and beaten till the hulls are all off, < .id
then winnowed clean; and the bread, instead of being
chipped in the common way, is to have the crust (lean
cut off. If the horse be in good flesh and spirits when
taken up for its month’s preparation, the diapente n ust
be omitted ; and the chief business will he to give I m*
good food, and so much exercise as will keep him «n
wind, without oversweating him or tiring his spin is.
When he takes larger exercises afterwards, towards the
end of the month, it will be proper to have some horses
in the place to run against him. This will put him up¬
on his mettle, and the heating them will give him spirits.
This, however, is to be cautiously observed, that he has
not a bloody heat given him for ten days or a fort¬
night before the plate is to be run for *, and that the last
heat that is given him the day before the race,, must he
in his. clothes: this will make him run with greatly
more vigour, when stripped for the race, and feeling
the cold wind on every part.
In the second week, the horse should have the same
food?-
P L A [ 629 ] P L A
jate footl, anil more exercise. In the last fortnight, he must
|| have dried oats, that have been hulled by beating. Af-
atiua ter this they are to be wetted in a quantity of whites of
■^eggs beaten up, and then laid out in the sun to dry $
and when as dry as before, the horse is to have them.
This sort of food is very light of digestion, and very
good for the creature’s wind. The beans in this time
should be given more sparingly, and the bread should
be made of three parts wheat and one part beans. If
he should become costive under this course, he must then
have some ale and whites of eggs beaten together j this
will cool him, and keep his body moist.
In the last week the mash is to be omitted, and bar¬
ley-water given him in its place, every day, till the day
before the race : he should have his fill of l ay ; then he
must have it given him more sparingly, that lie may
have time to digest it 5 and in the morning of the race
day he must have a toast or two of white bread soaked
in sack, and the same just before he is let out to the
field. This is an excellent method, because the two
extremes of fullness and fasting are at this time to be
equally avoided : the one hurting his wind, and the
other occasioning faintness that may make him lose.
After he has had his food, the litter is to be shook up,
and the stable kept quiet, that he may be disturbed by
nothing till he is taken out to run.
PLATFORM, in the military art, an elevation of
earth, on which cannon is placed to fire on the enemy ;
such are the mounts in the middle of curtains. On the
ramparts there is always a platform, where the cannon
are mounted. It is made by the heaping up of earth
on the rampart, or by an arrangement of madriers, rising
insensibly, for the cannon to roll on, either in a casemate
or on attack in the outworks. All practitioners are
agreed, that no shot can be depended on, unless the
piece can be placed on a solid platform ; for if the plat¬
form shakes with the first impulse of the powder, the
piece must likewise shake, which will alter its direction,
and render the shot uncertain.
Platform, in Architecture, is a row of beams which
support the timber-work of a roof, and lie on the top of
a wall w here the entablature ought to be raised.
This term is also used for a kind of terrace or broad
smooth open walk at the top of a building, from whence
a fair prospect may be taken of the adjacent country.
Hence an edifice is said to be covered with a platform,
when it is flat at top, and has no ridge. Most of the
oriental buildings are thus covered, as were all those of
the ancients.
Platform, or Orlop, in a man of war, a place on
the lower deck, abaft the main-mast, between it and
the cockpit, and round about the main capstan, where
provision is made for the wounded men in time of action.
PLATINA is a metallic substance, the name of
which has an allusion to its colour. It is a diminutive
of plata, and signifies “ little silver.” From its great
specific gravity, and other resemblances which it has to
gold, it has been called or blanc, or white goldi from
its refractory nature, diabolus metallorum ; from some
doubts entertained of its character as a metal, juun
bianco, white jack, white rogue, or white mock metal.
It has also received the appellation of the eighth metal:
and, probably from some district which affords it, has
gotten the name of platina del Pinto. For an ac¬
count of its properties, and for its natural history, see piaiina.
Chemistry5 Mineralogy-, and Ores, P eduction of. Plating.
PLATING is the art of covering baser metals with -v
a thin plate of silver either for use or for ornament. It
is said to have been invented by a spur-maker, not for
show but for real utility. Till then the more elegant
spurs in common use were made of solid silver, and from
the flexibility of that metal they were liable to be bent
into inconvenient forms by the slightest accident. To
remedy this defect, a workman at Birmingham contri¬
ved to make the branches of a pair of spurs hollow, and
to fill that hollow with a slender rod of steel or iron.
I'inding this a great improvement, and being desirous
to add cheapness to utility, he continued to make the
hollow larger, and of course the iron thicker and
thicker, till at last he discovered the means of coating
an iron spur with silver in such a manner as to make it
equally elegant with those which were made wholly of
that metal. The invention was quickly applied to
other purposes; and to numberless utensils which were
formerly made of brass or iron are now given the
strength of these metals, and the elegance of silver, for
a small additional expence.
The silver plate is generally made to adhere to the
baser metal by means of solder; which is of two kinds,
the soft and the hard, or the tin and silver solders. The
former of these consists of tin alone, the latter ge¬
nerally of three parts of silver and one of brass. When
a buckle, for instance, is to be plated by means of the
soft solder, the ring, before it is bent, is first tinned,
and then the silver-plate is gently hammered upon it,
the hammer employed being always covered with a
piece of cloth. The silver now forms, as it were, a
mould to the ring, and whatever of it is not intended
to be used is cut off. This mould is fastened to the
ring of the buckle by two or three cramps of small iron-
wire j after which the buckle, with the plated side
undermost, is laid upon a plate of iron sufficiently hot
to melt the tin, but not the silver. The buckle is then
covered with powdered resin or anointed with turpen¬
tine ; and lest there should be a deficiency of tin, a
small portion of rolled tin is likewise melted on it. The
buckle is now taken off with a tongs, and commonly
laid on a bed of sand, where the plate and the ring,,
while the solder is yet in a state of fusion, are more
closely compressed by a smart stroke with a block ot
wood The buckle is afterwards bent and finished.
Sometimes the melted tin is poured into the silver
mould, which has been previously rubbed over with
some flux. The buckle ring is then put among the
melted tin, and the plating finished. This is called by
the workmen filling up.
When the hard solder is employed, the process is in
many respects diflerent. Before the plate is fitted to
the iron or other metal, it is rubbed over with a solu¬
tion of borax. Stripes of silver are placed along the
joinings of the plate -, and instead of two or three
cramps, as in the former case, the whole is wrapped
round with small wire j the solder and joinings are again
rubbed with the borax, and the whole put into a char¬
coal fire till the solder be in fusion. When taken out,
the wire is instantly removed, the plate is cleaned by
the application of some acid, and afterwards made
smooth by the strokes of a hammer.
Metal
P L A t 630 1 P L A
■PUttirig, Metal plating is when a har of silver and copper are
t'lato taken of at least one equal side. The equal sides are
made smooth, and the two bars fastened together by
wire wrapped round them* These bars are then sweated
in a charcoal fire, and after sweating, they adhere as
closely together as if they were soldered. After this
they are flattened into a plate between two rollers, when
the copper appears on one side and the silver on the
other. This sort of plate is named plated metal.
French plating is when silver-leaf is burnished on a
piece of metal in a certain degree of heat.
When silver is dissolved in aquafortis, and precipitat¬
ed upon another metal* the process is called silvering.
See Soldering.
PLATO, an illustrious philosopher of antiquity, was
by descent an Athenian, though the place of his birth
Was the island of F.gina. His lineage through his fa¬
ther is traced back to Codrus the last king of Athens,
and through his mother to Solon the celebrated legisla¬
tor. The time of his birth is commonly placed in the
beginning of the 88th Olympiad j but Dr Enfield thinks
it may be more accurately fixed in the third year of the
87th Olympiad, or 430 years before the Christian era.
He gave early indications of an extensive and original
genius, and had an education suitable to his high rank,
being instructed in the rudiments of letters by the gram¬
marian Dionysius, and trained in athletic exercises by
Aristo of Argos. He applied with great diligence to
the study of the arts of painting and poetry ; and made
such proficiency in the latter, as to produce an epic poem,
which, upon comparing it with the poems of Homer,
he committed to the flames. At the age of 20 he com¬
posed a dramatic piece •, but after he had given it to the
performers, happening to attend upon a discourse of
Socrates, he was so captivated by his eloquence, that
he reclaimed his tragedy, without suffering it to be act¬
ed, renounced the muses, burnt all his poems, and ap¬
plied himself wholly to the study of wisdom.
It is thought that Plato’s first masters in philosophy
were Cratylus and Hermogenes, who taught the systems
of Heraclitus and Parmenides ; but when he was 20
years old, he attached himself wholly to Socrates, with
whom he remained eight years in the relation of a scho¬
lar. During this period, he frequently displeased his
companions, and sometimes even his master, by grafting
upon the Socratic system opinions which were taken
from some other stock. It was the practice of the scho¬
lars of Socrates to commit to writing the substance of
their master’s discourses. Plato wrote them in the form
of dialogues ; but with so great additions of his own,
that Socrates, hearing him recite his Lysis, cried out,
“ O Hercules ! how many things does this young man
feign of me !”
Plato, however, retained the warmest attachment to
his master. When that great and good man was sum¬
moned before the senate, his illustrious scholar under¬
took to plead his cause, and began a speech in his de¬
fence ; but the partiality and violence of the judges
would not permit him to proceed. After the condem¬
nation, he presented his master with money sufficient to
redeem his life •, which, however, Socrates refused to
accept. During his imprisonment, Plato attended him,
and was present at a conversation which he held with
his friends concerning the immortality of the soul; the
substance of which he afterwards committed to Writing Fla tv,
in the beautiful dialogue intitled Phcedo, not, however,
without interweaving his own opinions and language.
The philosophers who were at Athens were so alarm¬
ed at the death of Socrates, that most of them fled from
the city to avoid the injustice and cruelty of the govern¬
ment. Plato, whose grief upon this occasion is said by
Plutarch to have been excessive, retired toMegara, where
he was kindly entertained by Euclid, who had been one
of Socrates’s first scholars, till the storm was over. Af¬
terwards he determined to travel in pursuit of knowledge;
and from Megara he went to Italy, where he conferred
with Eurytus, Philolaus, and Archytas. These wrere
the most celebrated of the followers of Pythagoras,
whose doctrine Was then become famous in Greece; and
from these the Pythagoreans have affirmed that he had
all his natural philosophy. He dived into the most pro¬
found and mysterious secrets of the Pythagoric doctrines;
and pei-ceiving other knowledge to be connected with
them, he went to Cyrene, where he learned geometry
of Theodorus the mathematician. From thence he pas¬
sed into Egypt, to acquaint himself with the theology of
their priests, to study more nicely the proportions of
geometry, and to instruct himself in astronomical obser¬
vations ; and having taken a full survey of all the coum
try, he settled for some time in the province of Sais, learn¬
ing of the wise men there, what they held concerning
the universe, whether it had a beginning, whether it
moved wholly or in part, &c. ; and Pausanias affirms,
that he learned from these the immortality, and also the
transmigration, of souls. Some of the fathers will have
it, that he had communication with the books of Moses,
and that he studied under a learned Jew of Heliopolis;
but there is nothing that can be called evidence for these
assertions. St Austin once believed that Plato had some
conference with Jeremiah ; but afterwards discovered,
that that prophet must have been dead at least 60 years
before Plato’s voyage to Egypt.
Plato’s curiosity was not yet satisfied. He travelled
into Persia to consult the magi about the religion of that
country : and he designed to have penetrated even to the
Indies, and have learned of the Brachmans their man¬
ners and customs; but the wars in Asia prevented him.
“ He then returned into Italy, to the Pythagorean
school at Tarentum, where he endeavoured to improve
his own system, by incorporating with it the doctrine of
Pythagoras, as it was then taught by Archytas, Timteus,
and others. And afterwards, when he visited Sicily, he
retained such an attachment to the Italic school, that,
through the bounty of Dionysius, he purchased at a vast
price several books which contained the doctrine of Py¬
thagoras, from Philolaus, one of his followers.
“ Returning home richly stored with knowledge of
various kinds, Plato settled in Athens, and executed the
design, which he had doubtless tony had in contempla¬
tion, of forming a new school for the instruction of youth
in the principles of philosophy. The place which he
made choice of for this purpose was a public grove,
called the Academy^ from Hecademus, who left it to the
citizens for the purposeof gymnastic exercises. Adorned
with statues, temples, and sepulchres, planted with lofty
plane-trees, and intersected by a gentle stream, it afford¬
ed a delightful retreat for philosophy and the muses.
Of this delightful retreat Horace speaks :
5
r 631 ] P L A
^ Atque inter sylvas Academi queer ere verum.
“ ’Midst Academic groves to search for truth.”
Within this inclosure he possessed, as a part of his hum¬
ble patrimony, purchased at the price of three thousand
drachmas, a small garden, in which he opened a school
for the reception of those who might be inclined to at¬
tend his instructions. How much Plato valued mathe¬
matical studies, and how necessary a preparation he
thought them for higher speculations, appears from the
inscription which he placed over the door of his school:
xyiu IrgJiraj urira). “ Let no one who is unac¬
quainted with geometry enter here.”
“ This new school soon became famous, and its master
was ranked among the most eminent philosophers. His
travels into distant countries, where learning and wisdom
flourished, gave him celebrity among his brethren of the
Socratic sect. None of these had ventured to institute
a school in Athens except Aristippus •, and he had con¬
fined his instructions almost entirely to ethical subjects,
and had brought himself into some discredit by the free¬
dom ot his manners. Plato alone remained to inherit
the patrimony of public esteem which Socrates had
left his disciples ; and he possessed talents and learning
adequate to his design of extending the study of philo¬
sophy beyond the limits within which it had been in¬
closed by his master. The consequence was, not only
that young men crowded to his school from every quar¬
ter, but that people of the first distinction in every de¬
partment frequented the academy. Even females, dis¬
guised in men’s clothes, often attended his lectures. A-
mong the illustrious names which appear in the cata¬
logue of his followers are Dion the Syracusan prince,
and the orators Hyperides, Lycurgus, Demosthenes, and
Isocrates.
“ Greatness was never yet exempted from envy. The
distinguished reputation of Plato brought upon him the
hatred of his former companions in the school of So¬
crates, and they loaded him with detraction and oblo¬
quy. It can only be ascribed to mutual jealousy, that
Xenophon and he, though they relate the discourses of
their common master, studiously avoid mentioning one
another. Diogenes the Cynic ridiculed Plato’s doc¬
trine ot ideas and other abstract speculations. In the
midst of these private censures, however, the public fame
of Plato daily increased ; and several states, among which
were the Arcadians and Thebans, sent ambassadors with
earnest requests that he would come over, not only to in¬
struct the young men in philosophy, but also to prescribe
them laws of government. The Cyrenians, Syracusans,
Cretans, and Eleans, sent also to him : he did not go to
any o( them, but gave laws and rules of governing to all.
He lived single, yet soberly and chastely. He was a man
of great virtues, and exceedingly affable ; of which we
need no greater proof, than his civil manner of conversing
with the philosophers of his own times, when pride and
envy were at their height. His behaviour to Diogenes is
always mentioned in his history. The Cynic was vastly
offended, itseems, at the politenessand fine taste of Plato,
and used to catch all opportunities of snarling at him. He
dined one day at his table with other company, and tram¬
pling upon the tapestry with his dirty feet, uttered this
brutish sarcasm, “ I trample upon the pride of Plato ;”
to which Plato wisely reparteed, “ With greater pride,”
The fame of Plato drew disciples to him from all Plato,
parts ; among whom were Speusippus an Athenian, his '~—v—
sister’s son, whom he appointed his successor in the aca¬
demy, and the great Aristotle.
I he admiration of this illustrious man was not con¬
fined to the breasts of a few philosophers. He wras in
high esteem with several princes, particularly Archelaus
king of Macedon, and Dionysius tyrant of Sicilv. At
three different periods he visited the court of this latter
prince, and made several hold but unsuccessful attempts
to subdue his haughty and tyrannical spirit. A brief
relation of the particulars of these visits to Sicily may-
serve to cast some light upon the character of our phi¬
losopher ; and we shall give it in the words of Dr En¬
field, from whose elegant history of philosophy we have
extracted by much the most valuable parts of this ar¬
ticle.
“ The professed object of Plato’s first visit to Sicily,
which happened in the 40th year of his age, during the
reign of the elder Dionysius the son of Hermocrates,
w'as, to take a survey of the island, and particularly to
observe the wonders of Mount ./Etna. Whilst he was
resident at Syracuse, he was employed in the instruction
of Dion, tiie king’s brother-in-law, who possessed ex¬
cellent abilities, though hitherto restrained by the ter¬
rors of a tyrannical government, and relaxed by the lux¬
uries of a licentious court. Disgusted by the debauch¬
ed manners ot the Syracusans, he endeavoured to rescue
his pupil from the general depravity. Nor did Dion
disappoint his preceptor’s expectations. No sooner had
he received a taste of that philosophy which leads to
virtue, than he was fired with an ardent love of wisdom.
Entertaining an hope that philosophy might produce
the same effect upon Dionysius, he took great pains to-
procure an interview between Plato and the tyrant. In
the course of the conference, whilst Platowas discoursing
on the security and happiness of virtue,, and the miseries
attending injustice and oppression, Dionysius, perceiving
that the philosopher’s discourse was levelled against the
vices and cruelties of his reign, dismissed him with high
displeasure from his presence, and conceived a design
against his life. It was not without great difliculty that
Plato, by the assistance of Dion, made his escape. A
vessel which had brought over Pollis, a delegate from
Sparta, was fortunately at that time returning to Greece.
Dion engaged Poliis to take the charge of the philoso¬
pher, and land him safely in his native country ; but
Dionysius discovered the design, and obtained a promise
from Pollis, that he would either put him to death or
sell him as a slave upon the passage. Pollis according¬
ly sold him in the island of TEgina ; the inhabitants of
which were then at war with the Athenians. Plato
could not long remain unnoticed : Anicerris, a Cyrenaic
philosopher, who happened to be at that time in the
island, discovered the stranger, and thought himself hap¬
py in an opportunity of showing his respect for so illus¬
trious a philosopher ; he purchased his freedom for 30
minae, or 84J. 10s. sterling money, and sent him home
to Athens. Repayment being afterwards offered to
Anicerris by Plato’s relations,, he refused the money,
saying, with that generous spirit which true philosophy
always inspires, that he saw no reason why the relations
of Plato should engross to themselves the honour of ser¬
ving him.”
After a short interval, Dionysius repented of his ill-.
ulaceE
P L A [65
Plato, placed resentment, and wrote toPlato,earnestly request-
——■v~ n > ing him to repair his credit by returning to Syracuse j
to which Plato gave this high-spirited answer, that phi¬
losophy would not allow him leisure to think of Diony¬
sius. He was, however, prevailed upon by his friend
Dion to accept of the tyrant’s invitation to return to
Syracuse, and take upon him the education of Dionysius
the younger, who was heir apparent to the monarchy.
He was received by Dionvsius the reigning sovereign
with every possible appearance of respect j but after see¬
ing his friend banished, and being himself kept as a pri¬
soner at large in the palace, be was by the tyrant sent
back into his own countrv, with a promise that both he
and Dion should be recalled at the end of the war in
which the Sicilians were then engaged. This promise
was not fulfilled. The tyrant wished for the return ol
Plato, but could not resolve to recal Dion. At last,
however, having probably promised that the philosophei
should meet his friend at the court of Syracuse, he pre¬
vailed upon Plato to visit that capital a third time.
When he arrived, the king met him in a magnificent
chariot, and conducted him to his palace. The Sicilians
too rejoiced in bis return ; for they hoped that the wis¬
dom of Plato would at length triumph over the tyranni¬
cal spirit of the prince. Dionysius seemed wholly di¬
vested of his former resentments, listened with apparent
pleasure to the philosopher’s doctrine, and, among other
expressions of regard, presented him with eighty talents
of gold. In the midst of a numerous train of philoso¬
phers, Plato now possessed the chief influence and autho¬
rity in the court of Syracuse. Whilst Aristippus was
enjoying himself in splendid luxury ; whilst Diogenes
was freely indulging his acrimonious humour; and whilst
./Eschines was gratifying his thirst after riches; 1 lato
supported the credit of philosophy with an air of digni¬
ty, which his friend-, regarded as an indication of supe¬
rior wisdom, but which his enemies imputed to pride.
After all, it was not in the power of Plato to prevail
upon Dionysius to adopt his system of policy, or to re¬
cal Dion from his exile. Mutual distrust, after a short
interval, arose between the tyrant and the philosopher;
each suspected the other of evil designs, and each en¬
deavoured to conceal his suspicion under the disguise of
respect. Dionysius attempted to impose upon Plato by
condescending attentions, and Plato to deceive Dionysius
by an appearance of confidence. At length, the phi¬
losopher became so much dissatisfied with his situa¬
tion, that he earnestly requested permission to return to
Greece, which was at last granted him, and he was sent
home loaded with rich presents. On his way to A-
thens, passing through Elis during the celebration of
the Olympic games, he was present at this general
assembly of the Greeks, and engaged universal atten¬
tion. . . .
From this narrative it appears, that if Plato visited
the courts of princes, it was chiefly from the hope of
seeing his ideal plan of a republic realized ; and that his
talents and attainments rather qualified him to shine in
the academy than in the council or the senate.
Plato, now restored to his country and his school, de¬
voted himself to science, and spent the last years of a
long life in the instruction of youth. Having enjoyed
the advantage of an athletic constitution, and lived all
his days temperately, he arrived at the 81st, or accord¬
ing to some writers the 79th, year of his age, and died,
4
]
P L A
through the mere decay of nature, in the first year of
the hundred and eighth Olympiad. He passed his whole
life in a state of celibacy, and therefore left no natural
heirs, but transferred bis eflects by will to his friend
Adiamantus, The grove and garden, which had been
the scene of bis philosophical labours, at last allorded
him a sepulchre. Statues and altars were erected to his
memory; the day of his birth long continued to be ce¬
lebrated as a festival by his followers ; and bis portrait
is to this day preserved in gems : but the. most lasting
monuments of his genius are his writings, which have
been transmitted, without material injury, to the present
times.
The character of this philosopher has always been
high. Besides the advantages of a noble birth, he had
a large and comprehensive understanding, a \ast fund of
wit and good taste, great evenness and sweetness oi tem¬
per, all cultivated and refined by education and travel;
so that it is no wonder if he was honoured b\ bis coun¬
trymen, esteemed bv strangers, and adored by his scho¬
lars. The ancients thought more highly of Plato than
of all their philosophers : they always called him the Di¬
vine Plato; and they seemed resolved that bis descent
should be more than human. “ There are (says Apu-
leius) who assert Plato to have sprung from a more sub¬
lime conception ; and that his mother Perictione, who
was a verv beautiful woman, was impregnated by Apol¬
lo in the shape of a spectre.” Plutarch, feuidas, and
others, affirm this to have been the common report at
Athens. When he was an infant, his. father Aiisto
went to Hymettus, with his wife and child, to sacrifice
to the muses; and while they were busied in the divine
rites, a swarm of bees came and distilled their honey up¬
on his lips. This, says Tally, was considered as a pre¬
sage of his future eloquence. Apuleius relates, that So¬
crates, the night before Plato was recommended to him,
dreamed that a young swan fled from Cupid’s altar in
the academy, and settled in his lap; thence soared to
heaven, and delighted the gods with its music: and when
Aristo the next day presented Plato to him, “Friends
(says Socrates), this is the swan of Cupid’s academy.”
The Greeks loved fables: they show however in the pre¬
sent case, what exceeding respect was paid to the me¬
mory of Plato. Tally perfectly adored him ; tells us,
how he was justly called by Pansetius the divine, the
most wise, the most sacred, the Plomer of Philosophers ;
entitled him to Atticus, Devs Hie noster ; thinks, that it
Jupiter had spoken Greek, he would have spoken in
Plato’s language, and made him so implicitly his guide in
wisdom and philosophy, as to declare, that he had rather
err with Plato than be right with any one else. But,
panegyric aside, Plato was certainly a very wonderful
man, of a large and comprehensive mind, an imagination
infinitely fertile, and of a most flowing and copious elo¬
quence. Nevertheless, the strength and heat ol fancy
prevailing in his composition over judgment, he was too
apt to soar beyond the limits of eathly things, to range
in the imaginary regions of general and abstracted ideas;
and on which account, though there is always a great¬
ness and sublimity in his manner, he did not philoso¬
phize so much according to truth and nature as An-
totle, though Cicero did not scruple to give him the
preference.
The writings of Plato are all in the way of dialogue;
where he seems to deliver nothing from himself,but evi ry
thing
Plate
P L A
C 63
thing as the sentiments anti opinions of others, of So¬
crates chiefly, of Timseus, &c. He does not mention
himself anywhere, except once in his Phtedo, and an¬
other time in his Apology for Socrates. His style, as
Aristotle observed, is betwixt prose and verse : on which
account, some have not scrupled to rank him with the
poets. There is a better reason for so doing than the
elevation and grandeur of his style : his matter is often¬
times the olfspring of imagination, instead of doctrines
or truths deduced from nature. The first edition of
Plato’s work in Greek was put out by Aldus at Ve¬
nice in 1513 ; but a Latin version of him by Marsilius
Ficinus had been printed there in 1491. They were
reprinted together at Lyons in 1588, and at Francfort
in [602. The famous printer Henry Stephens, in 1578,
gave a most beautiful and correct edition of Plato’s
woiks at Paris, with a new Latin version by Serranus,
in three volumes folio ; and this deservedly passes for
the best edition of Plato: yet Serranus’s edition is very
exceptionable, and in many respects, if not in all, in¬
ferior to that of Ficinus.
PLATONIC, something that relates to Plato, his
school-philosophy, opinions, or the like. Thus, plato¬
nic love denotes a pure spiritual affection, for which
Plato was a great advocate, subsisting between the dif¬
ferent sexes, abstracted from all carnal appetites, and re¬
garding no other object but the mind and its beauties ;
or it is even a sincere disinterested friendship subsisting
between persons of the same sex, abstracted from any
selfish views, and regarding no other object than the
person, if any such love or friendship has aught of a
foundation in nature.
Platonic Year, or the Great Year, is a period of
time determined by the revolution of the equinoxes, or
the space wherein the stars and constellations return to
their former places in respect of the equinoxes. The
platonic year, according to Tycho Brahe, is 25816, ac¬
cording to Riccioius 25910, and according to Cassini
24800 years.
This period once accomplished, it was an opinion
among the ancients that the world was to begin anew,
and the same series of things to turn over again.
PLATONISM, the philosophy of Plato, which was
divided into three branches, theology, physics, and ma¬
thematics Under theology were comprehended meta¬
physics and ethics, or that which in modern language is
called moral philosophy. Plato wrote likewise on dia¬
lectics, but with such inferiority to his pupil Aristotle,
that his works in that department of science are seldom
mentioned-
The ancient philosophers always began their theolo¬
gical systems with some disquisition on the nature of the
gods, and the formation of the world ; and it was a
fundamental doctrine with them, that from nothing no¬
thing can proceed. We are not to suppose that this ge¬
neral axiom implied nothing more than that for every
effect there must be a cause j for this is a proposition
which no man will controvert who understands the terms
in which it is expressed: but the ancients believed that a
proper creation is impossible even to omnipotence, and
that to the production of any thing a material is not less
necessary than An efficient cause (see Metaphysics, N°
264—304.). That with respect to this important ques¬
tion, Plato agreed with his predecessors and contempo-
saries, appears evident to us from the whole tenor of his
Vol. XVI. Part IL f
3 ] P L A
Timeeus. We agree with Dr Enfield* in thinking, that Platonism,
in this dialogue, which comprehends his whole doctrine '
on the subject of the formation of the universe, matter *
is so manifestly spoken of as eternally co-existing with ^
God, that this part of Ins doctrine could not have been
mistaken by so many learned and able writers, had they
not been seduced by the desire of establishing a coinci¬
dence of doctrine between the writings of Plato and
Moses. It is certain that neither Cicero f, nor Apu-1 Ac. Qu:
leius J, nor Alcinous^, nor even the later commentator^' f c:
Chalcidius, understood their master in any other sensei .
than as admitting two primary and incorruptible princi-? I '*
pies, God and matter j to which wTe shall afterwards see
reason to add a third, namely ideas. The passages
quoted by those who maintain the contrary opinion are
by no means sufficient for their purpose. Plato, it is true,
in his Tim as us, calls God the parent of the universe,
and in his Sophista speaks of him as “ forming animate
and inanimate beings, which did not before exist:” but
these expressions do not necessarily imply that this off¬
spring of Deity was produced from nothing, or that no
prior matter existed from which these new beings were
foimed. Through the whole dialogue of the Timaeus,
Plato supposes two eternal and independent causes of all
things ; one, that by which all things are made, which
is God ; the other, that from winch all things are made,
which is matter. He distinguishes between God, mat¬
ter, and the universe, and supposes the architect of the
world to have formed it out of a mass of pre-existent
matter. Matter, according to Plato, is an eternal and
infinite principle. His doctrine on this head is thus ex¬
plained by Cicero j|. “ Matter, from which all things (I Ac. Qu,
are produced and formed, is a substance without form or lib- *• c- 8*
quality, but capable of receiving all forms, and under¬
going every kind of change ; in which, however, it
never suffers annihilation, but merely a solution of its
parts, which are in their nature infinitely divisible, and
move in portions of space which are also infinitely divi¬
sible. When that principle which we call quality is
moved, and acts upon matter, it undergoes an entire
change, and these forms are produced, from which arises
the diversified and coherent system of the universe.”
This doctrine Plato unfolds at large in Ins Timaeus, and
particularly insists upon the notion, that matter has ori¬
ginally no form, but is capable of receiving any. He
calls it the mother and receptacle of forms, by the union
of which with matter the universe becomes perceptible
to the senses ; and maintains, that the visible world
owes its form to the energy of the divine intellectual
nature.
Our author is supported in drawing this inference by
the testimony of Diogenes Laertius, who surely un¬
derstood the language and dogmas of Plato better than
the most accomplished modern scholar can pretend to
do j yet a learned writer * has lately expressed great * Dr OgiL
surprise that any one should consider matter as having1^*
been, in Plato’s opinion, uncreated; and he boldly af¬
firms, that Laertius, instead of asserting that spirit and
matter were the principles of all things, ought to have
said that God alone, in Plato’s estimation, was their ori-
ginal.-_.To prove this, he gives from the Timseus a quo¬
tation, in which the founder of the academy declares
that GoA framed heaven and earth, and the inferior dei¬
ties } and that as he fashioned, so he pervades all na¬
ture. He observes, that Cicero denominates the god of
4 k Plate
P L A [ 634 ] P L A
Platonism. Plato the maker, and the god ot Aristotle only the go-
C r—j vcrnor, of the world. And, to satisfy those who may
demand a particular proof of 3Jlato’s having taught a
real creation, he affirms that his writings abound with
declarations on the subject, of which the meaning cannot
Theology of be misapprehended. “ With this purpose (says he) Pla-
Plnto. t0 denominates at one time the principles or substance of
all things, B’tov the productions of
the efficient Deity, and at others enters more particular¬
ly into the question. Thus, he observes, that many per¬
sons are ignorant of the nature and power of mind or in¬
tellect, ‘ as having existed at the beginning, antecedent
to all bodies.’ Of this mind, he observes, that it is
without exception IT«vt6>v of all things the
•most ancient; and he subjoins, in order to remove all
doubt of his purpose, that it is also *<vnows, the
cause or principle of motion?''
With all possible respect for Dr Ogilvie, of whose
piety and erudition we are thoroughly convinced, we
must take the liberty to say, that to us the declarations
of Plato on this subject appear much less precise and
explicit than they appear to him; and that the inference
which he would draw from the words of Cicero seems
not to flow necessarily from the sense of those words.
That Plato believed God to have framed the heaven and
the earth, and to have fashioned a\\ nature, is a position
which as far as we know, has never been controverted j
but between framing or fashioning the chaos or vM
and calling the universe into existence from non¬
entity, there is an infinite and an obvious dillerence.
The distinction made by Cicero between the God of
Plato and the God of Aristotle is a just distinction, but
it will not bear the superstructure which the learned
doctor builds upon it. Aristotle maintained the eter¬
nity of the world in its present form. Plato certainly
taught that the first matter was in time reduced from a
chaotic state into form by the power of the Demiurgus ;
but we have seen nothing in his writings which explicitly
declares his belief that the first matter was iXjseM created.
The learned Cudworth, who wished, like Dr Ogilvie,
to find a coincidence of doctrine between the theology
of Plato and that of the Gospel, strained all his facul¬
ties to prove that his favourite philosopher taught a
proper creation : but he laboured in vain. He gives a
number of quotations in support of his position ; of
which we shall here insert only those two upon which
Dr Ogilvie seems to lay the greatest stress. Plato, says
the author of the Intellectual System, calls the one
God (a) a? ytjf kou foovs, xxi nanct, tcc sv
nxi tx iv it^ov, kcu vtco xttxvtx igyctiriTcti—Hc that
makes earth, and heaven, and the gods, and doth all
things both in heaven, and hell, and under the earth.
And, again, “ he by whose efficiency the things of the
world fitTTSgov sysysTa, tt^oti^ov owe ovtx) were afterwards
made when they were not before . xioih tmowortn platonism.
and Ogilvie think this last sentence an explicit declara-  v-~'
tion of Plato’s belief in the creative power of God: but* Sophista,
that they are mistaken has been evinced by MosheimP-
with a force of argument which will admit ot no reply.
In that part of the Sophist from which the quotation is
taken, Plato considers the dvvxptv TromriKriv, of winch he
is treating, as belonging both to God and to man } and
he defines it in general to be “ a certain power which is
the cause that things may afterwards be which were not
before.” Cudworth wishes to confine this definition to
the divine power j and adds from himself to the text
which he quotes the following words, which are not
in Plato, or from an antecedent non-existence
BROUGHT FORTH into being! That the incomparable
author intended to deceive his reader, we are far from
imagining: his zeal for Platonism had deceived himself.
Plato’s definition comprehends the dwapiv TroinTtKvif f asf Match.
well of man as of God ; and therefore cannot infer a L^UfnUl
creative power anywhere, unless the father of the acade- ^ f
my was so very absurd as to suppose human artists theni llt
creators of those machines which they have invented
and made ! Mosheim thinks that Cudworth was misled
by too implicit a confidence in Ficinus; and it is not
impossible that Dr Ogilvie may have been swayed by
the authority, great indeed, of the author of the Intel¬
lectual System.
That intellect existed antecedent to all bodies is in¬
deed a Platonic dogma, from which Dr Ogilvie, after
Cudworth, wishes to infer that the doctrine of the crea¬
tion was taught in the academy; but Dr Ogilvie knows,
and no man knew better than Cudworth, that Plato,
with every other Greek philosopher, distinguished be¬
tween body and matter; and that though he held the
priority of intellect to the former, it by no means fol¬
lows that he believed it to have existed antecedent to
the latter. That he believed mind, or rather soul (for
he distinguishes between the two), to be the cause or
principle of motion, cannot be denied ; but we are not
therefore authorised to conclude, that he likewise be¬
lieved it to be the cause of the existence of matter. That
he believed mind to be the most ancient of all things,
taking the word things in the most absolute sense, can¬
not be true, since by Dr Ogilvie’s own acknowledgement
he held the existence and eternity of ideas, not to add
that he believed to |y or fciyxdov—the first hypostasis in
his trinity, to be superior to mind and prior to it, though
not in time, yet in the order of nature. When there¬
fore he calls mind the most ancient of all things, he must
be supposed to mean only, that it is more ancient than
all bodies and inferior souls. It is no reflection on the
character of Plato that he could not, by the efforts of his
own reason, acquire any notion of a proper creation ;
since we, who have the advantage of his writings, and of
writings
(a) Mosheim affirms that this quotation is nowhere to be found in the writings of Plato. He therefore at first
suspected that the learned author, in looking hastily over Plato’s 10th book. De Legibus, had transfeired to 0
what is there said of the anima mundi, leading by its own motions every thing in the heaven, the earth, and t ie
sea, and that he had added something of his own. He dropped that opinion, however, when he found Plato, in
the 10th book of his Republic, declaring it to be as “ easy for God to produce the sun, moon, stais, and eait ,
&e. from himself, as it is for us to produce the image of ourselves, and whatever else we please, only by interpo¬
sing a looking glass.” In all this power, however* there is nothing similar to that of creation.
P L A
Platonism, writings infinitely more valuable, to instruct us, find it
extremely difficult, if not impossible, to conceive how
any thing can begin to be. We believe the fact on the
authority of revelation ; but should certainly have ne¬
ver agitated such a question, had it not been stated to
us by writers inspired with celestial wisdom.
In the Platonic cosmogony we cannot therefore doubt
but that the eternity of the vAn was taken for grant¬
ed. Whether it was an eternal and necessary emana¬
tion fro-m an eternal mind, is not perhaps quite so evi¬
dent, though our own opinion is, that it was believed
to be self-existent. But be this as it may, which is not
worth disputing, one thing is certain, that Plato did
not believe it to have a single form or quality which it
did not receive either from the Demiurgus or the
Psyche—the second or third person of this trinity. Ex¬
cept Aristotle, all the Greek philosophers, who were not
materialists, held nearly the same opinions respecting
the origin of the world ; so that in examining their sys¬
tems we shall be greatly misled if we understand the
terms incorpovcal and winintci'ictl as at all synonymous.
It was also a doctrine of Plato, that there is in matter
a necessary but blind and refractory force ; and that
hence arises a propensity in matter to disorder and de¬
formity, which is the cause of all the imperfection which
appears in the works of God, and the origin of evil.
On this subject Plato writes with wonderful obscurity:
but, as far as we are able to trace his conceptions, he
appears to have thought, that matter, from its nature,
resists the will of the Supreme Artificer, so that he can¬
not perfectly execute his designs 5 and that this is the
cause of the mixture of good and evil which is found in
the material world.
Plato, however, was no materialist. He taught, that
there is an intelligent cause, which is the origin of all
spiritual being, and the former of the material world.
I he nature of this great being he pronounced it difficult
to discover, and when discovered, impossible to divulge.
'I he existence of God he inferred from the marks of in¬
telligence, which appear m the form and arrangement
of bodies in the visible world : and from the unity of the
material system he concluded, that the mind by which
it was formed must fie one. God, according to Plato,
is the supreme intelligence, incorporeal, without he-
ginning, end, or change, and capable of being perceived
only by the mind. Pie certainly distinguished the Dei¬
ty not only from body, and whatever has corporeal
qualities, but from matter itself, from which all things
are made. He also ascribed to him all those qualities
which modern philosophers ascribe to immaterial sub¬
stance : and conceived him to be in his nature simple,
uncircumscribed in space, the author of all regulated
motion, and, in fine, possessed of intelligence in the high¬
est perfection.
Plis notions of God are indeed exceedingly refined,
and such as it is difficult to suppose that he could ever
have acquired but from some obscure remains of prime¬
val tradition, gleaned perhaps from the priests of Egypt
or Irom the philosophers of the East. In the Divine
Nature he certainly believed that there are two, and
C 635 ]
P L A
probably that there are three, hypostases, whom he call¬
ed r« ev and t« in, revs, and The first he consider¬
ed as self-existent, and elevated far above all mind and
all knowledge ; calling him, by w^ay of eminence, the
being, or the one. The only attribute which he ac¬
knowledged in this person was goodness ; and therefore
he frequently styles him to ccyaitv—the good, or essen¬
tial goodness. The second he considered as mind, the
tvisdotn or reason of the first, and the maker of the
world; and therefore he styles him »ov?, Aeyoj, and
piov^yoi. The third he always speaks of as the sonl of
the tvorld; and hence calls him or t*v xot-
fiov. He taught that the second is a necessary emana¬
tion from the first, and the third from the second, or
perhaps from the first and second.
Some have indeed pretended, that the Trinity, which
is commonly called Platonic, was a fiction of the later
Platonists, unknown to the founder of the school : but
any person who shall take the trouble to study the wri¬
tings of Plato, will find abundant evidence that he really
asserted a triad of divine hypostases, all concerned in the
formation and government of the world. Thus in his
10th hook of Laws, where he undertakes to prove the
existence of a Deity in opposition to atheists, he ascends
no higher in the demonstration than to the^ii^» or mun¬
dane soul, which he held to be the immediate and pro¬
per cause of all the motion that is in the world. But in
other parts ol his writings he frequently asserts, as su¬
perior to the self-moving principle, an immoveable »at)5
or intellect, which was properly the demiurgus or fra¬
mer of the world j and above this hypostasis one most
simple and absolutely perfect being, who is considered in
his Theology as etv]o6iof, the original deity, in contradi¬
stinction from the others, who are only 6101 at 6iov. These
doctrines are to be gathered from his works at large,
particularly from the Timceus, Philebus, Sophista and K-
pinomis : but there is a passage in his second epistle to
Dionysius, apparently written in answer to a letter, in
which that monarch had required him to give a more
explicit account than he had formerly done of the na¬
ture of God, in which the doctrine of a Trinity seems
to he directly asserted. “ After having said that he
meant to wrap up his meaning in such obscurity, as
that an adept only should fully comprehend it, he adds
expressions to the following import : ‘ The Lord of
Nature is surrounded on all sides by his works : what¬
ever is exists by his permission : he is the fountain and
source of excellence: around the second person are placed
things of the second order ; and around the third those
of the third degree (b).” Of this obscure passage a very
satisfactory explanation is given in Dr Ogilvie’s Theo¬
logy of Plato, to which the narrow limits prescribed to
such articles as this compel us to refer the reader. We
shall only say, that the account which we have given of
the Platonic trinity is ably supported by the doctor.
In treating of the eternal emanation of the second
and third hypostases from the first, the philosophers of
the academy compare them to light and heat proceed¬
ing from the sun. Plato himself, as quoted by Dr Cud-
worth, illustrates his doctrine by the same comparison.
For
( b) Flegi ruv TrxvTMi fixrtXix, ttciit in xxi Eks<»«v jusxac Tcarut. Exencf xirtee ’xa.nui twv xctXuv. AtvTtgtv 2s Trigi
TX huTSgCC, KXl TglTtV Trig! TX TOITX. OpCr. p. I 269,
4 L 2
P L A T 6
Platonism. For u rctyxSov, or the first hypostasis, is m the intelhc-
  v ' tual world the same (he says) to intellect and inteUi-
(ribles that the sun is in the corporeal world to vision
and visibles •, for as the sun is not vision itself but the
cause of vision, and as that light by which we see is not
the sun but only a thing like the sun ; so neither is the
Supreme or Highest Good properly knowledge, but the
cause of knowledge j nor is intellect, considered as such,
the best and most perfect being, but only a being hav¬
ing the form of perfection.” Again, “ as the sun causes
other things not only to become visible but also to be
t-enerated 5 so the Supreme Good gives to things not on¬
ly their capability of being known, but also their very
essences by which they subsist •, for this fountain ot the
Deity, this highest good, is not itself properly essence,
but above essence, transcending it in respect both of
dignity and of power.”
The resemblance which this trinity of Plato bears to
that revealed in the gospel must be observed by every
attentive reader j but the two doctrines are likewise in
some respects exceedingly dissimilar. The third hypo¬
stasis in the Platonic system appears in no point of view
co-ordinate with the first or second. Indeed the first is
elevated far above the second, and the third sunk still
farther beneath it, being considered as a mere soul im¬
mersed in matter, and forming with the corporeal world,
to which it is united, one compound animal. Nay, it
does not appear perfectly clear, that Plato considered
his -J/vx* rav Karpov as a pure spirit, or as having subsist¬
ed from eternity as a distinct Hypostasis. “ This go¬
verning spirit, of whom the earth, properly so calh d,
is the body, consisted, according to our author’s philo¬
sophy, of the same and the other ; that is, of the first
matter, and of pure intelligence, framed to actuate the
machinery of nature. The Supreme Being placed him
in the middle of the earth 3 which, in the vivid idea of
Plato, seemed itself to live, in consequence of an influ¬
ence that was felt in every part of it. From this seat
his power is represented as being extended on all sides
to the utmost limit of the heavens 3 conferring life, and
preserving harmony in the various and complicated parts
of the universe. Upon this being God is said to have
looked with peculiar complacency after having formed
him as an image of himself, and to have given beauty
and perfect proportion to the mansion which he was de¬
stined to occupy. According to the doctrine of Timae-
us, the Supreme Being struck out from this original
mind innumerable spirits of inferior order, endowed with
principles of reason 3 and he committed to divinities of
second iry rank the task of investing these in material
forms, and of dispersing them as inhabitants of the sun,
moon, and other celestial bodies. He taught also, that
at death the human soul is reunited to the tov *o<t-
pov. as to the source from which it originally came.”
Such is the third person of the Platonic triad, as we
find his nature and attributes very accurately stated by
Dr Ogilvie 3 and the Christian philosopher, who has no
particular system to support, will not require another
proof that the triad of Plato differs exceedingly from the
Trinity of the Scriptures. Indeed the third hypostasis
in this triad has so much the appearance of all that the
-ancients could mean by that which we call a creature,
that the learned Cudworth, who wished, it is difficult
to conceive for what reason, to find the sublimest my¬
stery of the Christian faith explicitly taught in the writ-
36 ] P L A
ings of a p&gan philosopher, was forced to suppose that platomsnr.
Plato held a double or soul, one lyr-crpm, incor-' v J
porated with the material world, and the other vniPKoc-
pw or svpramundaiie, which is not the soul hut the go¬
vernor of the universe. We call this a mere hypothe¬
sis 3 for though the author displays vast erudition, and
adduces many quotations in which this double psyche is
plainly mentioned, yet all those quotations are taken
from Platonists who lived alter the propagation ol the
gospel, and who, calling themselves eclectics, freely
stole from every sect such dogmas as they could incor¬
porate with their own svstem, and then attributed those
dogmas to their master. In the writings of Plato him¬
self, there is not so much as an allusion to this supra-
mundane psyche* 3 and it is for this reason (the Mosch.
of which he treats being so very inferior to the Cw/’
and ctyx6o>) that we have expressed with hesitation his^- ~
belief of three hypostases in the divine nature. Yet that n ^
he did admit so many, seems more than probable both
from the passage illustrated by Dr Ogilvie, and from
the attempt of Plotinus, one of his followers, to demon¬
strate that the number can be neither greater nor less.
That his doctrine on this subject should he inaccurate
and erroneous, can excite no wonder 3 whilst it must be
confessed to have such a resemblance to the truth, and
to be so incapanle of being proved by reasoning from
effects to causes, that we could not doubt ot his having
inherited it by tradition, even though v.e had not com
plete evidence that something very similar to it was
taught long before him, not only by Pythagoras and
Parmenides, but by the philosophers of the east.
We h ave said that the Demiurgus was the maker of
the world from the first matter which had existed from
eternity ; hut in Plato’s cosmogony there is another
principle, more mysterious, if possible, than any thing
which we have yet mentioned. This is his intellectual
system of ideas, which it is not easy to collect from his
writings, whether he considered existences,
or only as archetypal forms, which had subsisted from
eternity in the Aeyes or divine intellect. On this subject
he writes with such exceeding obscurity, that men of
the first eminence, both among the ancients and the mo¬
derns, have differed about his real meaning. Some have
supposed, that by ideas he meant real beings subsisting
from eternity, independent of all minds, and separate
from all matter 3 and that of these ideas he conceived
some to be living and others to be without life. In this
manner his doctrine is interpreted by Tertullian * among *
the ancients, and by the celebrated Bruckerf among
the moderns 3 and not by them only, but by many iHuior. ^
others equally learned, candid, and acute. Cudworth,
on the other hand, with his annotator Mosheim, con¬
tend, that by his ideal world Plato meant nothing more
than that there existed from eternity in the *eyej or mind
of God a notion or conception of every thing which was
in time to be made. This is certainly much more pro¬
bable in itself, than that a man of enlarged understand¬
ing should have supposed, that there are somewhere in
extramundane space real living incorporeal beings eat¬
ing and drinking, which are the ideas of all the animals
which ever have been or ever will be eating and drink¬
ing in tliis world. Yet Mosheim candidly acknow¬
ledges, that if the controversy were to be decided by
the votes of the learned, he is doubtful whether it would
be given for or against him 3 and Cudwortb, though he.
pleads
I n
I ft
1 ri
P L A
.PUtonisuL pleads tlie cause of his master with much ingenuity,
>"" owns, that on this subject his language cannot he vindi¬
cated. . This indeed is most true ; for Plato contends,
that his ideas are not only the objects of science, but
also the proper or physical causes of all things here be¬
low ; that the idea of similitude is the cause of the re¬
semblance between two globes: and the idea of dissimi¬
litude the cause that a globe does not resemble a pyra-t
mid: he likewise calls them avcrix;, essences or substan¬
ces, and many ol his followers have pronounced them to
be animals.
These wonderful expressions incline us to adopt with
some hesitation the opinion stated by Dr Enfield. This
historian ot philosophy having observed, that some of
the admirers ol Plato contend, that by ideas existing in
the reason of God, nothing more is meant than concep¬
tions formed in the Divine mind, controverts this opinion
yitn much efleet. “ By ideas, Plato (says he) appears
to have meant something much more mysterious } name-
ly, patterns or axchetypes subsisting by themselves, as
real beings, o-nuq ovlm in the Divine reason, as in their
original and eternal region, and issuing thence to give
form to sensible things, and to become objects of con¬
templation and science to rational beings. It is the
doctrine ol the limasus, that «' hoyio-ues tv 0ia, the rea¬
son of God, comprehends exempiars of all things, and
that this reason is one of the primary causes of things.
Plutarch says, that Plato supposes three principles,
God, Matter, and Idea. Justin Martyr, Pseudo-Ori-
gen, and others, assert the same thing.
“ lhat this is the true Platonic doctrine of ideas will
appear probable, if we attend to the manner in which
Plato framed his system of opinions concerning the ori¬
gin of things. ‘ Having been from his youth (says A-
ristotle) conversant with Cratylus, a disciple of Heracli¬
tus, and instructed in the doctrine of that school, that
all sensible things are variable, and cannot be proper ob¬
jects of science, he reasonably concluded, that if there
be any such thing as science, there must exist, besides
sensible objects, certain permanent natures, perceptible
only by the intellect.’ Such natures, divine in their
origin, and eternal and immutable in their existence, he
admitted into his system, and called them ideas. Visible
things were regarded by Plato as fleeting shades, and
ideas as the only permanent substances. These he con¬
ceived to be the proper objects of science to a mind rai¬
sed by divine contemplation above the perpetually vary¬
ing scenes of the material world.”
It was a fundamental doctrine in the system of Plato,
that the Deity formed the material world after a perfect
model, consisting of those ideas which had eternally sub¬
sisted in his own reason j and yet, with some appearance
of contradiction, he calls this model “ se^existent, in¬
divisible, and eternally generated.''' Nav, he talks of
it as being intelligent as well as eternal, and wholly
different from the transcripts, which are subjected to our
inspection. There is so much mystery, confusion, and
apparent absurdity, in the whole of this system, as it has
come down to us, that we must suppose the friends of
Plato to have been entrusted with a key to bis esoteric
doctrines, which has long been lost, otherwise it would
be difficult to conceive how that philosopher could have
had so many admirers.
With almost every ancient theist of Greece the found¬
er of the academy believed in an order of beings called
[ 637 ]
P
L A
winch were superior to the souls of men, and Platonism.
deemoni
struck oft by the Dcmiurgns from the soul of the world.
Of these the reader will find some account elsewhere :
(see Daemon and Polytheism), We mention them
at present because they make an important appearance
in 1 lato’s system ot physics, which was built upon them
and upon the doctrine which has been stated concern in;
God, matter, and ideas. He taught,,that the visible
world was formed by the Supreme Architect, uniting
eternal and immutable ideas to the first matter j that the
universe is.one animated being*, including within its ii-
nuts all animated naturesj that, in the formation of the
visible and tangible world, fire and earth were first form¬
ed, and were afterwards united by means of air and wa¬
ter 5 and from perfect parts one perfect whole was pro¬
duced, of a spherical figure, as most beautiful in itself,
and best suited to contain all other figures f ; that thef Ibid.
elementary parts of the world are of regular geometrical
forms, the particles of earth being cubical, those of fire
pyramidical, those of air in the form of an octohedron,
and those of water in that of an icosohedron ; that these
are adjusted in number, measure, and power, in perfect
conformity to the geometrical laws ot proportion 5 that
the soul which pervades this sphere is the cause of its
revolution round its centre; and, lastly, that the world
will remain for ever, but that by the action of its ani¬
mating principle, it accomplishes certain periods, within
which every thing returns to its ancient place and state.
This periodical revolution of nature is called the Plato¬
nic or great year. See the preceding article.
Tlie metaphysical doctrines of Plato, which treat of
the human soul, and the principles of his system of
ethics, have been detailed in other articles (See Meta-
PHYSIGS, Part III. chap. iv.; and Moral Philosophy,
N 6.) but it is worthy of observation in this place,
that, preparatory to the study of all philosophy, he re-
tjuned fiom Ins disciples a knowledge ot the elements of
mathematics. In his Republic, lie makes Glaucus, one
of the speakers, recommend them for their usefulness in
human life. “ Arithmetic for accounts and distribu¬
tions} geometry for encampments and mensurations j mu¬
sic for solemn festivals in honour of the gods ■, and astro¬
nomy for agriculture, for navigation, and the like. So¬
crates, on his part, denies not the truth of all this, but
still insinuates that they were capable of answering an
end more sublime. ‘ You are pleasant (says he) in
your seeming to fear the multitude, lest you should be
thought to enjoin certain sciences that are useless. ’Tis
indeed no contemptible matter, though a difficult one
to believe that through these particular sciences the soul
has an organ purified and enlightened, which is destioy-
and blinded by studies of other kinds ; an organ be tter
worth saving than a thousand eyes, in as much as truth
becomes visible through this alone
“ Concerning policy, Plato lias written at large in his
Republic and in his Dialogue on Laws. He was so much
enamoured with his own conceptions on this subject, that
it was chiefly the hope of having an opportunity to rea¬
lise his plan of a republic which induced him to visit the
couit of Dionysius. But they who are conversant with
mankind, and capable of calmly investigating the springs
of human actions, will easily perceive that his projects
were chimerical, and could only have originated in a
-mind replete with philosophical enthusiasm. Of this
nothing can be a clearer proof than the design of admit
ting
P L A
[ 638 ]
P L A
Platonism ting in liis republic a community of women, in order to
|j o-Ive reason an entire controul over desire. 1 be main
Playhouse, object of his political institutions appears to have been,
’ v |.|ie subjugation of the passions and appetites, by means
of the abstract contemplation of ideas. A system of po¬
licy, raised upon such fanciful grounds, cannot merit a
more distinct consideration.”
Such is genuine Platonism as it was taught in the old
academy by the founder of the school and his immediate
followers ; but when Arcesilaus was placed at the head
of the academics, great innovations were introduced both
into their doctrines and into their mode of teaching
(see Arcesilaus). This man was therefore considered
as the founder of what was afterwards called the middle
academy. Being a professed sceptic, he carried his
maxim of uncertainty to such a height, as to alarm the
o-eneral body of philosophers, offend the governors of the
state, and bring just odium upon the very name of the
academy. At length Carneadcs, one of the disciples of
this school, relinquishing some of the more obnoxious te¬
nets of Arcesilaus, founded what has been called the
neiv academy with very little improvement on the prin¬
ciples of the middle. See Carneades.
Under one or other of these forms Platonism found its
way into the Roman republic. Cicero was a Platonist,
and one of the greatest ornaments of the school. A
school of Platonists was likewise founded in Alexandria
in the second century of the Christian era j but their
doctrines differed in many particulars from those taught
in the three academies. They professed to seek truth
wherever they could find it, and to collect their dogmas
from every school. 1 hey endeavoured to bend some of
the principles of Plato into a conformity with the doc¬
trines of the gospel ; and they incorporated^ with the
whole many of the maxims of Aristotle and Zeno, and
not a few of the fictions of the east. Their system was
therefore extremely heterogeneous, andseldom so ration¬
al as that of the philosopher after whose name they were
called, and of whose doctrines we have given so copious
a detail. See Ammonius, Ecclectics, and Ploti¬
nus. . .
PLAUTUS, Marcus Accius, a comic writer ot
ancient Home, born in Umbria, a province of Italy.
His proper name was Marcus Accius, and he is suppos¬
ed to have acquired the surname of Plautus from hav¬
ing splay feet. His parentage appears to have been
mean 5 so that some have thought he was the son of a
slave. Aulus Gellius says that Plautus was distinguish¬
ed for his poetry on the theatre, and Cato tor his elo¬
quence in the forum, at the same time •, and observes
elsewhere from Varro, that he was so well paid for his
plays as to double his stock in trading, in which he lost
all he gained by the muses. He is said to have been
reduced to work at a mill for his subsistence } but1^ airo
adds, that his wit was his best support, as he composed
three of his plays during this drudgery. He died in
the first year of the elder Cato’s censorship, about the
year of Rome 569, and 184 before Christ. We have
20 of his plays extant, though not all of them entire.
Five of them comedies, have been elegantly translated
into English by Mr B. Thornton, and published in
2 vols 8vo, 1767-
PLAYS. See the following article.
PLAYHOUSE. See Theatre, Amphitheatre,
&c. The most ancient English playhouses were the
3
Curtain in Shoreditch and the Iheatre. In the time of p]ayhcus:!
Shakespeare, who commenced a dramatic wvitei in 1 ^9^) " \rm~
there were no less than 10 theatres open. I our of these
were private houses, viz. that in Blackfriars, the Cock¬
pit or Phoenix in Drury-Lane, a theatre in M hitefnars,
and one in Salisbury court. The other six were called
public theatres, viz. the Globe, the Swan, the Rose,
and the Hope, on the Bank-side } the Red Bull, at the
upper end of St John’s street, and the Fortune in
White-cross street. The two last were chiefly fre¬
quented by citizens. Mr Malone gives us a pretty co¬
pious account of these playhouses, in a supplement to
his last edition of Shakespeare, which we shall here in¬
sert.
“ Most, if not all (says he) of Shakespeare’s plays
were performed either at the Globe or at the Iheatie in
Blackfriars. It appears that they both belonged to the
same company of comedians, viz. his majesty s servants,
which title they assumed, after a licence had been
granted to them by King James in 1603, having be¬
fore that time been called the servants of the lord cham¬
berlain.
“ The theatre in Blackfriars was a private house-,
but the peculiar and distinguishing marks of a private
playhouse it is not easy to ascertain. It was very small,
and plays were there usually represented by candle light.
The Globe, situated on the southern side of the river
Thames, was a hexagonal building, partly open to the
weather, partly covered with reeds. It was a public
theatre, and of considerable size, and there they always
acted by daylight. On the roof of the Globe, and the
other public theatres, a pole was erected, to which a
flag was affixed. These flags vyere probably displayed
only during the hours of exhibition j and it should setni
from a passage in one of the old comedies that they were
taken down during Lent, in which season no plays were
presented. The Globe, though hexagonal at the out¬
side, was probably a rotunda within, and perhaps had
its name from its circular form. It might, however,
have been denominated only from its sign, which was a
figure of Hercules supporting the Globe. 'Ibis theatre
was burnt down in 1613, but it was rebuilt in the fol¬
lowing year, and decorated with more ornament than
had been originally bestowed upon it. The exhibitions
at the Globe seem to have been calculated chiefly for
the lower class of people 5 those at Blackfriars tor a
more select and judicious audience.
“ A writer informs us, that one of these theatres was
a winter and the other a summer house. As the Globe
was partly exposed to the weather, and they acted there
usually by daylight, it was probably the summer thea¬
tre. The exhibitions here seem to have been more fre¬
quent than at Blackfriars, at least till the year 1604 or
1605, when the Bank-side appears to have become less
fashionable and less frequented than it formerly had
been. Many of our ancient dramatic pieces were per¬
formed in the yards of carriers inns j in which, in the
beginning of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, the comedians,
who then first united themselves in companies, erected
an occasional stage. The form of these temporary play¬
houses seems to be preserved in our modern theatre.
The galleries are in both ranged over each other on
three^ides of the building. The small roooms under the
lowest of these galleries answer to our present boxes ',
and it is observable that these, even in theatres which
were
P L A [ 639 ] P L A
ylioflse. were built In a subsequent period expressly for dramatic
exhibitions, still retained their old name, and are fre¬
quently called rooms by our ancient writers. The yard
bears a sufficient resemblance to the pit as at present in
use. We may suppose the stage to have been raised in
this area, on the fourth side, with its back to the gate¬
way of the inn, at which the money for admission was
taken. Hence, in the middle of the Globe, and I
suppose of the other public theatres, in the time of
Shakespeare, there was an open yard or area, where the
common people stood to see the exhibition j from which
circumstance they are called by our author groundlings,
and by Ben Jonson ‘ the understanding gentlemen of
the ground.’
“ In the ancient playhouses there appears to have
been a private box, of which it is not easy to ascertain
the situation. It seems to have been placed at the side
of the stage, towards the rear, and to have been at a
lower price : in this some people sat, either from econo¬
my or singularity. The galleries, or scaffolds as they
are sometimes called, and that part of the house which
in private theatres was named the pit, seem to have been
at the same price 5 and probably in houses of reputation,
such as the Globe, and that in Blackfriars, the price of
admission into those parts of the theatres was 6d. while
in some meaner playhouses it was only id. in others on¬
ly 2d. The price of admission into the best rooms or
boxes was, I believe, in our author’s time, is. $ though
afterwards it appears to have risen to 2s. and half-a-
crown.
“ From several passages in our old plays, we learn,
that spectatoi-s were admitted on the stage, and that the
critics and wits of the time usually sat there. Some
were placed on the ground; others sat on stools, of which
the price was either 6d. or is. according, I suppose, to
the commodiousness of the situation ; and they were at¬
tended by pages, who furnished them with pipes and
tobacco, which was smoked here as well as in other
parts of the house : yet it should seem that persons were
suffered to sit on the stage only in the private playhouses,
such as Blackfriars, &c. where the audience was more
select, and of a higher class ; and that in the Globe and
other public theatres no such licence was permitted.
“ The stage was strewed with rushes, which, as we
learn from Hentzner and Cains de Ephemera, was, in
the time of Shakespeare, the usual covering of floors in
England. The curtain which hangs in the front of the
present stage, drawn up bylines and pulleys, though not
a modern invention, for it was used by Inigo Jones in the
masques at court, was yet an apparatus to which the
simple mechanism of our ancient theatres had not arrived,
for in them the curtains opened in the middle, and were
drawn backwards and forwards on an iron rod. In some
playhouses they were woollen, in others made of silk.—
Towards the rear of the stage there appears to have
been a balcony, the platform of which was probably
eight or ten feet from the ground. I suppose it to have
been supported by pillars. From hence, in many of our
old plays, part of the dialogue was spoken ; and in the
front of this balcony curtains likewise were hung.
“ A doubt has been entertained whether in our an¬
cient theatres there were side and other scenes. The
question is involved in so much obscurity, that it is very
difficult to form, any decided opinion upon it. It is
certain, that in the year 1695 Inigo Jones exhibited an playhouse,
entertainment at Oxford, in which moveable scenes ——v «<■-.*
were used ; but he appears to have introduced several
pieces of machinery in the masques at court, with which
undoubtedly the public theatres were unacquainted. A
passage which has been produced from one of the old co¬
medies, proves, it must be owned, that even these were
furnished with some pieces of machinery, which were
used when it was requisite to exhibit the descent of some
god or saint; but from all the contemporary accounts,
I am inclined to believe that the mechanism of our an¬
cient stage seldom went beyond a painted chair or a
trap door, and that few, if any of them, had any move-
able scenes. When King Henry VIII. is to be disco¬
vered by the dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk, reading in
his study, the scenical direction in the first folio, 1623,
which was printed appax-ently from playhouse copies, is,
‘ the king draws the curtain, (i. e. draws it open), and
sits reading pensively;’ for, besides the principal curtains
that hung in the front of the stage, they used others as
substitutes for scenes. If a bed-chamber is to be exhi¬
bited, no change of scene is mentioned ; but the property-
man is simply ordered to thrust forth a bed. When the
fable requires the Roman capitol to be exhibited, we find
two officers enter, ‘to lay cushions, as it were, in the ca¬
pitol,’ &c. On the whole, it appears, that our ancient
theatres, in general, wrere only furnished with curtains,
and a single scene composed of tapestry, which were some¬
times, perhaps, ornamented with pictures; and some pas¬
sages in our old dramas incline one to think, that when
tragediesw’ere performed the stage was hung with black.
“ In the early part, at least, of our author’s * ac-* shake-
quaintance with the theatre, the want of scenery seems spearc.
to have been supplied by the simple expedient of writ¬
ing the names of the different places where the scene
was laid in the progress of the play, which were dispo¬
sed in such a manner as to be visible to the audience.
The invention of trap-doors, however, appears not to be
modern ; for in an old morality, intitled Allfor Money,
we find a marginal direction which implies that they
were very early in use. The covering, or internal roof
of the stage, was anciently termed the heavens. It was
probably painted of a sky-blue colour, or perhaps pieces
of drapery tinged with blue were suspended across the
stage to represent the heavens.
“ It is probable that the stage was formerly lighted by
two large branches, of a form similar to those now hung
in churches. They gave place in a subsequent period to
small circular wooden frames, furnished with candles,
eight of which were hung on the stage, fourat either side,
and these within a few years were wholly removed by Mr
Garrick, who, on his return from France, first introdu¬
ced the present commodious method of illuminating the
stage by lights not visible to the audience.. Many of the
companies of players were formerly so thin, that one per¬
son played two or three parts ; and a battle on which the
fate of an empire wTas supposed to depend w!as decided by
half a dozen combatants. It appears to have been a com¬
mon practice yn their mock engagements to discharge
small pieces of brdnance on the stage. Before the exhi-.
bition began, thi“ee flourishes or pieces of music were
played, or, in the ancient language, there were three
soundings. Music was likewise played between the acts..
The instruments chiefly used were trumpets, cornets, and
hautboyg,
P L A
Playhouse, liautboys. The hand, which did not consist of more than
V——' five or six performers, sat in an upper balcony, over
what is now called the stage-box.
“ The person who spoke the prologue was ushered in
bv trumpets, and usually wore a long black velvet cloak,
which, I suppose, wras considered as best suited to a sup¬
plicatory address. Of this custom, whatever might have
been its origin, some traces remained till very lately, a
black coat having been, if I mistake not, within these
few years, the constant stage-habiliment of our modern
prologue-speakers. The dress of the ancient prologue-
speaker is still retained in the play that is exhibited in
Hamlet before the king and court of Denmark. The
performers of male characters generally wore periwigs,
which in the age of Shakespeare were not in common
use. It appears from a passage in Puttenham’s Art of
English Potsy, 1589, that vizards were on some occa¬
sion-. used by the actors ot those days j and it may be in¬
ferred, from a scene in one of our author’s comedies,
that they were sometimes worn in his time by those who
performed female characters •, but this I imagine was
very rare. Some ot the female part of the audience
likewise appeared in masks. I he stage-dresses, it is
reasonable to suppose, were much more co-tly at some
theatres than at others •, yet the wardrobe of even the
king’s servants at the Olobe and Illackfriars, was, we
find, but scantily furnished 5 and our author’s dramas
derived very little aid from the splendour of exhibition.
“ It is well known, that in the time of Shakespeare,
and for many years afterwards, female characters were
represented by boys or young men. Sir William d’ Aye-
nant, in imitation of the foreign theatres, first introduced
females in the scene, and Mrs Betterton is said to have
been the first woman that appeared on the English stage.
Andrew Pennycuike played the part of Matilda in a tra¬
gedy of Davenport’s, in 16555 and Mr Kynaston acted
several female parts after the Restoration. Downes, a
contemporary of his, assures us, ‘ that being then very
young he made a complete stage beauty, performing his
parts so well, particularly Avthiope and Aglaura, that
it has since been disputable among the judicious whe¬
ther any woman that succeeded him touched the audi¬
ence so sensibly as he.’
“ Both the prompter, or book-holder, as he was some¬
times called, and the property-man, appear to have been
regular appendages of our ancient theatres. No writer
that I have met with intimates, that in the time of Shake¬
speare it was customary to exhibit more than a single dra¬
matic piece in one day. The Yorkshire tragedy, or All's
One, indeed, appears to have been one of four pieces that
were represented on the same day ; and Fletcher has
also a piece called Four Plays in One; but probably these
were either exhibited on some particular occasion, or
were ineffectual efforts to introduce a new species of
amusement 5 for we do not find any other instances of
the same kind. Had any shorter pieces been exhibited
after the principal performance, some of them probably
would have been printed : but there are none extant of
an earlier date than the time of the Restoration. The
practice, therefore, of exhibiting two dramas successively
in the same evening, we may be assured was notestablish-
ed before that period. But though the audiences in the
time of our author were not gratified by the representa¬
tion of more than one drama in the same day, the entei*-
tainment was diversified, and the populace diverted, by
P L A
vaulting, tumbling, slight of hand, and morris-dancing, piayLous?
a mixture not much more heterogeneous than that with v—-y——
which we are daily presented, a tragedy and a farce.
“ The amusements of our ancestors, before the com¬
mencement of the play, were of various kinds, such as
reading, playing cards, drinking ale, or smoking to¬
bacco. It was a common practice to carry table-books
to the theatre, and either from curiosity or enmity to
the author, or some other motive, to write down passages
of the play that was represented : and there is reason to
believe that the imperfect and mutilated copies of some
of Shakespeare’s dramas, which are yet extant, were
taken down in short hand during the exhibition. At
the end of the piece, the actors, in noblemen’s houses
and in taverns, where plays were frequently performed,
prayed for the health and prosperity of their patrons 5
and in the public theatres for the king and queen. This
prayer sometimes made part of the epilogue. Hence,
probably, as Mr Steevens has observed, the addition of
Vivant rex et regina to the modern play-bills.
“ Plays, in the time of our author, began at one o’clock
in the afternoon 5 and the exhibition was usually finish¬
ed in two hours. Even in 1667 they commenced at
three. When Gosson wrote his School of Abuse, in 1579,
it seems the dramatic entertainments were usually exlii*
bited on Sundays. Afterwards they were performed on
that and other days indiscriminately. It appears from a
contemporary writer, that exhibiting plays on Sunday had
not been abolished in the third year ot King Charles I.
“ The modes of conveyance to the theatre, anciently
as at present, seem to have been variouS5 some going in
coaches, others on horseback, and many by water.—
To the Globe playhouse the company probably were
conveyed by water 5 to that in Blackfriars the gentry
went either in coaches or on horseback, and the common
people on foot. In an epigram to Sir John Davis, the
practice of riding to the theatre is ridiculed as a piece
of affectation or vanity, and therefore we may presume
it was not very general.
“ The long and whimsical titles that are prefixed to
the quarto copies of our author’s plays, I suppose to have
been transcribed from the play-bills of the time. A
contemporary writer has preserved something like a
play-bill of those days, which seems to corroborate
this observation 5 for if it were divested of rhime, it
would bear no very distant resemblance to the title pages
that stand before some of our author’s dramas :
“ -.Prithee, what’s the play ?
“ (The first I visited this twelvemonth day)
“ They say “ A new invented play of Purle,
“ That jeoparded his neck to steal a girl
“ Of twelve 5 and lying fast impounded for’t,
“ Has hither sent his beard to act his part 5
“ Against all those in open malice bent,
“ That would not freely to the theft consent:
“ Feigns all to’s wish, and in the epilogue
“ Goes out applauded for a famous rogue.”
—Now hang me if I did not look at first
“ For some such stuff, by the fond people’s thrust.”
“ It is uncertain at what time the usage of giving au¬
thors a benefit on the third day of the exhibition of their
pieces commenced. Mr Oldys, in one of his manuscripts,
intimates that dramatic poets had anciently their benefit
on the first day that a new play was represented 5 a regu¬
lation
r 640 ]
P L A
playhouse, lation which would have been very favourable to some of
l—-y——' the ephemeral productions of modern times. But for this
there is not, I believe, any sufficient authority. From
D’Avenant, indeed, we learn, that in the latter part of
the reign of Queen Elizabeth the poet had his bene¬
fit on the second day. As it was a general practice in
the time of Shakespeare to sell the copy of the play to
the theatre, I imagine in such cases an author derived
no other advantage from his piece than what arose from
the sale of it. Sometimes, however, he found it more
beneficial to retain the copyright in his own hands ; and
when he did so, I suppose he had a benefit. It is cer¬
tain that the giving authors the profit of the third ex¬
hibition of their play, which seems to have been the
usual mode during almost the whole of the last century,
was an established custom in the year 1612J for Deck¬
er, in the prologue to one of his comedies printed in
that year, speaks of the poet’s third day. The unfortu¬
nate Otway had no more than one benefit on the pro¬
duction of a new play; and this too, it seems, he was
Sometimes forced to mortgage before the piece wras act¬
ed. Southerne was the first dramatic writer who ob¬
tained the emoluments arising from two representations ;
and to Farquhar, in the year 1700, the benefit of a
third was granted, When an author sold his piece to
the sharers or proprietors of a theatre, it remained for
several years unpublished ; but when that was not the
case, he printed it for sale, to which many seem to have
been induced, from an apprehension that an imperfect
copy might be issued from the press without their con¬
sent. The customary price of the copy of a play in the
time of Shakespeare appears to have been twenty no¬
bles, or six pounds thirteen shillings and four pence.
The play when printed was sold for sixpence $ and the
usual present- from a patron in return for a dedication
was forty shillings. On the first day of exhibiting a
new play, the prices of admission appear to have been
raised; and this seems to have been occasionally prac¬
tised on the benefit-nights of authors to the end of the
last century. The custom of passing a final censure
©n plays at their first exhibition is as ancient as the
time of our author j for no less than three plays of his
rival Ben Jonson appear to have been damned ; and
Fletcher’s Faithful Shepherdess, and The Knight of the
Burning Pestle, written by him and Beaumont, under¬
went the same fate.
“ It is not easy to ascertain what were the emolu¬
ments of a successful actor in the time of Shakespeare.
They had not then annual benefits as at present. The
performers at each theatre seem to have shared the pro¬
fits arising either from each day’s exhibition or from
the whole season among them. From Ben Johnson’s
Poetaster we learn, that one of either the performers
or proprietors had seven shares and a half j but of what
integral sum is not mentioned. From the prices of ad-
fnission into our ancient theatres, which have been al¬
ready mentioned, I imagine the utmost that the shares
of the Globe playhouse could have received on any one
day was about 35I. So lately as the year 1685, Shad-
well received by his third day on the representation of
the Squire of Alsatia, 130I.: which Downes the prompt¬
er says was the greatest receipt that had beenever taken
at Drury-Lane playhouse at single prices. It appears
from the MSS. of Lord Stanhope, treasurer of the cham¬
bers to King James I. that the customary sura paid to
Vol. XVI. Part II. • f
[ 641 ]
P L E
John Heminge and his company for the performance of p]avWe
a play at court was twenty nobles, or six pounds thir- Pica.
teen shillings and four pence. And Edward Alleyn' v—'
mentions in his Diary, that he once had so slender an
audience in his theatre called the Fortune, that the
whole receipts of the house amounted to no more than
three pounds and some odd shillings.
Ihus scanty and meagre were the apparatus and
accommodations of our ancient theatres, on which those
dramas were first exhibited, that have since engaged the
attention of so many learned men, and delighted so
many thousand spectators. Yet even then, we are told
by a rvriter of that age, ‘ that dramatic poesy was so
lively expressed and represented on the public stages
and theatres of this city, as Rome in the age of her pomp
and glory never saw it better performed ; in respect of
the action and art, not of the cost and sumptuousness.”
PLEA, in Law, is what either party alleges for him¬
self in court, in a cause there depending j and in a more
restrained sense, it is the defendant’s answer to the
plaintiff’s declaration.
Pleas are usually divided into those of the crown and
common pleas. Pleas of the crown are all suits in the
king’s name, or in the name of the attorney-general in
behalf of the king, for offences committed against his
crown and dignity, and against his peace j as treason,
murder, felony, &c. See Arraignment.
Common pleas are such suits as are carried on be- BlacksL
tween common persons in civil cases. These pleas ate Comment.
of two sorts ; dilatory pleas, and pleas to the action. Di¬
latory pleas are such as tend merely to delay or put off
the suit, by questioning the propriety of the remedy, ra¬
ther than by denying the injury : pleas to the action are
such as dispute the very cause of suit.
I. Dilatory pleas are, 1. To the jurisdiction of the
court: alleging, that it ought not to hold plea of this
mjury, it arising in Wales or beyond sea: or because
the land in question is of ancient demesne, and ought
only to be demanded in the lord’s court, &c. 2. To
the disability of the plaintiff, by reason whereof he is
incapable to commence or continue the suit; as, that
he is an alien enemy, outlawed, excommunicated, at¬
tainted of treason or felony, under a praemunire, not in
rerum natura (being only a fictitious person), an infant,
a feme-covert, or a monk professed. 3. In abatement:
which abatement is either of the writ, or the count, for
some defect in one of them; as by misnaming the de*
fendant, which is called a misnomer; giving him a
wrong addition, as esquire instead of knight; or other
want of form in any material respect. Or, it may he
that the plaintiff is dead ; for the death of either party
is at once an abatement of the suit.
Ihese pleas to the jurisdiction, to the disability, or in
abatement, were formerly very often used as mere dila¬
tory pleas, without any foundation in truth, and calcu¬
lated onlylfor delay ; but now bv stat. 4 & ? Ann. c. 16.
no dilatory plea is to be admitted without affidavit made
of the truth thereof, or some probable matter shown to
the court to induce them to believe it true. And with
respect to the pleas themselves, it is a rule, that no ex¬
ception shall be admitted against a declaration or writ
unless the defendant will in the same plea give the plain-
tilt a better; that is, show him how it might be amend¬
ed, that there may not he two objections upon the same
account,
4M
Ail
P L E
[ 642 ]
P L E
All pleas to the jurisdiction conclude to the cogni¬
zance of the court j praying “ judgment whether the
court will have farther cognizance ot the suit.” I leas
to the disability conclude to the person ; by praying
“ judgment, if the said A the plaintiff ought to be an¬
swered.” And pleas in abatement (when the suit is by
original) conclude to the writ, or declaration ; bypray-
ing&“ judgment of the writ, or declaration, and that the
same may be quashed,” cassetur, made void, or aba¬
ted : but if the action be by bill, the plea must pray
“ judgment of the bill,” and not of the declaration •, the
bill being here the original, and the declaration only a
copy of the bill.
When these dilatory pleas are allowed, the cause is
either dismissed from that jurisdiction, or the plaintiff
is stayed till his disability be removed j or he is obli¬
ged to sue out a new writ, by leave obtained from the
court, or to amend and new-frame his declaration.
But when, on the other hand, they are overruled as
frivolous, the defendant has judgment of respondeat
ouster, or to answer over in some better manner. It
is then incumbent on him to plead,
2. A plea to the action; that is, to answer to the
merits of the complaint. This is done by confessing or
denying it. ,
A confession of the whole complaint is not very usual}
for then the defendant would probably end the matter
sooner, or not plead at all, but suffer judgment to go
by default. Yet sometimes, after tender and refusal of
a debt, if the creditor harasses his debtor with an action,
it then becomes necessary for the defendant to acknow¬
ledge the debt, and plead the tender ) adding, that he
has always been ready, temps prist,snA is still ready,
uncore prist, to discharge it : for a tender by the debtor
and refusal by the creditor will in all cases discharge the
costs, but not the debt itself} though in some particular
cases the creditor will totally lose his money. But fre¬
quently the defendant confesses one part of tiie complaint
(by a cognovit actionem in respect thereof ),and traverses
or denies the rest} in order to avoid the expense of car¬
rying that part to a formal trial, which he has no ground
to litigate. A species of this sort of confession is the
payment of money into court: which is for the most part
necessary upon pleading a tender, and is itself a kind of
tender to the plaintiff j by paying into the hands ot the
proper officer of the court as much as the defendant ac¬
knowledges to be due, together with the costs hitherto
incurred, in order to prevent the expence of any farther
proceedings. This may be done upon what is called a
motion ; which is an occasional application to the couit
by the parties or their counsel, in order to obtain some
rule or order of court, which becomes necessary in the
progress of a cause : and it is usually grounded upon an
affidavit (the perfect tense of the verb affido), being a
voluntary oath before some judge or officer ot the court,
to evince the truth of certain facts, upon which the mo¬
tion is grounded: though no such affidavit is necessary
for payment of money into court. If, after the money is
paid in, the plaintiff proceeds in his suit, it is at his own
peril: for if he does not prove more due than is so paid
into court, he shall be nonsuited and pay the defendant’s
costs •, but he shall still have the money so paid in, for
that the defendant has acknowledged to be his due. To
this head may also be referred the practice of what is
called a set off; whereby the defendant acknowledges
the justice of the plaintiff’s demand on the one hand;
but on the other, sets up a demand of his own, to coun-
terbalance that of the plaintiff, either in the whole or in
part; as, if the plaintiff sues for ten pounds due on a
note of hand, the defendant may set off nine pounds
due to himself for merchandise sold to the plaintiff^
and, in case he plead such set-off, must pay the remain¬
ing balance into court.
Pleas that totally deny the cause of complaint, are
either the general issue, or a special plea in bar.
1. The general issue, or general plea, is what tra¬
verses, thwarts, and denies at once, the whole declara¬
tion, without offering any special matter whereby to
evade it. As in trespass either vi et armis, or on the
Plea.
case, “ non culpabilis, not guilty j” in debt upon con¬
tract, “ nihil debet, he owes nothing in debt on
bond, “ non est factum, it is not his deed on an as¬
sumpsit, “ non assumpsit, he made no such promise.”
Or in real actions, “ nul tort, no wrong done ; nul dis¬
seisin, no disseisin and in a writ of right, the mise
or issue is, that “ the tenant has more right to hold
than the demandant has to demand.” These pleas are
called the general issue, because, by importing an abso¬
lute and general denial of what is alleged in the decla¬
ration, they amount at once to an issue j by which we
mean a fact affirmed on one side and denied on the other.
2. Special pleas in bar of the plaintiff’s demands are
very various, according to the circumstances of the de¬
fendant’s case. As, in real actions, a general release
or a fine j both of which may destroy and bar the plain¬
tiff’s title. Or, in personal actions, an accord, arbi¬
tration, conditions performed, nonage of the defendant,
or some other fact which precludes the plaintiff from his
action. A. justification is likewise a special plea in bar ;
as in actions of assault and battery, son assault demesne,
that it was the plaintiff’s own original assault; in tres¬
pass, that the defendant did the thing complained of in
right of some office which warranted him so to do or,
in an action of slander, that the plaintiff is really as
bad a man as the defendant said he was.
Also a man may plead the statutes of limitation in
bar; or the time limited by certain acts of parliament,
beyond which no plaintiff can lay his cause of action.
This, by the statute of 32 Hen. VIII. c. 2. in a writ
of right is 60 years : in assizes, writs of entry, or other-
possessory actions real, of the seisin of one’s ancestors
in lands and either of their seisin, or one’s own, in
rents, suits, and services, 50 years : and in actions real
for lands grounded upon one’s own seisin or possession,
such possession must have been within 30 years. By
statute 1 Mar. st. 2. c. 5. this limitation does not extend
to any suit for avowsons. But by the statute 21 Jac. I.
c. 2. a time of limitation was extended to the case of
the king*, viz. 60 years precedent to 19th Feb. 1623 j
but, this becoming ineffectual by efflux of time, the same
date of limitation was fixed by statute 9 Geo. III. e.
16. to commence and be reckoned backwards, from the
time of bringing any suit or other process to recover the
thing in question ; so that a possession for 60 years is
now a bar even against the prerogative, in derogation
of the ancient maxim, Nullum tempus occurrit regi. By
another statute, 21 Jac. I. c. 16, 20 years is the time
of limitation in any writ of formedon : and, by a conse¬
quence, 20 years is also the limitation in every action
of ejectment j for no ejectment can be brought, unless
where
P L E [ ^43 ] P L E
pica. wliere the lessor of the plaintiff is entitled to enter on
-v—the lands, and by the statute 21 Jac. I. c. 16. no entry
can be made by any man, unless within 20 years af¬
ter his right shall accrue. Also all actions of trespass
Square clausumfregit, or otherwise), detinue, trover, re¬
plevin, account, and case (except upon accounts be¬
tween merchants), debt on simple contract, or for ar¬
rears of rent, are limited by the statute last mentioned
to six years after the cause of action commenced : and
actions of assault, menace, battery, mayhem, and impri¬
sonment, must be brought within four years, and actions
for words two years, after the injury committed. And
by the statute 31 ILliz. c. 5. all suits, indictments, and
informations, upon any penal statutes, where any for¬
feiture is to the crown, shall be sued within two years,
and where the forfeiture is to a subject, within one
year, after the offence committed, unless where any
other time is specially limited by the statute. Lastly,
by statute 10 W. III. c. 14. no writ of error, scire fa¬
cias, or other suit, shall be brought to reverse any judge¬
ment, fine, or recovery, for error, unless it be prosecut¬
ed within 20 years. The use of these statutes of limi¬
tation is to preserve the peace of the kingdom, and to
prevent those innumerable perjuries which might ensue
if a man were allowed to bring an action for any injury
committed at any distance of time. Upon both these
accounts the law therefore holds, that interest reipublicce
ut sit finis litium: and upon the same principle the A-
thenian laws in general prohibited all actions where the
injury was committed five years before the complaint
was made. If, therefore, in any suit, the injury, or
cause of action, happened earlier than the period ex¬
pressly limited by law, the defendant may plead the
statutes of limitations in bar: as upon an assumpsit, or
promise to pay money to the plaintiff, the defendant
may plead, Non assumpsit infra sex annos. He made no
such promise within six years j which is an effectual bar
to the complaint.
An estoppel is likewise a special plea in bar j which
happens where a man hath done some act, or executed
some deed, which estops or precludes him from averring
any thing to the contrary. As if a tenant for years
(who hath no freehold) levies a fine to another person.
Though this is void as to strangers, yet it shall work as
an estoppel to the cognizor ; for, if he afterwards brings
an action to recover these lands, and his fine is pleaded
against him, he shall thereby be estopped from saying,
that he had no freehold at the time, and therefore was
incapable of levying it.
The conditions and qualities of a plea (which, as well
as the doctrine of estoppels, will also hold equally, mu-
tatis mutandis, with regard to other parts of pleading),
are, 1. That it be single and containing only one mat¬
ter; for duplicity begets confusion. But by statute 4
and 5 Ann. c. 16. a man, with leave of the court, may
plead two or more distinct matters or single pleas; as in
an action of assault and battery, these three, Not guilty,
son assault demesne, and the statute of limitations.
2. That it be direct and positive, and not argumenta¬
tive. 3. That it have convenient certainty of time,
place, and persons. 4. That it answer the plaintiff’s
allegations in every material point. 5. That it be so
pleaded as to be capable of trial.
Special pleas are usually in the affirmative, sometimes
in the negative, but they always advance some new fact
not mentioned in the declaration ; and then they must pjca>
be averred to be true in the common form :—“ And ■ v—
this he is ready to verify.”—This is not necessary in
pleas of the general issue, those always containing a to¬
tal denial of the facts before advanced by the other par¬
ty, and therefore putting him upon the proof of them.
See Pleadings.
Plea to Indictment, the defensive matter alleged by Blackst.
a criminal on his indictment; (see Arraignment).
'Ibis is either, 1. A plea to the jurisdiction ; 2. A de¬
murrer ; 3. A plea in abatement; 4. A special plea in
bar ; or, 5. The general issue.
I. A plea to the jurisdiction, is where an indictment
is taken before a court that hath no cognizance of the
offence; as if a man be indicted for a rape at the sheriff’s
tourn, or for treason at the quarter-sessions : in these or
similar cases, he may except to the jurisdiction of the
court, without answering at all to the crime alleged.
II. A demurrer to the indictment, is incident to cri¬
minal cases, as well as civil, when the fact as alleged is
allowed to be true, but the prisoner joins issue upon
some point of law in the indictment, by which he insists,
that the fact, as stated, is no felony, treason, or what¬
ever the crime is alleged to be. Thus, for instance, if
a man be indicted for feloniously stealing a greyhound;
which is an animal in which no valuable property can
be had, and therefore it is not felony, but only a civil
trespass to steal it; in this case the party indicted may
demur to the indictment; denying it to be felony,
though he confesses the act of taking it. Some have
held, that if, on demurrer, the point of law be adjudged
against the prisoner, he shall have judgment and exe¬
cution, as it convicted by vei’dict. But this is denied
by others, who hold, that in such case he shall be di¬
rected and received to plead the general issue, Not guil¬
ty, after a demurrer determined against him. Which
appears the more reasonable, because it is clear, that if
the prisoner freely discovers the fact in court, and refers
it to the opinion of the court whether it be felony or
no ; and upon the fact thus shown, it appears to be
felony, the court will not record the confession, but ad¬
mit him afterwards to plead not guilty. And this seems
to be a case of the same nature, being for the most part
a mistake in point of law, and in the conduct of his
pleading; and, though a man by mispleading may in
some cases lose his property, yet the law will not suffer
him by such niceties to lose his life. However, upon
this doubt, demurrers to indictments are seldom used ;
since the same advantages may be taken upon a plea of
not guilty ; or afterwards, in arrest of judgment, when
the verdict has established the fact.
III. A plea in abatement is principally for a misnomer,
a wrong name, or a false addition to the prisoner. As,
if James Allen, gentleman, is indicted by Jhe name of
John Allen, esquire, he may plead that he has the name
of J'.imes, and not of John; and that he is a gentleman,
and not an esquire. And, if either fact is found by a
jury, then the indictment shall be abated, as writs or
declarations may be in civil actions. But, in the end,
there is little advantage accruing to the prisoner by
means of these dilatory pleas; because, if the exception
be allowed, a new bill of indictment may be framed, ac¬
cording to what the prisoner in his plea avers to be his
true name and addition. Tor it is a rule, upon all pleas
in abatement, that he who takes advantage of a flaw,
4 M 2 must
P L E [ 644 1 P L E
must at tlie same time show how it may be amended.
Let us, therefore, next consider a more substantial kind
of plea, &c. .
IV. Special pleas in bars; which go to the merits ot
the indictment, and give a reason why the prisoner ought
not to answer it at all, nor put himself upon his tiial tor
the crime alleged. These are of four kinds : a former
acquittal, a former conviction, a former attainder, or a
pardon. There are many other pleas which may be
pleaded in bar of an appeal: but these are applicable to
both appeals and indictments.
1. First, the plea of auterfoits acquit, or a former ac¬
quittal, is grounded on this universal maxim of the com¬
mon law of England, that no man is to be brought in¬
to jeopardy of his Ute, more than once, for the same of¬
fence. And hence it is allowed as a consequence, that
when a man is once fairly found not guilty upon any in¬
dictment, or other prosecution, before any court having
competent jurisdiction of the offence, he may plead such
acquittal in bar of any subsequent accusation lor the
«ame crime.
2. Secondly, the plea of auterjjnts convict, or a former
conviction for the same identical crime, though no
judgment was ever given, or perhaps will be (being
suspended'by the benefit of clergy or other causes), is a
good plea in bar to an indictment. And this depends
upon the same principle as the former, that no man
ought to be twice brought in danger of his life tor one
and the same crime.
3. Thirdly, the plea of auterfoits attaint, or a former
attainder, is a good plea in bar, whether it be for the
same or any other felony. For wherever a man is at¬
tainted of felony, by judgment of death either upon a
verdict or confession, by outlawry, or heretofore by ab¬
juration, and whether upon an appeal or an indictment j
he may plead such attainder 111 bar to any subsequent
indictment or appeal, for the same 01 for any other fe¬
lony. And this because, generally, such proceeding on
a second prosecution cannot be to any purpose ; for the
prisoner is dead in law by the first attainder, his blood
is already corrupted, and he hath forfeited all that he
had : so that it is absurd and superfluous to endeavour
to attaint him a second time. '1 hough to this general
rule, as to all others, there are some exceptions j where¬
in, cessante ratione, cessant et ipsa lex.
4. Lastly, a pardon may be pleaded in bar ; as at once
destroying the end and purpose of the indictment, by re¬
mitting that punishment, which the prosecution is cal¬
culated to inflict. There is one advantage that attends
pleading a pardon in bar, or in the arrest of judgment
before sentence is past ■, which gives it by much the pre¬
ference to pleading it after sentence or attainder. Ibis
is, that by stopping the judgment it stops the attainder,
and prevents the corruption of the blood : which, when
once corrupted by attainder, cannot afterwards be re¬
stored otherwise than by act of parliament.
V. The general issue, or plea of not guilty, upon which
plea alone the prisoner can receive his final judgment of p]ca.
death. In case of an indictment of felony or treason,y—
there can be no special justification put in by way of
plea. As, on an indictment for murder, a man cannot
plead that it was in his own defence against a robber on
the highway, or a burglar ; but he must plead the ge¬
neral issue, Not guilty, and give this special matter in
evidence. For (besides that these pleas do in effect
amount to the general issue j since, if true, the prisoner
is most clearly not guilty) as the facts in treason are laid
to be done proditorie et contra ligeantiee suae debitvm ;
and, in felony, that the killing was done felonice ; these
charges, of a traiterous or felonious intent, are the points
and very gist of the indictment, and must be answered
directly, by the general negative, Not guilty j and the
jury upon the evidence will take notice of any defensive
matter, and give their verdict accordingly as effectually
as if it were or could be specially pleaded. So that
this is, upon all accounts, the most advantageous plea
for the prisoner.
When the prisoner hath thus pleaded not guilty, non
culpabilis, or nient culpable : which was formerly used to
be abbreviated upon the minutes, thus, Non (or nient')
cul. the clerk of the assize, or clerk of arraigns, on be¬
half of the crown, replies, that the prisoner is guilty, and
that he is ready to prove him so. This is done by two
monosyllables in the Same spirit of abbreviation, (cul.
prit): which signifies first that the prisoner is guilty,
(cul. culpable, or culpabilis) ; and then that the king is
ready to prove him so, (prit, preesto sum, or paratus ve-
rijicare). By this replication the king and the prisoner
are therefore at issue : for when the parties come to a
fact which is affirmed on one side and denied on the
other, then they are said to be at issue in point of fact:
which is evidently the case here, in the plea of non cul.
by the prisoner; and the replication of cul. by the clerk.
How" the courts came to express a matter of this im¬
portance in so odd and obscure a manner, can hardly be
pronounced with certainty. It may perhaps, however,
he accounted for by supposing, that these were at first
short notes, to help the memory of the clerk, and re¬
mind him what he was to reply or else it was the short
method of taking down in court, upon the minutes, the
replication and averment; cul. prit.: which afterwards
the ignorance of succeeding clerks adopted for the very
words to he by them spoken (a).
But however it may have arisen, the joining of issue
seems to be clearly the meaning of this obscure expres¬
sion ; which has puzzled our most ingenious etymolo¬
gists, and is commonly understood as if the clerk of the
arraigns, immediately on plea pleaded, had fixed an op¬
probrious name on the prisoner, by asking him, “ culpnt,
how wilt thou be tried?” for immediately upon issue
joined it is inquired of the prisoner, by what trial he will
make his innocence appear. This form has at present
reference to appeals and app' oveme t only, wherein the
appellee has his choice, either to try the accusation by
Battle
(a) Of this ignorance we may see daily instances, in the. abuse of two legal terms of ancient French: one the
nrologue to all proclamations, “ Ope%, or Hear ye,” which is generally pronounced, most unmeaningly, “ Oyes :
the other, a more pardonable mistake, viz. when a jury are all sworn, the officer bids the crier number them, or
which the word in law-French is, “ Counter;” but we now bear it pronounced in very good English, t-oun
these,”
P L E [ 645 ] P L E
pten, BaITTLE or by Jury. But upoii indictments, shtce the
Pleadings, abolition of Ordeax, there can be no other trial but
^ by jury, per pais, or by the country: and therefore, if
the prisoner refuse's to put himself upon the inquest in
the usual form, that is, to answer that be will be tried
by God and the country, if a commoner ; and, if a peer,
by God and his peers; the indictment, if in treason, is
taken pro confesso ; and the prisoner, in cases of felony,
is judged to stand mute, and, if he perseveres in his ob¬
stinacy, shall now be convicted of the felony.
When the prisoner has thus put himself upon his trial,
the clerk answers in the humane language of the law,
which always hopes that the party’s innocence rather
than his guilt may appear, “ God send thee a good de-
. liverance.” And then they proceed, as soon as conve¬
niently maybe, to the trial. See the article Trial.
PLEADINGS, in Law, are the mutual altercations
between the plaintiff and defendant, (see Suit, Writ,
and Process). They form the third part or stage of
a fact j and at present are set down and delivered into
the proper office in writing, though formerly they were
usually put in by their counsel ore terms, or viva voce,
in court, and then minuted down by the chief clerks or
prothonotaries ; whence, in our old law-French, the
pleadings are frequently denominated the pui'oi.
The first of these is the declaration, narratio, or count,
anciently called the tale; in which the plaintiff sets
forth his cause of complaint at length : being indeed
only an amplification or exposition of the original Writ
upon which his action is founded, with the additional
circumstances of time and place, when and where, the
injury was committed.
In local actions, where possession of land is to be re¬
covered, or damages for an actual trespass, or for waste,
&c. affecting land, the plaintiff must lay his declara¬
tion, or declare his injury to have happened in the very
county and place that it really did happen ; but in tran¬
sitory actions, for injuries that might have happened
anywhere, as debt, detinue, slander, and the like, the
plaintiff may declare in what county he pleases, and
then the trial must be in that county in which the de¬
claration is laid. Though, if the defendant will make
affidavit that the cause of action, if any, arose not in
that but another county, the court will direct a change
of the venue or visne (that is, the vicinia or neighbour¬
hood in which the injury is declared to be done), and
will oblige the plaintiff to declare in the proper county.
For the statute 6 Ric. II. c. 2. having ordered all writs
to be laid in their proper counties, this, as the judges
conceived, impowered them to change the venue, if re¬
quired, and not to insist rigidly on abating the writ:
which practice began in the reign of James I. And
this power is discretionally exercised, so as not to cause
but prevent a defect of justice. Therefore the court
will not change the venue to any of the four northern
counties previous to the spring circuit j because there
the assises are holden only once a-year, at the time of
summer circuit. And it will sometimes remove the
venue from the proper jurisdiction (especially of the
narrow and limited kind), upon a suggestion, duly sup¬
ported, that a fair and impartial trial cannot be had
therein.
It is generally usual, in actions upon the case, to set
forth several cases, by different counts in the same de-
slaration j so that if the plaintiff fails in the proofs of
one, he may succeed in another. As in an action on pler.dtng».
the case upon an assumpsit for goods sold and deliver-l—
ed, the plaintiff usually counts or declares, first, upon
a settled and agreed price between him and the defend¬
ant j as that they bargained for 20I.: and lest he
should fail in the proof of this, he counts likewise upon
•a. quantum valebant i that the defendant bouglit other
goods, and agreed to pay him so much as they were
reasonably worth: and then avers that they were
worth other 20I. and so on in three or four different
shapes j and at last concludes with declaring, that the
defendant had refused to fulfil any of these agreements,
whereby he is endamaged to such a value. And if he
proves the case laid in anyone of his counts, though he
fails in the rest, he shall recover proportionable da¬
mages. This declaration always concludes with these
words, “ and thereupon he brings suit,” &c. inde pro-
duett scctam, &c. By which words, suit or sccta (a se-
quendo), were anciently understood the witnesses or fol¬
lowers of the plaintiff. For in former times, the law
would not put the defendant to the trouble of answering
the charge till the plaintiff had made out at least a pro¬
bable case. But the actual production of the suit, sectaf
or is now antiquated, and hath been totally
disused, at least ever since the reign of Edward III.
though the form of it still continues.
At the end of the declaration are added also the
plaintiff’s common pledges of prosecution, John Doe
and Richard Roe; which, as we elsewhere observe,
(see Writ), are now mere names of form; though
formerly they were of use to answer to the king for the
amercement of the plaintiff, in case he were nonsuited,
barred ot his action, or had a verdict and judgment
against him. For if the plaintiff neglects to deliver a
declaration for two terms after the defendant appears, or
is guilty of other delays or defaults against the rules of
law in any subsequent stage of the action, he is adjudged
not to follow or pursue his remedy as he ought to do j
and thereupon a nonsuit, or non prosequitur, is entered,
and he is said to be non-pros'1 And for thus deserting
his complaint, after making a false claim or complaint
(y/’O falso clamore suo), he shall not only pay costs to
the defendant, but is liable to be amerced to the king.
A retraxit differs from a nonsuit, in that the one is ne¬
gative and the other positive ; the nonsuit is a default
and neglect of the plaintiff, and therefore he is allowed
to begin his suit again upon payment of costs j but a re¬
traxit is an open and voluntary renunciation of his suit
in court ; and by this he for ever loses his action. A
discontinuance is somewhat similar toa nonsuit j for when
a plaintiff leaves a chasm in the proceedings of his cause,
as by not continuing the process regularly from day to
day, and time to time, as he ought to do, the suit is dis¬
continued, and the defendant is no longer bound to at- -
tend ; but the plaintiff must begin again, by suing out a
new original, usually paying costs to his antagonist.
When the plaintiff hath stated his case in the decla¬
ration, it is incumbent on the defendant, within a rea¬
sonable time, to make his defence, and put in a plea j or
else the plaintiff will at once recover judgment \>q de¬
fault, or nihil dicit, of the defendant.
Defence, in its true legal sense, signifies not a justi¬
fication, protection, or guard, which is now its popular
signification 5 but merely an opposing or denial (from the
French verb defcadre') of the truth er validity of the
complaint, ,
P L E
[ 646
Pleadings complaint. It is the contestatio litis of the civilians : a
>. general assertion that the plaintiff hath no ground of
action; which assertion is afterwai’ds extended and main¬
tained in his plea.
Before defence made, if at all, cognizance of the
suit must be claimed or demanded j when any person
or body-corporate hath the franchise, not only of hold¬
ing pleas within a particular limited jurisdiction, but
also of the cognizance of pleas 5 and that either without
any words exclusive of other courts, which intitles the
lord of the franchise, whenever any suit that belongs to
his jurisdiction is commenced in the courts at Westmin¬
ster, to demand the cognizance thereot j or with such
exclusive words, which also intitle the defendant to plead
to the jurisdiction of the court. Upon this claim of
cognizance, if allowed, all proceedings shall cease in the
superior court, and the plaintiff is left at liberty to
pursue his remedy in the special jurisdiction. As, when
a scholar or other privileged person of the universities
of Oxford or Cambridge is impleaded in the courts at
Westminster, for any cause of action whatsoever, unless
upon a question of freehold. In these cases, by the
charter of those learned bodies, confirmed by act of par¬
liament, the chancellor, or vice-chancellor, may put in
a claim of cognizance 5 which, if made in due time and
form, and with due proof of the facts alleged, is regu¬
larly allowed by the courts. It must be demanded be¬
fore full defence is made or imparlance prayed } for these
are a submission to the jurisdiction of the superior court,
and the delay is a laches in the lox-d of the franchise:
and it will not be allowed if it occasions a failure of jus¬
tice, or if an action be brought against the person him¬
self who claims the franchise, unless he hath also a power
in such case of making another judge.
After defence made, the defendant must put in his
plea. But before he defends, if the suit is commenced
by capias or latitat, without any special original, he is
intitled to demand one imparlance, or hcentia loquendi;
and may, before he pleads, have more granted by consent
of the court, to see if he can end the matter amicably
without fai’ther suit, by talking with the plaintiff: a
practice which is supposed to have arisen from a principle
of religion, in obedience to that precept of the gospel,
“ agree with thine adversary quickly, whilst thou art tn
the way with him.” And it may be observed, that this
gospel-precept has a plain reference to the Roman law of
the twelve tables, which expressly directed the plaintiff
and defendant to make up the matter while they were
in the way, or going to the praetor \—in via, rem uti
pacent orato. There are also many other previous steps
which may be taken by a defendant before he puts in
his plea. He may, in real actions, demand a view of
the thing in question, in order to ascertain its identity
and other circumstances. He may crave oyer of the
writ, or of the bond, or other specialty upon which the
action is brought: that is, to hear it read to him *, the
] P L E
him that hath the inheritance in remainder or rever- Pleadings,
sion; and an incumbent may pray in aid of the patron •r~mJ
and ordinary ; that is, that they shall be joined in the
action, and help to defend the title. Toucher also is the
calling in of some person to answer the action, that hath
warranted the title to the tenant or defendant. I his
we still make use of in the form of common recoveries,
which ai'e grounded on a writ of entry, j a species of ac¬
tion that relies chiefly on the weakness of the tenant’s
title, who therefore vouches another person to warrant
it. If the voucher appear, he is made defendant in¬
stead of the voucher j but if he afterwards makes de¬
fault, recovery shall be had against the original defen¬
dant; and he shall recover an equivalent in value against
the deficient vouchee. In assizes, indeed, where the
principal question is, whether the demandant or his an¬
cestors were or were not in possession till the ouster hap¬
pened, and the title of the tenant is little (if at all) dis¬
cussed, there no voucher is allowed ; but the tenant may
bring a writ of warrantia chai'tce against the warrantor,
to compel him to assist him with a good plea or defence,
or else to render damages and the value of the land, if
recovered against the tenant. In many real actions^ al¬
so, brought by or against an infant under the age of 21
years, and also in actions of debt brought against him,
as heir to any deceased ancestor, either party may sug¬
gest the nonage of the infant, and pray that the proceed¬
ings may be deferred till his full age, or, in our legal
phrase, that the infant may have his age, and that the
parol may demur, that is, that the pleadings may be
staid ; and then they shall not proceed till his full age,
unless it be apparent that he cannot be prejudiced there¬
by. But by the statutes of Westm. 1. 3 Edw. I. c. 46.
and of Glocester, 6 Edw. I. c. 2. in writs of entry, sur
disseisin in some particular cases, and in actions aunce-
strel brought by an infant, the parol shall not demur ;
otherwise he might be deforced of his whole property,
and even want a maintenance, till he came of age. So
likewise in a writ of dower the heir shall not have his
age ; for it is necessary that the widow’s claim be im¬
mediately determined, else she may want a present sub¬
sistence. Nor shall an infant patron have it in a quare
impedit, since the law holds it necessary and expedient
that the church be immediately filled.
When these proceedings are over, the defendant must
then put in his excuse or plea. See Plea.
It is a rule in pleading, that no man be allowed to
plead especially such a plea as amounts only to the gene¬
ral issue, or a total denial of the charge ; but in such
case he shall be driven to plead the general issue in terms,
whereby the whole question is referred to a jury. But
if the defendant, in an assize or action of trespass, be
desirous to refer the validity of his title to the court
rather than the jux-y, he may state his title specially ;
and at the same time give colour to the plaintiff, or sup¬
pose him to have an appearance or colour of title, bad
i^v-
action is nrougiu : rnac is, 10 near 11 xeau umi, me ...... ... ... — -rx , . , ,. • ir,Tr „„„
generality of defendants in the times of ancient simpli- indeed in point of law, u 0 wucu ic j .)
J • ,. 1 iml<rps. As if his own true title is, that he
city being supposed incapable to read it themselves:
whex-eupon the whole is entei'ed verbatim upon the re¬
cord ; and the defendant may take advantage of any
condition, or other part of it, not stated in the plaintiff’s
declaration. In real actions also the tenant may pray in
aid, or call for the assistance of another, to help him
to plead, because of the feebleness or imbecility of his
own estate. Thus a tenant for life may pray in aid of
3
competent judges. As if his own true title is, that he
claims by ‘feoffment with livery from A, by force of
which he entered on the lands in question, he cannot
plead this by itself, as it amounts to no more than the ge¬
neral issue, mil tort, nul disseisin, in assize, or not guilty
in an action of trespass. But he may allege this spe¬
cially, provided he goes farther, and says, that the plain¬
tiff claiming by colour of a prior deed of feoffment, with-
P L E [ 647 ] P L E
leadings, oat livery, entered j upon whom he entered } and may
■“■“V"—^ then refer himself to the judgment of the court which
of these two titles is the best in point of law.
When the plea of the defendant is thus put in, if it
does not amount to an issue or total contradiction of
tlie declaration, but only evades it, the plaintiff may
plead again, and reply to the defendant’s plea : Either
traversing it, that is, totally denying it 5 as if, on an
action of debt upon bond, the defendant pleads solvit
ad diem, that he paid the money when due j here the
plaintiff in his replication may totally traverse this plea,
by denying that the defendant paid it : Or he may al¬
lege new matter in contradiction to the defendant’s plea}
as when the defendant pleads no award made, the plain¬
tiff may reply, and set forth an actual award, and assign
a breach : Or the replication may confess and avoid the
plea by some new matter or distinction, consistent with
the plaintiff’s former declaration } as in an action for
trespassing upon land whereof the plaintiff is seized, if
the defendant shows a title to the land by descent, and
that therefore he had a right to enter, and gives colour
to the plaintifl, the plaintiff may either traverse and
totally deny the fact of the descent } or he may confess
and avoid it, by replying, that true it is that such de¬
scent happened, but that since the descent the defendant
himself demised the lands to the plaintiff for term of life.
To the replication the defendant may rejoin, or put in
an answer called & rejoinder. The plaintiff may answer
the rejoinder by a sur-rejoinder; upon which the de¬
fendant may rebut, and the plaintiff answer him by a
sur-rebutter. Which pleas, replications, rejoinders, fur-
rejoinders, rebutters, and sur-rebutters, answer to the
e.vceptio, replieatio, ditplicaiio, triplicatio, and quadru-
plicatio, of the Roman laws.
The whole of this process is denominated the plead¬
ing; in the several stages of which it must be carefully
observed, not to depart or vary from the title or defence
which the party has once insisted on. For this (which
is called a departures pleading) might occasion endless
altercation. Therefore the replication must support the
declaration, and the rejoinder must support the plea,
without departing out of it. As in the case of pleading
no award made in consequence of a bond of arbitration,
to which the plaintift replies, setting forth an actual
award ; now the defendant cannot rejoin that he hath
performed this award, for such rejoinder would bean en¬
tire departure from his original plea, which alleged that
no such award was made: therefore he has now no other
choice, but to traverse the fact of the replication, or
else to demur upon the law of it.
Again, all duplicity in pleading must be avoided.
Every plea must be simple, entire, connected, and con¬
fined to one single point: it must never be entangled
with a variety of distinct independent answers to the
same matter} which must require as many different re¬
plies, and introduce a multitude of issues upon one and
the same dispute. For this would often embarrass the
jury, and sometimes the court itself, and at all events
would greatly enhance the expence of the parties. Yet
it frequently is expedient to plead in such a manner as
to avoid any implied admission of a fact, which cannot
with propriety or safety be positively affirmed or denied.
And this may be done by what is called a protestation ;
whereby the party interposes an oblique allegation or
denial of some fact, protesting (by the gpxw^,protestan-
do') that such a matter does or does not exist } and at Pleadings,
the same time avoiding a direct affirmation or denial. ~v""
Sir Edward Coke hath defined a protestation (in the
pithy dialect of that age) to be, “ an exclusion of a
conclusion.” For the use of it is, to save the party
from being concluded with respect to some fact or cir¬
cumstance which cannot be directly affirmed or denied
without falling into duplicity of pleading } and which
yet, if he did not thus enter his protest, he might be
deemed to have tacitly waved or admitted. Thus, while
tenure in villainage, subsisted, if a villain had brought an
action against his lord, and the lord was inclined to try
the merits of the demand, and at the same time to pre¬
vent any conclusion against himself that he had waved
his signiory } he could not in this case both plead affir¬
matively that the plaintifl’ v'as his villain, and also take
issue upon the demand } for then his plea would have
been double, as the former alone would have been a good
bar to the action : but he might have alleged the villai¬
nage of the plaintifl’ by way of protestation, and then
have denied the demand. By this means the future vas¬
salage of the plaintiff was saved to the defendant, in case
the issue was found in his (the defendant’s) favour} for
the protestation prevented that conclusion which wmuld
otherwise have resulted from the rest of his defence,
that he had enfranchised the plaintiff, since no villain
could maintain a civil action against his lord. So also
if a defendant, by way of inducement to the point of his
defence, alleges (among other matters) a particular mode
of seisin or tenure which the plaintiff is unwilling to
admit, and yet desires to take issue on the principal
point of the defence, he must deny the seisin or tenure
by way of protestation, and then traverse the defensive
matter. So, lastly, if an award be set forth by (he
plaintiff, and he can assign a breach in one part of it
(viz. the non payment of a sum of money), and yet is
afraid to admit the performance of the rest of the award,
or to aver in general a non-performance of any part of
it, lest something should appear to have been perform¬
ed } he may save to himself any advantage, he might
hereafter make of the general non-performance, by al¬
leging that by protestation, he can plead only the non¬
payment of the money.
In any stage of the pleadings, when either side advan¬
ces or affirms any new matter, he usually (as was said)
avers it to be true ; “ and this he is ready to verify.”
On the other hand, when either side traverses or denies
the facts pleaded by his antagonist, he usually tenders an
issue, as it is called } the language of which is different
according to the party by whom it is tendered : for if
the traverse or denial comes from the defendant, the is¬
sue is tendered in this manner, “ And of this he puts
himself upon the country,” thereby submitting himself
to the judgment of his peers : but if the traverse lies
upon the plaintiff’, he tenders the issue or prays the
judgment of the peers against the defendant in another
form } thus, “ and this he prays may be inquired of by
the country.”
But if either side (as, for instance, the defendant)
pleads a special negative plea, not traversing or denying
any thing that was before alleged, but disclosing some
new negative matter } as where the suit is on a bond
conditioned to perform an award, and the defendant
pleads negatively, that no award was made; he tenders
no issue upon this plea, because it does not yet appear
whether.,
P L E [ 648 ] P L E
* Enci/clo-
pedie Me-
thodique,
Logique,
Metaphy¬
sique, et
Morale,
tom. iv.
whether the fact will he disputed, the plaintiff not hav-
ing yet asserted the existence oi any award : but when
the plaintiff replies, and sets fortu an actual specific
award, if then the defendant traverses the replication,
and denies the making of any such award, he then, and
not before, tenders an issue to the plaintiff. For when
in the course of pleading they come to a point which is
affirmed on one side and denied on the other, they aie
then said to he at issue ; all their debates being at last
contracted into a single point, which must now be de¬
termined either in favour of the plaintiff or of the de¬
fendant. See Issue.
PLEASING, art of. See Politeness.
PLEASURE is a word so universally understood as
to need no explanation. Lexicographers, however, who
must attempt to explain every word, call it “ the grati¬
fication of the mind or senses.” It is directly opposite
to Pain, and constitutes the whole of positive happi¬
ness, as that does of misery.
The Author of Nature has furnished us with many
pleasures, as well as made us liable to many pains $ and
we are susceptible of both in some degree as soon as we
have life and are endowed with the faculty of sensation.
A French writer, in a work* which once raised high
expectations, contends, that a child in the womb of its
mother feels neither pleasure nor pain. “ These sen¬
sations (says he) are not innate *, they have their origin
from without j and it is at the moment of our birth that
the soul receives the first impressions-, impressions slight
and superficial at the beginning, but which by time and
repeated acts leave deeper traces in the sensorium, and
become more extensive and more lasting. It is when
the child sends forth its first cries that sensibility or
the faculty of sensation is produced, which in a short
time gathers strength and stability by the impression of
exterior objects. Pleasure and pam not being innate,
and being only acquired in the same manner as the qua¬
lities which we derive from instruction, education, and
society, it follows that we learn to suffer and enjoy as
we learn any other science.”
This is strange reasoning and strange language. That
sensations are not innate is universally acknowledged j
but it does not therefore follow that the soul receives its
first impressions and first sensations at the moment of
birth. The child has life, the power of locomotion,
and the sense of touch, long before it is born \ and
every mother will tell this philosopher, that an infant
unborn exhibits symptoms both of pain and of plea¬
sure. That many of our organs of sense are improved
by use is incontrovertible j but it is so far from being
true that our sensible pleasures become more exquisite
by being often repeated, that the direct contrary is ex¬
perienced of far the greater part of them } and though
external objects, by making repeated impressions on the
senses, certainly leave deeper traces on the memory
than an object once perceived can do, it by no means
follows that these impressions become the more delight¬
ful the more familiar that they are to us. That we
learn to suffer and enjoy as we learn any other science,
is a most extravagant paradox for it is self-evident
that we cannot live without being capable in some de¬
gree both of suffering and enjoyment, though a man
may certainly live to old age in profound ignorance of
all the sciences.
The same writer assures us, indeed, that sensation is
5
not necessary to human life. “ Philosophers (says he) Pleasure,
make mention of a man who had lost every kind of feel-
ing in every member of his body : he was pinched or
pricked to no purpose. Meanwhile this man made use
of all his members ; he walked without pam, he drank,
ate, and slept, without perceiving that he did so. Sen¬
sible neither to pleasure nor plain, he was a true natural
machine.”
To the tale of these anonymous philosophers our au¬
thor gives implicit credit, whilst he favours us at the
same instant with the following argumentation, which
completely proves its falsehood. “ It is true that sen¬
sation is a relative quality, susceptible of increase and
diminution ; that it is not necessary to existence 5 and
that one might live without it: but in this case he would
live as an automation, without feeling pleasure or painj
and he would possess neither idea, nor reflection, nor
desire, nor passion, nor will, nor sentiment-, his existence
would be merely passive, he would live without know¬
ing it, and die without apprehension.”
But if this man of the philosophers, whom our author
calls an automaton, and a true natural machine, had nei¬
ther idea, nor desire, nor passion, nor will, nor sentiment
(and without sensation he certainly could have none of
them), what induced hiqi to walk, eat, or drink, or to
cease from any of these operations after they were ac¬
cidentally begun P The instances of the automata which
played on the flute and at chess are not to the purpose
for which they are adduced $ for there is no parallel
between them and this natural machine, unless the phi¬
losophers wound up their man to eat, drink, walk, or
sit, as Vacanson and Kempeler wound up their automa¬
ta to play or cease from playing on the German flute
and at chess. See Androides.
Our author having for a while sported with these
harmless paradoxes, proceeds to put the credulity of his
reader to the test with others of a very contrary ten¬
dency. He institutes an inquiry concerning the supe¬
riority, in number and degree, ol the pleasures enjoyed
by the different orders of men in society j and labours,
not indeed by argument, but by loose declamation, to
propagate the belief that happiness is very unequally
distributed. The pleasures of the rich, he says, must
he more numerous and exquisite than those of the poor j
the nobleman must have more enjoyments than the ple¬
beian of equal wealth j and the king, according to him,
must be the happiest of all men. He owns, indeed, that
although “ birth, rank, honours, and dignity, add to
happiness, a man is not to be considered as miserable
because he is born in the lower conditions of life. A man
may be happy as a mechanic, a merchant, or a labourer,
provided he enters into the spirit of his profession, and
has not imbibed by a misplaced education those senti¬
ments which make his condition insupportable. Hap¬
piness is of easy acquisition in the middling stations of
life ; and though perhaps we are unable to know or to
rate exactly the pleasure which arises from contentment
and mediocrity, yet happiness being a kind of aggre¬
gate of delights, of riches, and of advantages more or
less great, every person must have a share of it j the di¬
vision is not exactly made, but all other things equal
there will be more in the elevated than in the inferior
conditions of society ; the enjoyment will he more felt,
the means of enjoying more multiplied, and the plea¬
sures more varied. Birth, rank, fortune, talents, wit,
genius,
? L E
pleasure, genius, and virtue, are then the great sources of happi-
u—y—— ness: those advantages are so considerable, that we see
men contented with any one of them ; but their union
forms supreme felicity.
“ I here is so vast a difference, says Voltaire, between
a man who has made his fortune and one who has to
make it, that they are scarcely to be considered as crea¬
tures ot the same kind. The same thing may be said
of birth, the greatest of all advantages in a large so¬
ciety ; of rank, of honours, and of great abilities. How
great a difference is made between a person of high
birth and a tradesman ; between a Newton or Descar¬
tes and a simple mathematician ? Ten thousand soldiers
are killed on the field of battle, and jt is scarcely men¬
tioned j but it the general fall, and especially if he
be a man of courage and abilities, the court and city
are filled with the news of his death, and the mourning
is universal.
“ Frederick the Great, king of Prussia, felt in a
more lively manner than perhaps any other man the
value of great talents. I would willingly renounce,
said he to Voltaire, every thing which is an object of
desire and ambition to man j but I am certain if I were
not a prince I should be nothing. Your merit alone
would gain you the esteem, and envy, and admiration
of the world j hut to secure respect for me, titles, and
armies, and revenues, are absolutely necessary.”
For what purpose this account of human happiness
was published, it becomes not us to say. Its obvious
tendency is to make the lower orders of society discon¬
tented with their state, and envious of their superiors ;
and it is not unreasonable to suppose, that it contributed
in some degree to excite the ignorant part of the author’s
countrymen to the commission of those atrocities of which
they have since been guilty. That such was his inten¬
tion, the following extract will not permit us to believe ;
for though in it the author attempts to support the same
false theory of human happiness, he mentions virtuous
kings with the respect becoming a loyal subject of the
unfortunate Louis, whose character he seems to have
intentionally drawn, and whose death by the authority
of a savage faction he has in effect foretold.
“ Happiness, in a state of society, takes the most va¬
riable forms : it is a Proteus susceptible of every kind of
metamorphosis : it is different in different men, in difler-
ent ages, and in difl'erent conditions, &c. The pleasures
of youth are very different from those of old age: what
affords enjoyment to a mechanic would be supreme mi¬
sery to a nobleman : and the amusements of the country
would appear insipid in the capital. Is there then no¬
thing fixed with regard to happiness ? Is it of all things
the most variable and the most arbitrary? Or, in judg¬
ing of it, is it impossible to find a standard by which we
can determine the limits of the greatest good to which
man can arrive in the present state ? It is evident that
men form the same ideas of the beautiful and sublime in
nature, and of right and wrong in morality, provided
they have arrived at that degree of improvement and ci¬
vilization of which humanmature is susceptible ; and that
different opinions on these subjects depend on difl'erent
degrees of culture, of education, and of improvement.
The same thing may be advanced with regard to happi¬
ness : all men, if equal with respect to their organs,
would form the very same ideas on this subject if they
reached the degree of improvement of which we are pre-
Vol. XVI. Part II. f
C 6+9 ]
P L E
sently speaking j and in fact, do we not see in the great pieasurs.
circles at Rome, at Vienna, at London, and at Paris, ■w
that those who are called people of fashion, who have
received the same education, have nearly the same taste,
the same desires, and the same spirit for enjoyment ?
there is doubtless a certain degree of happiness to be en¬
joyed in every condition of life j but as there are some
conditions preferable to others, so are there degrees of
happiness greater and less j and if we were to form an idea
of the greatest possible in the present state, it perhaps
would be that of a sovereign, master of a great empire,
enjoying good health and a moderate spirit; endowed
with piety and virtue $ whose whole life was employed
in acts of justice and mercy, and who governed by fixed
and immoveable laws. Such a king is the image of the
divinity on earth, and he must be the idol of a wise
people. His whole life should present a picture of the
most august felicity. Although such sovereigns are
rare, yet we are not without examples of them. An¬
cient history affords us Titus and Marcus Aurelius, and
the present age can boast of piety and munificence in
the character of some of its kings. This state of the
greatest happiness to which man can reach not being
ideal, it will serve as a standard of comparison by which
happiness and misery can be estimated in all civilized
countries. He is as happy as a king, is a proverbial ex¬
pression, because we believe with justice that royalty is
the extreme limit of the greatest enjoyments; and in
fact, happiness being the work of man, that condition
which comprehends all the degrees of power and of
glory, which is the source of honour and of dignity,
and which supposes in the person invested with it all
means of enjoyment either for himself or others, leaves
nothing on this earth to which any reasonable man
would give the preference.
“ We can find also in this high rank the extreme of
the greatest evils to which the condition of nature is ex¬
posed. A king condemned to death and perishing on a
scaffold, by the authority of a faction, while at the
same time he had endeavoured by every means in his
power to promote the general happiness of his sub¬
jects, is the most terrible and striking example of human j
misery ; for if it be true that a crown is the greatest of
all blessings, then the loss of it, and at the same time
the loss of life by an ignominious and unjust sentence,
are of all calamities the most dreadful.
“ It is also in the courts of kings that we find the
most amiable and perfect characters j and it is there
where true grandeur, true politeness, the best tone of
manners, the most amiable graces, and the most emi¬
nent virtues, are completely established. It is in courts
that men seem to have acquired their greatest improve¬
ment : Whosoever has seen a court, says La Bruyere,
has seen the world in the most beautiful, the most en¬
chanting, and attractive colours. The prejudices of
mankind in behalf of the great are so excessive, that if
they inclined to be good they would be almost the ob¬
jects of adoration.”
In this passage there are doubtless many just observa¬
tions ; but there is at least an equal number of others
both false and dangerous. That a crown is the greatest
of earthly blessings, and that it is in the courts of kings
that we meet with the most amiable and perfect charac¬
ters, are positions which a true philosopher will not ad¬
mit but with great limitations. The falsehood of the
4 N authut’s
P L E [ 650 ]
Pleasure, author’s general theory respecting the unequal distribu- pleasure.
J tion of happiness In society, we need not waste time in
exposing. It is sufficiently exposed in other articles ot
this work, and in one of them by a writer of a very su¬
perior order (see Happiness } and Moral 1 hilosophy^
Part II. chap. ii.). He enters upon other speculations
respecting the pleasures and pains of savages, which are
ingenious and worthy of attention 5 but before we pro¬
ceed to notice them, it will be proper to consider the
connection which subsists between pleasure and pain.
“ That the cessation of pain is accompanied by plea-
f Dr Say- sure, is a fact (says a philosopher of the first rank +)
ers. which has been i-epeatedly observed, but perhaps not
sufficiently accounted for. Let us suppose a person in a
state of indifference as to heat. Upon coming near a
fire, he will experience at first an agreeable warmth, i. e.
pleasure. If the heat be increased, this state of pleasure
will, after a time, be converted into one of pain, from
the increased action upon the nerves and brain, the un¬
doubted organs of all bodily sensations. Let the heat
now be gradually withdrawn, the nervous system must
acquire again, during this removal, the state of agree¬
able warmth or pleasure 5 and after passing through that
state it will arrive at indifference. From this fact then
we may conclude that a state of pleasure may be push¬
ed on till it is converted into one of pain •, and, on the
other hand, that an action which produces pain will, if
it go off gradually, induce at a certain period of its de¬
crease a state of pleasure. The same reasoning which
has thus been applied to the body may be extended also
to the mind. Total languor of mind is not so pleasant
as a certain degree of action or emotion j and emotions
pleasant at one period may be increased till they become
■ painful at another; whilst painful emotions, as they
gradually expire, will, at a certain period of their de-
erease, induce a state of pleasure. Hence then we are
able to explain why pleasure should arise in all cases
from the gradual cessation of any action or emotion
which produces pain.”
The same author maintains, that from the mere re¬
moval of pain, whether by degrees or instantaneously,
we always experience pleasure j and if the pain remo¬
ved was exquisite, what he maintains is certainly true.
To account for this phenomenon he lays down the fol¬
lowing law of nature, which experience abundantly
confirms, viz. “ that the temporary withdrawing of any
action from the body or mind invariably renders them
more susceptible of that action when again produced.”
Thus, after long fasting, the body is more susceptible of
the effects of food than if the stomach had been lately
satisfied } the action of strong liquors is found to be
greater on those who use them seldom than on such as
are in the habit of drinking them. Thus, too, with re¬
spect to the mind \ if a person be deprived for a time of
his friend’s society, or of a favourite amusement, the
next visit of his friend, or the next renewal of his amuse¬
ment, is attended with much more pleasure than it they
had never been withheld from him.
“ To apply this law to the case of a person suddenly
relieved from acute pain. While he labours with such
pain, his mind is so totally occupied by it, that he is
unable to attend to his customary pursuits or amuse¬
ments. He becomes therefore so much more susceptible
of their action, that when they are again presented to
him, he is raised above his usual indifference to positive
4
P L E
But all pains do not proceed from an excess Pleasure
of action. Many of them arise from reducing the body ——r—-1
or the mind to a state below indifference. Thus, if a
person have just sufficient warmth in his body to keep
him barely at ease or m a state of indiflerence, by with¬
drawing this heat, a state of uneasiness or pain is pro¬
duced ; and if in a calm state of mind one be made ac¬
quainted with a melancholy event, his quiet is inter¬
rupted, and he sinks below indifference into a painful
state of mind. If now, without communicating any
new source of positive pleasure, we remove in the former
case the cold, and in the latter the grief, the persons
from whom they are removed will experience real plea¬
sure. Thus, then, whether pain arises from excess or
deficiency of action, the gradual or the sudden removal
of it must he in all cases attended with pleasure *.” It*^.^”*-
is equally true that the gradual or sudden removal of
pleasure is attended with pain. ana Litcr.
We are now prepared to examine our French author’s ary.
account of the pleasures and pains of savages. “ Every
age (says he) has its different pleasures j but if we were
to imagine that those of childhood are equal to those of
confirmed age, we should be much mistaken in our esti¬
mation of happiness. The pleasures of philosophy, ei¬
ther natural or moral, are not unfolded to the infant j
the most perfect music is a vain noise j the most exqui¬
site perfumes and dishes highly seasoned offend his
young organs instead of affording delight $ his touch is
imperfect j forty days elapse before the child gives any
sign of laughter or of weeping j his cries and groans
before that period are not accompanied with tears j his
countenance expresses no passion j the parts ol his lace
bear no relation to the sentiments of the soul, and are
moreover without consistency. Children are but little
affected with cold 5 whether it be that they feel less, or
that the interior heat is greater than in adults. In them
all the impressions of pleasure and pain are transitory \
their memory has scarcely begun to unfold its powers j
they enjoy nothing hut the present moment j they weep,
laugh, and give tones of satisfaction without conscious¬
ness, or at least without reflection', their joy is confined
to the indulgence of their little whims, and constraint is
the greatest of their misfortunes j few things amuse, and
nothing satisfies them. In this happy condition of early
infancy nature is at the whole expence of happiness j
and the only point is not to contradict her. M hat de¬
sires have children ? Give them liberty in all their
movements, and they have a plenitude of existence, an-
abundance of that kind of happiness which is confined in
some sort to all the objects which surround them: hut if
all beings were happy on the same conditions, society
would be at no expence in procuring the happiness of
the different individuals who compose it. Sensation is
the foundation of reflection ; it is the principal attribute
of the soul j it is by this that man is elevated to sublime
speculations, and -ecures his dominion over nature and
himself. This quality is not stationary, hut susceptible^
like all other relative qualities, of increase and decay,
of different degrees of strength and intenseness : it is
different in different men 5 and in the same man it in¬
creases from infancy to youth, from youth to confirmed
manhood: at this period it stops, and gradually declines
as we proceed to old age and to second childishness.
Considered physically, it varies according to age, con¬
stitution, climate, and food j considered in a moral point
of
P L E [6
Pleasure, of view, it takes its different appearances from indivi-
1 v dual education, and from the habits of society *, for man
in a state of nature and society, with regard to sensa¬
tion and the unfolding of his powers, may be considered
as two distinct beings : and if one were to make a cal¬
culation of pleasure in the course of human life, a man
of fortune and capacity enjoys more than ten thousand
savages.
“ Pleasure and pain being relative qualities, they may
he almost annihilated in the moment of vehement pas¬
sion. In the heat of battle, for example, ardent and
animated spirits have not felt the pain of their wounds;
and minds strongly penetrated with sentiments of re¬
ligion, enthusiasm, and humanity, have supported the
most cruel torments with courage and fortitude. The
sensibility of some persons is so exquisitely alive, that
one can scarcely approach them without throwing them
into convulsions. Many diseases show the effect of sen¬
sibility pushed to an extreme; such as hysteric affections,
certain kinds of madness, and some of those which pro¬
ceed from poison, and from the bite or sting of certain
animals, as the viper and the tarantula. Excessive joy
or grief, fear and terror, have been known to destroy all
sensation, and occasion death (a).”
Having made these preliminary observations on plea¬
sure and pain in infancy, and as they are increased or
diminished by education, and the different conditions of
body and mind, our author proceeds to consider the ca¬
pability of savages to feel pleasure and pain. “ By sa¬
vages be understands all the tribes of men who live by
hunting and fishing, and on those things which the
earth yields without cultivation. Those tribes who pos¬
sess herds of cattle, and who derive their subsistence
from such possessions, are not to be considered as sava¬
ges, as they have some idea of property. Some savages
are naturallycompassionate and humane, othersare cruel
and sanguinary. Although the physical constitution of
man be everywhere the same, yet the varieties of cli¬
mate, the abundance or scarcity of natural productions,
have a powerful influence to determine the inclinations;
even the herceness of the tiger is softened under a mild
sky. Now nature forms the manners of savages just as
society and civil institutions form the manners of civili¬
zed life. In the one case climate and food produce al¬
most the whole effect; in the other they have scarcely
any influence. The habits of society every moment
contend with nature, and thqy are almost always victo¬
rious. The savage devotes himself to the dominion of
his passions ; the civilized man is employed in restrain¬
ing, in directing, and in modifying them : so much in¬
fluence have government, laws, society, and the fear of
censure and punishment, over his soul.
5r ] P L E
“ It is not to be doubted that savages are susceptible
both ot pleasure and pain ; but are the impressions made
on their organs as sensible, or do they feel pain in the
same degree with the inhabitants of a civilized coun¬
try ?
“ Their enjoyments are so limited, that if we confine
ourselves to truth, a few lines will be sufficient to de¬
scribe them : our attention must therefore be confined to
pain, because the manner in which they support misfor¬
tune, and even torture, presents us with a view of cha¬
racter unequalled in the history of civilized nations. It
is not uncommon in civilized countries to see men bra¬
ving death, meeting it with cheerfulness, and even not
uttering complaints under the torture; but they do not
insult the executioners of public vengeance, and defy
pain in order to augment their torments ; and those who
are condemned by the laws suffer the punishment with
different degrees of fortitude. On those mournful oc¬
casions, the common ranks of mankind in general die
with less firmness: those, on the other hand, who have
received education, and who, by a train of unfortunate
events are brought to the scaffold, whether it be the
fear of being reproached with cowardice, or the consi¬
deration that the stroke is inevitable, such men discover
the expiring sighs of self-love even in their last mo¬
ments ; and those especially of high rank, from their
manners and sentiments, are expected to meet death
with magnanimity : but an American savage in the mo¬
ment of punishment appears to be more than human ;
he is a hero of the first order, who braves his tormentors,
who provokes them to employ all their art, and who
considers as his chief glory to b^ar the greatest degree
of pain without shrinking (see America, N° 14, 27,
28, 29.). The recital of their tortures would appear
exaggerated, if it were not attested by the best autho¬
rity, and if the savage nations among whom those cu¬
stoms are established were not sufficiently known ; but
the excess of the cruelty is not so astonishing as the cou¬
rage of the victim. The European exposed to sufferings
of the same dreadful nature would rend heaven and earth
with his piercing cries and horrible groans; the reward
of martyrdom, the prospect of eternal life, could alone
give him fortitude to endure such torments ; but the sa¬
vage is not animated with this exalted hope. What sup¬
ports him then in scenes of so exquisite suffering P The
feeling of shame, the fear of bringing reproach on his
tribe, and giving a stain to his fellows never to be wiped
away, are the only sentiments which influence the mind
ot a savage, and which always present to his imagina¬
tion, animate him, support him, and lend him spirit and
resolution. At the same time, however powerful those
motives may be, they would not be alone sufficient, if
Pleasure.
(a) There are instances of persons who have died at the noise of thunder without being touehed. A man
frightened with the fall of a gallery in which he happened to be, was immediately seized with the black jaundice.
M. le Cat mention* a young person on whom the insolence of another made such an impression, that his counte¬
nance became at first yellow, and then changed into black, in such a manner that in less than eight days he ap¬
peared to wear a mask of black velvet: he continued in this state for four months, without any other symptom of
bad health or any pain. A sailor was so terrified in a storm, that his face sweated blood, which like ordinary
sweat returned as it was wiped off. Stahl, whose testimony cannot be called in question, cites a similar case of a
girl who had been frightened with soldiers. The excess of fear, according to many physicians, produces madness
and epilepsy.
’ 4N2
P L E
C 652 ]
P L E
tlie savage felt pain in the same degree with the Euro¬
pean. Sensibility, as we have already observed, is in¬
creased by education it is influenced by society, man¬
ners, laws, and government j climate and food work it
into a hundred different shapes 5 and all the physical and
moral causes contribute to increase and diminish it. The
habitual existence of a savage would be a state of suffer¬
ing to an inhabitant of Europe. You must cut the flesh
of the one and tear it away with your nails, before you
can make him feel in an equal degree to a scratch or
prick of a needle in the other. The savage, doubtless,
suffers under torture, but he suffers much less than an
European in the same circumstances: the reason is ob¬
vious •, the air which the savages breathe is loaded with
fog and moist vapours •, their rivers not being confined
by high banks, are by the winds as well as in floods
spread over the level fields, and deposit on them a putrid
and pernicious slime the trees squeezed one upon an¬
other, in that rude and uncultivated country, serve ra¬
ther as a covering to the earth than an ornament. In¬
stead of those fresh and delicious shades, those openings
in the woods, and walks crossing each other in all direc¬
tions, which delight the traveller in the fine forests of
France and Germany j, those in America serve only to
intercept the rays of the sun, and to prevent the benign
influence of bis beams. The savage participates of this
cold humidity j his blood has little heat, his humours
are gross, and his constitution phlegmatic. To the
powerful influence of climate, it is necessary to join the
Jiabits of his life. Obliged to traverse vast deserts for
subsistence, bis body is accustomed to fatigue *, food not
nourishing, and at the same time in no great plenty,
blunts bis feelings ; and all the hardships of the savage
state give a rigidity to his members which makes him
almost incapable of suffering. The savage in this state
of nature may be compared to our water-women and
street-porters, wTbo, though they possess neither great
vigour nor strength, are capable of performing daily,
and without complaint, that kind of labour which to a
jnan in a different condition of life would be a painful
and grievous burden. Feeling, in less perfection with
the savage, by the effects of climate and food, and the
habits of bis life, is still farther restrained by moral con¬
siderations. The European is less a man of nature than
of society : moral restraints are powerful with him ;
while over the American they have scarcely any in¬
fluence. This latter then is in a double condition of
imperfection with regard to us; bis senses are blunted,
and his moral powers are not disclosed. Now, pleasure,
and pain depending on the perfection of the senses and
the unfolding of the intellectual faculties, it cannot be
doubted, that in enjoyments of any kind savages expe¬
rience less pleasure, and in their suffering less pain, than
Europeans in the same circumstances. And in fact, the
savages of America possess a very feeble constitution.
They are agile without being strong ; and this agility
depends more on their habits than on the perfection of
their members : they owe it to the necessity of hunting;
and they are moreover so weak, that they were unable
to bear the toil which their first oppressors imposed on
them. Hence a race of men in all respects so imperfect
could not endure torment under which the most robust
European would sink, if the pain which they feel were
really as great as it appears to be. Feeling is then, and
must necessarily be, less in the. savage condition ; for pleasure;
this faculty disclosing itself by the exercise of all the s—
physical and moral qualities, must be less as they are
less exercised. Every thing shows the imperfection of
this precious quality, this source of all our aflections, m
the American savages.
“ All the improvements in Europe have had a ten¬
dency to unfold sensibility : the air is purified that we
may breathe more freely ; the morasses are drained, the
rivers are regulated in their courses, the food is nourish¬
ing, and the houses commodious. With the savages, on
the contrary, every thing tends to curb it; they take
pleasure even in hardening the organs of the body, in
accustoming themselves to bear by degrees the most
acute pain without complaining. Boys and gills among
the savages amuse themselves with tying their naked
arms together, and laying a kindled coal between them,
to try which of them can longest suffer the heat; and
the warriors who aspire to the honour of being chief,
undergo a course of suffering which exceeds the idea
of torture inflicted on the greatest criminals in Eu-
rope.”
These observations on the pleasures and pains of sa¬
vages appear to be well-founded, and, as the attentive
reader will perceive, are perfectly agreeable to the the¬
ory of Dr Sayers. If indeed that theory be just, as we
believe it to be, it will follow, that the few pleasures of
sense which the American enjoys, he ought to enjoy
more completely than any European, because to him
they recur but seldom. This may very possibly be the
case ; and certainly would be so, were not his fibres, by
climate and the habits of his life, rendered more rigid
than those of the civilized part of the inhabitants of Eu¬
rope. But if we agree with our author * in what he * Encylo-
says of the pains and pleasures of savages, we cannot ad-Me-
mit, without many exceptions, his theory of the enj°y- jj0lrigU£’
ments of children. It is so far from being true, that :\jetaphy-
few things amuse, and that nothing satisfies them, that* gw, et
the direct contrary must have been observed by every Moral^
man attentive to the operations of the infant mind,tom lv’
which is amused w ith every thing new, and often com¬
pletely satisfied with the merest trifle. The pleasures
of philosophy are not indeed unfolded to the infant ;
but it by no means follows that he does not enjoy his
rattle and his drum as much as the philosopher enjoys
his telescope and air-pump; and if there he any truth in
the science of physiognomy, the happiness of the former
is much more pure and exquisite than that of the latter.
That the most perfect music is vain noise to an infant,
is far from being self-evident, unless the author confines
the state of infancy to a very few months ; and we are
not disposed to believe, without better proof than we
have vet received, that the relish of exquisite perfumes
and highly seasoned dishes adds much to the sum of hu¬
man felicity.
But however much we disapprove of many of these
reflections, the following we cordially adopt as our own.
“ If we compare (says our author) the pleasures of
sense with those w'hich are purely intellectual, we shall
find that the latter are infinitely superior to the former,
as they may be enjoyed at all times and in every situa¬
tion of life. What are the pleasures of the table, says
Cicero, of gaming, and of women, compared with the
delight of study ? This taste increases with age, and no
0 happiness
P L E
Pleasure, happiness is equal to it. Without knowledge and study,
J says Cato, life is almost the image of death (b). The
pleasures of the soul are such, that it is frequent enough
to see men preserve their gaiety during their whole life,
notwithstanding a weak, diseased, and debilitated body.
Scaron, who lived in the last century, was an ex¬
ample of this. Balzac, speaking of him, says, that Pro¬
metheus, Hercules, and Philoctetes, in profane, and
Job in sacred, history, said many great things while
they were afflicted with violent pain : but Scaron alone
said pleasant things. I have seen, continues he, in ma¬
ny places of ancient history, constancy, and modesty,
and wisdom, and eloquence, accompanying affliction ;
but he is the only instance wherein I have seen plea¬
santry.
“ There are men whose understandings are constantly
on the stretch, and by this very means they are impro¬
ved j but if the body were as constantly employed in
the pursuit of sensual gratification, the constitution
would soon be destroyed. The more we employ the
mind we are capable of the greater exertion; but the
more we employ the body we require the greater re¬
pose. There are besides but some parts of the body
capable of enjoying pleasure ; every part of it can expe¬
rience pain. A toothach occasions more suffering than
the most considerable of our pleasures can procure of en¬
joyment. Great pain may continue for any length of
time; excessive pleasures are almost momentarv. Plea¬
sure carried to an extreme becomes painful; but pain,
either by augmenting or diminishing it, never becomes
agreeable. For the moment, the pleasures of the senses
are perhaps more satisfactory ; but in point of duration
those of the heart and mind are infinitely preferable.
All the sentiments of tenderness, of friendship, of gra¬
titude, and of generosity, are sources of enjoyment for
man in a state of civilization. The damned are exceed¬
ingly unhappy, said St Catherine de Sienna, if they are
incapable of loving or being beloved.
“ Pleasure, continued for a great length of time, pro¬
duces languor and fatigue, and excites sleep ; the con¬
tinuation of pain is productive of none of these effects.
Many suffer pain for eight days and even a month with¬
out interruption ; an equal duration of excessive plea¬
sure would occasion death.
“ Time is a mere relative idea with regard to pleasure
and pain; it appears long when we suffer, and short
when we enjoy. If there existed no regular and uniform
movement in nature, we would not be able from our
sensations alone to measure time with any degree of ex¬
actness, for pain lengthens and pleasure abridges it.
irom the languor of unoccupied time has arisen the pro¬
verb expressive of our desire to kill it. It is a melan¬
choly reflection, and at the same time true, that there
is no enjoyment which can effectually secure us from
pain for the remainder of our lives ; while there are ex¬
amples of evils which hold men in constant sorrow and
P L E
pam during their whole existence. Such then is the pleasure,
imperfection of the one and the power of the other.
“ Pleasure and pain are the sources of morality; an
action is just or unjust, good or otherwise, only as its
natural tendency is to produce suffering or enjoyment
to mankind. No crime could be committed against a
being altogether insensible, nor could any good be be¬
stowed on it. Unless he were endowed with the desire
of pleasure and the apprehension of pain, man, like an
automaton, would act from necessity, without choice and
without determination.
“ All our passions are the developement of sensibility.
If we were not possessed of feeling, we should be desti¬
tute of passions; and as sensibility is augmented by ci¬
vilization, the passions are multiplied ; more active and
vigorous in an extensive and civilized empire than in a
small state; more in the latter than among barbarous
nations ; and more in these last than among savages ^see
Passion). There are more passions in France and
England than in all the nations of Europe; because
every thing which serves to excite and foster them is al¬
ways in those countries in the greatest state of fermen¬
tation. T.he mind is active; the ideas great, extensive,
and multiplied. And is it not the soul, the mind, and
heart, which are the focus of all the passions ?”
But wherever the passions are multiplied, the sources
of pleasure and pain are multiplied with them. This
being the case, it is impossible to prescribe a fixed and
general rule of happiness suited to every individual.
I here are objects of pleasure with regard to which all
men of a certain education are agreed ; but there are
perhaps many more, owing to the variety of tempers
and education, about which they differ. Every man
forms ideas of enjoyment relative to his character ; and
what pleases one may be utterly detested by another.
In proportion as a nation is civilized and extensive,
those differences are remarkable. Savages, who are not
acquainted with all the variety of European pleasures,
amuse themselves with very few objects. Owing to the
want of civilization, they have scarcely any choice in
the objects of taste. They have few passions; we have
many. But even in the nations of Europe, pleasure is
infinitely varied in its modification and forms. Those
differences arise from manners, from governments, from
political and religious customs, and chiefly from educa¬
tion. Meanwhile, however different and variable the
ideas of pleasure may be among nations and individuals,
it still remains a fact, that a certain number of persons
in all civilized states, whether distinguished by birth, or
rank, or fortune, or talents, as they have nearly the
same education so they form nearly the same ideas of
happiness: but to possess it a man must give his chief
application to the state of his mind ; and notwithstanding
all his efforts it is of uncertain duration. Happiness is
the sunshine of life : we enjoy it frequently at great in¬
tervals ; and it is therefore necessary to know how to
use
[ 653 1
. (b) “ Savages, barbarians, and peasants, enjoy little happiness except that of sensation. The happiness of a
civilized and well-informed man consists of sensations, of ideas, and of a great number of affinities, altogther un¬
known to them. He not only enjoys the present, but the past and the future. He recals the agreeable idea of
pleasures which he has tasted. It is great happiness, says an ancient, to have the recollection of good actions,
of an upright intention, and of promises which we have kept.”
P L E [ 654 ] P L E
Pleasure use It. All the productions of art perish j the largest
|1 fortunes are dissipated j rank, honour, and dignity, pass
Pledge. away like a fleeting shadow $ the memory is impaired }
 v ' all the faculties of the soul are extinguished ; the body
sinks under the infirmities of old age j and scarcely has
one reached the boundaries of happiness marked out by
his imagination, when he must give place to another,
and renounce all his pleasures, all his hopes, all his illu¬
sions ; the fugitive images of which had given happiness
to the mind.
There are pleasures, however, on which the mind may
securely rest, which elevate man above himself, dignify
his nature, fix his attention on spiritual things, and ren¬
der him worthy of the care of Providence. These are
to he found in true religion ; which procures for those
who practise its duties inexpressible happiness in a better
country, and is in this world the support of the weak,
and the sweet consolation of the unfortunate.
PLEBEIAN, any person of the rank of the com¬
mon people. It is chiefly used in speaking of the an¬
cient Romans, who were divided into senators, patrici¬
ans, and plebeians. The distinction was made by Ro¬
mulus the founder of the city ; who confined all digni¬
ties, civil, military, and sacerdotal, to the rank of pa¬
tricians. But to prevent the seditions which such a dis¬
tinction might produce through the pride of the higher
order and the envy of the lower, he endeavoured to en¬
gage them to one another by reciprocal ties and obliga¬
tions. Every plebeian was allowed to choose, out of
the body of the patricians, a protector, who should be
obliged to assist him with his interest and substance, and
to defend him from oppression. These protectors were
called patrons; the protected, clients. It was the duty
of the patron to draw up the contracts of the clients, to
extricate them out of their difficulties and perplexities,
and to guard their ignorance against the artfulness of the
crafty. On the other hand, if the patron was poor, his
clients were obliged to contribute to the portions of his
daughters, the payment of his debts, and the ransom of
him and his children if they happened to be taken in
war. The client and patron could neither accuse nor
bear witness against each other ; and if either of them
was convicted of having violated this law, the crime
-was equal to that of treason, and any one might with
impunity slay the offender as a victim devoted to Pluto
and the infernal gods. For more than 600 years we
find no dissensions or jealousies between the patrons and
their clients j not even in the times of the republic,
when the people frequently mutinied against the great
and powerful.
PLECTRANTHUS, a genus of plants belonging
to the didynamia class j and in the natural method
ranking under the 42d order, Verticillatce. See Bo¬
tany Index.
PLEDGE (Pfcgius), in common law, a surety or
gage, either real or personal, which the plaintiff or de¬
mandant is to find for his prosecuting the suit.
The word is sometimes also used for Frank Pledge,
which see.
To Pledge, in drinking, denotes to warrant, or be
surety to one, that he shall receive no harm while he is
taking his draught. The phrase is referred by antiqua¬
ries to the practice of the Danes heretofore in Eng¬
land, who frequently used to stab or cut the throats of
the natives while they were drinking.
Pledges of Goods for money. See Pawn. Pledge,
PLEDGERY, or Pteggery, in Law, suretyship, ||
or an undertaking or answering for another. "
PLEDGET, Bolster, or Compress, in Surgery, a
kind of flat tent laid over a wound, to imbibe the super¬
fluous humours, and to keep it clean.
PLEIADES, in fabulous history, the seven daugh¬
ters of Atlas king of Mauritania and Pleione, were thus
called from their mother. They were Maia, Electra,
Taygete, Asterope, Merope, Halcyone, and Celoeno j
and were also called Atlantides, from their father Atlas.
These princesses were carried off by Busiris king of
Egypt j but Hercules having conquered him, delivered
them to their father : yet they afterwards sufl’ered a new
persecution from Orion, who pursued them five years,
till Jove, being prevailed on by their prayers, took them
up into the heavens, where they form the constellation
which bears their name.
Pleiades, in Astronomy, an assemblage of seven stars,
in the neck of the constellation Taurus.
They are thus called from the Greek ttAhv, navigare,
“ to sail j” as being terrible to mariners, by reason of
the rains and storms that frequently rise with them.
The Latins called them vergiliw, from ver, “ spring
because of their rising about the time of the vernal equi¬
nox. The largest is of the third magnitude, and is cal¬
led lucida pleiadum.
PLENARY, something complete or full. Thus we
say the pope grants plenary indulgences *, i. e. full and
entire remissions of the penalties due to all sins. See In¬
dulgences.
PLENIPOTENTIARY, a person vested with full
power to do any thing. See Ambassador.
PLENITUDE, the quality of a thing that is full,
or that fills another. In medicine, it chiefly denotes a
redundancy of blood and humours.
PLENUM, in Physics, denotes, according to the
Cartesians, that state of things wherein every part of
space is supposed to be full of matter, in opposition to
a Vacuum, which is a space supposed devoid of all
matter.
PLENUS FLOS, a full flower 5 a term expressive of
the highest degree of luxuriance in flowers. See Bo¬
tany. Such flowers, although the most delightful to
the eye, are both vegetable monsters, and, according
to the sexualists, vegetable eunuchs; the unnatural in¬
crease of the petals constituting the first j the consequent
exclusion of the stamina or male organs, the latter.
The following are well-known examples of flowers with
more petals than one j ranunculus, anemone, marsh-
marygold, columbine, fennel-flower, poppy, paeony,
pink, gilliftower, campion, viscous campion, lily, crown
imperial, tulip, narcissus, rocket, mallow, Syrian mal¬
low, apple, pear, peach, cherry, almond, myrtle, rose,
and strawberry.
Flowers with one petal are not so subject to fu lness,
The following, however, are instances : polyanthus, hy¬
acinth, primrose, crocus, meadow safl’ron, and thorn-
apple ; though Kramer has asserted that a full flower
with one petal is a contradiction in terms. In flowers
with one petal, the mode of luxuriance, or impletion,
is by a multiplication of the divisions of the limb or up¬
per part j in flowers with more petals than one, by a
multiplication of the petals or nectarium.
To take a few examples. Columbine is rendered full
, in
p ^ E [ 655 J P L E
Plcnus. three different ways: by the multiplication of its
»—Y——' petals, and total exclusion of the nectaria j 2. By the
multiplication of the nectaria, and exclusion of the pe¬
tals *, or, 3. By such an increase of the nectaria only as
does not exclude the petals, between each of which are
interjected three nectaria, placed one within another.
Again, fennel-flower is rendered full by an increase of
the nectaria only j narcissus, either by a multiplication
of its cup and petals, or of its cup only : larkspur com¬
monly by an increase of the petals and exclusion of the
spur, which is its nectarium. In saponaria concava an-
glia the impletion is attended with the singular effect
of incorporating the petals, and reducing their number
from five to one ; and in gelder-rose, the luxuriance is
effected by an increase both in magnitude and number
of the circumference or margin of the head of flowers,
in the plain, wheel-shaped, barren florets j and an exclu¬
sion of all the bell-shaped hermaphrodite florets of the
centre or disk.
Hitherto we have treated of plenitude in simple flow¬
ers only: the instance just now adduced seems to connect
the different modes of impletion in them and compound
flowers. Before proceeding farther, however, it will
not be improper to premise, that as a simple luxuriant
flower is frequently, by beginners, mistaken for a com¬
pound flower in a natural state, such flowers may always
be distinguished with certainty by this rule : That in sim¬
ple flowers, however luxuriant, there is but one pistillum
or female organ ; whereas, in compound flowers, each
floret, or partial flower, is furnished with its own proper
pistillum. I bus in hawk-weed, a compound flower,
each flat or tongue-shaped floret in the aggregate has its
five stamina and naked seed, which last is in effect its
pistillum ) whereas, in a luxuriant lychnis, which is a
simple flower, there is found only one pistillum or female
organ common to the whole.
In a compound radiated flower, which generally con¬
sists of plain florets in the margin or radius, and tubular
or hollow florets in the centre or disc, plenitude is ef¬
fected either by an increase of the florets in the margin,
and a total exclusion of those in the disc ; which mode of
luxuriance is termed impletion by the radius, and resem¬
bles what happens in the gelder-rose: or by an elonga¬
tion of the hollow florets in the centre and a less pro¬
found division of their brims j which is termed irap/e/zort
of the disc. In the first mode of luxuriance, the florets
in the centre, which are always hermaphrodite or male,
are entirely excluded 5 and in their place succeed florets
similar in sex to those of the radius. Now as the florets
in the margin of a radiated compound flower are found
to be always either female, that is, furnished with the
pistillum only ; or neuter, that is, furnished with neither
stamina nor pistillum-, it is evident, that a radiated com¬
pound flower, filled by the radius, will either be entire¬
ly female, as in feverfew, daisy, and African marigold*,
or entirely neuter, as in sun-flower, marygold, and cen¬
taury : hence it will always be easy to distinguish such a
luxuriant flower from a compound flower with plain flo¬
rets in a natural state ; as these flowers were all herma¬
phrodite, that is, fuvr sited with both stamina and pistil¬
lum. i liu- the full flowers of African marigold have
each floret furnished with the pistillum or female organ
only: the natural flowers of dandelion, which, like the
former, is composed of plain florets, are furnished with
both stamina and pistillum.
In the second mode of luxuriance, termed impletionby pienus
the disc, the florets in the margin sometimes remain un- ||
changed : but most commonly adopt the figure of those plethora.
in the centre, without, however suffering any alteration
in point of sex5 so that confusion is less to be apprehend¬
ed from this mode of luxuriance than from the former j
besides the length to which the florets in the centre run
out is of itself a sufficient distinction, and adapted to ex¬
cite at once an idea of luxuriance. Daisy, feverfew, and
African marigold, exhibit instances of this as well as of
the former mode of impletion.
In luxuriant compound flowers with plain florets, the
semifloscalosi 0! l ournefoi t, the stigma or summit of the
style in each floret is lengthened, and the seed-buds are
enlarged and diverge j by which characters such flowers
may always be distinguished from flowers of the ; ame
kind in a natural state. Seorzonera, nipple wort, and
goat’s-bcard, furnish frequent instances of the plenitude
alluded to.
Lastly, the impletion of compound flowers with tubu¬
lar or hollow florets, the flosculosi of Tournefort, seems
to observe the same rules as that of radiated flowers just
delivered. In everlasting flower, the xeranthemum of
Linnaeus, the impletion is singular, being effected by the
enlargement and expansion of the inward chaffy scales of
the calyx. These scales, which become coloured, are
greatly augmented in length, so as to overtop the florets,
which are scarce larger than those of the same flower in
a natural state. The florets too in the margin, which
in the natural flower are female, become, by luxuriance,
barren ; that is, are deprived of the pistillum ; the style,
which was very short, spreads, and is of the length of
the chaffy scales j and its summits, formerly two in num¬
ber, are metamorphosed into one.
I ull flowers are more easily referred to their respective
genera in methods founded upon the calyx, as the flower-
cup generally remains unaffected by this highest degree
of luxuriance.
PLEONASM, a figure in Rhetoric, whereby we use
words seemingly superfluous, inorder toexpress a thought
with the greater energy ; such as, “ I saw it with my
own eyes.” &c. See Oratory, N° 67.
PLESCOW, a town of Russia, capital of a duchy of
the same name, with an archbishop’s see, and a strong
castle. It is a large place, and divided into four parts,
each of which is surrounded with walls. It is seated on-
the river Muldow, where it falls into the lakePlescow,
80 miles south of Narva, and 1 50 south by west of Pe¬
tersburg. E. Long. 27. 52. N. Lat. 57. 58.
Plescow, a duchy in Russia, between the duchies of
Novogorod, Lithuania, Livonia, and Ingria.
PLESSIS-les-tours, formerly a royal palace of
France, within half a league of Tours. It w as built by
Lo uis XI. and in it lie died in the year 1483 It is si¬
tuated in a plain surrounded by woods, at a small dis¬
tance from the Loire. The building is vet handsome,
though built of brick, and converted to purposes of com¬
merce.
PLETHORA, in Medicine, from “ pleni¬
tude.” A plethora is when the vessels are too much
loaded with fluids. The plethora may be sanguine or se¬
rous. In the first there is too much crassamentum in the
blood, in tile latter too little. In the sanguine plethora,,
there is danger of a fever, inflammation, apoplexy, rup¬
ture of the blood-vessels, obstructed secretions, &c. in
th&
P L E
Plelliora the serous, of a dropsy, &c. A rarefaction of the blood
II produces all the efiects of a plethora j it may accompany
Fleurs. a plethora, and should be distinguished therefrom. Mr
-" » " ■ ' Bromfield observes, that a sanguine plethora may thus
be known to be present by the pulse. An artery over¬
charged with blood is as incapable of producing a strong
full pulse, as one that contains a deficient quantity; in
both cases there will be a low and weak pulse. To dis¬
tinguish rightly, the pulse must not be felt with one or
two lingers on the carpal artery ; but if three or four
fingers cover a considerable length of the artery, and we
press hard for some time on it, and then suddenly raise
all these fingers except that which is nearest to the pa¬
tient’s hand, the influx of the blood, if there is a ple¬
thora, will be so rapid as to raise the other finger, and
make us sensible of the fulness. The sanguine plethora
is relieved by bleeding: the serous by purging, diuretics,
and sweating. See Medicine Index.
PLEURA, in Anatomy, a thin membrane covering
the inside of the thorax. See Anatomy Index.
PLEURITIS, or Pleurisy. See Medicine In¬
dex.
PLEURONECTES, a genus of fishes belonging to
the order of thoracici. See Ichthyology Index.
PLEURS, a town in France, which was buried un¬
der a mountain in the year 1618. Of this fatal circum¬
stance, Bishop Burnet, in his travels, p. 96. gives the
following account. “ Having mentioned (says the Bi¬
shop) some falls of mountains in these part® (viz. near
the Alps), I cannot pass by the extraordinary fate of the
town of Pleurs, about a league from Chavennes to the
north.—The town was half the bigness of Chavennes, but
much more nobly built; for, besides the great palace of
the Francken, that cost some millions, there were many
other palaces built by rich factors both of Milan and the
other parts of Italy, who, liking the situation and air,
as well as the freedom of the government, gave them¬
selves all the indulgencies that a vast wealth could fur¬
nish. By one of the palaces that was a little distant
from the town, and was not overwhelmed with it, one
may judge of the rest. It was an out-house of the fami¬
ly of the Francken, and yet it may compare with many
palaces in Italy. The voluptuousness of this place be¬
came very crying; and Madame de Salis told me that
she heard her mother often relate some passages of aPro-
testant minister’s sermonsthatpreached in a little church
there, who warned them often of the terrible judgments
of God which were hanging over their heads, and which
he believed would suddenly break out upon them.
“ On the 25th of August 1618, an inhabitant came
and told me to be gone, for he saw the mountains cleav¬
ing ; but he was laughed at for his pains. He had a
daughter whom he persuaded to leave all and go with
him ; but when she was safe out of town, she called to
mind that she had not locked the door of a room in which
she had some things of value, and so she went back to do
that, and was buried with the rest; for at the hour of
supper the hill fell down, and buried the town and all
the inhabitants, to the number of 2200, so that not one
person escaped. The fall of the mountains did so fill the
channel of the river, that the first news those of Chaven¬
nes had of it was by the failing of their river ; for three
or four hours there came not a drop of water, but the
river wrought for itself a new course, and returned to
them,
p L I
“ I could hear no particular character of the man who pictlr5
escaped (continues the Bishop) ; sol must leave the se- |j
cret reason of so singular a preservation to the great dis- PHinpton.,
covery, at the last day, of those steps.of Divine Provi-
dence that are now so unaccountable. Some of the fa¬
mily of the Francken, got some miners to work under
ground, to find out the wealth that was buried in their
house; for, besides their plate and furniture, there was
a great deal of cash and many jewels in the house. The
miners pretended they could find nothing ; but they
went to their country of Tyrol and built fine houses, and
a great wealth appeared, of which no other visible ac¬
count could be given but this, that they had found some
of that treasure.”
PLEXUS, among anatomists, a bundle of small ves¬
sels interwoven in the form of net-work ; thus a conge¬
ries of vessels within the brain is called plexus choroides,
reticularis, or retiformis. See Anatomy.
A plexus of nerves is the union of two or more nerves,
forming a sort of ganglion or knot.
PLICAPolonica, ov Plaited Hair, is a disease pecu¬
liar to Poland; whence the name. See Medicine, N°
355. MrCoxe, who gives a short account of it, attempts
likewise to give the physical causes of it. Many causes
of this kind, he tells us, have been supposed to concur
in rendering the plica more frequent in those regions than
in other parts. It would be an endless work to enumer¬
ate the various conjectures with which each person has
supported his favourite hypothesis.—The most probable
are those assigned by Dr Vicat: The first cause is the
nature of the Polish air, which is rendered insalubrious
by numerous w'cods and morasses, and occasiopally de¬
rives an uncommon keenness even in the midst of sum¬
mer from the position of the Carpathian mountains; for
the southern and south-easterly winds, which usually con¬
vey warmth in other regions, are in this chilled in their
passage over their snowy summits. The second is, un¬
wholesome water; for although Poland is not deficient
in good springs, yet the common people usually drink
that which is nearest at hand, taken indiscriminately
from rivers, lakes, and even stagnant pools. The third
cause is the gross inattention of the natives to cleanliness;
for experience shows, that those who are not negligent
in their persons and habitations, are less liable to be af¬
flicted with the plica than others who are deficient in
that particular. Thus persons of higher rank are less sub¬
ject to this disorder than those of inferior stations; the
inhabitants of large towns than those of small villages ;
the free peasants than those in an absolute state of vassal-
age ; the natives of Poland Proper than those of Lithu¬
ania. Whatever we may determine as to the possibility
that all or any of these causes, by themselves, or in con¬
junction with others, originally produced the disorder;
we may venture to assert, that they all, and particular¬
ly the last, assist its propagation, inflame its symptoms,
and protract its cure.
In a word, the plica polonica appears to be a conta¬
gious distemper; which, like the leprosy, still prevails
among a people ignorant in medicine, and inattentive to
check its progress, but is rarely known in those coun¬
tries where proper precautions are taken to prevent itsr
spreading.
PLIMPTON, a town of Devonshire, in England,
seated on a branch of the river Piime, which had once
a castle, now in ruins. It sends two members to parlia¬
ment;
[ 656 ]
P L I [ ^57 ] P L I
Plimpton ^ent j is seven miles E. of Plymouth, ami 218 W. by
11 S. of London. W. Long. 40. o. N. Lat. 50. 22.
p]iny- . PLINIA, a genus of plants belonging to the poly-
v andria class of Linna;us. See Botany Index.
PLINTH, Orle, or Or/o, in Architecture^ a flat
square member, in the form of a brick. It is used as
the foundation of columns, being that flat square table
under the moulding of the base and pedestal at the bot¬
tom of the whole order. It seems to have been origi¬
nally intended to keep the bottom of the original wood¬
en pillars from rotting. Vitruvius also caUs the Tus¬
can abacus plinth.
Plinth of a Statue, &c. is a base, either flat, round,
or square, that serves to support it.
Plinth of a Urall, denotes two or three rows of
bricks advancing out from a wall; or, in general, any
flat high moulding, that serves in a front-wall to mark
the floors, to sustain the eaves of a wall, or the larmier
of a chimney.
PLINY the Elder, or Ccecilius Plinius Secundus,
one of the must learned men of ancient Home, was de¬
scended from an illustrious family, and born at Verona.
He bore arms in a distinguished post ; was one of the
college of augurs $ became intendant of Spain ; and
was employed in several important affairs by Vespasian
and Titus, who honoured him with their esteem. The
eruption of Mount Vesuvius, which happened in the
year 79, proved fatal to him. His nephew, Pliny the
Younger, relates the circumstances of that dreadful
eruption, and the death of his uncle, in a letter to Ta¬
citus. Pliny the Elder wrote a Natural History in 37
books, which is still extant, and has had many editions;
the most esteemed of which is that of Father Hardouin,
printed at Paris in 1723, in two volumes folio.
Pliny the Younger, the nephew of the former, was
born in the ninth year of Nero, and the 62d of Christ,
at Novocomum, a town upon the lake Larius, near
which he had several beautiful villas. Caecilius wfas the
name of his father, and Plinius Secundus that of his
mother’s brother, who adopted him. He brought into
the world with him fine parts and an elegant taste,
which he did not fail to cultivate early; for, as he tells
us himself, he wrote a Greek tragedy at 14 years of
age. He lost his father when he was young; and had
the famous Virginius for his tutor or guardian, whom
he has set in a glorious light. He frequented the schools
of the rhetoricians, and heard Quintilian ; for whom
he ever after entertained so high an esteem, that he be¬
stowed a considerable portion upon his daughter at her
marriage. He was in his 18th year when his uncle died ;
and it was then that he began to plead in the forum,
which W'as the usual road to dignities. About a year
alter, he assumed the military character, and went into
Syria with the commission of tribune : but this did not
suit his taste any more than it had done Tully’s; and
therefore we find him returning after a campaign or two.
He tells us, that in his passage homewards be was de¬
tained by contrary winds at the island Icaria, and how
he employed himself in making verses : he enlarges in
the same place upon his poetical exercitations; yet
poetry was not the shining part of his character any
more than it had been of Tully’s.
Upon his return from Syria, he married a wife, and
settled at Rome : it was in the reign of Doinitian. Du¬
ring this most perilous time, he continued to plead in
Vol. XVI. Part XL f
the forum, where he was not more distinguished by his
uncommon abilities and eloquence, than by his great
resolution and courage, which enabled him to speak
boldly, when scarcely one else durst speak at all. On
these accounts he was olten singled out by the senate
to defend the plundered provinces against their oppres¬
sive governors, and to manage other causes of a like
important and dangerous nature. One of these was for
the province of Baetica, in their prosecution of Babins
Massa ; in which he acquired so general an applause,
that the emperor Nerva, then a private man, and in ba¬
nishment at Tarentum, wrote to him a letter, in which
he congratulated not only Pliny, but the age which had
produced an example sc much in the spirit of the an¬
cients. Pliny relates this affair in a letter to Cornelius
1 acitus ; and he was so pleased with it himself, that he
could not help intreating this friend to record it in his
history. He intreats him, however, with infinitely
more modesty than Tully had intreated Lucceius upon
the same occasion : and though he might imitate Cicero
in the request, as he professes to have constantly set that
great man before him for a model, yet he took caie
not to transgress the bounds ol decency in his manner
of making it. He obtained the offices of questor and
tribune, and luckily went unhurt through the reign of
Domitian : there is, however reason to suppose, if that
emperor had not died just as he did, that Pliny would
have shared the fate of many other great men ; for he
tells us himself, that his name was afterwards found in
Domitian’s tables, among the number of those who were
destined to destruction.
He lost his wife in the beginning of Nerva’s reign,
and soon after married his beloved Calphurnia, of whom
we read so much in his Epistles. He had not, however,
any children by any of his wives: and hence we find
him thanking'Irajan for ihe jus trium liberorum, which
he afterwards obtained of that emperor for his friend
Suetonius Tranquillus. He hints also, in his letter of
thanks to Trajan, that he had been twice married in
the r<Mgn of Domitian. He was promoted to the con¬
sulate by Trajan in the year 100, when he was 38 years
of age; and in this office pronounced that famous pa¬
negyric, which has ever since been admired, as well for
the copiousness of the topics as the elegance of address.
I hen he was elected augur, and afterwards made pro-
consul of Bithynia ; whence he wrote to Trajan that
curious letter concerning the primitive Christians;
which, with Trajan’s rescript, is happily extant among
his Epistles. Pliny’s letter, as Mr Melmoth observes
in a note upon the passage, is esteemed as almost the
only genuine monument of ecclesiastical antiquity rela¬
ting to the times immediately succeeding the apostles,
it being written at most not above 40 years after the
death of St Paul, jft was preserved by the Christians
themselves, as a clear and unsuspicious evidence of th«
purity of their doctrines, and is frequently appealed to
by the early writers of the church against the calnmnieS
of their adversaries. It is not known what became of
Pliny after his return from Bithynia ; whether he lived
at Rome, or what time he spent at his country houses.
Antiquity is also silent as to the time of his death : but
it is conjectured that he died either a little before or
soon after that excellent prince, his admired Trajan 5
that is, about the year of Christ 116.
Pliny was one of the greatest wits, and one of the
4 G worthiest
P L O [ M ] P L O
Pliny worthiest men, among the ancients. He had fine parts,
11 which he cultivated to the utmost} and he accomplish-
1>lomo- td himself with all the various kinds of knowledge
v which could serve to make him either useful or agree¬
able. He wrote and published a great number of
things j hut nothing has escaped the wreck ol time ex¬
cept the books of Letters, and the panegyric upon
Trajan. This has ever been considered as a master¬
piece : and if he has, as some think, almost exhausted
all the ideas of perfection in a prince, and gone per¬
haps a little beyond the truth, yet it is allowed that
no panegyrist was ever possessed of a finer subject, and
on which he might better Indulge in all the flow of elo¬
quence, without incurring the suspicion of flattery and
lies. His letters seem to have been intended for the
public } and in them he may be considered as writing
his own memoirs. Lvery epistle is a kind of historical
sketch, wherein we have a view of him in some striking
attitude either of active or contemplative life. In
them are preserved anecdotes of many eminent persons,
whose works have come down to us, as Suetonius, Si-
lius Italicus, Martial, Tacitus, and Quintilian 5 and of
curious things, which throw great light upon the hi¬
story of those times. They are written with great po¬
liteness and spirit j and if they abound too much in
turn and metaphor, we must impute it to that degene¬
racy of taste which was then accompanying the degene¬
rate manners of Rome. Pliny, however', seems to have
preserved himself in this latter respect from the gene¬
ral contagion : whatever the manners of the Romans
were, his were pure and incorrupt. His writings
breathe a spirit of transcendent goodness and humanity:
his only imperfection is, he was too desirous that the
public and posterity should know how humane and good
he was. We have two elegant English translations of
his Epistles j the one by Mr Melmoth, and the other
by Lord Orrery.
PLOCAMA, a genus of plants belonging to the
pentandria class. See Botany Index.
PLOCE. See Oratory, p. 433.
PLOCKSKO, a town of Poland, and capital of a
palatinate of the same name, with a castle and a bishop’s
see. The churches are very magnificent j and it is built
upon a hill, whence there is a fine prospect every way,
near the river Vistula. It is 25 miles south-east of
Uladislaw, and 65 west of Warsaw. E. Long. 19. 29.
N. Lat. 52. 46.
Plocksko, formerly a palatinate of Poland, bounded
on the north by Regal Prussia, on the east by the pala¬
tinate of Mazovia, on the south by the Vistula, and on
the west by the palatinate of Inovladislaw. The capi¬
tal town is of the same name.
PLOEN is a town of Germany in the circle of
Lower Saxony, and capital of Holstein. It stands on
the banks of a lake of the same name, and gave title to
a duke, till by the death of the last duke Charles with¬
out male issue it escheated to the king of Denmark in
1761. The ducal palace, rising in the midst of the
town, on an elevated spot of ground, and overlooking
the lake, is a very picturesque object. The town stands
2 2 miles north-west of Lubeck, and 10 south-east of
Kiell. E. Long. to. 30. N. Lat. 54. II.
PLOMO, in Metallurgy, is a name given by the
Spaniards, who have the care of the silver mines, to the
silver ore, when found adhering to the surface of stones,
3
and when it incrusts their cracks and cavities like small piomo
and loose grains of gunpowder. Though these grains ||
be few in number, and the rest of the stone have no sil- t Plotinus,
ver in it, yet they are always very happy when they find v
it, as it is a certain token that there is a rich vein some¬
where in the neighbourhood. And if in digging for¬
wards they still meet with these grains, or the piomo in
greater quantity, it is a certain sign that they are getting
nearer and nearer the good vein.
PLOT, Dr Robert, a learned antiquarian and phi¬
losopher, was born at Sutton barn, in the parish of Bor¬
den in Kent, in the year 1641, and studied in Magda-
len-hall, and afterwards in University-college, Oxford.
In 1682 he was elected secretary of the Royal Society,
and published the Philosophical Transactions from N°
143 to N° 166 inclusive. The next year Elias Ashmole,
Esq. appointed him first keeper of his museum, and about
the same time the vice-chancellor nominated him first
professor of chemistry in the university of Oxford. In
1687 he was made secretary to the Earl Marshal, and
the following year received the title of Historiographer
to King James II. In 1690 he resigned his professor¬
ship of chemistry, and likewise his place of keeper of
the museum, to which he presented a very large collec¬
tion of natural curiosities; which were those he had de¬
scribed in his histories of Oxfordshire and Staffordshire:
the former published at Oxford in 1677, f°li0> and re¬
printed with additions and corrections in 1705; and
the latter was printed in the same size in 1686. In
January 1694-5, Henry Howard, Earl Marshal, nomi¬
nated him Mobray-herald extraordinary; two days after
which he was constituted register of the court of honour;
and, on the 30th of April 1696, he died of the stone at
his house at Borden.
As Dr Plot delighted in natural history, the above
works were designed as essays towards a Natural Histo¬
ry of England; and he had actually formed a design of
travelling through England and Wales for that pur¬
pose. He accordingly drew up a plan ot his scheme in a
letter to the learned Bishop Fell; which is inserted at
the end of the second volume of Leland’s Itinerary, of
the edition of 1744. Amongst several MSS. which he
left behind him wrere large materials for the “ Natural
History of Kent, Middlesex, and the city of London.”
Besides the above works, he published De origine fon-
tium tentamen philosophicum, 8vo, and nine papers in
the Philosophical Transactions.
Plot, in dramatic poetry, is sometimes used for the
fable of a tragedy or comedy ; but more properly for
the knot or intrigue, which makes the embarras oi any
piece. See Poetry.
Plot, in Surveying, the plan or draught of any field,
farm, or manor*, surveyed with an instrument, and laid
down in the proper figure and dimensions.
PLOTINUS, a Platonic philosopher in the third
century. He was born at Lycopolis a city ot Egypt,
in 204; and began very early to show a great singula¬
rity both in his taste and manners : for, at eight years
of age, when he went to school, he used to run to his
nurse, and uncover her breast to suck ; and would have
continued that practice longer, if he had not been dis¬
couraged by her. At 28 years of age he had a strong
desire to study philosophy, on which occasion he was re¬
commended to the most famous professors of Alexan¬
dria. Pie was not satisfied with their lectures; but
upon
Plotinus.
P L O t 659
^ upon nearing those of Ammonius, he confessed that this
was the man he wanted. He studied for 11 years un¬
der that excellent master, and then went to hear the
Persian and Indian philosophers: for in 243, when the
emperor Gordianus intended to wage war against the
Persians, he followed the Roman army, but probably
repented of it; for it was with difficulty he could save
his life by flight, after the emperor had been slain. He
was then 39 ; and the year following he went to Rome,
and read philosophical lectures in that city ; but avoid¬
ed following the example of Erennius and Origen, his
fellow-pupils, who, ‘having promised with him not to
reveal some hidden and excellent doctrines they had re¬
ceived from Ammonius, had nevertheless forfeited their
word. Plotinus continued ten years in Rome, without
writing any thing-, but, in his 50th year Porphyry be¬
came his scholar ; who, being of an exquisitely fine ge¬
nius, was not satisfied with superficial answers, but re¬
quired to have all difficulties thoroughly explained ; and
therefore Plotinus, to treat things with greater accura¬
cy, was obliged to write more books. He had before
written 21 books, and during the six years of Pophy-
ry’s stay with him he wrote 24, and 9 after Porphyry’s
leaving Rome, in all 54. The Romans had a high ve¬
neration for him; and he passed for a man of such judge¬
ment and virtue, that many persons of both sexes, when
they found themselves dying, intrusted him as a kind
of guardian angel, with the care of their estates and
children. He was the arbiter of numberless law-suits;
and constantly behaved with such humanity and recti¬
tude of mind, that he did not create himself one enemy
during the 26 years he resided in Rome. He, however,
did not meet with the same justice from all of his own
profession ; for Olympias a philosopher of Alexandria,
being envious of his glory, used his utmost endeavours,
though in vain, to ruin him. The emperor Gallienus,
and the empress Salonina, had a very high regard for
him ; and, had it not been for the opposition of some
jealous courtiers, they would have had the city of Cam¬
pania rebuilt, and given to him with the territory be¬
longing to it, to establish a colony of philosophers, and
to have it governed by the ideal laws of Plato’s common¬
wealth. He laboured under various disorders durino-
the last year of his life, which obliged him to leave
Rome, when he was carried to Campania to the heirs of
one of his friends, who furnished him with every thing
necessary ; and he died there in the year 270, at the
age of 66, and in the noblest manner that an heathen
philosopher could do, these being his words as he brea¬
thed his last: “I am labouring rvith all my might to re¬
turn the divine part of me to the Divine Whole which
fills the universe.”
We have already remarked that the ideas of Plotinus
were singular and extraordinary; and we shall now show
that they were so. He was ashamed of being lodged in a
body, for which reason he did not care to tell the place
of his birth or family. The contempt he had for all
earthly things, was the reason why he would not permit
his picture to be drawn : and when his disciple Amelius
was urgent with him upon this head, “ Is it not enough
(said he) to drag after us, whithersoever we go, that
image in which nature has shut us up ? Do you think
that we should likewise transmit to future ages an image
of that image, as a sight worthy of their attention ?”
From the same principle, he refused to attend to his
] P L o
health ; for he never made use of preservatives or baths
and did not even eat the flesh of tame animals. He ate
: ^ little, and abstained very often from bread ; which,
joined to his intense meditation, kept him very much
from sleeping. In short, he thought the body altogether
below Ins notice ; and had so little respect for it, that
he considered it as a prison, from which it would be
ns supreme happiness to be freed. When Amelius, after
his death, inquired about the state of his soul of the
oracle of Apollo, he was told, “that it was gone to the
assembly of the blessed, where charity, joy, and a love of
the union with God prevailand the reason given for
it, as related by Porphyry, is, “ that Plotinus had been
peaceable, gracious, and vigilant ; that he had perpetu-
ally elevated Ins spotless soul to God; that he had loved
God with Ins whole heart; that he had disengaged him-
self to the utmost of his abilities, from this wretched
life ; that, elevating himself with all the powers of his
soul, and, by the several gradations taught by Plato, to¬
wards that Supreme Being which fills the universe, he
had been enlightened by him ; had enjoyed the vision of
him without the help or interposition of ideas; had in
short, been often united to him.” This is the account
of Porphyry, who tells us also, that he himself had once
been favoured with the vision. To this account, how¬
ever, we need scarcely add, that little credit is due • it
agrees pretty much with modern enthusiasm and the re¬
veries of Behmenists. Plotinus had also his familiar
spirit, as well as Socrates; but, according to Porphyry
it was not one of those called demons, but of the order
of those who are called gw/.y; so that he was under the
protection of a genius superior to that of other men.
I he superiority of his genius puffed him up not a little •
tor when Amelius desired him to share in the sacrifices’
which he used to offer up on solemn festivals, “ It is
their business (replied Plotinus) to come to 'me not
mine to go to them “ which lofty answer (says Por¬
phyry) no one could guess the reason of, or dared to
ask.”
Porphyry put the 54 books of Plotinus in order,
and divided them into six enneases. The greater part
of them turn on the most high-flown ideas in meta-
phystcs ; and this philosopher seems, in certain points
not to differ much from Spinoza. He wrote two books
to prove, that “ all being is one and the same which
is the very doctrine of Spinoza. He inquires, in ano-
ther book, “ Whether there are many souls, or only
one ? His manner of composing partook of the singu¬
larity of 11s nature : he never read over his compositions
after he had written them ; he wrote a bad hand, and
was not exact in his orthography : he stood in need
therefore, of a faithful friend to revise and correct his
writings; and he chose Porphyry for this purpose be¬
fore Amelius, who had, however, been his disciple 24
years, and was very much esteemed by him. Some have
accused Plotinus of plagiarism, with regard to Nume-
mus ; a slander which Amelius refuted. Longinus was
once much prejudiced against our great philosopher
and wrote against his Treatise of Ideas, and against
1 orphyry’s answer in defence of that treatise. He af¬
terwards conceived a high esteem for him ; sought in
dustnously for all his books; and, in order to have them
very correct, desired Porphyry to lend him his copy ;
but at the same time wrote to him in the following
: “ I always observed to you, when we were to-
4 O 2 gether,
manner
P L U [660
gttlier, when »e »ete at a distance from one another,
' ! as-avell as tvhen you lived at Tyre, that I did not com-
Fine lie. p re lie ml many of the subjects treated of by rlotinus ,
 v   but that I was extremely fond ol his n.anner of writing,
the variety of his knowledge, and the order and dispo¬
sition of his questions, which are altogether philosophi¬
cal” “This single passage (says Bayle) shows the
exalted genius, the exquisite discernment, and judicious
penetration of Longinus. It cannot he denied, that
most subjects which this philosopher examines are in¬
comprehensible •, nevertheless, we discover in his works
a very elevated, fruitful, and capacious genius, and a
close way of reasoning. Had Longinus been an injudi¬
cious critic, had he not possessed an exalted and beauti¬
ful genius, he would not have been so sensible of i loti-
nus’s obscurity : for no persons complain less of the ob¬
scurity of a book, than those whose thoughts are con¬
fused and understanding is shallow.” Mars.lius Ficrtius,
at the request of Cosmo de Medicis, made a Latin ver¬
sion of the works of Plotinus, with a summary and ana¬
lysis of each book ; which was printed at Basil, hrst by
itself, in 1 C to, and afterwards with the Greek in t jSo,
folio. His life was written by Porphyry, the most il¬
lustrious of his disciples. . . , , 1 •
PLOTUS, or Darter, a genus of birds belonging
to the order anseres. See Ornithology Index.
PLOUGH, in Agriculture, a machine tor turning up
f
P L U
the soil by the action of cattle, contrived to save the
time, labour, and *xpence, which, without this instru¬
ment, must have been employed in digging the ground,
and fitting it for receiving all sorts of seed. See Ag
PLOUGHMAN, the person who guides the plough
in the operation of tilling. .
PLOUGHING, in Agriculture, the turning up the
earth with a plough. See Agriculture, passim.
PLOVER, the English name of several species ot
Charadrius, Ornithology Index.
PLOWDEN, Edmund, serjeant at law, descended
from an ancient family in Shropshire, was born in IH?*
and was first a student of the university of Cambridge,
where he spent three years in the study of philosophy
and medicine. He then removed to Oxford, where,
having continued his former studies about tour years
more,"in 1552 he was admitted to the practice of physic
and surgery : but probably finding the practice of the
art of healing less agreeable than the study, he entered
himself of the Middle Temple, and began to read law.
Wood says, that in 1557 he was summer reader to that
society, and Lent-reader three years after, being then
Serjeant and oracle of the law. He died in the year
i c84, aged 67 *, and was buried in the Temple church.
He wrote, 1. Commentaries or Reports of divers Cases,
&.c. in the reigns of King Edward VI. Queen Mary,
and Queen Elizabeth; London, 1571, 99’ 1613»
&e Written in the old Norman language. 2. Que¬
ries, or a Moot-hook of cases, &c. translated, metho¬
dized, and enlarged, by H. B. of Lincoln s-lnn. Lon¬
don, 1662, 8»o. .
PLUCHE Antony, a celebrated french writer,
was born at Rheims in 1688, and having distinguished
himself by his engaging manners and proficiency m the
belles lettres, was appointed professor ot humanity in the
university of that city. Two years after he obtained
the chair of rhetoric, and was admitted into holy 01 dors.
The bishop of Laon (Clermont) informed of his talents,
conferred upon him the direction of the college of Ins
episcopal city. By his industry and superior knowledge,
a proper order and subordination soon took place in it;
but some peculiar opinions respecting the affairs of the
time disturbed his tranquillity, and obliged him to quit
his office. The intendant of Rouen, at the request 01
the celebrated Rollin, entrusted him with the education
of his son. Abbe Pluche having filled that place with
success and great honour to himself, left Rouen and
went to Paris, where, by the patronage ot some literary
friends and his own excellent writings, he acquired a
very distinguished reputation for learning. He publish¬
ed, 1. Le Spectacle de la Nature (Nature Displayed), in
9 vols in 12mo. This work, which is equally instruc¬
tive and entertaining, is written with perspicuity and
elegance; but the form of dialogue which is adopted
has rendered it rather prolix. The speakers, who are
the Prior, the Count, and Countess, are not distinguish¬
ed by any striking feature; but they have all the com¬
mon character, which is tolerably pleasing, not except¬
ing even that of the little chevalier de Breuil, who is,
however, a mere scholar. This is the opinion which
Abhe Desfontaines has formed of this work. I hough
the author has given the conversations a pretty inge¬
nious turn, and even some vivacity, yet now and then
they assume the tone of the college. 2. Histoire du
Pluche.
rney assume me c . T
del, or History of the Heavens, in 2 vols in l2mo. in
this performance we find two parts almost independent
of one another. The first contains some learned inqui¬
ries into the origin of the poetic heavens. It is nearly
a complete mythology, founded upon ideas which are
new and ingenious. The second is the history of the
opinions given by philosophers respecting the formation
of the world. The author shows the inutility, the incon¬
sistency, and uncertainty, of the most esteemed systems ;
and concludes with pointing out the excellence and sub¬
lime simplicity of the Mosaic account. Besides a noble
and well-turned expression, we find in it an erudition
which does not fatigue the mind. As to the foundation
of the system explained in the first part, though it ap¬
pears extremely plausible, we will not take upon us tn
say how far it is true : Voltaire called it Fable du Ciel,
or a Fable of the Heavens. 3. De Linguarum artijicioi
a work which he translated with this title, La Mecamque
dcs Langues, in i2mo. In this treatise he proposes a
short and easy method of learning languages, which is
by the use of translations instead of themes or exercises;
his reflections on that subject are judicious and wel ex¬
pressed. 4. Harmony of the Psalms and the Gospel, or
a Translation of ihe Psalms and Hymns of the Church,
with Notes relative to the Vulgate, the Septuagmt, and
Hebrew Text, printed at Paris in 1764, ln
1710 Abbe Plucbe retired to Varenne bt Maure,
where he gave himself up entirely to devotion and study.
Having become so deaf that he could no hei-r without
the help of a trumpet, the capital aftorded him little en¬
tertainment. It was in this retreat that he died ol an
apoplexy on the 20th of November 1761, at the age of
73 years. He possessed those qualities which form the
scholar, the hone.t man, and the Christtun : temperate
his meals, .roe to his word, an affect,onate paten , a
sensible friend, and a hnmane philosopher ; he gave les
sons of virtue in his life as well as b.. tvntmgs. H»
submission to ail the dogmas of religion was very jgeaU
P L U
[ 66 < ]
P L U
piuehe Some Deists having been surprised that, in matters of
II faith, he should think and speak like the vulgar, his an-
Tlumbery. s^ver was, “ I glory in doing so : It is infinitely more
rational to believe the word of God, than to follow the
glimmering lights of a reason which is limited and sub¬
ject to error.”
PLUG, certain pieces of timber, formed like the
frustum of a cone, and used to stop the hause holes and
the breaches made in the body of a ship by cannon¬
balls } the former of which are called hausc-pli/gs, and
the latter shot-plugs, which are formed of various sizes
in proportion to the holes made by the different sizes of
shot, which may penetrate the ship’s sides or bottom in
battle accordingly they are always ready for this pur¬
pose.
PLUKENET, Leovard, a physician who flourish¬
ed in the reign of King Charles 11, was one of the most
excellent and laborious botanists of that or any other
age. He was author of the Phytographia Plukenetiana,
the Almagesticum Britannicum, and other works of the
like kind, on which he spent the greatest part of his
life and fortune. His Phytography is mentioned with
the highest encomiums in the Philosophical Transactions
for February 1696-7. His Opera Botanica, with cuts,
were printed at London, in 6 vols folio, in 1720.
PLUM-tree. See Prunes, Botany Index.
PLUMAGE, the feathers which serve birds for a
covering. See Ornithology.
PLUMB-line, among artificers, denotes a perpen¬
dicular to the horizon ; so called, as being commonly
erected by means of a plummet.
PLUMBAGO, Lead-wort j a genus of plants be
longing to the pentandria class. See Botany Index.
Plumbago, or Black-LEAD. See Graphite, Mi¬
neralogy Index.
PLUMBERY, the art of casting and working lead,
•and using it in building.
As this metal melts soon and with little heat, it is easy
to cast it into figures of any kind, by running it into
moulds of brass, clay, plaster, &c. But the chief article
in plumbery is sheets and pipes of lead j and as these
make the basis of the plumber’s work, we shall here
give the process of making them.
In cdLSting sheet-lead, a table or mould is made use of,
which consists of large pieces of wood well jointed, and
bound with bars of iron at the ends j on the sides of
which runs a frame consisting of a ledge or border of
wood, three inches thick and four inches high from the
mould, called the sharps: The ordinary width of the
mould, within these sharps, is from four to five feet j
and its length is 16, 17, or 18 feet. This should be
something longer than the sheets are intended to be, in
order that the end where the metal runs oft’ from the
mould may be cut oft’, because it is commonly thin or
uneven, or ragged at the end. It must stand very even
or level in breadth, and something falling from the end
in which the metal is poured in, viz. about an inch or
an inch and a half in the length of 16 or 17 feet or
more, according to the thickness ot the sheets wanted 5
for the thinner the sheet, the more declivity the mould
should have. At the upper end of the mould stands
the pan, which is a concave triangular prism, composed
of two planks nailed together at right angles, and two
triangular pieces fitted in between them at the ends.
T^he length of this pan is the whole breadth of the
J
mould in which the sheets are cast j it stands with its
bottom, which is a sharp edge, on a form at the end ofk
the mould, leaning with one side against it} and on the
opposite side is a handle to lift it up by, to pour out
the melted lead } and on that side of the pan next the
mould are two iron hooks to take hold of the mould,
and prevent the pan from slipping while the melted lead
is pouring out of it into the mould. This pan is lined
on the inside with moistened sand, to prevent it from
being fired by the hot metal. The mould is also spread
over, about two inches thick, with sand sifted and moist¬
ened, which is rendered perfectly level by moving over
it a piece ol wood called a strike, and smoothing it over
with a smoothing plane, which is a plate of polished
brass about one-fourth of an inch thick and nine inches
square, turned up on all the four edges, and with a
handle fitted on to the upper or concave side. The sand
being thus smoothed, it is fit for casting sheets of lead :
but if they would cast a cistern, they measure out the
bigness ol the tour sides •, and having taken the dimen¬
sions of the front or fore-part, make mouldings by pres¬
sing long slips of wood, which contain the same mould¬
ings, into the level sand} and form the figures of birds,
beasts, &c. by pressing in the same manner leaden
figures upon it, and then taking them off, and at the
same time smoothing the surface where any of the sand
is raised up by making these impressions upon it. The
rest of the operation is the same in casting either cisterns
or plain sheets of lead. But before we proceed to men¬
tion the manner in which that is performed, it will be
necessary to give a more particular description of the
strike. The strike, then, is a piece of board about five
inches broad, and something longer than the breadth off
the mould on the inside *, and at each end is cut a notch
about two inches deep, so that when it is used it rides
upon the sharps with those notches. Before they be¬
gin to cast, the strike is made ready by tacking on two
pieces of an old hat on the notches, or by slipping a
case of leather over each end, in order to raise the un¬
der side about one-eighth of an inch or something more
above the sand, according as they would have the sheet
to be in thickness; then they tallow the under edge of
the strike, and lay it across the mould. The lead being
melted, it is put into the pan with ladles, in which,
when there is a sufficient quantity for the present pur¬
pose, the scum of the metal is swept off with a piece of
board to the edge of the pan, letting it settle on the
sand, which is by this means prevented from falling in¬
to the mould at the pouring out of the metal. When
the lead is cool enough, which must be regulated ac¬
cording to the thickness of the sheets wanted, and is
known by its beginning to stand with a shell or wall on
the sand round the pan, two men take the pan, by the
handle, or else one of them lifts it by the bar and chain
fixed to a beam in the ceiling, and pour it into the
mould, while another man stands ready with the strike,
and as soon as they have done pouring in the metal,
puts on the mould, sweeps the lead forward, and draws
the overplus into a trough prepared to receive it. The
sheets being thus cast, nothing remains but to roll them
up or cut them into any measure wanted : but if it be
a cistern, it is bent into four sides, so that the two ends
may join the back, where they are soldered together; .
after which the bottom is soldered up.
The method of casting pipes without soldering.—To ■»
makei
Plumbery,
P L U [ 662 I P L U
Plumbery make these pipes they have a kind of little mill, with
lj arms or levers to turn it withal. The moulds are of
Planner, brass, and consist of two pieces, which open and shut by
'* means of hooks and hinges, their inward caliber or di¬
ameter being according to the size of the pipe, usually
two feet and a half. In the middle is placed a core or
round piece of brass or iron, somewhat longer than the
mould, and of the thickness of the inward diameter of
the pipe. This core is passed through twro copper
rundles, one at each end of the mould, which they
serve to close •, and to these is joined a little copper tube
about two inches long, and of the thickness the leaden
pipe is intended to be of. By means of these tubes, the
core is retained in the middle of the cavity of the mould.
The core being in the mould, Avith the rundles at its
two ends, and the lead melted in the furnace, they take
it up in a ladle, and pour it into the mould by a little
aperture at one end, made in the form of a funnel.
When the mould is full, they pass a hook into the end
of the core, and, turning the mill, draw it out j and then
opening the mould, take out the pipe. If they desire
to have the pipe lengthened, they put one end of it in
the loAver end of the mould, and pass the end of the
core into it; then shut the mould again, and apply its
. rundle and tube as before, the pipe just cast serving for
a rundle, &c. at the other end. Things being thus re^
placed, they pour in fresh metal, and repeat the opera¬
tion till they have got a pipe of the length required.
For making pipes of sheet-lead, the plumbers have
Avooden cylinders, of the length and thickness required 5
and on these they form their pipes by wrapping the
sheet around them, and soldering up the edges all along
them.
The lead which lines the Chinese tea-boxes is reduced
to a thinness which we are informed European plumbers
cannot imitate. The following account of the process
by which the plates are formed was communicated to a
Avriter in the Gentleman’s Magazine by an intelligent
officer of an East Indiamen. The caster sits by a pot con¬
taining the melted metal j and has tAvo large stones, the
under one fixed, the upper moveable, directly before
him. He raises the upper stone by pressing his foot
upon the side of it, and Avith an iron ladle pour's in the
opening a proper quantity of the fluid metal. He then
immediately lets fall the upper stone, and by that means
forms the lead into a thin irregular plate, Avhich is after¬
wards cut into a proper shape. The surfaces of the
stones, where they touch each other, are exactly ground
together.
PLUMBUM, Lead. See Lead, Chemistry In*
1 dex.
Plumbum Corneum, or muriate of lead, a combina¬
tion of lead with muriatic acid. See Lead, Chemistry
Index.
PLUME, or Plumula, in Botany, the bud or gerrm
See Gemma.
PLUMPER, Charles, a learned Minim, born at
Marseilles, and one of the most able botanists of the
17th century. He Avas instructed by the famous Maig-
nan, who taught him mathematics, turnery, the art of
making spectacles, burning-glasses, microscopes, and
other works. He at length Avent to Rome to perfect
himself in his studies, and there applied himself entirely
to botany under a skilful Italian. At his return to
Provence, he settled in the convent at Borlies, a mari- Plumier
time place near Hieres, where he had the conveniency 11
of making discoveries in the fields with respect to sim- , Chirality,
pies. He Avas some time after sent by the French king
to America, to bring from thence such plants as might
be of service in medicine. He made three different
voyages to the Antilles, and visited the island of St
Domingo. The king honoured him Avith a pension 5
and he at last settled at Paris. However, at the de¬
sire of M. Fagon, he prepared to go a fourth time to
America, to examine the toee which produces the Je¬
suits bark ; but died at the port of Santa Maria, near
Cadiz, in 1706. He wrote several excellent works j the
principal of which are, 1. A volume of the Plants in the
American Islands. 2. A Treatise on the American
Fern. 3. The Art of Turnery j a curious work embel¬
lished Avith plates.
PLUMMET, PLUMB-Rule, or Plumb-line, an in¬
strument used by carpenters, masons, &c. in order to
judge whether walls, &c. be upright planes, horizontal,
or the like. It is thus called from a piece of lead,
fastened to the end of a cord, which usually constitutes
this instrument. Sometimes the string descends along a
Avooden ruler, &c. raised perpendicularly on another j
in which case it becomes a level.
PLUMMING, among miners, is the method of using
a mine dial, in order to know the exact place of the
work where to sink down an air-shaft, or to bring an
adit to the Avorkj or to knoAv which Avay the load in¬
clines Avhen any flexure happens in it.
It is performed in this manner: A skilful person with
an assistant, and Avith pen, ink, and paper, and a long
line, and a mine-dial, after his guess ol the place abo\'e
ground, descends into the adit or Avork, and there
fastens one end of the line to some fixed thing in it ;
then the incited needle is let to rest, and the exact point
where it rests is marked with a pen : he then goes on
farther in, the line still fastened, and at the next flexure
of the adit he makes a mark on the line by a knot or
othenvise : and then letting doAvn the dial again, he
there likeAvise notes doAvn that point at which the needle
stands in this second position. In this manner he pro¬
ceeds, from turning to turning, marking down the
points, and marking the line, till he comes to the in¬
tended place : this done, he ascends and begins to work
on the surface of the earth what he did in the adit,
bringing the first knot in the line to such a place Avhere
the mark of the place of the needle Avill again answer
its pointing, and continues this till he come to the de¬
sired place above ground, Avhich is certain to be perpen¬
dicular over the part of the mine into Avhidi the air-shaft
is to be sunk.
PLUMOSE, something formed in the manner of a
feather, Avith a stem and fibres issuing from it on each
side 5 such are the antennse of certain moths, butter¬
flies, &c.
PLURAL, in Grammar, an epithet applied to that
number of nouns and verbs which is used when AVe speak
of more than one thing. See Grammar.
PLURALITY, a discrete quality, consisting of two
or a greater number of the same kind : thus Ave say, a
plurality of gods, &c. See the article Astronomy,
N° 157. for the arguments both for and against a plu¬
rality of worlds.
Plurality
FLU [ 663 ] FLU
i urniitv. Plvrahty of Benefices, or Livings, is where the
, same clerk is possessed of two or more spiritual prefer¬
ments with cure of souls. See Benefice.
The smallness of some benefices first gave rise to plu¬
ralities j for an ecclesiastic, unable to subsist on a single
one, was allowed to hold two 5 and at length the num¬
ber increased without bounds. A remedy was attempt¬
ed for this abuse at the council of Lateran under Alex¬
ander III. and Innocent III. in the year 1215, when
the holding more than one benefice was forbid by a ca¬
non under the penalty of deprivation ; but the same
canon granting the pope a power to dispense with it in
favour of persons of distinguished merit, the prohibition
became almost useless. They were also restrained by
statute 21 Hen. VIII. cap. 13. which enacts, that if
any person having one benefice with cure of souls, of
the yearly value of 81. or above (in the king’s books),
accept any other with cure of souls, the first shall be
adjudged in law to be void, &c. though the same sta¬
tute provides for dispensation in certain cases.
In England, in order to procure a dispensation, the
presentee must obtain of the bishop, in whose diocese
the livings are, two certificates of the values in the
king’s books, and the reputed values and distance 5 one
for the archbishop, and the other for the lord-chancel¬
lor. And if the livings lie in two dioceses, then two
certificates of the same kind are to be obtained from
each bishop. He must also show the archbishop his pre¬
sentation to the second living ; and bring with him two
testimonials from the neighbouring clergy concerning
his behaviour and conversation, one for the archbishop
and the other for the lord-chancellor $ and he must also
show the archbishop his letters of orders, and a certifi¬
cate of his having taken the degree of master of arts at
the least, in one of the universities of this realm, under
the hand of the register. And if he be not doctor or
bachelor of divinity, nor doctor nor bachelor of law, he
is to pi’ocure a qualification of a chaplain, which is to
be duly registered in the faculty office, in order to be
tendered to the archbishop, according to the statute.
And if he hath taken any of the aforesaid degrees,
which the statute allows as qualifications, he is to pro¬
cure a certificate thereof as already mentioned, and to
show the same to the archbishop 5 after which his dis¬
pensation is made out at the faculty office, where he
gives security according to the direction of the canon.
He must then repair to the lord-chancellor for confirma¬
tion under the broad seal 5 and he must apply to the
bishop of the diocese where the living lies for his ad¬
mission and institution. By the several stamp acts, for
every skin, or paper, or parchment, &c. on which any
dispensation to hold two ecclesiastical dignities or bene¬
fices, or a dignity and a benefice, shall be engrossed or
written, there shall be paid a treble 40s. stamp duty.
We have also a regulation in regard to pluralities ,
but it is often dispensed with : for, by the faculty of
dispensation, a pluralist is required, in that benefice
from which he shall happen to be most absent, to preach
13 sermons every year, and to exercise hospitality for
two months yearly.
In Germany the pope grants dispensation for posses¬
sing a plurality of benefices, on pretence that the ec¬
clesiastical princes there need large revenues to bear
up against, the Protestant princes.
PLUS, in Algebra, a character marked thus -f-, used Has
for the sign of addition. See Algebra. 11
PLUSH, in commerce, &c. a kind of stuff, having Platarch-
a sort ol velvet knap or shag on one side, composed re- 'r^
gularly of a woof of a single woollen thread and a
double warp ; the one wool, cf two threads twisted $
the other goats or camels hair; though there are some
plushes entirely of worsted, and others composed wholly
of hair.
PLUTARCH, a great philosopher and historian of
antiquity, who lived from the reign of Claudius to that
ol Hadrian, was born at Chteronea, a small city of Bceo-
tia in Greece. Plutarch’s family was ancient in Chsero-
nea: his grandfatherLamprias was eminent for his learn¬
ing and a philosopher j and is often mentioned by Plu¬
tarch in his writings, as is also his father. Plutarch
was initiated early in study, to which he was naturally
inclined j and was placed under the care of Ammo'nius,
an Egyptian, who, having taught philosophy with great
reputation at Alexandria, from thence travelled into
Greece, and settled at Athens. Under this master he
made great advances in knowledge j and like a thorough
philosopher, more apt to regard things than words, he
pursued this knowledge, to the neglect of languages.
The Roman language at that time was not only the
language of Rome, but of Greece also : and much more
used there than the French is now in England. Yet
he was so far from regarding it then, that, as we learn
from himself, he became not conversant in it till the
declension of his life : and though he is supposed to
have resided in Rome near 40 years at different times,
yet he never seems to have acquired a competent skill
in it. But this was not the worst: he did not culti¬
vate his mether-tongue with any great exactness ; and
hence that harshness, inequality, and obscurity in his
style, which has so frequently and so justly been com¬
plained of.
After he was principled and grounded by Ammonias,
having an insatiable thirst for knowdedge, he resolved
to travel. Egypt was at that time, as formerly it had
been, famous for learning 5 and probably the mysterious¬
ness of their doctrine might tempt him, as it had tempt¬
ed Pythagoras and others, to go and converse with the
priesthood of that country. This appears to have been
particularly his business, by his treatise Of Isis and Osi¬
ris : in which he shows himself versed in the ancient
theology and philosophy of the wise men. From Egypt
he returned into Greece j and visiting in his way all
the academies and schools of the philosophers, gathered
from them many of those observations with which he
has abundantly enriched posterity. He does not seem
to have been attached to any particular sect, but culled
from each of them whatever he thought excellent and
worthy to be regarded. He could not bear the para¬
doxes of the Stoics, but yet was more averse from the
impiety of the Epicureans : in many things he followed
Aristotle j but his favourites were Socrates and Plato,
whose memory he revered so highly, that he annually
celebrated their birth-days with much solemnity. Be¬
sides this, he applied himself with extreme diligence
to collect not only all books that were excellent in
their kind, but also all the sayings and observations of
wise men which he had heard in conversation or had
received from others by tradition j and likewise to con-
snlj:
)
P L U
Tltitirdi. suit the records and public instruments
w<—y~—1 cities which he had visited in his travels. He took a
particular journey to Sparta, to search the archives ot
that famous commonwealth, to understand thoroughly
the model of their ancient government, the history of
their legislators, their kings, and their ephori *, and di¬
gested all their memorable deeds and sayings with much
care. He took the same methods with regard to many
other commonwealths 5 and thus was enabled to leave
us in his works such a rich cabinet of observations upon
men and manners, as, in the opinion ol Montaigne and
Baylc, have rendered him the most valuable author oi
antiquityk
The circumstances of Plutarch’s lile are not known,
and therefore cannot be related with any exactness. Aci
'cording to the learned Fahriciua, he was born under
Claudius, 50 years after the Christian era. He was
married to a most amiable woman of his own native
town, whose name, according to the probable conjec¬
ture of Itualdus, was Tintoxena, and to whose sense and
virtue he has borne the most affectionate testimony in
his moral works. He had several children, and among
them two sons one called Plutarc/i after himself, the
other Lamprias in memory of his grandfather. Lam-
prias was he, of all his children, w ho seems to have in¬
herited his fathers’s philosophy} and to him We oAVe the
table or catalogue of Plutarch’s Avritings, and perhaps
also his apophthegms. He had a nephew, Sextus Chse-
voneus, Avho taught the learned emperor Marcus Aure¬
lius the Greek tongue, and Avas much honoured by him.
Some think, that the critic Lbnginus was of his family j
and Apuleius, in the first book of his Metamorphoses,
affirms himself to be descended from him.
On Avhat occasion, and at what time of his life, he
went to Rome, IioaV long he lived there, and when he
finally returned to his oAvn country, are all uncertain.
It is probable, that the fame of him Avent thither before
him, not only because he had published several of bis
works, but because immediately upon his arrival, as
there is reason to believe, he had a great resort of the
Roman nobility to hear him: for he tells us himself,
that he Avas so taken up in giving lectures of philosophy
to the great men of Rome, that he had not time to
make himself master of the Latin tongue, Avhich is one
of the first things that Avould naturally have engaged
bis attention. It appears that he Avas several times at
Rome •, and perhaps one motive for his living there
Avas the intimacy he had contracted in some of these
journeys Avith Sossius Senetio, a great and Avorthy man,
who had been four times consul, and to Avhom Plutarch
has dedicated many of his lives. Rut the great induce¬
ment Avhich carried him first to Rome, Avas undoubt¬
edly that Avhich had carried him into so many other
parts of the World $ namely, to make observations upon
men and manners, and to collect materials for Avriting
the lives of the Roman worthies, in the same manner as
he had already Avritten those of the Grecian : and ac¬
cordingly he not only conversed with all the living, but
searched the records of the Capitol, and of all the libra¬
ries. Not but, as avc learn from Suidas, he Avas intrust¬
ed also Avith the management of public affairs in the
empire, during his residence in the metiopolis. “ Plu¬
tarch (says he) lived in the time of Trajan, Avho be-
istowed on him the consular ornaments, and also caused
an edict to be passed,, that the magistrates or officers of
P L U
Illyria should do nothing in that province without his p’iut.u.(j,
knoAvledge and approbation.” Pluto.
When and how he Avas made known to Trajan is '—~-
likewise uncertain : but it is generally supposed that
Trajan, a private man Avhen Plutarch first came to
Rome, was, among other nobility, one of his auditors.
It is also supposed, that this Avise emperor made use of
him in his councils j at least, much of the happiness of
his reign has been imputed to Plutarch. Fabricius as¬
serts that he Avas Trajan’s preceptor, and that he Avas
raised to the consular dignity by him, and made procu¬
rator of Greece in his old age by the emperor Adrian.
We are equally at a loss concerning the time of his
abode in the imperial city j which, hoAvever, at different
times, is not imagined to fall much short of 40 years.
The desire of visiting his natiAre country, so natural to
all men, and especially Avhen groAving old, prevailed
Avith him at length to leave Italy : and at his return he
Avas unanimously chosen archon or chief magistrate of
Chseronea, and not long after admitted into the number
of the Delphic Apollo’s priests. We have no particu¬
lar account of his death, either as to the manner of it
or the year; only it is evident that he Ih’cd, and con¬
tinued his studies, to a good old age. The most pro¬
bable conjecture is that of Fabricius, who says he died
in the fifth year of Adrian, at the age of 70.
His works have been divided, and they admit of a
pretty equal division, into Lives and Morals: the for¬
mer of Avhich, in his own estimation, Avere to be prefer¬
red as more noble than the latter. His style, as we
have already observed, has been excepted to Avith some
reason : he has also been criticised for some mistakes in
Roman antiquities, and for a little partiality to the
Greeks. On the other hand, he has been justly praised
for the copiousness of his fine sense and learning, for
his integrity, and for a certain air of goodness which
appears in all he wrrote. His business was not to please
the ear, but to instruct and charm the mind ; and in
this none ever AATent beyond him. Of his moral wri¬
tings it is to be regretted that we have no elegant Eng¬
lish translation. Even his Lives were chiefly knoAvn
to the English reader by a motley and miserable version*
till a neAV one executed with fidelity and spirit was pre¬
sented to the public by the Langhornes in 1770. On
the whole, it is to he wished that this most amiable mo¬
ralist and biographer had added a life of himself to those
which he has given to the world of others, as the parti¬
culars Avhich other writers haA'e preserved of his perso¬
nal history are very doubtful and imperfect.
PLUTO, in Pagan worship, the king of the infer¬
nal regions, Avas the son of Saturn and Ops, and the
brother of Jupiter and Neptune. This deity finding
himself childless and unmarried, mounted his chariot to
visit the world ; and arriving in Sicily* fell in love Avith
Proserpine, whom he saw gathering flowers Avith her
companions in the valley of Enna, near Mount /Etna t
Avhen, forcing her into his chariot, he drove her to the
river Chemarus, through which he opened himself a pas¬
sage back to the realms of night. See Ceres and Pro¬
serpine.
Pluto is usually represented in an ebony chariot draAvn
by four black horses ; sometimes bolding a sceptre, to
denote his poAver ; at others, a wand, Avith Avhich be
drives aAvay the ghosts; and at others, some keys, to
signify that he had the keys of death. Homer observes,
t 664 ]
preserved in
PLY [
Pluto that his helmet had the quality of" rendering the wearer
II invisible, and that Mineiva borrowed it in order to be
Plyaumtlr concealed from Mars when she fought against the Tro¬
jans. Pluto was greatly revered both by the Greeks
and Romans, who erected temples and altars to him. To
this god sacrifices were offered in the night, and it was
not lawful to oiler them by day.
PLUTUS, in Pagan worship, the god of riches, is
frequently confounded with Pluto. He was represented
as appearing lame when he approached, and with wings
at his departure j to show the difficulty of amassing
wealth and the uncertainty of its enjoyment. He was
also frequently represented blind, to show that he often
bestowed his favours on the most unworthy, and left in
necessity those who had the greatest merit.
PLU\ IALTS, a species of plover. See Chara-
drius, Ornithology Index.
PLUVIUS, a surname ot Jupiter. He was invoked
by that name among the Romans whenever the earth
ivas parched up by continual heat, and was in want of
refreshing rains. He had an altar in the temple on the
capitol.
PLYERS, in fortification, denote a kind of balance
use*} in raising or letting down a draw-bridge. They
consist of two timber levers, twice as long as the bridge
they lift, joined together by other timbers framed in the
form of a St Andrew’s cross to counterpoise them.
They are supported by two upright jams, ou which
they swing; and the bridge is raised or let down by
means of chains joining the ends of the plyers and
bridge.
PLYING, in the sea language, the act of making,
or endeavouring to make, a progress against the direc¬
tion of the wind. Hence a ship that advances well in
her course in this manner of sailing, is said to be a good
plyer. See the articles Beating, Pitching, and Tack¬
ing.
PLYMOUTH, a town of Devonshire, in England,
about 215 miles from London, stands between the rivers
Plym and Tamar, just before they fall into the British
channel. From a mere fishing village it has become
one of the largest towns in the county ; and is one of
the chief magazines in the kingdom, on account of its
port, which is one of the safest in England, and which
is so large as to be able to contain 1000 sail. It is de¬
fended by several different forts, mounting altogether
nearly 300 guns ; of which the chief is the Royal Cita¬
del erected in the j-eign of Charles II. opposite to St
Nicholas island, which is within the circuit of its wails,
and contains a large store-house and five regular bas¬
tions. In time of war the outward-bound convoys ge¬
nerally rendezvous at Plymouth, and homeward-bound
ships generally put in to provide pilots up the Channel.
It is also a place of resort for men of war that are wind-
bound. It contained 56,000 inhabitants in 1811.
The mouth of the Tamar is called Ham-Ooze, and
that of Plym Catwater, which are both commanded by
the castle on St Nicholas island. About two miles up
the mouth of the Tamar there are four docks, two of
which were built in the reign of William HI. one wet
and the other dry, and two which have been built since.
They have every conveniency for building or repairing
ships. One of the docks is hewn out of a mine of slate,
and lined with Portland stone. This town enjoys a
pilchard fishery of considerable importance, and carries
Vol. XVI. Part II. f
065 ] PLY
on an extensive trade with Newfoundland and the Straits.
There is a customhouse in it; and though there, are two
churches (and besides several meeting-houses), yet each
church has so large a cure of souls, that the parish clerks
were till very lately in deacons orders, to enable them
to perform all the occasional and other offices. The
seat-rents are given to the poor. The lecturers are
chosen every three years by the corporation, which was
constituted by Henry VI. and consists of a mayor, 12
aldermen, and 24 common-council men. The mayor
is elected by a jury of 36 persons, chosen by four others,
two of whom are appointed by the mayor and aldermen,
and the other two by the common-council. There is
also a recorder and a town-clerk. The population in
1801 exceeded 43>000* I he town consists of four divi¬
sions, which were anciently governed by four captains,
each of whom had three constables under him. It is well
supplied with fresh water, which was brought from the
distance of seven miles, by Sir Francis Drake a native
of the town. The toll of the markets and of the cotton,
yarn, &c. with the profit of the mill, which is very
considerable, belongs to the corporation, as do the re¬
venues of the shambles, winch are farmed out for the
mayor s kitchen. Jhere is a chanty school in Plymouth,
four hospitals, and a workhouse, in all which 100 poor
children are clothed, fed, and taught; and there are
two printing-houses. To one of the hospitals Colonel
Jory gave a charity for 12 poor widows, as he did a
mace worth 120I. to be carried before the mayor, and
six good bells, valued at 500I. to Charles-Church, so
called from our kings in whose reigns it was begun and
finished. In the entrace of the bay lies the famous
Eddystone rock, which is covered at high water, and on
which the ingenious Mr Winstanley built a light-house,
that was blown down in the terrible hurricane of Nov.
27tl\ I7°3> aml himself, with others that were with
him in it, never more heard of. However, another was
erected in the room of it, by the corporation of the
Irinity-house, in the time of Queen Anne, which was
destroyed by an accidental fire Dec. 4th 1755, but re¬
built in 1759 : which was also burnt down, and rebuilt
by the celebrated Smeaton in the year 1770. In the
reign of Edward HI. the French landed, and burnt
part of the town, but were soon repulsed by Hugh
Courtenay earl of Devon. In the reign of Henry IV.
the French landed here again, and burnt 600 houses.
Between this town and the sea is a hill called the Haw,
which has a delightful plain on the top, having a plea¬
sant prospect all round it, and a good landmark for tlxj
use of mariners. The list of parliament-men for this
borough, formerly divided into two parts,»by the names
of Sutton-Valtort and Sutton-Prior, commences the 26th
of Edward I. and continues to the 14th of Edward HI.
after which we find no return made for it till the 20th
of Henry VI. when the privilege was renewed. On the
Haw is a fort, which at once commands the town and de¬
fends the harbour. Here is a ferry over the Tamar, called
Crum well or Crimble Passage, the west side of which is
called Westone-House, and is in Devonshire, though
most of the parish wherein it stands is in Cornwall. In
April 1759 parliament granted 25,159!. for the better
fortifying the town and dock of Plymouth. N. Lat. 50.
26. W. Long. 4. 1
Plymouth, in New England, a sea-port town, and
capital of the county of the same name, in the province
41* of
Plymouth.
PLY
[ 666 ]
PLY
Plymouth of Massachusets Bay, in North America, with about
piynteria. 2000 inhabitants. It is remarkable for having been the
v ' first settlement in New England, and for having had the
first place of worship. It is seated at the south end of
Plymouth bay. W. Long. 70. 40. N. Lat. 41. 58.
PLYNTERIA, a Grecian festival in honour ol
Aglauros, or rather of Minerva, who received from the
daughter of Cecrops the name of Aglauros. The word
is derived from ttAuvuv, lovare, because during tie so em
nitv they undressed the statue of the goddess and wash¬
ed it. The day on which it was observed was looked
upon as unfortunate and inauspicious •, and therefore no
person was permitted to appear m the temples, as they
were purposely surrounded with ropes. A he arrival ol
Alcibiades in Athens that day was thought very unbr-
tunate, but the success that ever after attended him
proved it to be otherwise. It was customary at this tesr
tival to bear in procession a cluster of figs j which in¬
timated the progress of civilization among the hrst in¬
habitants of the earth, hs figs served them for food alter
they had found a dislike for acorns.
PNEUMATICS.
Definition
of the term.
2
Extent of
the science
3
No precise
limit to the
different
classes of
bodies.
r-pHIS term is restricted, in the present habits of our
language, to that part of natural philosophy which
treats of the mechanical properties of elastic fluids. The
word, in its original meaning, expresses a quality of air,
or more properly of breath. Under the article I HYSICS
we observed, that in a great number of languages the
term used to express breath was also one of the terms
used to express the animating principle, nay, the intel¬
lectual substance, the soul. It has been perhaps owing
to some attention to this chance of confusion that our
philosophers have appropriated the term Pneumatics
tp the science of the mechanical properties of air, and
PneuMATOLOGY to the science of the intellectual phe¬
nomena consequent on the operations or affections of
our thinking principle. #
We have extended (on the authority of present cus¬
tom) the term Pneumatics to the study of the me¬
chanical properties of all elastic or sensibly compressi-
ble fluids, that is, of fluids whose elasticity and compres¬
sibility become an interesting object of our attention *,
as the term Hydrostatics is applied to the study ot
the mechanical properties of such bodies as interest us
by their fluidity or liquidity only,, or whose elasticity
and compressibility are not familiar or interesting,
though not less real or general than in the case ot air
and all vapours. . . ,
We may be indulged in the observation by the bye,
that there is no precise limit to the different classes ot
natural bodies with respect to their mechanical proper¬
ties. There is no such thing as a body perfectly hard,
perfectly soft, perfectly elastic, or perfectly incompres¬
sible. All bodies have some degree of elasticity inter¬
mixed with some degree of ductility. Water, mercury.,
oil, are compressible j but their compressibility need not
be attended to in order perfectly to understand the p m-
nomena consequent on their materiality, fluidity, and
oravity. But if we neglect the compressibility ot an,
we remain ignorant of the cause and nature of its most
interesting phenomena,and are but imperfectly informed
with respect to those in which its elasticity has no share,
and it is convenient to attend to this distinction in our
researches, in order to understand those phenomena
which depend solely or chiefly on compressibility and
elasticity. This observation is important 5 for here ela¬
sticity appears in its most simple form, unaccompanied
with any other mechanical affection of matter (if ive
except gravity), and lies most open to our observation,
Whether employed for investigating the nature of this
very property of bodies, or for explaining its mode or
action We shall even find that the constitution of an
avowedly elastic fluid, whose compressibility is so very
sensible, will give us the distinctest notions ot fluidity
in general, amfenable us to understand its characteristic
appearances, by which it is distinguished from solidity
namely, the equable distribution ot pressure through an
its parts in every direction, and the horizonta ity which
its surface assumes by the action of gravity : phenomena
which have been assumed as equivalent to the definition
of a perfect fluid, and from which all the aws of hydro¬
statics and hydraulics have been derived. And these
laws have been applied to the explanation of the pheno¬
mena around us-, and water, mercury, oil, &c. have
been denominated fluid only because their appearances
have been found to tally exactly with these consequences
of this definition, while the definition itself remains in
the form of an assumption, unsupported by any other
proof of its obtaining in nature. A real mechanical
philosopher will therefore attach himself with great ea¬
gerness1 to this property, and consider it as an mtieduc¬
tion to much natural science. . . , , . ^
Of all the sensible contpvessible fluuls a.r ts mos An,,,
Of all the sensiuie ---— . , , nio,tfami.
familiar, was the first studied, and the most minutely ; ^
examined. It has therefore been generally taken as the p].cssible
example of their mechanical properties, while those me-jluid.
chanical properties which are peculiar to any of them
and therefore characteristic, have usually been treated
as an appendix to the general science of pneumatics
No objection occurs to us against this method, which
wiU therefore be adopted in treating this article. 5
But although the mechanical properties are the
per Inb ects „! our consideration, it nill be .n.poss.blep^t*.
lo avoid considering occasionally properties which are
more of a chemical nature y because they occasion such
modifications of the mechanical properties as JouW f^e-
(jiiently be —“rit oLr’iZ"
the\nechanical properties produce such modifications of
he properties merely chemical, and of very mlerest.ng
phenomena consent on them, that these tvou,d oft»
pass unexplained unless we give an account of ^
changes of motion, ami which indicate the presence ami-
agency of moving or mechanical powers. Ihey a
therefore the subject of mathematical discussion j admit-
7 .
What ts
S
Proofs
that it is
matter.
Plate
ccccxxiii,
fig. i. ,
P N E U M
ting of measure, number, and direction, notions purely
mathematical.
. We shall therefore begin with the consideration of
air.
It is by no means an idle question, “ TFhat is this air
of which so much is said and written ?” We see no¬
thing, we feel nothing. We find ourselves at liberty to
move about in any direction without any let or hin-
derance. Whence, then, the assertion, that we are sur¬
rounded with a matter called air ? A few very simple
observations and experiments will shew us that this as¬
sertion is well founded.
We are accustomed to say that a vessel is empty
when we have poured out of it the water which it con¬
tained. Take a cylindrical glass jar (fig. I.) having a
small hole in its bottom ; and having stopped this hole,
fill the jar with water, and then pour out the water,
leaving the glass empty, in the common acceptation of
the word. Now, throw a bit of cork, or any light bo-
dy, on the surface ot water in a cistern : cover this with
the glass jar A held in the hand with its bottom up¬
wards, and move it downwards, as at B, keeping it all
the while in an upright position. The cork will continue
to float on the surface of the water in the inside of the
glass, and will most distinctly shew whereabouts that
surface is. It will thus be seen that the water within the
glass has its surface considerably lower at C than that of
the surrounding water; and however deep we immex-ge
the glass, we shall find that the water will never rise in
the inside ot it so as to fill it. If plunged to the depth
of 3 2 feet, the water will only half fill it; and yet the
acknowledged laws of hydrostatics tell us,'that the wa¬
ter would fill the glass if there were nothing to hinder
it. There is therefore something already within the
glass which prevents the water from getting into it ;
manifesting in this manner the most distinctive property
of matter, viz, the hindering other matter from occu¬
pying the same place at the same time,
assessed of While things are in this condition, pull the stopper
npulsive II out of the hole in the bottom of the jar, and the wa¬
ter will instantly rise in the jnside of the jar, and stand
at an equal height within and without. This is justly
ascribed to the escape through the hole of the matter
which formerly obstructed the entry of the water 5 for
it the hand he held before the hole, a puff will be
distinctly felt, or a feather held there will be blown aside;
indicating in this manner that what prevented the
entry of the water, and now escapes, possesses another
characteristic property of matter, impulsive force. The
materiality is concluded from this appearance in the
same manner that the materiality of water is concluded
h’om the impulse of a jet from a pipe. We also see the
mobility of the formerly pent up, and now liberated,
substance, in consequence of external pressure, viz. the
pressure of the surrounding water.
Also, if we take a smooth cylindrical tube, shut at
one end, and fit a plug or cork to its open end, so as
to slide along it, hut so tightly as to prevent all passage
by its sides ; and if the plug be well soaked in grease,
we shall find that no force whatever can push it to the
bottom of the tube. There is therefore something with¬
in the tube preventing by its impenetrability the entry
of the plug, and therefore possessing this characteristic
u of matter.
pticity, 111 like manner, if, after having opened a pair of com-
A T 1 C S.
66*7
sree,
10
penetra-
ity>
mon bellows, we shut up the nozzle and valve hole, and
try to bring the boards together, we find it impossible.
There is something included which prevents this, in the
same manner as if the bellows were filled with wool ;
but on opening the nozzle we can easily shut them. viz.
by expelling this something ; and if the compression be
forcible, the something will issue with considerable
force, and very sensibly impel any thing in its way. r,
It is not accurate to say, that we move about with-inertia, and
out any obstruction : for we find, that if we endeavour
to move a large fan with rapidity, a very sensible hin-
derance is perceived, and that a very sensible force must
he exerted ; and a sensible wind is produced, which will
agitate the neighbouring bodies. It is therefore justly
concluded that the motion is possible only in consequence
of having driven this obstructing substance out of the
way : and that this impenetrable, resisting, moveable,
impelling substance, is matter. We perceive the perse¬
verance of this matter in its state of rest when we wave
a tan, in the same manner that we perceive the inertia
of water when we move a paddle through it. The ef¬
fects of wind in impelling our ships and mills, in tearing
up trees, and overturning buildings, are equal indica¬
tions of its perseverance in a state of motion.
To this mattei', when.at rest, we give the name Air ;
and when it is in motion we call it Wind. r.
Air, therefore, is a material fluid : a fluid, because It is there-
its parts are easily moved, and yield to the smallest in- for? ? ma_
equality of pressure. tenaHlmd,
Air possesses some others of the very general, though Heavv^ ami
not essential properties of matter. It is heavy. This
appears from the following facts.
I. It always accompanies this globe in its orbit round
the sun, surrounding it to a certain distance, under the
name of the Atmosphere, which indicates the being
connected with the earth by its general force of gravity.
It is chiefly iu consequence of this that it is continually
moving round the earth from east to wrest; forming what
is called the trade-wind, to be more particularly con
sidered afterwards. All that is to be observed on this
subject at present is, that, in consequence of the dis¬
turbing force of the sun and moon, there is an accumu¬
lation of the air of the atmosphere, in the same manner
as of the waters of the ocean, in those parts of the
globe which have the moon near their zenith or nadir:
and as this happens successively, going from the east to
the west (by the rotation of the earth round its axis in
the opposite direction), the accumulated air must gra¬
dually flow along to form the elevation. This is chiefly
to be observed in the torrid zone ; and the generality
and regularity of this motion are greatly disturbed by
the changes which are continually taking place in dif»
ferent parts of the atmosphere from causes which are
not mechanical.
2. It is in like manner owing to the gravity of the supports
air that it supports the clouds and vapours which we the clouds
see constantly floating in it. We have even seen bodits
of no inconsiderable weight float, and even rise in the
air. Soap bubbles, and balloons filled with inflamma¬
ble gas, rise and float in the same manner as a cork rises
in water. This phenomenon proves the weight of the
air, in the same manner that the swimming of a piece
of wood indicates the weight of the water which sup- 16
ports it. Familiar
3. But we are not left to these refined observations?100^ ol ,ts
for
weight.
668
PNEUMATICS.
for the proof of the air’s gravity. We may observe fa¬
miliar phenomena, which would be immediate conse-
quences of the supposition that air is a heavy fluid, and
like other heavy fluids, presses on the outsides of all
bodies immersed in or surrounded by it. Thus, lor
instance, if we shut the nozzle and valve hole of a pair
of bellows after having squeezed the air out of them,
we shall find that a very great force, even some hundred
pounds, is necessary for separating the boards. They
are kept together by the pressure of the heavy air which
surrounds them, in the same manner as if they were
immersed in water. In like manner if wTe stop the end
of a syringe after its piston has been pressed down to
the bottom, and then attempt to draw up the piston, we
shall find a considerable force necessary, viz. about 15
or 16 pounds for every square inch of the section of the
syringe. Exerting this force, we can draw up the piston
to the top, and we can hold it there j but the moment
we cease acting, the piston rushes down and strikes the
bottom. It is called a suction, as we feel something as
it were drawing in the piston 5 but it is really the weight
of the incumbent air pressing it in. And this obtains
in every position of the syringe j because the air is a
fluid,, and presses in every direction. Nay, it presses
on the syringe as well as on the piston } and it the
piston be hung by its ring on a nail, the syringe re-
Plate quires force to draw it down (just as much as to draw
ceecxxin. ^[ie pjS|;on up) • and if it be let go, it will spring up,
fis'2' unless loaded with at least 15 pounds for every square
It may inch of its transverse section (see fig. 2.).
even be 4. But the most direct proof of the weight of the air
weighed. js }ia4 by weighing a vessel empty of air, and then
weighing it again when the air has been admitted j
and this, as it is the most obvious consequence of its
weight, has been asserted as long ago as the days of
Aristotle. He says (rhg/ Ovgxvov, iv. 4.), I hat all bo¬
dies are heavy in their place except fire *, even air is
heavy; for a blown bladder is heavier than when it is
empty. It is somewhat surprising that his followers
should have gone into the opposite opinion, while pro¬
fessing to maintain the doctrine of their leader. It we
take a very large and limber bladder, and squeeze out
the air very carefully, and weigh it, and then fill it till
the wrinkles just begin to disappear, and weigh it again,
we shall find no difference in the weight. But this is
not Aristotle’s meaning $ because the bladder, consider¬
ed as a vessel, is equally full in both cases, its dimensions
being changed. We cannot take the air out of a blad¬
der without its immediately collapsing. But what would
be true of a bladder would be equally true of any vessel.
Fig. 3. Therefore, take a round vessel A (fig. 3.), fitted with
a stopcock B, and syringe C. Fill the whole with
water, and press the piston to the bottom of the syringe.
Then keeping the cock open, and holding the vessel up¬
right, with the syringe undermost, draw down the piston.
The water will follow it by its weight, and leave part of
the vessel empty. Now shut the cock, and again push up
the piston to the bottom of the syringe 5 the water escapes
through the piston valve, as will be explained afterward:
then opening the cock, and again drawing down the pi¬
ston, more water will come out of the vessel. Repeat this
operation till all the water have come out. Shut the cock,
•unscrew the syringe, and weigh the vessel very accurate¬
ly. Now open the cock, and admit the air, and weigh
the vessel again, it will be found heavier than before, and
this additional weight is the weight of the air which fills
it 5 and it will be found to be 523 grains, about an ounce
and a fifth avoirdupois, for every cubic foot that the vessel
contains. Now since a cubic loot of water would weigh
1000 ounces, this experiment would show that Water is
about 840 times heavier than air. The most accurate
judgment of this kind of which we have met with an
account is that recorded by Sir George Shuckburgh,
which is in the 67th vol. of the Philosophical Transac-
tione, p. 560. From this it follows, that when the air
is of the temperature 53, and the barometer stands at
29J inches, the air is 836 times lighter than water.
But the experiment is not susceptible of sufficient ac¬
curacy for determining the exact weight of a cubic foot
of air. Its weight is very small 5 and the vessel must
be strong and heavy, so as to overload any balance that
is sufficiently nice for the experiment. xg
To avoid this inconvenience, the whole may be The most
weighed in water, first loading the vessel so as ti) make convenient
it preponderate an ounce or two in the water. By
means the balance will be loaded only with this small *
preponderancy. But even in this case there are consi¬
derable sources of error, arising from changes in the
specific gravity of the water and other causes. The
experiment has often been repeated with this view, and
the air has been found at a medium to be about 840
times as light as water, but with great variations, as
may be expected from its very heterogeneous nature, in
consequence of its being the menstruum of almost every
fluid, of all vapours, and even of most solid bodies*, all
which it holds in solution, forming a fluid perfectly
transparent, and of very different density according to
its composition. It is found, for instance, that perfect¬
ly pure air of the temperature of our ordinary summer
is considerably denser than when it has dissolved about
half as much water as it can hold in that temperature ;
and that with this quantity of water the difference of
density increases in proportion as the mass grows
warmer, for damp air is more expansible by heat than
dry air. We have had occasion to consider this sub¬
ject when treating of the connection of the mechanical
properties of air with the state of the weather. See
Meteorology. ^ 19
Such is the result of the experiment suggested by This pro-
Aristotle, evidently proving the weight of the air *, and
yet, as has been observed, the Peripatetics, who profess by the pe_
to follow the dictates of Aristotle, uniformly refused it ripatetics,
this property. It was a matter long debated among though ac-
the philosophers of the last century. The reason was ^ythchr
that Aristotle, with that indistinctness and inconsistency, ^liaster,
which is observed in all his writings which relate to
matters of fact and experience, assigns a different cause
to many phenomena which any man led by common
observation would ascribe to the weight of the air. Of
this kind is the rise of water in pumps and syphons,
which all the Peripatetics had for ages ascribed to some¬
thing which they called nature's abhorrence of a void.
Aristotle bad asserted (for reasons not our business to
adduce at present), that all nature was full of being,
and that nature abhorred a void. He adduces many
facts, in which it appears, that if not absolutely impos¬
sible, it is very difficult and requires great force, to
produce a space void of matter. When the operation
of pumps and syphons came to be known, the philoso¬
phers of Europe (who had all embraced the Peripatetic
doctrines)
Jonstnic-
j&n of
inmps in
he last
■cntury.
?ig- 4-
P N E U M
^cVCtrines) found in this fancied horror of a fancied mind
(what eUe is this that nature abhors ?) a ready solution
of the phenomena. We shall state the facts, that every
reader may see what kinds of reasoning were received
among the learned not two centuries ago.
Pumps were then constructed in the following man¬
ner : A long pipe GB (fig. 4.) was set in the water
of the well A. This was fitted with a sucker or piston
C, having a long rod CF, and Was furnished with a
Valve B at the bottom, and a lateral pipe DE at the
place of delivery, also furnished with a valve. The fact
is, that if the piston be thrust down to the bottom, and
then drawn up, the water will follow it; and upon the
piston being again pushed down, the water shuts the
valve B by its weight, and escapes or is expelled at the
valve E ; and on drawing up the piston again the valve
E is shut, the water again rises after the piston, and is
again expelled at its next descent.
The Peripatetics explain all this by saying, that if
2i the water did not follow the piston there would be a void
'heir ope- between them. But nature abhors a void : or a void
ition ac-
minted
ir by the
eripate-
r it ra-
nallv.
23
the
dght of
e atmo-
iierc,
is impossible : therefore the water follows’ the piston.—
It is not worth while to criticise the Wretched reasoning
in this pretence to explanation. It is all overturned by
one observation. Suppose the pipe shut at the bottom,
the piston can be drawn up, and thus a void produced.
No, say the Peripatetics ; and they speak of certain spi¬
rits, effluvia, &c. which occupy the place. But if so,
why needs the water rise ? This therefore is not the
cause of its ascent. It is a curious and important phe-
22 nomenon.
alileofirst The sagacious Galileo seems to have been the first who
i counted seriously ascribed this to the weight of the air. Afany
before him had supposed air heavy ; and thus explained
the difficulty of raising the board of bellows, or the pi¬
ston of a syringe, &c. But he distinctly applies to this
allowed weight of the air all the cCnseqnences of hydro-
statical laws ; and he reasons as follows.
The heavy air rests on the water in the cistern, and
presses it with its Weight. It does the same with the
water in the pipe, and therefore both are on a level :
but if the piston, after being in contact with the surface
of the water, be drawn up, there is no longer any pres¬
sure on the surface of the water within the pipe ; for
the air now rests on the piston only, and thus occasions
a difficulty in drawing it up. The water in the pipe,
therefore, is in the same situation as if more water were
poured into the cistern, that is, as much as would exert
the same pressure on its surface as the air does. In this
case we are certain that the water will be pressed into
the pipe, and will raise up the water already in it, and
follow it till it is equally high within and without. The
same pressure of the air shuts the valve E during the de¬
scent of the piston. (See Gal. Discourses').
He did not wait for the very obvious objection, that
if the rise of the water was the effect of the air’s pressure,
it would also be its measure, and would be raised and
supported only to a certain height. He directly said so,
and adduced this as a decisive experiment. If the horror
of a void be the cause, says he, the water must rise to any
height however great; but if it be owing to the pressure
of the air, it will only rise till the weight of the water
in the pipe is in equilibrio with the pressure of the air, .
according to the common laws of hydrostatics. And
he adds, that this is well known ; for it is a fact, that
24
i pre-
the
ght to
ich wa-
wou'd
J in
10.
A T I C S.
pumps will not draw water much above forty palms, al¬
though they may be made to propel it, or to lift it to
any height. He then makes an assertion, which, if tine,
will be decisive. Let a very long pipe, shut at one end,
be filled with water, and let it be erected perpendicu¬
larly with the close end uppermost, and a stopper in the
other end, and then its lower orifice immersed into a
vessel of water ; the water will subside in the pipe upon
removing the stopper, till the remaining column is in
equilibrio with the pressure of the external air. This
experiment he proposes to the curious ; saying, however,
that he thought it unnecessary, there being already such
abundant proofs of tire air’s pressure.
It is probable that the cumbersomeness of the neces-H
669
is predic-
sary apparatus protracted the making ol this experiment, ti°n veri-
Another equally conclusive, and much easier, was made f,.ed b.y To-
rn 1642 after Galileo’s death, by his zealous and learned ncre.11, s ex'
disciple Toricelli. He filled a glass tube, close at one end,1,01111101
with mercury ; judging, that if the support of the water
was owing to the pressure of the air, and was the mea¬
sure of this pressure, mercury would in like manner be
supported by it, and this at a height which was also the
measure of the air’s pressure, and therefore f 3 times less
than water. He had the pleasure of seeing his expec¬
tation verified in the completest manner ; the mercury
descending in the tube AB (fig. 5.), and finally settling F-a.
at the height/B of Roman inches : and he found, S‘
that when the tube was inclined, the point f was in the
same horizontal plane with/in the upright tube, accord¬
ing to the received laws of hydrostatical pressure. The
experiment was often repeated, and soon became famous,
exciting great controversies among the philosophers about
the possibility of a vacuum. About three years after¬
wards the same experiment was published, at Warsaw
in Poland, by Valerianus Magnus, as his own suggestion
and discovery : but it appears plain from the letters of
Roberval, not only that Toricelli was prior, and that his
experiment was the general topic of discussion among
the curious ; but also highly probable that Valerianus
Magnus was informed of it when at Rome, and daily
conversant with those who had seen it. He denies,
hmvever, even having heard of the name of Toricelli.
Th is was the era of philosophical ardour ; and we
think that it was Galileo’s invention and immediate ap¬
plication of the telescope which gave it vigour. Dis¬
coveries of the most wonderful kind in the heavens, and
which required no extent of previous knowledge to un¬
derstand them, were thus put into the hands of everv per¬
son who could purchase a spy-glass; while the high de¬
gree of credibility which some of the discoveries, such as
the phases of Venus and the rotation and satellites of Ju¬
piter, gave to the Copernican system, immediatly set the
whole body of the learned in motion. Galileo joined to
his ardour a great extent of learning, particularly of ma¬
thematical- knowledge and sound logic, and was even the
first who formally united mathematics with physics ; and
his treatise on accelerated motion was the firsthand a pre- 2(J
cious fruit of this union. About-the years 1642 and 1644, Origin of
we find clubs of gentlemen associated in Oxford and Lon- the lloyal
don for the cultivation of knowledge by experiment; and Society>
before 1655 all the doctrines of hydrostatics and pneuma-&c*
tics were familiar there,established upon experiment. Mr
Boyle procured a coalition and correspondence of these
clubs under the name of the Invisible and Philosophical
Society. In May 1658, Mr Hooke finished for Mr
Boyle
g7o P N E U M
27 Bt»yle au air-pump, which had employed him a long
Invention time, and occasioned him several journeys to London lor
of the ait- w[1ich the workmen of Oxford could not execute,
pump. jIe ®peaks of t|,js a great improvement on Mr Boyle’s
own pump, which he had been using some time before.
Boyle therefore must have invented his air-pump, and
was not indebted for it to Schottus’s account of Otto
Guerick’s, published in his (Schottus) Mechanica Hy-
d/'(it/!o-pneumatic a in 16571as ^ui io-
so). The Royal Society of London arose in 1656 from the
coalition of these clubs, after 15 years co-operation and
correspondence. The Montmorine Society at Paris had
subsisted nearly about the same time; lor we find 1 aschal
in 1648 speaking of the meetings in the Sorbonne Col¬
lege, from which we know that society originated.—
Nuremberg, in Germany, was also a distinguished semi¬
nary of experimental philosophy. Ihe magistrates, sen¬
sible of its valuable influence in many manufactures, the
source of the opulence and prosperity of their city, and
many of them philosphers, gave philosophy a professed
and munificent patronage, furnishing the philosophers
with a copious apparatus, a place of assembly, and a fund
for the expence pf their experiments ; so that this was
the first academy of sciences out of Italy under the pa¬
tronage of government. In Italy, indeed, there had
28 long existed institutions of this kind. Rome was the cen-
The expe- tre of church-government, and the resort ot all expect-
riments of ants for preferment. The clergy was the majority ol the
Galileo and jearned jn an Christian nations, and particularly of the
rapidly dif- systematic philosophers. Each, eager to recommend
fused. himself to notice, brought forward every thing that was
curious j and they were the willing vehicles of philoso¬
phical communication. Thus the experiments of Gali¬
leo and Toricelli were rapidly diffused by persons of rank,
the dignitaries of the church, or by the monks their ob-
sequious servants. Perhaps the recent defection of Lng-
land, and the want of a residing embassy at Rome, made
her sometimes late in receiving or spreading philosophi¬
cal researches, and was the cause that more was done
there propria Marte.
We hope to be excused for this digression. We were
-9 naturally led into it by the pretensions ol Valenanus
The merit Magnus to originality in the experiment of the mercury
Unclaimed supported by the pressure of the air. Such is the
by others strength of national attachment, that there were not
wanting some who found that 1 oricelli had borrowed
his experiment from Llonoratus Fabri, who had pro¬
posed and explained it in 1641 : but whoever knows
the writings of Toricelli, and Galileo’s high opinion of
him, will never think that he could need such helps.
(See this surmise of Mounier in Schott, lech. Cur. III.
at the end).
Galileo must be considered as the author of the expe¬
riment when he proposes it to be made. ^ aleriaru.s
Magnus owns himself indebted to him for the principle
and the contrivance of the experiment. It is neither
wonderful that many ingenious men, of one opinion,
and instructed by Galileo, should separately hit on so
obvious a thing-/nor that Toricelli, his immediate dis¬
ciple, his enthusiastic admirer, and who was in the ha¬
bits of corresponding with him till his death in 1642,
should be the first to put it in practice. It became
the subject of dispute from the national arrogance and
self-conceit of some Frenchmen, who have always shown
themselves disposed to consider their nation as at the
4
A T I C S.
head of the republic of letters, and cannot brook the
concurrence of any foreigners. Roberval was in this
instance, however, the champion of Toricelli; but those
who know his controversies with the mathematicians of
France at this time will easily account for this exception.
All now agree in giving Toricelli the honour of the unjus3t|>y>
first invention 5 and it universally passes by the name of
the Toricellian Experiment. The tube is called
the Toricelli an Tube j and the space left by the
mercury is called the Toricellian Vacuum, to di¬
stinguish it from the Boylean Vacuum, which is on¬
ly an extreme rarefaction.
The experiment was repeated in various forms, and It was re-
with apparatus which enabled philosophers to examine peated ia
several effects which the vacuum produced on bodies ex>for™sUS
posed in it. This was done by making the upper part of
the tube terminate in a vessel of some capacity, or com¬
municate with such a vessel, in which were included
along with the mercury bodies on which the experiments
were to be made. When the mercury had run out, the
phenomena of these bodies were carefully observed.
An objection was made to the conclusion drawn from^n 0yec.
Toricelli’s experiment, which appears formidable. Iftiontothe
the Toricellian tube be suspended on the arm of a ba-conclusi°n
lance, it is found that the counterpoise must be equal to?^"/™1
the weight both of the tube and of the mercury it con¬
tains. This could not be, say the objectors, if the mer¬
cury were supported by the air. It is evidently sup¬
ported by the balance} and this gave rise to another
notion of the cause different from the peripatetic fuga
vacui: a suspensive force, or rather attraction, was
assigned to the upper part of the tube.
But the true explanation of the phenomenon is most
easy and satisfactory. Suppose the mercury in the cistern
and tube to freeze, but without adhering to the tube, so
that the tube could be freely drawn up and down. In
this case the mercury is supported by the base, without
any dependence on the pressure of the air j and the tube
is in the same condition as before, and the solid mercury
performs the office of a piston to this kind of syringe.
Suppose the tube thrust down till the top of it touches
the top of the mercury. It is evident that it must be
drawn up in opposition to the pressure of the external
air, and it is precisely similar to the syringe mentioned
in N° 16. The weight sustained therefore by this arm
of the balance is the weight of the tube and the down¬
ward pressure of the atmosphere on its top. ^
The curiosity of philosophers being thus excited by Galileo’s
this very manageable experiment, it was natural now to original ex-
try the original experiment proposed by Galileo. Ac-Pe“mentd
cordingly Berti in Italy, Paschal in France, and manypcl ouue
others in different places, made the experiment with a
tube filled with water, wine, oil, &c. and all with the
success which might be expected in so simple a matter:
and hence the doctrine of the weight and pressure of the
air was established beyond contradiction or doubt. All
this was done before the year 1648.—A very beautiful
experiment ivas exhibited bj Auzout, which complete¬
ly satisfied all who had any remaining doubts. 34
A small box or phial EFGH (fig. 6.) had two glass An experi-
tubes, AB, CD, three feet long, inserted into it in suchment by
a manner as to be firmly fixed in one end, and to reach
nearly to the other end. A B was open at both ends,
and CD was close at D. This apparatus was complete¬
ly filled with mercury, by unscrewing the tube AB, fil¬
ling
.35
lecisive of
he ques-
on.
3*5
’’he gravi-
y of the
Jr tliere-
orp a sta-
ical prin-
iple from
i'hii h we
btaia
37
n exact
leisure of
he pressure
f the at-
iiosphere.
P N E U M
ling the box, and the tube CD ; then screwing in the
tube AB, and filling it: then holding a finger on the
orifice A, the whole was inverted and set upright in
the position represented in figure /3, immersing the ori¬
fice A (now a of fig. ,<3.) in a small vessel of quicksilver.
The result was, that the mercury ran out at the orifice a,
till its surface mn within the phial descended to the top
of the tube ba. The mercury also began to descend
in the tube dc (formerly DC) and run over into the
tube h o, and run out at o, till the mercury in dc was
very near equal in a level with m n. The mercury de¬
scending in b a, till it stood at k, 29^- inches above the
surface op of the mercury in the cistern, just as in the
Toricellian tube.
The rationale of this experiment is very easy. The
whole apparatus may first be considered as a Toricellian
tube of an uncommon shape, and the mercury would
flow out at a. But as soon as a drop of mercury comes
out, leaving a -pace above in n, there is nothing to keep
up the mercury in the tube d c. Its mercury therefore
descends also ; and running over into ba, continues to
supply its expence till the tube dc is almost empty, or
can no longer supply the waste of ba. The inner sur¬
face therefore falls as low as it can, till it is level with
b. No more mercury can enter b a, yet its column
is too heavy to be supported by the pressure of the air
on the mercury in the cistern below j it therefore de¬
scends in b a, and finally settles at the height h 0, equal
to that of the mercury in the Toricellian tube.
The prettiest circumstance of the experiment remains.
Make a small hole g in the upper cap of the box. The
external air immediately rushes in byits weight, and now
presses on the mercury in the box. This immediately
raises the mercury in the tube dc to /, 29^ inches above
m n. It presses on the mercury at A:in the tube b a, ba¬
lancing the pressure of the air in the cistern. The mer¬
cury in the tube therefore is left to the influence of its
own weight, and it descends to the bottom. Nothing
can be more apposite or decisive.
And thus the doctrine of the gravity and pressure of
the air is established by the most unexceptionable evi¬
dence : and we are intitled to assume it as a statical
principle, and to affirm d priori all its legitimate conse¬
quences.
And in the first place, we obtain an exact measure of
the pressure of the atmosphere. It is precisely equal to
the weight of the column of mercury, of water, of oil,
&c. which it can support 5 and the Toricellian tube, or
others fitted up upon the same principle, are justly term¬
ed baroscopes and barometers with respect to the air.
Now it is observed that water is supported at the height
of 32 feet nearly : the weight of the column is exactly
2000 avoirdupois pounds on every square foot of base,
:or 13^ on every square inch. The same conclusion
very nearly may be drawn from the column of mercury,
which is nearly 29^ inches high when in equilibrium
with the pressure of the air. We may here observe, that
the measure taken from the height of a column of water,
wine, spirits, and the other fluids of considerable volati¬
lity, as chemists term it, is not so exact as that taken
from mercury, oil, and the like. For it is observed,
that the volatile fluids are converted by the ordinary
heat of our climates into vapour when the confining
pressure of the air is removed j and this vapour, by its
elasticity, exerts a small pressure on the surface of the
A T I C S. 671
water, &c. in the pipe, and thus counteracts a small
part of the external pressure j and therefore the column
supported by the remaining pressure must be lighter,
that is, shorter. Thus it is found, that rectified spirits
will not stand much higher than is competent to a weight
of 13 pounds on an inch, the elasticity of its vapour ba¬
lancing about xT of the pressure of the air. We shall
afterwards have occasion to consider this matter more
particularly.
As the medium height of the mercury in the barome¬
ter is 29I- inches, we see that the whole globe sustains a
pressure equal to the whole weight of a body of mercury
of this height; and that all bodies on its surface sustain
a part of this in proportion to their surfaces. An ordi¬
nary sized man sustains a pressure of several thousand
pounds. How comes it then that we are not sensible of 38
a pressure which one should think enough to crush usA difficulty
together ? This has been considered as a strong objection s°lved.
to the pressure of the air •, for when a man is plunged a
few feet under water, he is very sensible of the pressure.
The answer is by no means so easy as is commonly ima¬
gined. We feel very distinctly the effects of removing
this pressure from any part of the body. If any one will
apply the open end of a syringe to his hand, and then
draw up the piston, he will find his hand sucked into
the syringe with great force, and it will give pain j and
the soft part of the hand will swell into it, being pressed
in by the neighbouring parts, which are subject to the
action of the external air. If one lays his hand on the
top of a long perpendicular pipe, such as a pump filled
to the brim with water, which is at first prevented from
running out by the valve belowr 5 and if the valve be
then opened, so that the water descends, he will then
find his hand so hard pressed to the top of the pipe that
lie cannot draw it away. But why do we only feel the
inequality oipressure? There is a similar instance where¬
in we do not feel it, although we cannot doubt of its
existence. When a man goes slowly to a great depth
under water in a diving-bell, we know unquestionably
that he is exposed to a new and very great pressure, yet
he does not feel it. But those facts are not sufficiently
familiar for general argument. The human body is a
bundle of solids, hard or soft, filled or mixed with fluids,
and there are few or no parts ol it winch are empty. All
communicate either by vessels or pores j and the whole
surface is a sieve through which the insensible perspira¬
tion is performed. The whole extended surface of the
lungs is open to the pressure ol the atmosphere •, every
thing is therefore in equilibrio : and if free or speedy ac¬
cess be given to every part, the body will not be dama¬
ged by the pressure, however great, any more than a
wet sponge would be deranged by plunging it any depth
in water. The pressure is instantaneously diffused by
means of the incompressible fluids with which the parts
are filled ; and if any parts are filled with air or other
compressible fluids, these are compressed till their elasti¬
city again balances the pressure. Besides, all our fluids
are acquired slowly, and gradually mixed with that pro¬
portion of air which they can dissolve or contain. The
whole animal has grown up in this manner from the first
vital atom of the embryo. For such reasons the pressure
can occasion no change of shape by squeezing together
the flexible parts 5 nor any obstruction by compressing
the vessels or pores. We cannot say what would be felt
by a man, were it possible that he could have been pre-s
duct'd
672
39
The wea¬
ther-glass.
40
The pres¬
sure of the
air in pro¬
portion to
the eleva¬
tion
first sup¬
posed by
Descartes
and Pas¬
chal, and
proved by
experi¬
ments,
P N E U M A T I C S.
duced and grown up in v-ticuo, and then subjected to the
compression. We even know that any sudden and con¬
siderable change of general pressure is very severely felt.
Persons in a diving-bell have been almost killed by let¬
ting them down or drawing them up too suddenly. In
drawing up, the elastic matters within have suddenly
swelled, and not finding an immediate escape have burst
the vessels. Dr Halley experienced this, the blood gush¬
ing out from his ears by the expansion of air contained
in the internal cavities of this organ, from which there
are but very slender passages.
A very important observation recurs here : the pres¬
sure of the atmosphere is variable. This was observed
almost as soon as philosophers began to attend to the ba¬
rometer. Paschal observed it in France, and Descartes
observed it in Sweden in 1650. Mr Boyle and others
observed it in England in 1656. And before this, ob¬
servers, who took notice of the concomitancy of these
changes of aerial pressure with the state of the atmo¬
sphere, remarked, that it was generally greatest in win¬
ter and in the night •, and certainly most variable during
winter and in the northern regions. Familiar now with
the weight of the air, and considering it as the vehicle
of the clouds and vapours, they noted with care the
connection between the weather and the pressure of the
air, and found that a great pressure of the air was gene¬
rally accompanied with fair weather, and a diminution
of it with rain and mists. Hence the barometer came
to be considered as an index not only of the present state
of the air’s weight, but also as indicating by its varia¬
tions changes of weather. It became a Weather¬
glass, and continued to be anxiously observed witli this
view. This is an important subject, and in another
place is treated in some detail.
In the next place, we may conclude that the pressure
of the air will be different in different places, according
to their elevation above the surface of the ocean : for if
air be an heavy fluid, it must press in some proportion
according in its perpendicular height. If it be a homo¬
geneous fluid of equal density and weight in all its parts,
the mercury in the cistern of a barometer must be pressed
precisely in proportion to the depth to which that cistern
is immersed in it; and as this pressure is exactly mea¬
sured by the height of the mercury in the tube, the
height of the mercury in the Toricellian tube must be
exactly proportional to the depth of the place of obser¬
vation under the surface of the atmosphere.
The celebrated Descartes first entertained this thought
(Epist. 67. of Pr. III.) and soon after him Paschal.
His occupation in Paris not permitting him to try the
justness of his conjecture, he requested Mr Perrier a
gentleman of Clermont in Auvergne, to make the ex¬
periment, by observing the height of the mercury at
one and the same time at Clermont and on the top of
a very high mountain in the neighbourhood. His let¬
ters to Mr Perrier in 1647 are extant. Accord¬
ingly Mr Pen-ier, in September 1648, filled two equal
tubes with mercury, and observed the heights of both
to be the same, viz. 26^ inches, in the garden of the
convent of the Friars Minims, situated in the lowest part
of Clermont. Leaving one of them there, and one of
the fathers to observe it, he took the other to the top
of Puy de Domme, which was elevated nearly 500
French fathoms above the garden. He found its height
to be 23^4: inches. On his return to the town, in a
place called Font de PArbrc, 15$ fathoms above'the
garden, he found it 25 inches j when he returned to the
garden it was again 262^ an{i the person set to watch
the tube which had been left said that it had not varied
the whole day. Thus a difference of elevation of 3000
French feet had occasioned a depression of 3| inches j
from which it may be concluded, that 3^- inches of
mercury weighs as much as 3000 feet of air, and one-
tenth of an inch of mercury as much as 96 feet of air.
The next day he found, that taking the tube to the top
of a steeple 120 feet high made a fall of one-sixth of an
inch. This gives 72 feet of air for one-tenth of an inch
of mercury, but ill agreeing with the former experiment.
But it is to be observed, that a very small error of ob¬
servation of the barometer would correspond to a great
difference of elevation, and also that the height of the
mountain had not been measured with any precision.
This has been since done (Mem Acad. par. 1703), and
found to be 529 French toises. 4S
Paschal published an account of this great experiment which
( Grande Exp. sur la Pesanteur de PAir), and it was were
quickly repeated in many places of the world. In 1653^^ l)'
it was repeated in England by DrPower (Power’s Ex-
per. Phil.) ; and in Scotland, in 1661, by Mr Sinclair
professor of philosophy in the university of Glasgow, who
observed the barometer at Lanark, on the top of Mount
Tinto in Clydesdale, and on the top of Arthur’s Seat
at Edinburgh. He found a depression of two inches
between Glasgow and the top of Pinto, three quarters
of an inch between the bottom and top of Arthur’s
Seat, and T\ of an inch at the cathedral of Glasgow on
a height of 126 feet. See Sinclair’s s?rs Nova et Mag¬
na Gravitatis et Levitatis ; Sturmii Collegium fcxperi-
mcntalc, and Schotti Technica Curiosa. 43
Hence we may derive a method of measuring the Hen[ice,a „
heights of mountains. Having ascertained with great
precision the elevation corresponding to a fall of one-heights,
tenth of an inch of mercury, which is nearly 90 feet,
we have only to observe the length of the mercurial co¬
lumn at the top and bottom of the mountain, and to
allow 90 feet for every tenth of an inch. Accordingly
this method has been practised with great success: but
it requires an attention to many things not yet consi¬
dered 3 such as the change of density of the mercury
by heat and cold ; the changes of density of air, which
are much more remarkable from the same causes ; and
above all, the changes of the density of air from its
compressibility $ a change immediately connected with
or dependent on the very elevation we wish to measure.
Of all these afterwards. 44
These observations give us the most accurate measure Also a
of the density of air and its specific gravity. This jsj^ensity
but vaguely though directly measured by weighing air of tiie air>
in a bladder or vessel. The weight of a manageable
quantity is so small, that a balance sufficiently ticklish to
indicate even very sensible fractions of it is overloaded
by the weight of the vessel which contains it, and ceases
to be exact: and when we take Bernouilli’s ingenious
method of suspending it in water, we expose ourselves
to great risk of error by the variation of the water’s
density. Also it must necessarily be humid air which
we can examine in this way: but the proportion of an
elevation in the atmosphere to the depression of the co¬
lumn of mercury or other fluid, by which we measure
its pressure, gives us at once the proportion of this
weight
673
PNEUMATICS.
welglit or their specific gravity. Thus since it is found
that in such a state of pressure the barometer stands at
36 inches, and the thermometer at 3 2°, 87 feet of rise
produces one-tenth of an inch of fall in the barometer,
the air and the mercury being both of the freezing tem¬
perature, we must conclude that mercury is 10,440 times
heavier or denser than air. Then, by comparing mer¬
cury and water, we get nearly for the density of
air relative to water: but this varies so much by heat
and moisture, that it is useless to retain any thing more
than a general notion of it; nor is it easy to determine
whether this method or that by actual weighing be pre¬
ferable. It is extremely difficult to observe the height
of the mercury in the barometer nearer than of an
inch} and this will produce a difference of even five feet,
or srV the whole. Perhaps this is a greater propor-
4- tion than the error in weighing,
and some From the same experiments we also derive some know-
knowledge ledge of the height of the aerial covering which surrounds
heWn of our When we raiye our barometer 87 feet above
theatmo- the surface of the sea, the mercury falls about one-tenth
sphere, of an inch in the barometer : therefore if the barome¬
ter shows 30 inches at the sea-shore, we may expect that,
by raising it 300 times 87 feet, or 5 miles, the mercury
in the tube will descend to the level of the cistern, and
that this is the height of our atmosphere. But other
appearances lead us to suppose a much greater height.
Meteors are seen with us much higher than this, and
which yet give undoubted indication of being supported
by our air. There can be little doubt, too, that the vi¬
sibility of the expanse above us is owing to the reflec¬
tion of the sun’s light by our air. Were the heavenly
spaces perfectly transparent, we should no more see them
than the purest water through which we see other ob¬
jects; and we see them as we see water tinged with milk
or other faeculae. Now it is easy to show, that the light
v,Inch gives us what is called twilight must be reflected
from the height of at least 50 miles; for we have it when
the sun is depressed 18 degrees below our horizon.
Why this A little attention to the constitution of our air will
mowledge convince us, that the atmosphere must extend to a much
[urateaC” &reater than 300 times 87 feet. We see from
the most familiar facts that it is compressible; we can
squeeze it in an ox-bladder. It is also heavy; pressing
on the air in this bladder with a very great force, not
less than 1500 psunds. We must therefore consider it
as in a state of compression, existing in smaller room than
it would assume if it Avere not compressed by the incum¬
bent air. It must therefore be in a condition something
resembling that of a quantity of fine carded wool thrown
loosely into a deep pit ; the lower strata carrying the
Aveightoftheupperstrata, and being compressed by them;
and so much the more compressed as they are further
doAvn, and only the upper stratum in its unconstrained
and most expanded state. If rve shall suppose this avooI
throAvn in by a hundred Aveight at a time, it Avill be di¬
vided into strata of equal weights, but of unequal thick¬
ness : the lowest being the thinnest, and the superior
strata gradually increasing in thickness. Noav, suppose
the pit filled Avith air, and reaching to the top of the
atmosphere, the iveights of all the strata above any ho¬
rizontal plane in it is measured by the height of the mer¬
cury in the Toricellian tube placed in that plane; and
one-tenth of an inch of mercury is just equal to the
weight of the loAvest stratum 87 feet thick: for on
VOL. XVI. Part II. f
raising the tube 87 feet from the sea, the surface.of the
mercury will descend one-tenth of an inch. liaise the
tube till the mercury fall another tenth : This stratum
must be more than 87 feet thick ; how much more avc
cannot tell, being ignorant of the latv of the air’s ex¬
pansion. In order to make it fall a third tenth, we
must raise it through a stratum still thicker; and so on
continually.
All this is abundantly confirmed by the very first ex¬
periment made by the order and directions of Paschal:
For by carrying the tube from the garden of the con¬
vent to a place 150 fathoms higher, the mercury fell 1 ^
inches, or 1.2916 ; Avhich gives about 69 feet 8 inches
of aerial stratum for of an inch of mercury ; and by
carrying it from thence to a place 350 fathoms higher,
the mercury fell i^f, or 1.9167 inches, which gives
109 feet 7 inches for ^ of an inch of mercury. These
experiments were not accurately made ; for at that time
the philosophers, though zealous, were but scholars in
the science of experimenting, and novices in the art. But
the results abundantly sIioav this general truth, and they
are completely confirmed by thousands of subsequent ob •
servations. It is evident from the whole tenor of them,
that the strata of air decrease in density as Ave ascend
through the atmosphere; but it remained to be disco-
vered AA'hat is the force of this decrease, that is, the
laAv of the air’s expansion. Till this be done Ave can
say nothing about the constitution of our atmosphere :
Ave cannot tell in Avhat manner it is fittest for raising
and supporting the exhalations and vapours which are
continually arising from the inhabited regions ; not as
an excrementitious Avaste, but to be supported, perhaps
manufactured, in that vast laboratory of nature, and to
be returned to us in beneficent showers. We cannot
use our knowledge for the curious, and frequently useful,
purpose of measuring theheights of mountains and taking
the levels of extensive regions ; in short, Avithout an ac¬
curate knoAvledge of this, Ave can hardly acquire any
acquaintance Avith those mechanical properties Avhich
distinguish air from those liquids which circulate here
below.
Having therefore considered at some length the lead- Compressi-
ing consequences of the air’s fluidity and gravity, let Wldyof tIre
us consider its compressibility Avith the same care ; and air'
then, combining the agency of both, we shall ansvA'er all
the purposes of philosophy, discover the laAA’S, explain
the phenomena of nature, and improve art. We pro¬
ceed therefore to consider a little the phenomena Avhich
indicate and characterise this other property of the air.
All fluids are elastic and compressible as well as air;
but in them the compressibility makes no figure, or does
not interest us while Ave are considering their pressures,
motions, and impulsions. But in air the compressibility
and expansion dravv our chief attention, and make it a
proper representative of this class of fluids.
Nothing is more familiar than the compressibility of familiar
air. It is seen in a bladder filled with it, which we can phenome-
forcibly squeeze into less room; it is seen in a syringe, a011* which
of which Ave can push the plug farther and farther as
we increase the pressure.
But these appearances bring into vieAv another, and shews its
the most interesting, property of air, viz. its elasticity, elasticity.
When Ave have squeezed the air in the bladder or sy¬
ringe into less room, Ave find that the force Avith which
Ave compressed it is necessary to keep it in this bulks and
4 Q that
674
P N E U M
that if wc cease to press it together, it will swell out
and regain its natural dimensions, llns distinguishes
it essentially from such a body as a mass ot flour, salt,
or such like, which remain in the compressed state to
which we reduce them.
resistin'* There is something therefore which opposes the com-
foi-ce, and pression different from the simple impenetrability of the
producing ajj-; there is something that opposes mechanical force :
motion. t])ere js something too which produces motion, not only
resisting compression, but pushing back the compres¬
sing body, and communicating motion to it. As an ar¬
row is gradually accelerated bj the how string pressing
it forward, and at the moment of its discharge is
brought to a state of rapid motion so the ball from a
pop-gun or wind-gun is gradually accelerated along the
barrel by the pressure of the a,ir during its expansion
from its compressed state, and finally quits it with an
accumulated velocity. Ihese two motions are indica¬
tions perfectly similar ol the elasticity of the bow and
^ of the air.
Fluidity of Thus it appears that air is heavy and elastic. It
the air needs little consideration to convince us in a vague man¬
ner that it is fluid. The ease with which it is pene¬
trated, and driven about in every direction, and the mo¬
tion of it in pipes and channels, however crooked and
intricate, entitle it to this character. But before we
can proceed to deduce consequences from its fluidity,
and to offer them as a true account of what will happen
in these circumstances, it is necessary to exhibit some
distinct and simple case, in which the characteristic me¬
chanical property of a fluid is clearly and unequivocally
observed in it. That property of fluids from which all
the laws of hydrostatics and hydraulics are derived with
strictest evidence is, that any pressure applied to any
part of them is propagated through the whole mass in
every direction } and that in consequence of this diffu¬
sion of pressure, any two external forces can be put in
equilibrio' by the interposition of a fluid, in the same
way as they can be put in equilibrio by the intervention
5* of any mechanical engine.
experimen- Let a ciose vessel ABC (fig. 7.), of any form, have
^.lly two upright pipes EDC, GFB, inserted into any parts
1S’ 7‘ of its top, sides, or bottom, and let water be poured
into them, so as to stand in equilibrio with the horizon¬
tal surface at E, D, G, F, and let D c/, F f, he hori¬
zontal lines, it wilt be found that the height of the co¬
lumn E d is sensibly equal to that of the column G f.
This is a fact universally observed in whatever way the
53 pipes are inserted.
proved. Now the surface of the water at D is undoubtedly
pressed upwards with a force equal to a column of wa¬
ter, having its surface for its base, and Eg? for its height j
it is therefore prevented from rising by some opposite
force. This can be nothing but the elasticity ot the
confined air pressing it down. The very same thing
must be said of the surface at F j and thus there are
two external pressures at D and F set in equilibrio by
the interposition of air. The force exerted on the sur¬
face 1), by the pressure of the column E d, is therefore
propagated to the surface at F: and thus air has this
characteristic mark of fluidity.
In this experiment the weight of the air is insensible
when the vessel is of small size, and has no sensible share
in the pressure reaching at D and F. But if the ele¬
vation of the point F above D is very great, the column
A T I C S.
F d will be observed sensibly to exceed the column Q f
Thus if F be 70 feet higher than D, E d will be an inch
longer than the column G f: for in this case there is
reacting at D, not only the pressure propagated from F,
but also the weight of a column of air, having the sur¬
face at D for its base and 70 feet high. This is equal
to the weight of a column of water one inch high.
It is by this propagation of pressure, this fluidity,
that the pellet is discharged from a child’s pop gun. it
sticks fast in the muzzle; and he forces in another pel¬
let at the other end, which he presses forward with the
rammer, condensing the air between them, and thus
propagating to the other pellet the pressure which he
exerts, till the friction is overcome, and the pellet is
discharged by the air expanding and following it.
There is a pretty philosophical plaything which il¬
lustrates this property of air in a very perspicuous man¬
ner, and which we shall afterwards have occasion to con¬
sider as converted into a most useful hydraulic machine. ^
This is what is usually called Heroes fountain, having Hero's
been invented by a Syracusan of that name. It con- fountain,
sists of two vessels K LMN (fig. 8.), OPQR, which arel ls'
close on all sides. The tube AB, having a funnel a-top,
passes through the uppermost vessel without communi¬
cating with it, being soldered into its top and bottom.
It also passes through the top of the under vessel, where
it is also soldered, and reaches almost to its bottom.
This tube is open at both ends. There is another open
tube ST, which is soldered into the top of the under
vessel and the bottom of the upper vessel, and reaches
almost to its top. These two tubes serve also to sup¬
port the upper vessel. A third tube GI is soldered
into the top of the upper vessel, and reaches almost to
its bottom. This tube is open at both ends, but the
orifice G is very small. Now suppose the uppermost
vessel filled with water to the height FN, E e being its
surface a little below T Stop the orifice G with the
finger, and pour in water at A This will descend
through AB, and compress the air in OPQR into less
room. Suppose the water in the under vessel to have
acquired the surface Cr, the air which formerly occupied
the whole ol the spaces 01 QR, and KFeE, will now
be contained in the spaces oP c C and KL e E; and its
elasticity will be in equilibrio with the weight of the
column ot water, whose base is the surface E e, and
whose height is A c. As this pressure is exerted in
every part of the air, it will be exerted on the surface
E e of the water of the upper vessel, and if the pipe
EG were continued upwards, the water would be sup¬
ported in it to an height e PI above E e, equal to A c.
Therefore if the finger be now taken from off the ori¬
fice G, the water will spout up to the same height as if
it had been immediately forced out by a column of water
A c without the intervention of the air, that is, nearly
to PI. If instead of the funnel at A, the vessel have
a brim V W which will cause the water discharged at G
to run down the pipe AB, this fountain will play till
all the water in the upper vessel is expended. The ope¬
ration of this second fountain will be better understood
from fig. 9. which an intelligent reader will see is per-^jg. p.
fectly equivalent to fig. 8. A very powerful engine for
raising water upon this principle has long been employed
in the Hungarian mines; where the pipe AB is about
200 feet high, and the pipe EG about 120; and the
condensation is made in the upper vessel, and communi¬
cated
P N E U M
cated to tlie lower, at the bottom of the mine, by a loop-
S5 pipe. See Water-Works.
Laws of We may now apply to air all the laws of hydrostatics
hydrosta- aml hydraulics, in perfect confidence that their legiti-
eabie tu air mate consetluences will be observed in all its situations.
'We shall in future substitute, in place of any force act¬
ing on a surface of air, a column of water, mercury, or
any other fluid whose weight is equal to this force :
and as we know distinctly from theory what will be the
consequences of this hydrostatic pressure, we shall de-
f>75
termine a priori the phenomena in air; and in cases
56
More re-
wliere theory does not enable us to say with precision
what is the effect of this pressure, experience informs
us in the case of water, and analogy enables us to trans¬
fer this to air. We shall find this of great service in
some cases, which otherwise are almost desperate in the
present state of our knowledge.
From such familiar and simple observations andexpe-
i # 1  *  
tinriits^6" riments» the fluidity, the heaviness, and elasticity, are
timaits,
»Bcli as
SI
a method
discovered of the substance with which we are surround¬
ed, and which we call air. But to understand these pro¬
perties, and completely to explain their numerous and
important consequences, we must call in the aid of more
refined observations and experiments, which even this
scanty knowledge of them enables us to make ; we
must contrive some methods of producing with preci¬
sion any degree of condensation or rarefaction, of em¬
ploying or excluding the gravitating pressure of air, and
of modifying at pleasure the action of all its mechanical
properties.
Nothing can be more obvious than a method of com-
dn^theairPress*nS a quantity of air to any degree. Take a cy-
ang e an ijm}er or pri£matJc tube (fig. jq.) shut at one end,
Plate a“ff fit with a piston or plug C, so nicely that no air
icccxxiv. can pass by its sides. This will be best done in a cy-
%• I0- lindric tube by a turned stopper, covered with oiled
leather, and fitted with a long handle CD. When this
is thrust down, the air which formerly occupied the
whole capacity of the tube is condensed into less room.
The force necessary to produce any degree of compres¬
sion may be concluded from the weight necessary for
pushing down the plug to any depth.' But this instru¬
ment leaves us little opportunity of making interesting
experiments on or in this condensed air 5 and the force
required to make any degree of compression cannot be
measured with much accuracy ; because the piston must
be very close, and have great friction in order to be
sufficiently tight: And as the compression is increased,
the leather is more squeezed to the side of the tube;
and the proportion ot the external force, which is em¬
ployed merely to overcome this variable and uncertain
friction, cannot be ascertained with any tolerable pre¬
cision. To get rid of these imperfections, the following
addition may be made to the instrument, which then be¬
comes what is called the condensing syringe.
The end of the syringe is perforated with a very
small hole ef; and being externally turned to a small
C Wltl cylinder, a narrow slip of bladder, or of thin leather;
soaked in a mixture of oil and tallow, must be tied over
the hole. Now let us suppose the piston pushed down
to the bottom of the barrel to which it applies close;
when it is drawn up to the top, it leaves a void behind,
and the weight of the external air presses on the slip of
bladder, which therefore claps close to the brass, and
thus performs the part of a valve, and keeps it close so
, S5
fie con
A T I C S.
that no air can enter. But the piston having reached
the top of the barrel, a hole F in the side of it is just
belovy the piston, and the air rushes through this hole
and fills the barrel. Now push the piston down again,
it immediately passes the hole F, and no air escapes
through it; it therefore forces open the valve aty’ and
escapes while the piston moves to the bottom. ^
Now let F. be any vessel, such as a glass bottle, hav-its vessel or.
ing its mouth furnished with a brass cap firmly Ce-receiver‘
mented to it, having a hollow screw which fits a solid
screw p 0, turned on the cylindric nozzle of the syringe.
Screvy the syringe into this cap, and it is evident that
the air forced out of the syringe will be accumulated in
this vessel: for upon drawing up the piston the valve
^always shuts by the elasticity or expanding force of the
air in E ; and on pushing it down again, the valve will
open as soon as the piston lias got so far down that the
air in the lower part of the barrel is more powerful than
the air already in the vessel. Thus at every stroke an
additional barrelful of air will be forced into the vessel
E; and it will be found, that after every stroke the pi¬
ston must be farther pushed down before the valve will
open, it cannot open till the pressure arising from the
elasticity of the air condensed in the barrel is superior to
the elasticity of the air condensed in the vessel; that is,
till the condensation of the first, or its density, is some-
what greater than that of the last, in order to overcome
the straining of the valve on the hole and the sticking
occasioned by the clammy matter employed to make it
air-tight.
Sometimes the syringe is constructed with a valve in ,
tne piston. I his piston, instead of being ot one piece construe-
and solid, consists of two pieces perforated. The upper tion of the
part ik n m is connected with the rod or handle, andsM'inge
has its lower part turned dowm to a small cylinder,
which is screwed into the lower part klo n ; and has
a perforation g h going up in the axis, and terminating
in a hole h in one side of the rod, a piece of oiled lea¬
ther is strained across the hole g. When the piston is ‘
drawn up and a void left below it, the weight of the ex¬
ternal air forces it through the bole hg, opens the valve
g, and fills the barrel. I hen, on pushing down the pi¬
ston, the air being squeezed into less room, presses on the
valveg, shuts it; and none escaping through the piston,
it is gradually condensed as the piston descends till it
opens the valve and is added to that already accumu¬
lated in the vessel E.
Having in this manner forced a quantity of air into ™
IT  1. J ... . -Liast
icity
the vessel E, we can make many experiments in it in 0t thc iur
this state ol condensation. We are chiefly concerned at increased
present with the effect which this produces on its elasti-by conden-
city. We see this to be greatly increased : for v/e findsatam*
more and more force required for introducing every suc¬
cessive barrelful. When the syringe is unscrewed, we
see the air rush out with great violence, and every in¬
dication of great expanding force. If the svringe be
connected with the vessel E in the same manner as the
syringe in N° 17. viz. by interposing a stopcock B be¬
tween them (see fig. 3.), and if this stopcock have a
pipe at its extremity, reaching near to the bottom of the
vessel, which is previously half filled with water, we can
observe distinctly when the elasticity of the air in the sy¬
ringe exceeds that of the air in the receiver: for the pi¬
ston must be pushed down a certain length before the
air from the syringe bubbles up through the water, ami
4 Q 2 the
676
P N E U M
llie piston must be farther down at each successive stroke
before this appearance is observed. When the air has
thus been accumulated in the receiver, it presses the
sides of it outward, and will burst it if not strong enough.
It also presses on the surface of the water; and if we
now shut the cock, unscrew the syringe, and open the
cock again, the air will force the water through the
pipe with great velocity, causing it to rise in a beautiful
jet. When a metal-receiver is used, the condensation
may be pushed to a great length, and the jet will then
rise to a great height, which gradually diminishes as
the water is expended and room given to the air to
62 expand itself. See the figure.
A method We judge of the condensation of air in the vessel E
of judging byr the number ol strokes and the proportion of the
of the cou- capacity of the syringe to that of the vessel. Suppose
densation, the first to be one-tenth of the last; then we know,
that after 10 strokes the quantity of air in the vessel is
doubled, and therefore its density double, and so on af¬
ter any number of strokes. Let the capacity of the sy¬
ringe (when the piston is drawn to the top) be c, and
that of the vessel be 6, and the number of strokes be «,
by.n a
the density of air in the vessel will be —^—, or
n a
l + T'
63 But this is on the supposition that the piston accu-
not per- ra,tely fills the barrel, the bottom of the one applying
fectly aecu-close-to tjiat 0f tjie otl)er? and that no force is necessary
for opening either of the valves : but the first cannot
be insured, and the last is very far from being true. In
the construction now described, it will require at least
one-twentieth part of the ordinary pressure of the air to
open the piston valve : therefore the air which gets in
will want at least this proportion ol its complete elasti¬
city ; and there is always a similar part of the elastici¬
ty employed in opening the nozzle valve. The conden¬
sation therefore is never nearly equal to what is here
determined.
64 It is accurately enough measured by a gage fitted to
A bfUf the instrument. A glass tube GH of a cylindric bore,
30et 0 ‘ and close at the end, is screwed into the side of the cap
on the mouth of the vessel E. A small drop of water
or mercury is taken into this tube by warming it a little
in the hand, which expands the contained air, so that
when the open end is dipped into water, and the whole
allowed to cool, the water advances a little into the tube.
The tube is furnished with a scale divided into small
equal parts, numbered from the close end of the tube.
Since this tube communicates with the vessel, it is evi¬
dent that the condensation will force the water along
the tube, acting like a piston on the air beyond it, and
the air in the tube and vessel will always be of one den¬
sity. Suppose the number at which the drop stands
before the condensation is made to be c, and that it
stands at d when the condensation has attained the de¬
gree required, the density of the air in the remote end
c
of the gage, and consequently in the vessel, will be —.
6^ Sometimes there is used any bit of tube close at one
A variation end, having a drop of water in it, simply laid into the
of it. vessel E, and furnished or not with a scale : but this
can only be used with glass vessels, and these are too
A T I C S.
weak to resist the pressure arising from great condensa¬
tion. In such experiments metalline vessels are used,
fitted with a variety of apparatus for difierent experi¬
ments. Some of these will be occasionally mentioned
afterwards. 6<f
It must be observed in this place, that very great Syringes
condensations require great force, and therefore smallfor great
syringes. It is therefore convenient to have them of^°asensa'
various sizes, and to begin with those of a larger di¬
ameter, which operate more quickly j and when the
condensation becomes fatiguing, to change the syringe
for a smaller. 67
For this reason, and in general to make the conden-A stop¬
sing apparatus more convenient, it is proper to have
stop-cock interposed between the syringe and the vessel, and
or as it is usually called the receiver. This consists ofieceiveri
a brass pipe, which has a well ground cock in its
middle, and has a hollow screw at one end, which re¬
ceives the nozzle screw of the syringe, and a solid screw
at the other end, which fits the screw of the receiver.
See %• 3- . .... tf8 '
By these gages, or contrivances similar to them, we instance*
have been able to ascertain very great degrees of con-of great
densation in the course of some experiments. Dr Hales condensa-
found, that when dry wood was put into a strong vessel,llon P10™
which it almost filled, and the remainder was filled with
water, the swelling of the wood, occasioned by its im¬
bibition of water, condensed the air of his gage into
the thousandth of its original bulk. He found that pease
treated in the same way generated elastic air, which
pressing on the air in the gage condensed it into the
fifteen hundredth part of its bulk. This is the greatest
condensation that has been ascertained with precision,
although in other experiments it has certainly been car¬
ried much farther; but the precise degree could not be
ascertained. 6q
The only use to be made of this observation at pre-airand
sent is, that since we have been able to exhibit air in a water to be
density a thousand times greater than the ordinary den- 7
sity of the air we breathe, it cannot, as some imagine,
be only a different form of water $ for in this state it is
as dense or denser than water, and yet retains its great
expansibility. _ 70
Another important observation is, that in every state and show
of density in which we find it, it retains its perfect the error of
fluidity, transmitting all pressures which are applied to
it with undiminished force, as appears by the equality Spectjng
constantly observed between the opposing columns of elasticity,
water or other fluid by which it is compressed, and by&c.
the facility with which all motions are performed in it
in the most compressed states in which we can make ob¬
servations of this kind. This fact is totally incompa¬
tible with the opinion of those who ascribe the elastici¬
ty of air to the springy ramified structure of its particles,
touching each other like so many pieces of sponge or
foot-balls. A collection of such particles might indeed
be pervaded by solid bodies with considerable ease, if
they were merely touching each other, and not subject¬
ed to any external pressure. But the moment such pres¬
sure is exerted, and the assemblage squeezed into a
smaller space, each presses on its adjoining particles :
they are individually compressed, ftattenedin their touch¬
ing surfaces, and before the density is doubled they are
squeezed into the form of perfect cubes, and compose a
mass,.
71
Consequen
ccs of the
air's elas¬
ticity.
72
Its great
expansibi¬
lity
73
proved by
experiment
Fig. 11.
1 74
! ttempts
I discover
I e limits
’ this ex-
tnsion by
75
syringe;
Pig- 12.
ma?3, will eh may Indeed propagate pressure from one
place to another in an imperfect manner, and with great
diminution of its intensity, but will no more be fluid
than a mass of sole clay. It will be of use to keep this
observation in mind.
. We have seen the air is heavy and compressible, and
might now proceed to deduce in order the explanation
of the appearances consequent on each of theso pro¬
perties. But, as has been already observed, the elasti¬
city of air modifies the effects of its gravity so remark¬
ably, that they would be imperfectly understood if both
qualities were not combined in our consideration of ei¬
ther. At any rate, some farther consequences of its elas¬
ticity must be considered, before we understand the
means of varying at pleasure the effects of its gravity.
Since air is heavy, the lower strata of a mass of air
must support the upper j and, being compressible, they
must be condensed by their weight. In this state of
compression the elasticity of the lower strata of air acts
in opposition to the weight of the incumbent air, and
balances it. There is no reason which would make us
suppose that its expanding force belongs to it only when
in such a state of compression. It is more probable,
that, if we could free it from this pressure, the air would
expand itself into still greater bulk. This is most dis¬
tinctly seen in the following experiment.
Into the cylindric jar ABCD (fig. n.) which has
a small hole in its bottom, and is furnished with an
air-tight piston E, put a small flaccid bladder, having
its mouth tied tight with a string. Having pushed the-
piston near to the bottom, and noticed the state of the
bladder, stop up the hole in the bottom of the jar with
the finger, and draw up the piston, which will require a
considerable force. You will observe the bladder swell
out, as if air had been blown into it 5 and it will again
collapse on allowing the piston to descend. Nothing can
be more unexceptionable than the conclusion from this
experiment, that ordinary air is in a state of compression,
and that its elasticity is not limited to this state. The
bladder being flaccid, shows that the included air is in
the same state with the air which surrounds it; and the
same must be affirmed of it while it swells but still re¬
mains flaccid. We must conclude, that the whole air
within the vessel expands, and continues to fill it, when
its capacity has been enlarged. And since this is ob¬
served to go on as long as we give it more room, we
conclude, that by such experiments we have not yet
given it so much room as it can occupy.
It was a natural object of curiosity to discover the
limits of this expansion j to know what was the natural
unconstrained bulk of a quantity of air, beyond which
it would not expand though all external compressing
force were removed. Accordingly philosophers con¬
structed instruments for rarefying the air. The com¬
mon water pump had been long familiar, and appeared
very proper for this purpose. The most obvious is the
following.
Let the barrel of the syringe AB (fig. 12.) commu¬
nicate with the vessel V, with a stopcock C between
them. Let it communicate with the external air by
another orifice D, in any convenient situation, also fur¬
nished with a stopcock. Let this syringe have a piston
very accurately fitted to it so as to touch the bottom all
over when pushed down, and have no vacancy about
the sides.
3.
PNEUMATICS.
677
Now, suppose the piston at the bottom, the cock C 7«
open, and the cock D shut, draw the piston to thefromt^e
top. Ihe air which filled the vessel V will expand so°Perf^B
as to fill both that vessel and the barrel AB ; and as no° WUC
reason can be given to the contrary, we must suppose
that, the air will be uniformly diffused through both.
Calling y and B the capacity of the vessel and barrel,
it is plain that the bulk of the air will now be V-f-B j
and since the quantity of matter remains the same, and
the density of a fluid is as its quantity of matter directly
and its inversely, the density of the expanded air
be y _j_ |, > the density of common air being 1 : for
v+B:V=1:y^B-
1 he piston requires force to raise it, and it is raised in we inter
opposition to the pressure of the incumbent atmosphere ; the diminu-
for this had formerly been balanced by the elasticity M011
of the common air: and we conclude from the fact,ofexS
that force is required to raise the piston, that the elasti- ed air.
city of the expanded air is less than that of air in its
ordinary state ; and an accurate observation of the
force necessary to raise it would show how much the
elasticity is diminished. When therefore the piston is
let go, it will descend as long as the pressure of the at¬
mosphere exceeds the elasticity of the air in the barrel;
that is, till the air in the barrel is in a state of ordinary
density. To put it further down will require force, be¬
cause the air must he compressed in the barrel} but if
wc open the cock 1), the air will lie expelled through
it, and the piston will reach the bottom. g.
Now shut the discharging cock D, and open the cock and calcu-
C, and draw up the piston. The air which occupied *ate its
T7 • , , . V density,
the space V, with the density will now occupy
the space A-fB, if it expands so far. To have its-
density D, say, As its present bulk V-j-B is to its
former bulk V, so is its former density — ^ to its
, . . . v+v
new density, which will therefore be -— —
^V+BxV + B
V
V-j-B
It is evident, that if the air continues to expand
the density of the air in the vessel after the third draw-
V 2
ing up of the piston will be y;- .. ’ after the fourth
75
it will be
V
V-j-B
V+B
will be
V
V-j-B
, and after any number of strokes n
Thus, if the vessel is four times as
large as the barrel, the density after the fifth stroke will
be nearly y of its ordinary density.
On the other hand, the number n of strokes
necessary for reducing air to the density D is
Log T)
Log V—Log (V-j-B)‘
80
8l
Thus we see that this instrument can never abstract Some hr-
the whole air in consequence of its expansion, but only conveni- 7
rarefy it continually as long as it continues to expand ; e“ce.s of
nay, there is a limit beyond which the rarefaction can-aieni^8110'
not .
678
P N E U M A T I € S.
§2
Remedied
by another
I'ig- ‘3
fig- J4‘
called a,n
exhausting
syringe.
84
Its con¬
struction
and
rig. 15.
85
operation.
not go. When the piston has reached the bottom,
there remains a small space between it and tire cock C
filled with common air. When the piston is drawn up,
this small quantity of air expands, and also a similar
quantity in the neck of the other cock } and no air will
come out of the receiver V till the expanded air in the
barrel is of a smaller density than the air in the receiver.
This circumstance evidently directs us to make these
two spaces as small as possible, or by some contrivance
to fill them up together. Perhaps this may be done
effectually in the following manner.
Let BE (fig. 13.) represent the bottom of the bar¬
rel, and let the circle HKI be the section of the key
of the cock, of a large diameter, and place it as near
to the barrel as can be. Let this communicate with
the barrel by means of a hole FG widening upwards,
as the frustum of a hollow obtuse cone. Let the bottom
of the piston h fhg e be shaped so as to fit the bottom
of the barrel and this hole exactly. Let the cock be
pierced with two holes. One of them, HI, passes
perpendicularly through its axis, and forms the commu¬
nication between the receiver and barrel. I he other
hole, KL, has one extremity K on the same circum¬
ference with H, so that when the key is turned a fourth
part round, K will come into the place of H : but this
hole is pierced obliquely into the key, and thus keeps
clear of the hole HI. It goes no further than the
axis, where it communicates with a hole bored along
the axis, and terminating at its extremity. This hole
forms the communication with the external air, and
serves for discharging the air in the barrel. (A side
view of the key is seen in fig. 14.). Fig. 12. shows the
position of the cock while the piston is moving upwards,
and fig. 14.SI10WS its position while the piston is moving
downwards. When the piston has reached the bottom,
the conical piece fhg of the piston, which may be of
firm leather, fills the hole FHG*, and therefore com¬
pletely expels the air from the barrel. Fhe canal KL /
of the cock contains air of the common density j but
this is turned aside into the position KL (fig- I3*^’
while the piston is still touching the cock. It cannot
extend into the barrel during the ascent of the piston.
In place of it the perforation HLI comes under the pis¬
ton, filled with air that bad been turned aside with it
when the piston was at the top of the barrel, and there¬
fore of the same density with the air of the receiver. It
appears therefore that there is no limit to the rarefac¬
tion as long as the air will expand.
This instrument is called an Exhausting Syringe.
It is more generally made in another form, which is
much less expensive, and more convenient in its use.
Instead of being furnished Avith cocks lor establishing
the communications and shutting them, as is necessaiy,
it has valves like those of the condensing syringe, but
opening in the opposite direction. It is thus made .
The pipe of communication or conduit MN (fig. 15.)
has a male screw in its extremity, and over this is tied
a slip of bladder or leather M. The lower half of the
piston has also a male screw on it, covered at the end
with a slip of bladder O. This is screwed into the up¬
per half of the piston, which is pierced with a hole H
coming out of the side of the rod.
Now suppose the syringe screwed to the conducting
pipe, and that screwed into the receiver V, and the
piston at the bottom of the barrel. When the piston
is drawn up, the pressure of the external air shuts the
valve O, and a \oid L left below the piston : there is
therefore no pressure on the upper side of the valve M
to balance the elasticity of the air in the receiver which
formerly balanced the weight of the atmosphere. The
air therefore in the receiver lifts this valve, and distri¬
butes itself between the vessel and the barrel *, so that
when the piston has reached the top the density of the
V
air in both receiver and barrel is as before
V+B*
When the piston is let go it descends, because the
elasticity of the expanded air is not a balance for the
pressure of the atmosphere, which therefore presses down
the piston with the difference, keeping the piston-valve
shut all the while. At the same time the valve M
also shuts : for it was opened by the prevailing elasticity
of the air in the receiver, and while it is open the two
airs have equal density and elasticity ; but the moment
the piston descends, the capacity of the barrel is dimi¬
nished, the elasticity of its air increases by collapsing,
and now prevailing over that of the air in the receiver
shuts the valve M.
When it has arrived at such a part of the barrel that
the air in it is of the density of the external air, there
is no force to push it farther down j the band must
therefore press it. This attempts to condense the air in
the barrel, and therefore increases its elasticity j so that
it lifts the valve O and escapes, and the piston gets to
the bottom. When drawn up again, greater force is
required than the last time, because the elasticity of the
included air is less than in the former stroke. The
piston rises further before the valve M is lifted up, and
when it has reached the top of the barrel the density of
ss
87
V
the included air is y _|_ g . The piston, when let go,
will descend further than it did before ere the piston-
valve open, and the pressure of the hand will again push
it to the bottom, all the air escaping through O. The
rarefaction will go on at every successive stroke in the
same manner as with the other syringe. _ ss
This syringe is evidently more easy in its use, requir-Advail¬
ing no attendance to the cocks to open and shut themtagesof
at the proper times. On this account this construe-
tion of an exhausting syringe is much more generally fonner) aH(l
used. > > 89
But it is greatly inferior to the syringe with cocks its inferi-
witb respect to its power of rarefaction. Its operation oiity.
is greatly limited. It is evident that no air will come
out of the receiver unless its elasticity exceed that of the
air in the barrel by a difference able to lift up the valve
M. A piece of oiled leather tied across this hole can
hardly be made tight and certain of clapping to the
hole without some small straining, which must therefore
be overcome. It must be very gentlefindeed not to re¬
quire a force equal to the weight of two inches of water,
and this is equal to about the 200th part of the whole
elasticity of the ordinary air j and therefore this syringe,
for this reason alone, cannot rarefy air above 200 times,
even though air were capable of an indefinite expan¬
sion. In like manner the valve G cannot be raised
without a similar prevalence of the elasticity of the air
in the barrel above the weight of the atmosphere.
These causes united make it difficult to rarefy the air
more than 100 times, and very few such syringes will
rarefy
P N E U M
rarefy it more than 50 tunes ; ivliereas the syrinsje with
cocks, when new and in good order, wili rarefy it 1000
90 times-
The former But, on the other hand, syringes with cocks are much
Lyringe, more expensive, especially when furnished with appara-
moreSle tUmf°r °penin8 antl ^^tting the cocks. They are more
to g0 out to make equally tight, and (which is "the great-
jef order. esf objection) do not remain long in good order. The
cocks, by so frequently opening and shutting, grow
loose, and allow the air to escape. No method has been
found of preventing this. .! hey must be ground tight
by means of emery or other cutting powders. Some^of
these unavoidably stick m the metal, and continue to
wear it down. For this reason philosophers, and the
makers of philosophical instruments, have turned their
chief attention to the improvement of the syringe with
valves. We have been thus minute in the account of
the operation of rarefaction, that the reader may better
understand the value of these improvements, and in
general the operation of the principal pneumatic en-
A T I C S. tfyg
was discharged. It was immersed in water, that no air Air-pump.
91
avention
jM'the air-
unp by
1 ?uericke.
92
mstruc-
m of las
mp.
g. 15.
Of the Air-Pump.
An Air-Pump is nothing but an exhausting syringe
accommodated to a variety of experiments. It was first
invented by Otto Guericke, a gentleman of Magde-
burgh in Germany, about the year 1654. We trust
that it will not be unacceptable to Our readers to see this
instrument, which now makes a principal article in a
philosophical apparatus, in its first form, and to trace it
through its successive steps to its present state of im¬
provement.
Guericke, indifferent about the solitary possession of
an invention which gave entertainment to numbers who
came to see his wonderful experiments, gave a minute
description of all his pneumatic apparatus to Caspar
Schottus professor of mathematics at Wirtemberg, who
immediately published it with the author’s consent, with
an account of some of its performances, first in. 1657,
in his Mechanica Hydraulico pneitmatica; and then in
his Technica Cuviosa, in 1664, a curious collection of
all the wonderful performances of art which he collect¬
ed by a correspondence over all Europe.
Otto Guericke’s air-pump consists of a glass receiver
A (fig. 16.) of a form nearly spherical, fitted up with
a brass cap and cock B. The nozzle of the cap was
fixed to a syringe CDE, also of brass, bent at D into
half a right angle. I his had a valve at L), opening
from the receiver into the syringe, and shutting when
pressed in the opposite direction. In the upper side of
the syringe there is another valve F, opening from the
syringe into the external air, and shutting when pressed
inwards. The piston had no valve. The syringe, the
cock B, and the joint of the tube, were immersed in a
cistern filled with water. From this description it is
easy to understand the operation of the instrument.
W hen the piston was drawn up from the bottom of the
syringe, the valve F was kept shut by the pressure of
the external air, and the valve D opened by the elasti¬
city of the air in the receiver. Wben it was pushed
down again, the valve I) immediately shut by the supe¬
rior elasticity of the air in the syringe 5 and when this
was sufficiently compressed, it opened the valve F, and
might find its way through the joints or cocks.  v 
It would seem that this machine was not very perfect, 93
for Guericke says that it took several hours to produce Its iraper*
an evacuation of a moderate-sized vessel ; but he says, lectl0^s•
that when it was in good order, the rarefaction (for he
acknowledges that it was not, nor could be, a complete
evacuation) was so great, that when the cock was open¬
ed, and water admitted, it filled the receiver so as some¬
times to leave no more than the bulk of a pea filled with
air. This is a little surprising : for if the valve F be
placed as far from the bottom of the syringe as in Schot-
tus’s figure, it would appear that the rarefaction could
not be greater than what must arise from the air in DF
expanding till it filled the whole syringe : because as
soon as the piston in its descent passes F it can dis¬
charge no more air, but must compress it between Fand
the bottom, to be expanded again when the piston is
drawn up. It is probable that the piston was not very
tight, but that on pressing it down it allowed the air to
pass it 5 and the water in which the whole was immersed
prevented the return of the air when it was drawn up
again : and this accounts for the great time necessary
for producing the desired rarefaction.
Guericke, being a gentleman of fortune, spared noHisimt
expenee, and added a part to the machine, which saved pvovement
his numerous visitants the trouble of hours attendance ofil'
before they could see the curious experiments with the
rarefied air. He made a large copper vessel G (fig. 1 7.), I7
having a pipe and cock below, which passed through the '*
floor of the chamber into an under apartment, where it
was joined to the syringe immersed in the cistern of wa¬
ter, and worked by a lever. The upper part of the ves¬
sel terminated in a pipe, furnished with a stopcock H,
sunounded with a small brim to hold water for prevent¬
ing the ingress of air. On the top was another cap I,
also filled with water, to protect the junction of the
pipes with the receiver K. This great vessel was always
kept exhausted, and workmen attended below. When
experiments were to be performed in the receiver K, it
was set on the top of the great vessel, and the cockH
was opened. The air in K immediately diffused itself
equally between the two vessels, and was so much more
rarefied as the receiver K was smaller than the vessel G.
W hen this rarefaction was not sufficient, the attendants
below immediately worked the pump.
These particulars deserve to be recorded, as they show
the inventive genius of this celebrated philosopher, and
because they are useful even in the present advanced
state of tne study. Guericke’s method of excluding air
from all the joints of his apparatus, by immersing these
joints in water, is the only method that has to this day
been found effectual 5 and there frequently occur expe¬
riments where this exclusioh for a long time is absolutely
necessary. In such cases it is necessary to construct little
cups or cisterns at every joint, and to fill them with wa¬
ter or oil. In a letter to Schottus, 1662-3, l)e describes
very ingenious contrivances for producing complete ra¬
refaction after the elasticity of the remaining air has
been so far diminished that it is not able to open the
valves. He opens the exhausting valves by a plug,
which is pushed in by the hand j and the discharging
valve is opened by a small pump placed on its outside, so
that it opens into a void instead of opening against the
pressure
68o
Air-pump.
PNEUMATICS.
95
Merits of
Guericke,
96 ,
Progress of
experimen¬
tal philoso¬
phy.
97
’Ardour of
Mr Boyle.
pressure of tlie atmosphere. (See Schotti Technica Cu-
riosa, p. 68. 70.). These contrivances have been lately
added to air-pumps by Haas and Barter as new inven¬
tions. . .
It must he acknowledged, that the application of the
pump or syringe to the exhaustion of air was a very ob¬
vious thought on the principle exhibited in N° 17. and
in this way it was also employed by Guericke, who first
filled the receiver with water, and then applied the sy¬
ringe. But this was by no means either his object or
his^principle. His object was not solely to procure a
vessel void of air, but to exhaust the air which was al¬
ready in it; and his principle was the power which he
suspected to be in air of expanding itself into a gieater
space when the force was removed which he supposed
to compress it. He expressly says {Tract, de Expen-
mentisMagdeburgicis, et inEpist. adSchottum), that the
contrivance occurred to him accidentally when occupied
with experiments in the Toricellian tube, in which he
found that the air would really expand, and completely
fill a much larger space than what it usually occupied,
and that he had found no limits to the expansion, evin¬
cing this by facts which we shall perfectly understand
by and by. This was a doctrine quite new, and re¬
quired a philosophical mind to view it in a general and
systematic manner ; and it must be owned that his man¬
ner of treating the subject is equally remarkable for in¬
genuity and for modesty. (JEpist. ad Schottiim').
His doctrine and his machine were soon spread aver
Europe. It was the age of literary ardour and philoso¬
phical curiosity *, and it is most pleasant to us, who,
standing on the shoulders of our predecessors, can see far
around us, to observe the eagerness with which every
new, and to us frivolous, experiment was repeated and
canvassed. The worshippers of Aristotle were daily re¬
ceiving severe mortifications from the experimenters, or
empirics as they affected to call them, and they exerted
themselves strenuously in support of his now tottering-
cause. This contributed to the rapid propagation of
every discovery ^ and it was a most profitable and re¬
spectable business to go through the chief cities of
Germany and France exhibiting philosophical experi¬
ments.
About this time the foundations of the Royal Society
of London were laid. Mr Boyle, Mr Wren, Lord
Brounker, Dr Wallis, and other curious gentlemen,
held meetings at Oxford, in which were received ac¬
counts of whatever was doing in the study of nature j
and many experiments were exhibited. The researches
of Galileo, Toricelli, and Paschal, concerning the pres¬
sure of the air, greatly engaged their attention, and
many additions were made to their discoveries. Mr
Boyle, the most ardent and successful studier of nature,
had the principal share in these improvements, his in¬
quisitive mind being aided by an opulent fortune. In
a letter to his nephew Lord Dungarvon, he says that
he had made many attempts to see the appearances ex¬
hibited by bodies freed from the pressure of the air.
He had made Toricellian tubes, having a small vessel
a-top, into which he put some bodies before filling the
tubes with mercury $ so that when the tube was set
upright, and the mercury run out, the bodies were in
vacuo. He had also abstracted the water from a vessel,
by a small pump, by means of its weight in the man¬
ner described in N° 17, having previously put bodies
Plate
ccccxxv,
Cg. IS.
into the vessel along with the vVater. But all these Ways Air-pump,
were very troublesome and imperfect. He was delight-' v"
ed when he learned from Schottus’s first publication,
that Counsellor Guericke had effected this by the ex¬
pansive power of the air} and immediately' set about
constructing a machine from his own ideas, no descrip¬
tion of Guericke’s being then published.
It consisted of a receiver A (fig. jS.), furnished with
a stopcock B, and syringe CD placed in a vertical posi¬
tion below the receiver. Its valve C was in its bottom,
close adjoining to the entry of die pipe of communica¬
tion 5 and the hole by which the air issued was farther
secured by a plug which could be removed. I he piston
was moved by a wheel and rackwork. I he receiver of 98
Guericke’s pump was but ill adapted for any consider-
able variety of experiments j and accordingly very few ^
were made in it. Mr Boyle’s receiver had a large open¬
ing EF, with a strong glass margin. To this was fitted
a strong brass cap, pierced with a hole G in its middle,
to which was fitted a plug ground into it, and shaped
like the key of a cock. The extremity of this key was
furnished with a screw, to which could be affixed a hook,
or a variety of pieces for supporting what was to be ex¬
amined in the receiver, or for producing various motions
within it, without admitting the air. T his was farther
guarded against by means of oil poured round the key,
where it was retained by the hollow cup-like form of the
cover. With all these precautions, however, Mr Boyle
ingenuously confesses, that it was but seldom, and with
great difficulty, that he could produce an extreme de¬
gree of rarefaction •, and it appears by Guericke’s letter
to Schottus, that in this respect the Magdeburgh ma¬
chine had the advantage. But most of Boyle’s very in¬
teresting experiments did not require this extreme rare¬
faction 5 and the variety of them, and their philosophic
importance, compensated for this defect, and soon eclip¬
sed the fame of the inventor to such a degree, that
the state of air in the receiver was generally denomina¬
ted the vacuum Boyleanum, and the air-pump was called
niachina Boylcana. It does not appear that Guericke
was at all solicitous to maintain his claim to priority of
invention. He appears to have been of a truly noble
and philosophical mind, aiming at nothing but the ad¬
vancement of science. _ 99 .
Mr Boyle found, that to make a vessel air-tight, it
was sufficient to place a piece of wet or oiled leather on^^e ves.
its brim, and to lay a flat plate of metal upon tbis.sejs ajr.
The pressure of the external air squeezed the two solid tight,
bodies so hard together, that the soft leather effectually
excluded it. This enabled him to render the whole
machine incomparably more convenient for a variety of
experiments. He caused the conduit-pipe to terminate
in a flat plate which he covered with leather, and on
this he set the glass ball or receiver, which had both its
upper and lower brim ground flat. He covered the
upper orifice in like manner with apiece of oiled leather
and a fiat plate, having cocks and a variety of other
perforations and contrivances suited to his purposes.
This he found infinitely more expeditious, and also
tighter, than the clammy cements which he had former¬
ly used for securing the joints. ^ _ w0°k.'s
He was now assisted by Dr Hooke, the most *noeni*Pr r0°^
ous and inventive mechanic that the world has ever seen.^P^ of
This person made a great improvement on the air-pump, Boyie’s air-
by applying two syringes whose piston-rods were worked pump.
-101
enerally
idopted.
IOZ
lawkes-
ee’s im-
rove-
lents.
%• 15.
103
‘U'els.
P N E U M
by the same wheel, as in fig. 20. and putting valves in
the pistons in the same manner as in the piston of a
common pump. I his evidently doubled the expedition
ot the pump s operation ; but it also greatly diminished
the labour of pumping: for it must be observed, that the
piston H must be drawn up against the pressure of the
external air, and when the rarefaction is nearly perfect
tins requires a force of nearly ly pounds for every inch
of the area of the piston. Now when one piston H is
at the bottom of the barrel, the other K is at the top
of the barrel, and the air below Iv is equally rare with
that in the receiver. 1 herefore the pressure of the ex¬
ternal air on the piston K is nearly equal to that on
the piston H. Both, therefore, are acting in opposite
directions on the wheel which gave them motion ; and
the force necessary for raising H is only the difference
between the elasticity of the air in the barrel H and
that of the air in the barrel K. This is very small in
the beginning of the stroke, hut gradually increases as
the piston Iv descends, and becomes equal to the whole
excess of the air’s pressure above the elasticity of the
remaining air of the receiver when the air at K of the
natural density begins to open the piston valves. An ac¬
curate attention to the circumstances will show us that
the force requisite for working the pump is greatest at
first, and gradually diminishes as the rarefaction advan¬
ces j and when this is nearly complete, hardly any more
force is required than what is necessary for overcoming
the friction of the pistons, except during the discharge
of the air at the end of each stroke.
This is therefore the form of the air-pump which is
most generally used all over Europe. Some traces of
national prepossession remain. In Germany, air-pumps
are frequently made after the original model of Gue¬
ricke’s (Wolff Cvclomathesis) 5 and the French gene¬
rally use the pump made by Papin, though extremely
arvkward. We shall give a description of Boyle’s air-
pump as finally improved by Hawkesbee, which, with
some small accommodations to particular views, still re¬
mains the most approved form.
Here follows the description from Desaguliers.
It consists of two brass barrels a a, a a (fig. 19.), 12
inches high and 2 wide. The pistons are raised and
depressed by turning the winch b b. This is fastened to
an axis passing through a strong toothed wheel, which
lays hold of the teeth of the racks c c c c. Then the
one is raised while the other is depressed ; by which
means the valves, which are made of limber bladder,
fixed in the upper part of each piston, as well as in the
openings into the bottom of the barrels, perform their
office of discharging the air from the barrels, and ad¬
mitting into them the air from the receiver to be after¬
wards discharged ; and when the receiver comes to be
pretty well exhausted of its air, the pressure of the at¬
mosphere in the descending piston is nearly so great,
that the power required to raise the other is little more
than is necessary for overcoming the friction of the pis¬
ton, which renders this pump preferable to all others,
which require more force to work them as the rarefac¬
tion of the air in the receiver advances.
The barrels are set in a brass dish about two inches
deep, filled with water or oil to prevent the insinuation
of air. riie barrels are screwed tight down by the nuts
ee, e e, which force the frontispiece /’/’down on them,
through which the two pillars g g, gg pass.
Vol. XVI. Part II.
A T I C S. 631
Irom between the barrels rises a slender brass pipe Air-pump.
hh, communicating with each by a perforation in the
t PQ nevnvor* ~  I * . J.1  . 1 MM
transverse piece of brass on which they stand. The up- 1 °4 _
per end of this pipe communicates with another perfor- f.rass
ated piece of brass, which screws on underneath the plate
11 n, of ten inches diameter, and surrounded with a brass
rim to prevent the shedding of water used in some expe¬
riments. This piece of brass has three branches: 1st,
An horizontal one communicating with the conduit pipe
h h. 2d, An upright one screwed into the middle of the
pump-plate, and terminating in a small pipe k, rising
about an inch above it. 3d, A perpendicular one, look¬
ing downwards in the continuation of the pipe k, and
having a hollow screw in its end receiving the brass cap
of the gage pipe IIIl, which is of glass, 34 inches long,
and immersed in a glass cistern m m filled with mer¬
cury. This is covered a-top with a cork float, carrying
the weight of a light wooden scale divided into inches,
which are numbered from the surface of the mercury in
the cistern. This scale will therefore rise and fall with
the mercury in the cistern, and indicate the true eleva¬
tion of that in the tube. I0-
T-here is a stopcock immediately above the insertion St0PC0Ck-
of the gage-pipe, by which its communication may be
cut off. There is another at n, by which a communica¬
tion is opened with the external air, for allowing its re-
admission j and there is sometimes another immediately'
w‘thin the insertion of the conduct-pipe for cutting off
the communication between the receiver and the pump.
I his is particularly useful when the rarefaction is to be
continued long, as there are by these means fewer
chances of the insinuation of air by the many joints. I0(j
The receivers are made tight by simply setting them Receivers,
on the pump-plate with a piece of wet or oiled leather
between j and the receivers which are open a-top, have
a brass cover set on them in the same manner. In these
covers there are various perforations and contrivances
for various purposes. The one in the figure has a slip
wire passing through a collar of oiled leather, having a
hook or a screw in its lower end for hanging any thing
on or producing a variety of motions. 107
Sometimes the receivers are set on another plate, Contri-
which has a pipe screwed into its middle, furnished’vance.for
with a stopcock and a screw, which fits the middle pipe[h™°Vins
k. When the rarefaction has been made in it, the cock
is shut, and then the whole maybe unscrewed from the
pump, and removed to any convenient place. This is
called a transporter plate.
It only remains to explain the gage////. In the Principle
ordinary state of the air its elasticity balances the pres-upon which
sure of the incumbent atmosphere. We find this fromthe Sage is
the force that is necessary to squeeze it into less bulk constluct"
in opposition to this elasticity. Therefore the elastici-Cd‘
ty of the air increases with the vicinity ot its particles.
It is therefore reasonable to expect, that when we al¬
low it to occupy more room, and its particles are far¬
ther asunder, its elasticity will be diminished though
not annihilated 5 that is, it will no longer balance the
whole pressure of the atmosphere, though it may still
balance part of it. If therefore an upright pipe have its
lower end immersed in a vessel of mercury, and commu¬
nicate by its upper end with a vessel containing rare¬
fied, therefore less elastic, air, we should expect that the
pressure of the air will prevail, and force the mercury
into the tube, and cause it to rise to such a height that
t 4 & the
682
PNEUMATICS.
IC9
f-o as to in
ilicate the
degree of
Air-pump. ^1C weight of the mercury, joinerl to the elasticity of the
' v——1 rarefied air acting on its upper surface, shall be exactly
equ al to the whole pressure ot the atmosphere. J he
height of the mercury is the exact measure ot that part
of the whole pressure which is not balanced by the ela¬
sticity of the rarefied air, and its deficiency from the
height of the mercury in the Toricellian tube is the ex¬
act measure of the remaining elasticity.
It is evident therefore, that the pipe will be a scale of
the elasticity of the remaining air, and will indicate in
rarefaction.some so,,t tlie tlegree of rarefaction : lor there must be
some analogy between the density ot the air and its
elasticity ; and we have no reason to imagine that they
do not increase and diminish together, although we may
be ignorant of the law, that is, of the change of elastici¬
ty corresponding to a known change ot density. This
is to he discovered by experiment j and the air-pump
itself furnishes us with the best experiments for this pur¬
pose. After rarefying till the mercury in the gage has
attained half the height of that in the Toricellian tube,
shut the communication with the barrels and gage, and
admit the water into the receiver. It will go in till
all is again in equilibrio with the pressure of the atmo¬
sphere •, that is, till the air in the receiver has collap¬
sed into its natural bulk. This we can accurately mea¬
sure, and compare with the whole capicity of the re¬
ceiver 5 and thus obtain the precise degree of rarefaction
corresponding to half the natural elasticity. A\e can
do the same thing with the elasticity reduced to one-
I10 third, one-fourth, &c. and thus discover the whole law.
Jnconveni- The gage must be considered as one of the most m-
encesofLhis^en;oaglanci convenient parts of Hawkesbee’s pump j
and it is well disposed, being in a situation protected
against accidents : hut it necessarily increases greatly
the size of the machine, and cannot be applied to the
table-pump, represented in fig. 20. When it is wanted
here, a small plate is added behind, or between the bar¬
rels and receiver ■ and on tins is set a small tubulated (as
it is termed) receiver, covering a common weather-glass
tube.—Tins receiver being rarefied along with the other,
the pressure on the mercury in the cistern arising from
the elasticity of the remaining air is diminished so as
to be no longer able to support the mercury at its full
height ; and it therefore descends till the height at
which it stands puts it in equilibrio with the elasticity.
In this form, therefore, the height of the mercury is di¬
rect! v a measure of the remaining elasticity j while in
the other it measures the remaining unbalanced pressure
nf the atmosphere. But this gage is extremely cumber¬
some, and liable to accidents. We are seldom much
interested in the rarefaction till it is great: a contracted
form of this gage is therefore very useful, and was early
used. A syphon ABCD (fig. 21.) each branch of
which is about four inches long, close at A and open at
D, is filled with boiling mercury till it occupies the
branch A B and a very small part of CD, having its sur¬
face at O. 'I'llis is fixed to a small stand, and fixed into
the receiver, along with the things that are to he exhi¬
bited in the rarefied air. When the air has been rare¬
fied till its remaining elasticity is not able to support
the column BA, the mercury descends in AB, and rises
in CD, and the remaining elasticity will always be mea¬
sured by the elevation of the mercury in AB above
that in the leg CD. Could the exhaustion be periected,
the surfaces in both kgs would be on a level. Another
g<<^
Fijr. 20.
nr
remedied.
Fiji-. 2i.
gage might he put into the same foot, having a small Air pump,
bubble ot air at A. Ibis would move from the begin- "v- -
ning of the rarefaction ; but our ignorance ot the ana¬
logy between the density and elasticity hinders us from
using it as a measure of either.
It is enough for our present purpose to observe, that
the barometer or syphon gage is a perfect indication
and measure of the performance of an air pump, and
that a pump is (cceteris paribus) so much the more per¬
fect, as it is able to raise the mercury higher in the gage. ^ C(Jaip]etj
It is in this way that we discover that none can F'° exhaustion
duce a complete exhaustion, and that their operation not effected]
is only a very great rarefaction j for none can raise the by the air.
mercury to that height at which it stands in theToricel- 1,U111P-
lian tube, well purged of air. lew pumps will bring it
within one-tenth of an inch. Hawkesbee’s, fitted up
according to his instructions, will seldom bring it with¬
in one-fitth. Pumps with cocks, when constructed ac¬
cording to the principles mentioned when speaking of
the exhausting syringe, and new and in fine order, will
in favourable circumstances bring it within one-fortieth.
None with valves fitted up with wet leather, or when
water or volatile fluids are allowed access into any part,
will bring it nearer than one-fifth. Nay, a pump of the
best kind, and in the finest order, will l ave its rarefying
power reduced to the lowest standard, as measured by
this gage, if we put into the receiver a tenth part of a
square inch of white sheep skin, fresh from the shops, or
of any substance equally damp. rIhis is a discovery
made by means of the improved air-pump, and leads to
very extensive and important consequences in general
physics j some of which will he treated of under this ar¬
ticle : and the observation is made thus early, that our
readers may better understand the improvements which
have been made on this celebrated machine. 113
It would require a volume to describe all the changes Various
which have been made on it. An instrument of such^Pr”v®‘
multifarious use, and in the hands of curious men, each t(lis ma.
diving into the secrets of nature in his favourite line, chinc.
must have received many alterations and real improve¬
ments in many particular respects. But these are beside
our present purpose j which is to consider it merely as
a machine for I'aretying elastic or expansive fluids. We
must therefore confine ourselves to this view of it ; and
shall carefully state to our readers every improvement
founded on principle, and on pneumatical laws. 1x4
All who used it perceived the limit set to the rarefac- by at-^
tion by the resistance of the valves, and tried to perfect ^ p|j!rfeft
the construction of the cocks. rI he Abbe Nollet and t]je con.
Gravesande, two of the most eminent experimental phi-structionof
losophers in Europe, were the most successful- the »ocks.
Mr G ravesande justly preferred Hooke's plan of a
Giave-
doubk puiVp, and contrived an apparatus for turning garde>s im_
the cocks by the motion ot the pump’s handle, f ins provenient.
is far from either being simple or easy in working and
occasions great jerks and concussions in the whole ma¬
chine. This, however, is not necessarily connected
with the truly pneumatical improvement. His piston
has no valve, and the rod is connected with it by a
.stirrup D (fig. 22-), as in a common pump. The rod.Fig n-,
has a cylindric part cp, which passes through the stir¬
rup, and has a stiff motion in it up and down ot about
half an inch-, being stopped by the shoulder c above
and the nut below. " The round plate supported by this
stirrup bus a short square tube n d, which fits tight into :
the
Air-pump.
116
and man¬
ner of using barrel
it,
lt7
a useful
contri¬
vance.
118
119
Its incon¬
veniences,
120
remedied.
121
Highly ex¬
tolled, but
122
imited in
ts opera-
ions.
P N £ U M A T
the hole of a piece of cork F. The round plate E has
a square shank g, which goes into the square tube n d.
A piece of thin leather^ soaked in oil, is put between
the cork and a plate E, and another between the cork
and the plate which forms the sole of the stirrup. All
these pieces are screwed together bv the nail e, whose flat
bead covers the hole n. Suppose, therefore, the piston
touching the bottom of the barrel, and the winch turn¬
ing to raise it again, the friction of the piston on the
keeps it in its place, and the rod is drawn up
through the stirrup D. Thus the wheel has liberty to
turn about an inch •, and this is sufficient for turning the
cock, so as to cut off’ the communication with the ex¬
ternal air, and to open the communication with the re¬
ceiver. This being done, and the motion of the winch
continued, the piston is raised to the top of the barrel.
When the winch is turned in the opposite direction, the
piston remains fixed till the cock is turned, so as to shut
the communication with the receiver, and open that
with the external air.
This is a pretty contrivance, and does not at first ap¬
pear necessary ; because the cocks might he made to turn
at the beginning and end of the stroke without it. But
this is just possible; and the smallest error of adjustment,
or wearing of the apparatus, will cause them to be open
at improper times. Besides, the cocks are not turned
in an instant, and are improperly open during some very
small time j but this contrivance completely obviates
this difficulty.
The cock is precisely similar to that formerly describ¬
ed, having one perforation diametrically through it, and
another entering at right angles to this, and after reach¬
ing the centre, it passes along the axis of the cock, and
comes out to the open air.
It is evideirt, that by this construction of the cock,
the ingenious improvement of Dr Hooke, by which the
pressure of the atmosphere on one piston is made to ba¬
lance (in great part) the pressure on the other, is given
up: for, whenever the communication with the air is
opened, it rushes in, and immediately balances the pres¬
sure on the upper side of the piston in this barrel j so
that the whole pressure in the other must be overcome
by the person working the pump. Gravesande, aware
of this, put a valve on the orifice of the cock ; that is,
tied a slip of wet bladder or oiled leather across it, and
now the piston is pressed down, as long as the air in the
barrel is rarer than the outward air, in the same manner
as when the valve is in the piston itself.
This is all that is necessary to he described in Mr
Gravesande’s air-pump. Its performance is highly ex¬
tolled by him, as far exceeding his former pumps with
valves. The same preference was given to it by his
successor Muschenbroek. But, while they both prepar¬
ed the pistons and valves and leathers of the pump,
by steeping them in oil, and then in a mixture of water
and spirits of wine, we are certain that no just estimate
could he made of its performance. For with this prepa-
ra’ion it could not bring the gage within one-fifth of an
inch of the barometer. We even see other limits to its
rarefaction : from its construction, it is plain that a very
considerable space is left between the piston and cock,
not less than an inch, from which the air is never ex¬
pelled } and if this be made extremely small, it is plain
that the pump must be worked very slow, otherwise
there will not be time for the air to diffuse itself from
I c s.
68
the receiver into the barrel, especially towards the end, Air-pump.
when the expelling force, viz. the elasticity of the re- v 1
niaining air, is very small. There is also the same !i- 123
mit to the rarefaction, as in Hooke’s or Hawkesbee’s*" °!1" lt"
pump, opposed by the valve L, which will not open till rjor to
the air below the piston is considerably denser than theflawkes-
external air: and this pump soon lost any advantages bee’s,
it possessed when fresh from the workman’s hands, by
the cock’s growing loose and admitting air. It is sur¬
prising that Gravesande omitted Hawkesbee’s security
against this, by placing the barrels in a dish filled with
oil ; which would effectually have prevented this incon¬
venience. 124
We must not admit a seemingly paradoxical obser-^^vaIltagc
vation of Gravesande, that in a pump constructed with
valves, and worked with a determined uniform velocity,
the required degree of rarefaction is sooner produced by
short barrels than by long ones. It would require too
much time to give a general demonstration of this, hut
it will easily be seen by an example. Suppose the long
barrel to have equal capacity with the receiver, then at
the end of the first stroke the air in the receiver will
have one-half its natural density. Now, let the short
barrels have half this capacity : at the end of the first
stroke the density of the air in the receiver is two-thirds,
and at the end of the second stroke it is four-ninths,
which is less than one-half, and the two strokes of the
short barrel are supposed to be made in the same time
with one of longest, &c. 125
Hawkeshee’s pump maintained its pre-eminence with- Smeatoa
out rival in Britain, and generally too on the continent,
except in France, where every thing took the to?i of thepump
Academy, which abhorred being indebted to foreigners
for any thing in science, till about the year 1750, when
it engaged the attention of Mr John Smeaton, a person
of uncommon knowledge, and second to none hut Dr
Hooke in sagacity and mechanical resource. He was
then a maker of philosophical instruments, and made
many attempts to perfect the pumps with cocks, but
found, that whatever perfection he could bring them to,
he could not enable them to preserve it; and he never
would sell one of this construction. He therefore at¬
tached himself solely to the valve pumps. 126
The first thing was to diminish the resistance to the ^ enhir-
entry of the air from the receiver into the barrels : this^"^
he rendered almost nothing, by enlarging the surface on
which this feebly elastic air was to press. Instead of
making these valves to open by its pressure on a circle
of one-twentieth of an inch in diameter, he made the
valve-hole one inch in diameter, enlarging the surface
400 times } and, to prevent this piece of thin leather
from being burst by the great pressure on it, when the
piston in its descent was approaching the bottom of the
barrel, he supported it by a delicate hut strong grating,
dividing the valve-hole like the section of a honey-comb,
as represented in fig. 25. ; and the ribs of this grating .
are seen edgewise in fig. 23. at a b c.
The valve was a piece of thin membrane or oiled I2y
silk, gently strained over the mouth of the valve-hole, changing
and tied on by a fine silk thread wound round it in the t^le &truc-
same manner that the narrow slips had been tied on
formerly. This done, ho cut with a pointed knife the ’
leather round the edge, nearly four quadrantal arcs,
leaving a small tongue between each, as in fig. 25. The Fig. 25.
strained valve immediately shrinks inwards, as repre-
4 R 2 sented
684
PNEUMATICS.
Ait-pump,
128
increasing
the expel¬
ling force.
129
Structure
of his pi¬
ston for
this pur¬
pose.
Fig. 23.
ed by the shaded parts ; and the strain by which it is
kept down is now greatly diminished, taking place only
at the corners. The gratings being reduced nearly to
an edge (but not quite, lest they should cut), there is
very little pressure to produce adhesion by the clammy
oil. Thus it appears, that a very small elasticity of the
air in the receiver will he sufficient to raise the valve ;
and Mr Smeaton found, that when it was not able to
do this at first, when only about of the natural elas¬
ticity, it would do it after keeping the piston up eight
or ten seconds, the air having been all the while under¬
mining the valve, and gradually detaching it from the
grating.
Unfortunately he could not follow this method with
the piston valve. There was not room round the rod
for such an expanded valve ; and it would have obliged
him to have a great space below the valve, from which
he could not expel the air by the descent of the piston.
His ingenuity hit on a way of increasing the expelling
force through the common valve: he inclosed the rod of
the piston in a collar of leather /, through which it
moved freely without allowing any air to get past its
sides. For greater security, the collar of leather was
contained in a box terminating in a cup filled with oil.
As this makes a material change in the principle of con¬
struction of the air-pump (and indeed of pneumatic en¬
gines in general), and as it has been adopted in all the
subsequent attempts to improve them, it merits a parti¬
cular consideration.
The piston itself consists of two pieces of brass fasten¬
ed by screws from below. The uppermost, which is of
one solid piece with the rod GH (fig. 23.) is of a dia¬
meter somewhat less than the barrel } so that when they
are screwed together, a piece of leather soaked in a
mixture of boiled oil and tallow, is put between them j
and when the piston is thrust into the barrel from above,
the leather comes up around the side of the piston, and
fills the barrel, making the piston perfectly air-tight.
The lower half of the piston projects upwards into the
upper, which has a hollow gb cd to receive it. There
is a small hole through the lower half at a to admit the
air ; and a hole c d in the upper half to let it through,
and there is a slip of oiled silk strained across the hole a
by way of valve, and there is room enough left otbc for
this valve to rise a little when pressed from below. The
rod GH passes through the piece of brass which forms
the top of the barrel so as to move freely, but without
any sensible shake : this top is formed into a hollow box,
consisting of two pieces ECDF and CNOD, which
screw together at C D. This box is filled with i-ings of
oiled leather exactly fitted to its diameter, each having
a hole in it for the rod to pass through. When the
piece ECDF is screwed down, it compresses the lea¬
thers $ squeezing them to the rod, so that no air can
pass between them ; and, to secure us against all ingress
of air, the upper part is formed into a cup EF, which
is kept filled with oil.
The top of the barrel is also pierced with a hole LK,
which rises above the fiat surface N O, and has a slip of
oiled silk tied over it to act as a valve •, opening when
pressed from below, but shutting when pressed from
above.
The communication between the barrel and receiver
is made by means of the pipe ABP Q j and there goes
from the hole K in the top of the barrel a pipe K RST,
which either communicates with the open air or with Air-pump,
the receiver, by means of the cock at its extremity T.--v—J'
The conduit pipe AB PQ has also a cock at Q, by which
it is made to communicate either with the receiver or
with the open air. These channels of communication
are variously conducted and terminated, according to
the views of the maker : the sketch in this figure is suf¬
ficient for explaining the principle, and is suited to the
general form of the pump, as it has been frequently
made by Nairne and other artists in London. r,o
Let us now suppose the piston at the top of the barrel, gUpei.j0I^tl
and that it applies to it all over, and that the air in the of this con-
barrel is very much rarefied : in the common pump thestructlon>
piston valve is pressed hard down by the atmosphere, and
continues shut till the piston gets far down, condenses
the air below it beyond its natural state, and enables it
to force up the valves. But here, as soon as the piston
quits the top of the barrel, it leaves a void behind it j
for no air gets in round the piston rod, and the valve at
K is shut by the pressui'e of the atmosphere. There is
nothing now to oppose the elasticity of the air below
but the stiffness of the valve be ; and thus the expelling
(or more accurately the liberating) force is prodigiously
increased.
The superiority of this construction will be best seen shown by
by an example. Suppose the stillness of the valve equali,n exam-
to the weight of T~th of an inch of mercury, when tlie^e‘
barometer stands at 30 inches, and that the pump-gage
stands at 29.9 j then, in an ordinary pump, the valve in
the piston will not rise till the piston has got within the
300th part of the bottom of the barrel, and it will leave
the valve-hole filled with air of the ordinary density.
But in this pump the valve will rise as soon as the piston
quits the top of the barrel \ and when it is quite down,
the valve hole a will contain only the 300th part of the
air which it would have contained in a pump of the or¬
dinary form. Suppose farther, that the barrel is of
equal capacity with the receiver, and that both pumps
are so badly constructed, that the space left below the
piston is the 300th part of the barrel. In the common
pump the piston valve will rise no more, and the ra¬
refaction can be carried no farther, however delicate
the barrel valve may be j but in this pump the next
stroke will raise the gage to 29.95. and the piston valve
will again rise as soon as the pi.-ton gets half way down
the barrel.
The limit to the rarefaction by this pump depends
chiefly on the space contained in the hole LK, and in
the space bed of the piston. When the piston is brought
up to the top, and applied close to it, those spaces re¬
main filled with air of the ordinary density, which will
expand as the piston descends, and thus will retard the
opening of the piston valve. The rarefaction will stop
when the elasticity of this small quantity of air, expand¬
ed so as to fill the whole barrel (by the descent ot the
piston to the bottom), is just equal to the force requisite
for opening the piston valve. Tj2
Another advantage attending this construction is, it is easily
that in drawing up the piston, we are not resisted by worked,
the whole pressure of the air ; because the air is rarefied
above this piston as well as below it, and the piston is in
precisely the same state of pressure as if connected with
another piston in a double pump. The resistance to
the ascent of the piston is the excess of the elasticity of
the air above it over the elasticity of the air below:
this.
4ir pump.
Plate
CCCCXXVI
fig 26.
133
Descrip-
jon of
jmeaton’s
jump.
P N E U M
this, toward the end of the rarefaction, is very small,
1 while the piston is near the bottom of the barrel, but
gradually increases as the piston rises, and reduces the
air above it into smaller dimensions, and becomes equal
to the pressure of the atmosphere, when the air above
the piston is of the common density. If we should raise
the piston still farther, we must condense the air above
it: but Mr Smeaton has here made an issue for the air
by a small hole in the top of the barrel, covered with a
delicate valve. This allows the air to escape, and shuts
again as soon as the piston begins to descend, leaving
almost a perfect void behind it as before.
This pump has another advantage. It may be chan¬
ged in a moment from a rarefying to a condensing en¬
gine, by simply turning the cocks at Q and T. \Vbile
T communicates with the open air and Q with the re¬
ceiver, it is a rarefying engine or air-pump : but when
T communicates with the receiver, and Q with the open
• air, it is a condensing engine.
Fig. 26. represents Mr Smeaton’s air-pump as it is
usually made by Nairne. Upon a solid base or table
are set up three pillars F, H, H: the pillar F supports
the pump-plate A j and the pillars H, FI, support the
front or head, containing a brass cog-wheel, which is
turned by the handle B, and works in the rack C fas¬
tened to the upper end of the piston rod. The whole
is still farther steadied by two pieces of brass c b and 0
k, which connect the pump-plate with the front, and
have perforations communicating between the hole a in
the middle of the plate and the barrel, as will be de¬
scribed immediately. DE is the barrel of the pump, firm¬
ly fixed to the table by screws through its upper flanch :
e fdc is a slender brass tube screwed to the bottom of
the barrel, and to the under hole of the horizontal ca¬
nal c b. In this canal there is a cock which opens a
communication between the barrel and the receiver,
when the key is in the position represented here : but
when the key is at right angles with this position, this
communication is cut off. If that side of the key which
is here drawn next to the pump-plate be turned outward,
the external air is admitted into the receiver *, hut if
turned inwards, the air is admitted into the barrel.
g ^ Is another slender brass pipe, leading from the dis¬
charging valve at g to the horizontal canal h k, to the
under side of which it is screwed fast. In this horizon¬
tal canal there is a cock n which opens a passage from
the barrel to the receiver when the key is in the position
here drawn ; but opens a passage from the barrel to the
external air when the key is turned outwards, and from
the receiver to the external air when the key is turned
inwards. This communication with the external air is
not immediate but through a sort of box t; the use of
this box is to receive the oil which is discharged through
the top valve g. In order to keep the pump tight, and
in working order, it is proper sometimes to pour a table¬
spoonful of olive oil into the hole a of the pump-plate,
and then to work the pump. The oil goes along the
conduit bcdfe, gets into the barrel and through the
piston-valve, when the piston is pressed to the bottom of
the barrel, and is then drawn up, and forced through
the discharging valve g along the pipe g h, the horizon¬
tal passage h n, and finally into the box i. This box
has a small hole in its side near the top, through which
the air escapes.
From the upper side of the canal c b there arises a
A T I C S.
68 v
Air-pump.
*34
slender pipe which bends outward and then turns down¬
wards, and is joined to a small box, which cannot be
seen in this view. From the bottom of this box pro¬
ceeds downwards the gage-pipe of glass, which enters
the cistern of mercury G fixed below.
On the upper side of the other canal at 0 is seen a
small stud, having a short pipe of glass projecting hori¬
zontally from it, close by and parallel to the front piece
of the pump, and reaching to the other canal. This
pipe is close at the farther end, and has a small drop of
mercury or oil in it at the end 0. This serves as a gage
in condensing, indicating the degree of condensation by
tbe place of the drop : For this drop is forced along the
pipe, condensing the air before it in the same degree
that it is condensed in the barrel and receiver.
In constructing this pump, Mr Smeaton introduced !VIet.llocl ot
a method of joining together the different pipes and other^”1^"^^®'
pieces, which has great advantages over the usual man-dffi'e^ent^
ner of screwing them together with leather between, and pipes, &c.
which is now much used in hydraulic and pneumatic
engines. We shall explain this to our readers by a de¬
scription of the manner in which the exhausting gage
is joined to the horizontal duct cb.
The piece h ip, in fig. 23. is the same with the little FiS‘ 23*
cylinder observable on the upper side of the horizontal
canal c c/, in fig. 26. The upper part /if is formed in- tig-
to an outside screw, to fit the hollow screw of the piece
dee d. The top of this last piece has a hole in its mid¬
dle, giving an easy passage to the bent tube c ba,so as
to slip along it with freedom. To the end c of this
bent tube is soldered a piece of brass c fg, perforated in
continuation of the tube, and having its end ground flat
on the top of the piece h ip, and also covered with a
slip of thin leather strained across it and pierced with a
hole in the middle.
It is plain from this form, that if the surface fg be
applied to the top of Jit, and the cover deed he screw¬
ed down on it, it will draw or press them together, so
that no air can escape by the joint, and this without
turning the whole tube c b a round, as is necessary in
the usual way. This method is now adopted for join¬
ing together the conducting pipes of the machines for
extinguishing fires, an operation which was extremely
troublesome before this improvement.
The conduit pipe E efc (fig. 26.) is fastened to theFlS- 2(r«
bottom of the barrel, and the discharging pipe g Ji to its
top, in the same manner. But to return to the gage j
the bent pipe c ba enters the box s t near one side, and
obliquely, and the gage pipe qr is inserted through its
bottom towards the opposite side. The use of this box
is to catch any drops of mercury which may sometimes
be dashed up through the gage pipe by an accidental
oscillation. This, by going through the passages of the
pump, would corrode them, and would act particularly
on the joints, which are generally soldered with tin.
When this happens to an air-pump, it must be cleaned
with the most scrupulous attention, otherwise it will be
quickly destroyed.
This account of Smeaton’s pump is sufficient for ena-Great
bling the reader to understand its operation and to seepowers of
its superiority. It is reckoned a very fine pump of the ^
ordinary construction which will rarefy 200 times, or ° ''
raise the gage to 29,85, the barometer standing at 30.
But Mr Smeaton found, that his pump, even after long
using, raised it to 29-95, which we consider as equiva¬
lent
685
PNEUMATICS.
i-6
Another
of Smea-
ton’s
■ FiV. 27.
Air pump, lent (o rarefying 60O times. When in fine order, he
v—1 found no hounds to its rarefaction, frequently raising the
gage as high as the barometer j and he thought its per¬
formance so perfect, that the barometer-gage was not
sufficiently delicate for measuring tbe rarefaction. He
therefore substituted the syphon gage already described,
which he gives some reasons for preferring 5 but even
this he found not sufficiently sensible.
He contrived another, which could he carried to
contrivance any degree of sensibility. It consists of a glass body
u.^ (fjg. 27.), of a pear shape, and was therefore called
the pear-gage. This had a small projecting orifice at
B, and at the other end a tube CD, whose capacity was
the hundredth part of the capacity of the whole vessel.
This was suspended at the slip-wire of the receiver, and
there was set below it a small cup with mercury. W hen
the pump was worked, the air in the pear-gage was
rarefied along with the rest. When the rarefaction was
brought to the degree intended, the gage was let down
till B reached the bottom of the mercury. The exter¬
nal air being now let in, the mercury was raised into
the pear, and stood at some height E in the tube CD.
The length of this tube being divided into iod parts,
DE .
and those numbered from D, it is evident that will
express the degree of rarefaction which had been pro¬
duced when the gage was immersed into the mercury :
or if DC be TJcrof the whole capacity, and be divided
into 100 parts by a scale annexed to it, each unit of
the scale will he t^oo °f tl16 whole.
This was a very ingenious contrivance, and has been
the means of making some very curious and important
discoveries which at present engage the attention of phi¬
losophers. By this gage Mr Smeaton found, that his
pump frequently rarefied a thousand, ten thousand, nay
an hundred thousand times. But though he in every
instance saw the great superiority of his pump above all
others, he frequently found irregularities which he
could not explain, and a want of correspondence be¬
tween the pear and the barometer gages which puzzled
him. The pear-gage frequently indicated a prodigious
rarefaction, when the barometer-gage would not show
more than 600.
These unaccountable phenomena excited the curiosity
of philosophers, who bv this time were making continual
lion of the use 0f the air-pump in their meteorological researches,
literary an<j muci1 Interested in every thing connected with the
state or constitution of elastic fluids. Mr Nairne, a
most ingenious and accurate maker of philosophical in¬
struments, made many curious experiments in the exa¬
mination and comparison of Mr Smeaton’s pump with
those of the usual construction, attending to every cir¬
cumstance which could contribute to the inferiority of
the common pumps or to their improvement, so as to
bring them nearer to this rival machine. This rigorous
comparison brought into view several circumstances in
the constitution of the atmospheric air, and its relation
to other bodies, which are of the most extensive and
important influence in the operations of nature. We
shall notice at present such only as have a relation to
'139 the operation of the air-pump in extracting air from
Experi the receiver.
ments wit ]Sjajrne found, that when a little water, or even
Nairne11 hit of paper damped with water, was exposed under
*37
very inge-
s aious.
*38
It excited
• the atten
the receiver of Mr Smeaton’s air-pump, when in the Air-pump.
most perfect condition, raising the mercury in the haro-  v—
meter-gage to 29.95, he could not make it rise above
29.8 if* Fahrenheit’s thermometer indicated the tempe¬
rature 470, nor above 29 7 if the thermometer stood at
5 50; and that to bring the gage to this height and keep
it there, the operation of the pump must be continued
for a long time after the water had disappeared or the
paper become perfectly dry. He found that a drop of*
spirits, or paper moistened with spirits, could not in
those circumstances allow the mercury in the gage to
rise to near that height; and that similar effects follow¬
ed from admitting any volatile body whatever into the
receiver or any part of the apparatus. j^0
This showed him at once how improper the direc-show the
tions were which had been given by Guericke, Boyle, impropne-
Gravesande, and others, for fitting up the air-pump for^"1^^
experiment, by soaking the leather in water, covering ^ ^ '
the joints with water, or in short, admitting water orwatcr)
anv other volatile body near it.
He therefore took his pumps to pieces, cleared them an(j t|ie
of all the moisture which he could drive from them by utility of
heat, and then leathered them anew with leather soaked using olive
in a mixture of olive oil and tallow, from which he had®^and lat"
expelled all the water it usually contains, by boiling it‘
till the first frothing was over. When the pumps were
fitted op in this manner, he uniformly found that Mr
Smeaton’s pump rarefied the gage to 29.95, and the
best common pump to 29 87, the first of whom he com¬
puted to indicate a rarefaction to 600, and the other to
230. But in this state he again found that a piece of
damp paper, leather, wood, &c. in the receiver, reduced
the performance in the same manner as before. ^
But the most remarkable phenomena was, that when a remark-
lie made use of the pear-gage with the pump cleared able phfno-
from all moisture, it indicated the same degree of rare-menou
faction with the barometer gage: but when he exposed
a bit of paper moistened with spirits, and thus reduced
the rarefaction of the pump to what he called 50, the
barometer gage standing at 29.4. the pear-gage indicat¬
ed a rarefaction exceeding ioo,oco; in short, it was
not measurable ; and this phenomenon was almost con¬
stant. Whenever he exposed any substance susceptible
of evaporation, he found the rarefaction indicated by
the barometer-gage greatly reduced, while that indi¬
cated by the pear-gage was prodigiously increased; and
both these effects were more remarkable as the subject
was of easier evaporation, or the temperament of the
air of the chamber was warmer.
This uniform result suggested the true cause. Water acCounted
boils at the temperature 2t 2, that is, it is then converted lor.
into a vapour which is permanently elastic while of that
temperature, and its ela->tieity balances the pressure of
the atmosphere. If this pressure be diminished by rare¬
fying the air above it, a low temperature will not allow
it to be converted into elastic vapour, and keep it in
that state. Water will boil in the receiver of an air-
pump at the temperature 96, or even under it. Phi¬
losophers did not think of examining the state of the va¬
pour in temperatures lower than what produced ebulli¬
tion. But it now appears, that in much lower heats
than this the superficial water is converted into elastic
vapour, which continues to exhale from it us long as
the water lasts, and, supplying the place of air in the
receiver.
5
P N E U M
Air-pump.
14.5
and
>oui- not
I'ormiy
ted to-
her.
receiver, exerts the same elasticity, anti hinders the mer¬
cury from rising in the gage in the same manner as so
much air of equal elasticity would have done.
W hen Mr Nairne was exhibiting these experiments
to the Honourable Henry Cavendish in 1776, this gen¬
tleman informed him that it appeared from a series of
experiments of his father Lord Charles Cavendish, that
when water is of the temperature 72°, it is converted
into vapour, under any pressure less than three-fourths
of an inch of mercury, and at 410 it becomes vapour
when the pressure is less than one-fourth of an inch :
Even mercury evaporates in this manner when all pres¬
sure is removed. A dewy appearance is frequently ob¬
served covering the inside of the tube of a barometer,
where we usually suppose a vacuum. This dew, when
viewed through a microscope, appears to be a set of de¬
tached globules of mercury, and upon inclining the tube
so that the mercury may ascend along it, these globules
will be all licked up, and the tube become clear. The
dew which lined it was the vapour of the mercury con¬
densed by the side ot the tube ; and it is never observed
but when one side is exposed to a stream of cold air from
a window, &c.
To return to the vapour in the air-pump receiver, it
must be observed, that a- long as the water continues to
yield it, we may continue to uvork. the pump j and it
will he continually abstracted by the barrels, and dis¬
charged in the form of water, because it collapses as
soon as exposed to the external pressure. All this while
the gage will not indicate any more rarefaction, because
the thing immediately indicated by the barometer-gage
is diminished elasticity, which does not happen here.
When all the water which the temperature of the room
can keep elastic has evaporated under a certain pressure,
suppose 4- an inch of mercury, the gage standing at
29.5, the vapour which now fills the receiver expands,
and by its diminished elasticity the gage rises, and now
some more water which had been attached to bodies by
chemical or corpuscular attraction is detached, and a
new supply continues to support the gage at a greater
height ; and this goes on continually till almost all has
been abstracted : but there will remain some which no
art can take away; for as it passes through the barrels,
and gets between the piston and the top, it successively
collapses into water during the ascent of the piston, and
again expands into vapour when we push the piston down
again. Whenever this happens there is an end of the
rarefaction.
While this operation is going on, the air comes out
along with the vapour ; but we cannot say in what pro¬
portion. If it were always uniformly mixed with the
vapour, it would diminish rapidly j but this does not
appear to be the case. There is a certain period of
rarefaction in which a transient cloudiness is perceived
in the receiver. This is watery vapour formed at that
degree of rarefaction, mingled with, but not dissolved in
or united with, the air, otherwise it would be transpa¬
rent. A similar cloud will appear if damp air be ad¬
mitted suddenly into an exhausted receiver. The va¬
pour, which formed an uniform transparent mass with
the air, is either suddenly expanded and thus detached
from tht; other ingredient, or is suddenly let go by the
air, which expands more than it does. We cannot af¬
firm with probability which of these is the case : diffe¬
rent compositions of air, that is, air loaded with vapours
A T I C S. 687
from different substances, exhibit remarkable differences Air pump.
in this respect. But we see from this and other pheno- 1 y  
menu, which shall he mentioned in their proper places,
that the air and vapour are not always intimately united j
and therefore will not always be drawn cut together by
the air-pump. But let them be ever so confusedly blen¬
ded, we see that the air must come out along with the
vapour, and its quantity remaining iu the receiver must
be prodigiously diminished by this association, probably
much more than could he, had the receiver only con¬
tained pure air.
Ijct us now consider what must happen 111 the pear-Consequcn-
gage. As the air and vapour are continually drawn 0ffc:es of th|s
from the receiver, the air in the pear expands and goes^10111111
oil with it. We shall suppose that the generated va-and baro-
pour hinders the gage from rising beyond 29.5. Hu-meter
ring the continued working of the pump, the air ingaSes- ■
the pear, whose elasticity is 0.5, slowly mixes with
the vapour at the mouth of the pear, and the mix¬
ture even advances into its inside, so that if the
pumping be long enough continued, what is in the
pear is nearly of the same composition with what is
in the receiver, consisting perhaps of 20 parts of vapour
and one part of air, all of the elasticity of 0.5. .
When the pear is plunged into the mercury, and the
external air allowed to get into the receiver, the mercu¬
ry rises in the pear-gage, and leaves not — but ^—
i 60 60X20
or   of it filled with common air, the vapour ha-
1200 1
ving collapsed into an invisible atom of water. Thus
the pear-gage will indicate a rarefaction of 1200, while
the barometer-gage only showed 60, that is, showed
the elasticity of the included substance diminished 60
times. The conclusion to he drawn from these two
measures (the one of the rarefaction of air, and the
other of the diminution of elasticity) is, that the matter
with which the receiver was filled, immediately before
the readmission of the air, consisted of one part of in--
condensible air, and ——— , or 20 parts of watery vapour.
The only obscure part of this account is what relates Difficulty
to the composition of the matter which filled the pear-jn account---
gage before the admission of the mercury. It is not easy Jn* r°r
to see how the vapour of the receiver comes in by a nar-
row mouth whilethe airis comingout by the same passage, sequences.
Accordingly it requires a very long time to produce this
extreme rarefaction in the pear-gage } and there are
great irregularities in any two succeeding experiments,
as may be seen by looking at Mr Nairne’s account of
them in the Philosophical Transactions, vol. Ixvii. Some
vapours appear to have mixed much more readily with
the air than others'; and there are some unaccountable
cases where vitriolic acid and sulphureous bodies were
included, in which the diminution of density indicated
by the pear-gage was uniformly less than the diminution
of elasticity indicated by the barometer-gage. It is
enough for us at present to have established, by un¬
questionable facts, this production of elastic vapour, and
the necessity of attending to it, both in the construe-- I4s
tion ot the air-pump and in drawing results from expe-The stipe- -
riments exhibited in it. riority of
Mr Smeaton’s pump, when in good order, and per-tias ptunip
feet'y free from all moisture, will in dry weather rarefynew^m-'™
air about 600 times, raising the barometer-gage to with-provementfs
688
PNEUMATICS.
Air-pump.
149
Improve¬
ments in
this pump
attempted.
‘5°
151 ,
by Russel
Fig. 28.
in ,/0 of an incli of a fine barometer. This was a per¬
formance so much superior to that of all others, and by
means of Mr Nairne’s experiments opened so new a field
of observation, that the air-pump once more became a
capital instrument among the experimental philosophers.
The causes of its superiority were also so distinct, that
artists were immediately excited to a farther improve¬
ment of the machine 5 so that this becomes a new epoch
in its history.
There is one imperfection which Mr Smeaton has not
attempted to remove. The discharging valve is still
opened against the pressure of the atmosphere. An au¬
thor of the Swedish academy adds a subsidiary pump to
this valve, which exhausts the air from above it, and
thus puts it in the situation of the piston valve. We do
not find that this improvement has been adopted so as
to become general. Indeed the quantity of air which
remains in the passage to this valve is so exceedingly
little, that it does not seem to merit attention. Suppo¬
sing the valve hole of an inch wide and as deep (and
it need not be more), it will not occupy more than
part of a barrel twelve inches long and two inches
wide. .
Mr Smeaton, by his ingenious construction, has great¬
ly diminished, but has not annihilated, the obstructions
to the passage of the air from the receiver into the bar¬
rel. His success encouraged farther attempts. One of
the first and most ingenious was that of Professor Russel
of the university of Edinburgh, who about the year
1770 constructed a pump in which both cocks and
valves were avoided. >
The piston is solid, as represented in fig. 28. and its
rod passes through a collar of leather on the top ot the
barrel. This collar is divided into three portions by
two brass rings a, b, which leave a very small space round
the piston rod. The upper ring a communicates by
means of a lateral perforation with the bent tube lm n,
which enters the barrel at its middle n. The lower ring
b communicates with the bent tube c cl, which commu¬
nicates with the horizontal passage f/c, going to the
middle e of the pump-plate. By the way, however, it
communicates also with a barometer gage 7? 0, standing
in a cistern of mercury 0, and covered with a glass tube
close at the top. Beyond c, on the opposite circumfer-
ence of the receiver plate, there is a cock or phig / com-
municating with the atmosphere.
The piston rod is closely embraced by the three col¬
lars of leather; but, as already said, has a free space
round it in the two brass rings. To produce this pres¬
sure of the leathers to the rod, the brass rings which se¬
parate them are turned thinner on the inner side, so that
their cross section along a diameter would he a taper
wedge. In the side of the piston rod are two cavities
nr, ts, about one-tenth of an inch wide and deep, and
of a length equal to the thickness of the two rings a, b,
and the intermediate collar of leathers. These cavities
are so placed on the piston-rod, that when the piston
is applied to the bottom of the barrel, the cavity ts in
the upper end of the rod has its upper end opposite to
the ring a, and its lower end opposite to the ring b, or
to the mouth of the pipe cch Therefore, it there be a
void in the barrel, the air from the receiver will come
from the pipe c cl, into the cavity in the piston rod, and
by it will get past the collar of leather between the rings,
and thus will get into the small interstice between the
4
rod and the upper ring, and then into the pipe / m n, and Air-ptmrp,
into the empty barrel. When the piston is drawn up, v—-,
the solid rod immediately shuts up this passage, and the
piston drives the air through the discharging valve k.
When it has reached the top of the barrel, and is closely
applied to it, the cavity <7 r is in the situation in which
t s formerly was, and the communication is again opened
between the receiver and the empty barrel, and the air
is again diffused between them. Pushing down the pi¬
ston expels the air by the lower discharging pipe and
valve h i\ and thus the operation may be continued.
This must he acknowledged to be a most simple and
ingenious construction, and can neither be called a cock
nor a valve. It seems to oppose no obstruction what¬
ever : and it has the superior advantage of rarefying
both during the ascent and the descent of the piston,
doubling the expedition of the performance, and the
operator is not opposed by the pressure of the atmo¬
sphere except towards the end of each stroke. 1 he ex¬
pedition, however, is not so great as one should expect;
for nothing is going on while the piston is in motion,
and the operator must stop a while at the end of each
stroke, that the air may have time to come through this
long, narrow, and crooked passage, to fill the barrel.
But the chief difficulty which occurred in the execu¬
tion arose from the clammy oil with which it was ne¬
cessary to impregnate the collar of leathers. T hese were
always in a state of strong compression, that they might
closely grasp the piston rod, and prevent all passage of
air during the motion of the piston. W henever there¬
fore the cavities in the piston rod come into the situations
necessary for connecting the receiver and barrel, this oil
is squeezed into them, and chokes them up. Hence it
always happened that it was some time after the stroke
before the air could force its way round the piston rod,
carrying with it the clammy oil which choked up the
tube / m n ; and when the rarefaction had proceeded a
certain length, the diminished elasticity of the air was
not able to make its way through these obstructions.
The death of the ingenious author put a stop to the
improvements by which he hoped to remedy this defect,
and we have not heard that any other person has since
attempted it. We have inserted it here, because its
principle of construction is not only very ingenious, hut
entirely different from all others, and may furnish very
useful hints to those who are much engaged in the con¬
struction of pneumatic engines. > 152
In the 73d volume of the Philosophical Transactions, jjy Haas
Mr Tiberius Cavallo has given the description of an and Hur-
air-pump contrived and executed by Messrs Haas andter-
Harter, instrument-makers in London, where these ar¬
tists have revived Guericke’s method of opening the bar¬
rel valve during the last strokes of the pump by a force
acting from without. Wre shall insert so much of this
description as relates to this distinguishing circumstance
of its construction.
Fig. 29. represents a section of the bottom of the bar-Fig. zp-
rel, where AA is the barrel and BB the bottom, which
has in its middle a hollow cylinder CCI'T, projecting
about half an inch into the barrel at CC, and extending
a good way downwards to F F. 1 he space between this
projection and the sides of the barrel is filled up by a
brass ring DD, over the top of which is strained a piece
of oiled silk EE, which performs the office of a valve,
covering the hole CC. But this hole is filled up by a
piece
IP N E U M
Air-pump, piece of brass, or rather an assemblage of pieces screwed
together, GGHHU. It consists of three projecting fil¬
lets or shoulders GG, HH, II, which form two hollows
between them, and which are filled with rings of oiled
leather 00, PP, firmly screwed together. The extreme
iillets GG, II, are of equal diameter with the inside of
the cylinder, so as to fill it exactly, and the whole stuffed
with oiled leather, slide up and down without allow¬
ing any air to pass. The middle fillet HH is not so
broad, but thicker. In the upper fillet GG there is
formed a shallow dish about ^ of an inch deep and
wide. I his dish is covered with a thin plate, pierced
with a grating like Mr Smeaton’s valve-plate. There
is a perforation VX along the axis of this piece, which
has a passage out at one side H, through the middle fil¬
let. Opposite to this passage, and in the side of the cy¬
linder CCI I, is a hole M, communicating with the
conduit pipe MN, which leads to the receiver. Into the
lower end of the perforation is screwed the pin KL, whose
tail L passes through the cap FF. The tail L is connect¬
ed with a lever RQ, moveable round the joint Q. This
lever is pushed upwards by a spring, and thus the whole
piece which we have been describing is kept in contact
with the slip of oiled silk or valve EE. This is the
usual situation of things.
*53 Xow suppose a void formed in the barrel by drawing
up the piston; the elasticity of the air in the receiver, in
the pipe NM, and in the passage XV, will press on the
great surface of the valve exposed through the grating,
will raise it, and the pump will perform precisely as Mr
Smeaton’s does. But suppose the rarefaction to have
been so long continued, that the air is no longer able to
raise the valve ; this will be seen by the mercury rising
no more in the pump-gage. When this is perceived, the
operator must press with his foot on the end R of the le¬
ver RQ. This draws down the pin KL, and with it the
whole hollow plug with its grated top. And thus, in¬
stead of raising the valve from its plate, the plate is here
drawn down from the valve. The air now gets in with¬
out any obstruction whatever, and the rarefaction pro¬
ceeds as long as the piston rises. When it is at the top of
the barrel, the operator takes his foot from the lever, and
the spring presses up the plug again and shuts the valve.
The piston rod passes through a collar of leather, as in
Mr Smeaton’s pump, and the air is finally discharged
thiough an outward valve in the top of the barrel.
Ihese parts have nothing peculiar in them.
Ibis is an ingenious contrivance, similar to what was
adapted by Guericke himself ; and we have no doubt of
these pumps performing extremely well if carefully made:
and it seems not difficult to keep the plug perfectly air¬
tight by supplying plenty of oil to the leathers. ' We
cannot say, however, with precision what may be ex¬
pected from it, as no account has been given of its ef¬
fects besides what Mr Cavallo published in Philosophical
Transactions 1783, where he only says, that when it had
been long used, it had, in the course of some experiments,
i54 rarefied 600 times.
Vance, Aiming still at the removing the obstructions to the
entry of the air from the receiver into the barrels, Mr
Punce, an American, has constructed a pump in which
there is no valve or cock whatever between them. In
this pump the piston rod passes through a collar of lea¬
thers, and the air is finally discharged through a valve,
as in the two last. But w’e are chiefly to attend, in this
Vol. XVI. Part II. ' +
A T I C S. 689
place, to the communication between the barrel and the Air-pump.
receiver. The barrel widens below into a sort of cistern ^ 1
ABCD (fig. 30.), communicating with the receiver by Fig-. 30.
the pipe EF. As soon, therefore, as the piston gets into
this wider part, wdiere there is a vacancy all round it, the
air of the receiver expands freely through the passage
FEE into the barrel, in which the descent of the piston
had made a void. When the piston is again drawn up,
as soon as it gets into the cylindric part of the barrel,
which it exactly fills, it carries up the air before it, and
expels it by the top valve; and, that this may be done
more completely, this valve opens into a second barrel
or air-pump whose piston is rising at the same time, and
therefore the valve of communication (ivliich is the dis¬
charging valve of the primary pump) opens with the
same facility as Mr Smeaton’s piston valve. While the
piston is rising, the air in the receiver expands into the
barrel; and when the piston descends, the air in the
barrel again collapses till the piston gets again into the
cistern, when the air passes out, and tills the evacuated
barrel, to he expelled by the piston as before.
No distinct account has as yet been given of the per¬
formance of this pump. We only learn that great in-
conveniencies were experienced from the oscillations of
the mercury in the gage. As soon as the piston comes
into the cistern, the air from the receiver immediately
rushes into the barrel, and the mercury shoots up in
the gage, and gets into a state of oscillation. The sub¬
sequent rise of the piston will frequently keep time with
the second oscillation, and increase it. The descent of
the piston produces a downward oscillation, by allow¬
ing the air below it to collapse ; and, by improperly
timing the strokes, this oscillation becomes so great as
to make the mercury enter the pump. To prevent this,
and a greater irregularity of working as a condenser,
valves were put in the piston : but as these require force
to open them, the addition seemed rather to increase
the evil, by rendering the oscillations more simultaneous
with the ordinary rate of working. If this could be got
over, the construction seems very promising.
It appears, however, of very difficult execution. It has
many long, slender, and crooked passages, which must be
drilled through broad plates of brass, some- of them ap¬
pearing scarcely practicable. It is rare to find plates
and other pieces of brass without air-holes, which it
would be very difficult to find out and to close; and it
must be very difficult to clear it of obstructions ; so that
it appears rather a suggestion of theory than a thing
warranted by its actual performance. ^
Mr Lavoisier, or some of the naturalists who were by Lavoi-
occupied in concert with him in the investigation of the Sler‘
different species of gas which are disengaged from bo¬
dies in the course of chemical operations, has contrived
an air-pump which has great appearance of simplicity,
and, being very difi’erent from all others, deserves to be
taken notice of.
It consists of two barrels /, m, fig. 31. with solid pi- Fig. 31.
stons A- k. The pump-plate or ^ is pierced at its centre c
with a hole which branches towards each of the barrels,
as represented by c cl, c e. Between the plate and the
barrel slides another plate h pierced in the middle with
a branched hole f dg, and near the ends with two holes
h h, it, which go from its under side to the ends. The
holes in these two plates are so adjusted, that when the
plate h 1 is drawn so far towards h that the hole i comes
4 S within
690
PNEUMATICS.
Air-pump, within the barrel the branch df of the hole in the
imiddle plate coincides with the branch cd of the upper
plate, and the holes e,g are shut. Thus a communication
is established between the barrel / and the receiver on
the pump-plate, and between the barrel m and the ex¬
ternal air. Xn this situation the barrel l will exhaust,
and m will discharge. When the piston of l is at its
mouth, and that of m touches its bottom, the sliding
plate is shifted over to the other side, so that m commu¬
nicates with the receiver through the passage g d, c c>
and l communicates with the air by the passages h h.
It is evident that this sliding plate performs the office
of four cocks in a very beautiful and simple manner, and
that if the pistons apply close to the ends ol the barrels,
so as to expel the whole air, the pump will be perfect.
It works, indeed, against the whole pressure of the ex¬
ternal air. But this may be avoided by putting valves
on the holes h, i; and these can do no harm, because
the air remaining in them never gets back into the bar¬
rel till the piston be at the farther end, and the ex¬
haustion of that stroke completed. But the best work¬
men of London think that it will be incomparably more
difficult to execute this cock (for it is acock ol an un¬
usual torm), in such a manner that it shah be an-tight
and yet move with tolerable ease, and that it is much
more liable to wearing loose than common cocks. No
accurate accounts have been received ol its performance.
It must be acknowledged to be ingenious, and it may
suggest to an intelligent artist a method ot combining
common conical cocks upon one axis so as to answer the
same purposes much more effectually 5 lor which reason
we have inserted it here.
The last improvement which we shall mention is that
published by Mr Cuthbertson, philosophical instrument-
maker in Amsterdam, now of London. His pump has gi¬
ven such evidences ol its perfection, that we can hardly
expect or wish for any thing more complete. But we must
be allowed to observe, beforehand, that the same con¬
struction was invented, and, in part, executed before the
end of 1779, by Dr Daniel Rutherford, now professor
of botany in the university of Edinburgh, who was at
that time engaged in experiments on the production ot
air during the combustion of bodies in contact with
nitre, and who was vastly desirous ol procuring a more
complete abstraction of pure aerial matter than could be
effected by Mr Smeaton’s pump. The compiler of this
article had then an opportunity ot perusing the Doctor’s
dissertation on this subject, which was read in the Phi¬
losophical Society of Edinburgh. In this dissertation
the Doctor appears lully apprised of the existence ol puic
vital air in the nitrous acid, as its chief ingredient, and
as the cause of its most remai’kable phenomena, and to
want but a step to the discoveries which have ennobled
the name of Mr Lavoisier. He was particularly anxious
to obtain apart tins distinguishing ingredient in its com¬
position, and, for this purpose, to abstract completely
from the vessel in which he subjected it to examination
every particle of elastic matter. 1 he writer el this ar¬
ticle proposed to him to cover the bottom ot Mr Smea¬
ton’s piston with some clammy matter, which should
15s
and by
Cuthbert-
son.
take hold of the bottom valve, and start it when the pi- Air-pump,
ston was drawn up. A lew days after, the Doctor ——v—j
showed him a drawing of a pump, having a conical me¬
tal valve in the bottom, furnished with a long slender
wire, sliding in the inside ol the piston-rod with a gentle
friction, sufficient for lilting the valve, and secured
against all chance of failure by a spring a-top, which
took hold of a notch in the inside of the piston-rod about
a quarter of an inch from the lower end, so as certainly
to lift the valve during the last quarter of an inch ot the
piston’s motion. Being an excellent mechanic, he had
executed a valve on this principle, and was fully satis¬
fied with its performance. But having already confirm¬
ed his doctrines respecting the nitrous acid by incontro¬
vertible experiments, his wishes to improve the air-pump
lost their incitement, and he thought no more of it j and
not long after this, the ardour of the philosophers of the
Teylerian Society at Haerlem and Amsterdam excited
the efforts of Mr Cuthbertson, their instrument-maker,
to the same purpose, and produced the most perfect air-
pump that has yet appeared. We shall give a descrip¬
tion of it, and an account of its performance, in the in¬
ventor’s own words.
Cutubertson's Air-pump.
On Plate CCCCXXVII. fig. 32. is a perspective view Fig. 32.
of this pump, with its two principal gages screwed into
their places. These need not be used together, except
in cases where the utmost exactness is required. In com¬
mon experiments one of them is removed, and a stop-
screw put in its place. When the pear-gage is used, a
small round plate, on which the receiver may stand,
must be first screwed into the hole at A ; but this hole
is stopped on other occasions with a screw. W hen all
the three gages are used, and the receiver is exhausted,
the stop-screw B, at the bottom of the pump, must be
unscrewed, to admit the air into the receiver j but when
they are not all used, either of the other stop-screws
will answer this purpose.
Fig. 33. represents a cross-bar for preventing the bar- 33-
rels from being shaken by working the pump or by any
accident. Its place in fig. 32. is represented by the dot¬
ted lines. It is confined in its place, and kept close
down on the barrels, by two slips of wood NN, which
must be drawn out, as well as the screws 00, when the
pump is to he taken asunder.
Plate CCCCXXVHI. exhibits a section of all the
working parts ol the pump, except the wheel and lack,
in which there is nothing uncommon.
Fig. 34. is a section of one of the barrels, with all its
internal parts-, and figs. 35. 36. 37. and 38. are differ¬
ent parts of the piston, proportioned to the size ol the
barrel (a) and to one another.
In fig. 34. CD represents the barrel, F the cedar ot ^
leathers, G a hollow cylindrical vessel to contain oil, R
is also an oil-vessel to receive the oil which is drawn,
along with the air, through the hole aa, when the pi¬
ston is drawn upwards } and, when this is lull, the oil is
carried over with the air, along the tube T, into the
oil-vessel G. cc is a wire which is driven upwards Irom
the
(a) The piston and barrel are 1.65 inches in diameter, in proportion to which the scale is drawn. I.gures 35.
36. 37. and 38. are, however, of double size.
PNEUMATICS.
Air-pump, the hole a a hy the passage of the air j and as soon as
1 this has escaped, it tails down again hy its own weight,
shuts up the hole, and prevents ail return of the air into
the barrel. At d d are fixed two pieces of brass, to
keep the wire c c in a vertical direction, that it may ac¬
curately shut the hole. H is a cylindrical wire or rod
which carries the piston I, and is made hollow to receive
a long wire gg-, which opens and shuts the hole L ;
and on the other end of the wire O is screwed a nut,
which, hy stopping in the narrowest part of the hole,
prevents the wire from being driven up too far. This
wire and screw are more clearly seen in fig. 35. and 39. j
they slide in a collar of leather r r, lig. 35. and 38. in
the middle piece of the piston. Fig. 37. and 38. are the
two mean parts which compose the piston, and, when
the pieces 36. and 39. are added to it, the whole is re¬
presented hy fig. 35. Fig. 38. is a piece of brass of a
conical form, with a shoulder at the bottom. A long
hollow screw is cut in it, about two-thirds of its length,
and the remainder of the hole, in which there is no
screw, is of about the same diameter with the screwed
part, except a thin plate at the end, which is of a width
exactly equal to the thickness of £•£•. That part of the
inside of the conical brass in which no thread is cut, is
filled with oiled leathers with holes through which g g
can slide stiifiy. There is also a male screw with a hole
in it, fitted to g g, serving to compress the leathers r r.
In fig. 37. a a a a is the outside of the piston, the inside
of which is turned so as exactly to fit the outside of
fig. 38. b b are round leathers about 60 in number,
c c is a circular piece of brass of the size of the leathers,
and c? d is a screw serving to compress them. The screw
at the end of fig. 36. is made to fit the screw in fig. 38.
Now if fig. 39. be pushed into fig. 38. this into fig. 37.
and fig. 36. be. screwed into the end of fig. 38. these will
compose the whole of the piston, as represented in
fig. 34. H in fig. 34. represents the same part as H in
fig. 33. and is that to which the rack is fixed. If,
therefore, this be drawn upwards, it will cause fig. 38.
to shut close into fig. 37. and drive out the air above it j
and when it is pushed downward, it will open as far as
the shoulder a a will permit, and sufl’er air to pass
g. 40. through. AA, fig. 40. is the receiver plate, BB is a
long square piece of brass, screwed into the under side
of the plate, through which a hole is drilled correspond¬
ing to that in the centre of the receiver-plates and with
three female screws b, b, c.
The rarefaction of the air in the receiver is affected
as follows. Suppose the piston at the bottom of the
barrel. The inside of the barrel, from the top of the pi-
34. ston to a, fig. 34. contains common air. When the rod is
drawn up, the upper part of the piston sticks fast in the
barrel till the conical part connected with the rod shuts
the conical hole, and its shoulder applies close to its bot¬
tom. The piston is now shut, and therefore the tv/iole
is drawn up by the rack-work, driving the air before it
through the hole a c, into the oil vessel at R, and out
into the room by the tube T. Thp piston will then be
at the top of the barrel ate, and the wire gg will stand
nearly as represented in the figure just raised from the
hole L, and prevented from rising higher by the nut O.
During this motion the air will expand in the receiver,
and come along the bent tube m into the barrel. Thus
the barrel will be filled with air, which, as the piston
rises, will be rarefied in proportion as the capacity of
the receiver pipes, and barrel, is (0 the barrel alone.
hen the piston is moved down again by the rack-work,
it will force the conical part fig. 38. out of the hollow
part fig. 37. as far as the shoulders a a; fig. 35. will
lest on a a fig. 37. which will then be so far open as
to permit the air to pass freely through it, while at the
same time the end ofgg is forced against the top of the
hole, and shuts it in order to prevent any air from re¬
turning into the receiver. Thus the piston, moving
downwards, suffers the air to pass out between the sides
fif?* 37* and 38.; and, when it is at the bottom of the
barrel, will have the column of air above it 5 and, con¬
sequently, when drawn upwards it will shut, and drive
out this air, and, by opening the hole L at the same
time, will give a free passage to more air from the re¬
ceiver. This process being continued, the air of the re¬
ceiver will be rarefied as for as its expansive power
will permit. For in this machine there are no valves
to be forced open by the elasticity of the air in the re¬
ceiver, which at last it is unable to effect. There is
therefore nothing to prevent the air from expanding to
its utmost degree.
It may be suspected here, that as the air must escape
through the discharging passage a c, fig. 34. against
the pressure of a column of oil and the weight of tiie
wire, there will remain in this passage a quantity of
air of considerable density, which will expand again,
into the barrel during the descent of the piston, and
thus put a stop to the progress of rarefaction. This is
the case in Mr Smcaton’s pump, and all which have
valves in the piston. But it is the peculiar excellency
of this pump, that whatever be the density of the air
remaining in ac, the rarefaction will still go on. It is
worth while to be perfectly convinced of this. Let us
suppose that the air contained in cc is ^Igth part of the
common air which would fill the barrel, and that the
capacity of the barrel is equal to that of the receiver
and passages, and that the air in the receiver and bar¬
rel is of the same density, the piston being at the bot¬
tom of the barrel Bhe barrel will therefore contain
parts of its natural quantity, and the receiver
t4§o‘ Now let the piston be drawn up. No air will
be discharged at a c, because it will contain the whole
air which was in the barrel, and which has now col¬
lapsed into its ordinary bulk. But this does not in the
least hinder the air of the receiver .from expanding into
the barrel, and diffusing itself equally between both.
Each will now contain of their ordinary quantity
when the piston is at the top, and a c will contain
as before, or Now push down the piston. The
hole L is instantly shut, and the air in a c expands in¬
to the barrel, and the barrel now contains t^|o* When
the piston has reached the bottom, let it be again drawn
up. There will be discharged through c, and
the air in the receiver will again be equally distributed
between it and the barrel. Therefore the receiver will
now contain When the piston reaches the bot-
I 2—
tom, there will be — in the barrel. When atrain
1000 °
drawn up to the top, there will be -—L- discharged.
1000 ° *
* j *
and the receiver will contain —. and when the piston
1000 r
4 S 2 reache
691
Air pump.
692
PNEUMATICS.
Air-pump.^ reaciies tiic bottom, there will be
I It
At the
1000
difference between the height of the mercury in this and Air-pump,
in the other barometer tube may he observed to the' 1
»
lift*
next stroke the receiver will contain only &c*
Tl__ of an inch ; and being close together, no error
&c.
Tig 41-
Thus it appears, that notwithstanding the which
always expands back again out of the hole a c into the
barrel, the rarity of the air in the receiver will be
doubled at every stroke. There is therefore no need
of a subsidiary air-pump at c, as in the American air-
pump, and in the Swedish attempt to improve Smea-
ton’s.
In using; this air-pump no particular directions are ne¬
cessary, nor is any peculiar care necessary for keeping
it in order, except that the oil-vessel A be always kept
about half full of oil. When the pump has stood long
without being used, it will be proper to draw a table¬
spoonful of olive-oil through it, by pouring it into the
hole in the middle of the receiver-plate when the pi¬
ston is at the bottom of the barrel. Then by working
the piston, the oil will be drawn through all the parts of
the pump, and the surplus will be driven through the
tube T into the oil-vessel G. Near the top of the pi¬
ston-rod at H there is a hole which lets some oil into
the inside of the rod, which gets at the collar of leathers
r r, and keeps the wire g g air-tight.
When the pump is used for condensation at the same
time that it rarefies, or separately, the piece containing
the bent tube T must be removed, and fig. 41. put into
its place, and fixed by its screws. Fig. 41. as drawn in
the plate, is intended for a double-barrelled pump. But
for a single barrel only one piece is used, represented by
baa, the double piece being cut off at the dotted line
a a. In this piece is a female screw to receive the end
of along brass tube, to which a bladder (if sufficient for
the experiment of condensation), or a glass, properly se¬
cured for this purpose, must be screwed. Then the air
which is abstracted from the receiver on the pump-plate
will be forced into the bladder or glass. But if the
pump be double, the apparatus fig. 41. is used, and the
long brass tube screwed on at c.
F»g- 4*. pig. 42. and 43. represent the two gages, which will
43' be sufficiently explained afterwards. Fig. 42. is screwed
into c b, or into the screw at the other end of c, fig. 40.
and fig. 43. into the screw a b, fig. 40.
If it be used as a single pump, either to rarefy or
condense, the screw K, "which fastens the rack to the
piston-rod H, must be taken out. Then tin ning the
winch till H is depressed as low as possible, the machine
will be fitted to exhaust as a single pump; and if it be
required to condense, the direction in N° 8. must be
observed with regard to the tubeT, and fig. 41.
“ I took (says Mr Cuthbertson) two barometer-tubes
of an equal bore with that fixed to the pump. These
were filled with mercury four times boiled. They were
then compared, and stood exactly at the same height.
The mercury in one of them was boiled in it four times
more, without making any change in their height; they
were therefore judged very perfect. One of these was
immersed in the cistern of the pump-gage, and fastened
in a position parallel to it, and a sliding scale of one inch
was attached to it. This scale, when the gage is used,
piust have its upper edge set equal with the surface of
the mercury in the boiled tube after exhaustion, and the
arises from their not being exactly vertical, if they are
only parallel. This gage will be better understood by
inspecting fig. 43- . . . T , n n 1 m
“ I used a second gage, which I shall call a double
syphon. See fig. 42. This was also prepared ivith the
utmost care. I had a scale for measuring the difference
between the height of the columns in the two legs. It
was an inch long, and divided as the former, and kept
in a truly vertical position by suspending it from a point
with a weight hung to it, as represented in the figure.
Upon comparing these two gages, I always found them
to indicate the same degree of rarefaction. I also used
a pear-gage, though the most imperfect of all, .in order
to repeat the curious experiments of Mr Nairne and
others.” ,
When experiments require the utmost rarefying
power of the pump, the receiver must not be placed
on leather, either oiled or soaked in water, as is usually
done. The pump plate and the edge of the receiver
must be ground very flat and true, and this with very
fine emery, that no roughness may remain. The plate
of the pump must then be wiped very clean and very-
dry, and the receiver rubbed with a warm cloth till it
become electrical. The receiver being now set on the
plate, hog’s lard, either alone or mixed with a little
oil, which has been cleared of water by boiling, must
be smeared round its outside edge. In this condition
the pump will rarefy its utmost, and what still remains
in the receiver will be permanent air. Oi a little of this
composition may be thinly smeared on the pump-plate j
this will prevent all risk of scratching it with the edge
of the receiver. Leather of very uniform thickness,
long dried before a fire, and well soaked in this com¬
position, which must be cleared of all water by the
first boiling, will answer very well, and is expeditious,
when receivers are to be frequently shifted. Other
leathers should be at hand soaked in a composition con¬
taining a little rosin. This gives it a clamminess which
renders it impermeable to air, and is very proper.at all
joints of the pump, and all apparatus for pneumatic ex¬
periments. As it is impossible to render the pear-gage
as dry as other parts of the apparatus, there will be
generally some variation between this and the other
gages.
When it is only intended to show the utmost power
of the pump, without intending to ascertain the qua¬
lity of the residuum, the receiver may be set on wet
leather. If, in this condition, the air be rarefied as far
as possible, the syphon and barometer gage will indi¬
cate a less degree ol rarefaction than in the former ex¬
periments. But when the air is let in again, the pear-
„.age will point out a rarefaction some thousands of
times greater than it did before. If the true quality
of permanent air after exhaustion be required, the pear-
will be nearest the truth: for when the air is
gage
rarefied to a certain degree, the moistened leather emits
an expansible fluid, which, filling the receiver, forces
out the permanent air 5 and the two first gages indicate
a degree of exhaustion which relates to the whole ela¬
stic matter remaining in the receiver, viz. to the ex¬
pansible fluid together with the permanent air •, whereas
the pear-emgc points out the degree of exhaustion, with
r o q * relation
P N E U M
Air pump, relation to the permanent air alone, which remains in
the receiver; for by the pressure of the air admitted in¬
to the receiver, the elastic vapour is reduced to its for¬
mer bulk, which is imperceptible.
Many bodies emit this elastic fluid when the pressure
of the air is much diminished ; a piece of leather, in its
ordinary damp state, about an inch square, or a bit of
green or dry wood, will supply this for a great while.
When such fluids have been generated in any expe¬
riments, the pump must be carefully cleared of them,
for they remain not only in the receiver, but in the
barrels and passages, and will again expand when the
exhaustion has been carried far.
The best method of clearing the pump is to take a
very large receiver, and, using every precaution to ex¬
haust it as far as possible. Then the expansible matter
lurking in the barrels and passes will be diffused through
the receiver also, or will be carried off along with its
air. It will be as much rarer than it was before, as
the aggregate capacity of the receiver barrels and passes
is larger than that of the two last.
The performance of the pump may be judged of from
the four following experiments.
The two gages being screwed into their places, and
the hole in the receiver-plate shut up, the pump was
made to exhaust as far as it could. The mercury in
the legs of the syphon was only of an inch out of
the level, and that in the boiled barometer-tube ^ of
an inch higher than in the one screwed to the pump.
A standard barometer then stood at 30 inches, and
therefore the pump rarefied the permanent air 1200
times. This is twice as much as Mr Nairne found
Mr Smeaton’s do in its best state. Mr Cavallo seems
disposed to give a favourable (while we must suppose
it a just) account of Haas and Hurter’s pump, and
it appears never to have exceeded 600 times. Mr
Cuthbertson has often found the mercury within
tff an inch of the level in the syphon-gage, indicating a
rarefaction of 3000.
To the end of a glass tube, 2 inches diameter and
30 inches long, was fitted a brass cap and collar of
leather, through which a wire was inserted, reaching
about two inches within the tube. This was connected
with the conductor of an electric machine. The other
end was ground flat and set on the pump plate. When
the gages indicated a rarefaction of 3000, the light be¬
came steady and uniform, of a pale colour, though a
little tinged with purple j at 600 the light was of a
pale dusky white j when 1200 it disappeared in the
middle of the tube, and the tube conducted so well
that the prime conductor only gave sparks so faint and
short as to be scarcely perceptible. After taking oft'
the tube, and making it as dry as possible, it was again
Connected with the conductor, which was giving sparks
two inches long. When the air in it was rarefied ten
times, the sparks were of the same length. Sometimes
a pencil of light darted along the tube. When the
rarefaction was 20, the spark did not exceed an inch,
and light streamed the whole length of the tube. When
the rarefaction was 30, the sparks were half an inch,
and the light rushed along the tube in great streams.
When the rarefaction was 100, the sparks were about 4
long, and the light filled the tube in an uninterrupted
body. When 300, the appearances were as before.
When 600, the sparks were and the light was of
A T I C S.
693
a faint white colour in the middle, hut tinged with Air-pump,
purple towards the ends. When 1200, the light was t—^
hardly perceptible in the middle, and was much fainter
at the ends than before, but still ruddy. When 1400,
which was the most the pump could produce, six inches
of the middle of the tube were quite dark, and the ends
free of any tinge of red, and the sparks did not exceed
-%-q of an inch.
r5S
We trust that our readers will not be displeased with The best
the preceding history of the air-pump. The occasional improve-
information which it gives will be of great use to every ™ent? °*
person much engaged in pneumatic experiments, and pUmp
help him in the contrivance and construction of the ne- been made
cessary apparatus. in Britain,
We may be indulged in one remark, that although
this noble instrument originated in Germany, all its im-r
provements were made in this kingdom. Both the me¬
chanical and pneumatical principles of Mr Boyle’s con¬
struction were extremely different from the German,
and, in respect of expedition and conveniency, much
superior. The double barrel and gage by Hawkesbee
were capital improvements, and on principle $ and Mr
Smeaton’s method of making the piston work in rarefied
air made a complete change in the whole process. 159
Aided by this machine, we can make experiments Utility of
establishing and illustrating the gravity and elasticity of1^16 a“:"
the air, in a much more perspicuous manner than could^lm^’
be done by the spontaneous phenomena of nature. 1fo
It allows us in the first place to show the materiality Experi-
of air in a very distinct manner. Bodies cannot movenients ^
about in the atmosphere without displacing it. This
requires force 5 and the resistance of the air always di¬
minishes the velocity of bodies moving in it. A heavy
body therefore has the velocity of its fall diminished j
and if the quantity of air displaced be very great, the
diminution will be very considerable. This is the rea¬
son why light bodies, such as feathers, fall very slowly.
Their moving force is very small, and can therefore
displace a great quantity of air only with a very small
velocity. But if the same body be dropped in vacuo,
when there is no air to be displaced, it falls with the pjate
whole velocity competent to its gravity. Fig. 44. ccccxxix-
represents an apparatus by which a guinea and a downy fig. 44.
feather are dropped at the same instant, by opening
the forceps which holds them by means of the slip-
wire in the top of the receiver. If this be done after
the air has been pumped out, the guinea and the fea¬
ther will be observed to reach the bottom at the same
instant. ^
Fig. 45. represents another apparatus for showing the Fig. 45,.
same thing. It consists of tw o sets of brass vanes put
in separate axles, in the manner of windmill sails. One
set has their edges placed in the direction of their
whirling motion, that is, in a plane to which the axis
is perpendicular. The planes of the other set pass
through the axis, and they are therefore trimmed so as
directly to front the air through which they move.
Two springs act upon pins projecting from the axis ;
and their strength or tensions are so adjusted, that when
they are disengaged in vacuo, the two sets continue in
motion equally long. If they are disengaged in the
air, the vanes which beat the air wdth their planes will
stop long before those which cut it edgewise.
We can now abstract the air most completely from l6x-
a
69+
PNEUMATICS.
Air-pump.
163
The efleet
of air on
the weight
of bodies
immcrsfcd
in it.
Fig. 46.
U>4
166
a dry vessel, so as to know the precise weight of the
air vvhich filled it. The first experiment we have of
this kind, done with accuracy, is that of Dr Hooke,
February 10. 1664, when he found 114 pints ot air to
weigh 945 grains. One pint ot water was ounces.
This gives for the specific gravity of air Uyo vel7
nearly. < . . . .
Since we are thus immersed in a gravitating fluid, it
follows, that every body preponderates only with the
excess of its own weight above that ot the air which it
displaces *, for every body loses by this immersion the
Yveight of the displaced air. A cubic foot loses about
521 grains in frosty Yveather. We see balloons even
rise in- the air, as a piece of cork rises in water. A
mass of Yvater Yvhich really contains 850 pounds will
load the scale of a balance Yvith 849 only, and Yvill be
balanced by pbout 849^ pounds of brass. This is e-
vinced by a very pretty experiment, represented in
fig. 46. A small beam is suspended within a receiver.
To one end of the beam is appended a thin glass or
copper ball, close in every part. This is balanced by
a small piece of lead hung on the other arm. As the
air is pumped out of the receiver, the ball will gradual¬
ly preponderate, and Yvill regain its equilibrium when
the air is re-admitted.
Some naturalists have proposed, and actually used, a
large globe of light make, suspended at a beam, for a
barometer. If its capacity be a cubic foot, ItV grains
will indicate the same change that is indicated by TV
of an inch of an ordinary barometer. But a vessel ot
this size will load a balance too much to leave it suffi¬
ciently sensible to small changes of density. Besides,
it is affected by heat and cold, and Yvould require a
very troublesome equation to correct their effects.
It may perhaps be worth while to attend to this in
buying and selling precious commodities j such as pearls,
diamonds, silk, and some drugs. As they are generally
sold by brass or leaden Yveights, the buyer will have
some advantage when the air is heavy and the barome¬
ter high. On the other hand, he Yvill have the advan¬
tage in buying gold and mercury when the air is light.
It is needless to confine this observation to precious
commodities, for the advantage is the same in all in
proportion to their levity.
There is a case in Yvhich this observation is of conse¬
quence to the philosopher : we mean the measuring of
time by pendulums. As the accelerating force on a
pendulum is not its Yvhole Yveight, but the excess of its
weight over that of the displaced air, it follows that a
pendulum Yvill vibrate more sloYvly in the air than in
•vacuo. A pendulum composed of lead, iron, and brass,
may be about 8400 times heavier than the air Yvhich
it displaces Yvhen the barometer is at 30 inches and
the thermometer at 3 2°, and the accelerating force Yvill
be diminished about ythts'S’* I his Yvill cause a second
pendulum to make about five vibrations less in a day
than it would do in vacuo. In order therefore to de¬
duce the accelerative poYver of gravity from the length
of a pendulum vibrating in the air, yvc must make an
allowance of o".i7, or TW of a second, per day for
every inch that the barometer stands loYver than 30
inches. But Yve must also note the temperature of the
air j because when the air is warm it is less dense Yvhen
supporting by its elasticity the same weight of atmo¬
sphere, and yvc must know how much its density is di- Air pump,
minished by an increase of temperature. The correc-■'v—J
tion is still more complicated j lor the change of density
affects the resistance of the air, and this affects the time
of the vibration, and this by a law that is not yet Yvell
ascertained. As far as we can determine from any ex¬
periments that have been made, it appears that the
change arising from the altered resistance takes off about
of the change produced by the altered density, and
that a second pendulum makes but three vibrations a-
tlay more in vacuo than in the open air. This is a very
unexpected result 3 hut it must be OYvned that the ex¬
periments have neither been numerous nor very nicely
made.
The air-pump also alloYvs us to shoYV the effects of the
air’s pressure in a great number of amusing and instruc¬
tive phenomena. ic-j
When the air is abstracted from the receiver, it is Esperi-
stronglv pressed to the nump-plate by the incumbent n.lcnts ,ta
atmosphere, and it supports this great pressure in con-cftects o{
sequence of its circular form. Being equally compressed the air's
on all sides, there is no place Yvhere it should giY'e way pressure,
rather than another 3 but if it be thin, and not very
round, Yvhich is sometimes the case, it Yvill be crushed
to pieces. If we take a square thin phial, and apply
an exhausting syringe to its mouth, it Yvill not fail be¬
ing crushed.
As the operation of pumping is something like suck¬
ing, many of these phenomena are in common discourse
ascribed to suction, a word much abused ; and this
abuse misleads the mind exceedingly in its contempla¬
tion of natural phenomena. Nothing is more usual than
to speak of the suction of a syringe, the suction and
draught of a chimney, &c. The following experiment
puts the true cause of the strong adhesion of the receiv¬
er beyond a doubt.
Place a small receiver or cupping-glass on the pump-
plate Yvithout covering the central hole, as represented Fig. 47.
in fig. 47. and coY er it with a larger receiver. Exhaust
the air from it 3 then admit it as suddenly as possible.
The outer receiver, which after the rarefaction adhered
strongly to the plate, is noYV loose, and the cupping-
glass Yvill be found sticking fast to it. While the rare¬
faction Yvas going on, the air in the small receiver also
expanded, escaped from it, and Yvas abstracted by the
pump. When the external air Yvas suddenly admitted,
it pressed on the small receiver, and forced it doYvn to
the plate, and thus shut up all entry. The small re¬
ceiver must noYV adhere 3 and there can be no suction,
for the pipe of the pump Yvas on the outside of the cup¬
ping-glass.
This experiment sometimes does not succeed, because
the air sometimes finds a passage under the brim of the
cupping-glass. But if the cupping-glass be pressed
doYvn by the hand on the greasy leather or plate, every
thing will be made smooth, and the glass Yvill be so little
raised by the expansion of its air during the pumping,
that it will instantly clap close Yvhen the air is re-admitted. l68
In like manner, if a thin square phial be furnished with
a valve, opening from within, but shutting when pressed
from without, and if this phial be put under a receiver,
and the air he abstracted from the receiver, the air in
the phial Yvill expand during the rarefaction, Yvill escape
through the valve, and be at last in a very rarefied state
within
Air-pump
Fig. 4>
17°
Fig.
171
- ig- S1-
P N E U M
within the phial. If the air be now admitted into the
receiver, it will press on the fiat sides of the included
phial and crash it to pieces. See fig. 48.
If a piece of wet ox-bladder be laid over the top of
a receiver whose orifice is about four inches wide, and
the air be exhausted from within it, the incumbent at¬
mosphere will press down the bladder into a hollow
form, and then burst it inward with a prodigious noise.
See fig. 49. Or if a piece of thin flat glass be laid over
the receiver, with an oiled leather between them to make
the juncture air-tight, the glass will be broken down-
wards. This must he done with caution, because the
pieces of glass sometimes fly about with great force.
If there be formed two hemispherical cups of brass,
with very flat thick brims, and one of them be fitted
with a neck and stopcock, as represented by fig. 50. the
air may be abstracted from them by screwing the neck
into the hole in the pump-plate. To prevent the insinu¬
ation of air, a ring of oiled leather maybe put between
the rims. Now unscrew the sphere from the pump, and
fix hooks to each, and suspend them from a strong nail,
and hang a scale to the lowest. It will require a con¬
siderable weight to separate them*, namely, about 15
pounds for every square inch of the great circle of the
sphere. If this be four inches diameter, it will require
near 190 pounds. This pretty experiment was first made
by Otto Guericke, and on a very great scale. His sphere
was of a large size, and when exhausted the hemispheres
could not be drawn asunder by 20 horses. It was exhi¬
bited, along with many others equally curious and mag¬
nificent, to the emperor of Germany and his court, at
the breaking up of the diet of llatisbon in 1654.
If the loaded syringe mentioned in N° 16. be sus¬
pended by its piston from the hook in the top plate of
the receiver, as in fig. 51. and the air be abstracted
by the pump, the syringe will gradually descend (be¬
cause the elasticity of the air, which formerly balan¬
ced the pressure of the atmosphere, is now diminished
by its expansion, and is therefore no longer able to
press the syringe to the piston), and it will at last drop
off’. If the air be admitted before this happens, the
syringe will immediately rise again,
Screw a short brass pipe into the neck of a transpor¬
ter, N° 107. on which is set a tall receiver, and im¬
merse it into a cistern of water. On opening the cock
the pressure of the air on the surface of the water in
the cistern will force it up through the pipe, and cause
it to spout into the receiver with a strong jet, because
there is no air within to balance by its elasticity the
pressure of the atmosphere. See fig. 52.
It is in the same way that the gage of the air-pump
performs its office. The pressure of the atmosphere
Jig- 52-
I73
iy means
I this
ressur®t5ieraises the mercury in the gage till the weight of the
ir-pump
cts.
J74
53.
mercury, together with the remaining elasticity of the
air in the receiver, are in equihbrio with the whole
pressure of the atmosphere : therefore the height and
weight of the mercury in the gage is the excess of the
weight of the atmosphere above the elasticity of the in¬
cluded air and the deficiency of this height from that
of the mercury in the Toricellian tube is the measure
of this remaining elasticity.
If a Toricellian tube be put under a tall receiver, as
shown in fig. 53. and the air be exhausted, the mercury
in the tube will descend while that in the gage will rise ;
and the sum of their heights will always be the same,
2
A T I C S. 695
that is, equal to the height in an ordinary barometer. Air pump.
The height of the mercury in the receiver is the effect
and measure of the remaining elasticity of the included
air, and the height in the pump-gage is the unbalanced
pressure of the atmosphere. This is a very instructive
experiment, perfectly similar to Mr Auzout’s, mention¬
ed in N° 34. and completely establishes and illustrates
the whole doctrine of atmospheric pressure. ty-
We get a similar illustration and confirmation (if Water rises,
such a thing be now needed) of the cause of the rise ofin pumps,
water in pumps, by screwing a syringe into the top
plate of a receiver, which syringe has a short glass-
pipe plunging into a small cup of water. See fig. 54. Fig. 54.
When the piston-rod is drawn up, the water rises in
the glass-pipe, as in any other pump, of which this is
a miniature representation. But if the air has been
previously exhausted from the receiver, there is nothing
to press on the water in the little jar j and it will not
rise in the glass pipe though the piston of the syringe
be drawn to the top. ' 176
Analogous to the rise of water in pumps is its rise and ‘in(l moves
motion in syphons. Suppose a. pipe ABCD, fig* SS" jrj Syi>^onS’
bent at right angles at B and C, and having its two ends ^ ^:'
immersed in the cisterns of water A and D. Let the
leg CD be longer than the leg BA, and let the whole
be full of water. The water is pressed upwards at A
with a force equal to the weight of the column of air E
A reaching to the top of the atmosphere ; but it is pres¬
sed downwards by the weight of the column of water B
A. The water at E is pressed downwards by the weight
of the column CD, and upwards by the weight of the
column of air FD reaching to the top of the atmosphere.
The two columns of air differ very little in their weight,
and may without any sensible error be considered as
equal. Therefore there is a superiority of pressure down¬
wards at D, and the water will flow out there. The
pressure of the air will raise the water in the leg AB,
and thus the stream will be kept up till the vessel A is
emptied as low as the orifice of the leg BA, provided
the height of AB is not greater than what the pressure
of the atmosphere can balance, that is, does not exceed
32 or 33 feet for water,-30 inches for mercury, &c.
A syphon then will always run from that vessel whose
surface is highest j the form of the pipe is indifl’erent,
because the hydrostatical pi'essures depend on the ver¬
tical height only. It must be filled with water by some
other contrivance, such as a funnel, or a pump appli¬
ed a-top j and the funnel must be stopped up, othe-r-
wise the air would get in, and the water would fall in
both legs.
If the syphon have equal legs, as in fig. 56. and be Fig. stf-
turned up at the ends, it will remain full of water, and
be ready for use. It need only be dipped into any ves¬
sel of water, and the water will then flow out at the other
end of the syphon. This is called the Wirtemberg sy¬
phon, and is represented in fig. 56. Syphons will after¬
wards be considered more minutely under the title of
Pneumatical Engines, at the end of this article.
What is called the syphon fountain, constructed on The syphon
this principle, is shown in fig* 57. where AB is a tallfolint!Jin*
receiver, standing in a wide bason DE, which is sup-^’
ported on the pedestal H by the hollow pillar EG. In
the centre of the receiver is a jet pipe C, and in the
top a ground stopper A. Near the base of the pillar
is a cock N, and in the pedestal is another cock O.
Fill
Experi¬
ments on
Air, &c.
179 „
Manner of
its con¬
struction
and opera¬
tion.
rig. 58.
Fig- 57-
696 P N E U M
Fill the bason DE with water within half an inch of
the brim. Then pour in water at the top of the recei¬
ver (the cock N being shut) till it is about hall lull, and.
then put in the stopper. A little water will run out into
the vessel DE. But before it runs over, open the cock
N, and the water will run into the cistern H ; and by
the time that the pipe C appears above water, a jet will
rise from it, and continue as long as water is supplied
from the bason DE. The passage into the base cistern
may be so tempered by the cockN that the water with¬
in the receiver shall keep at the same height, and what
runs into the base may be received from the cock O in¬
to another vessel, and returned into DE, to keep up the
stream.
This pretty philosophical toy may be constructed in
the following manner. BB, fig. 58. is the ferril or cap
into which the receiver is cemented. From its centre
descends the jet pipe C a, sloping outwards, to give room
for the discharging pipe b d of larger diameter, whose
lower extremity d fits tightly into the top ol the hollow
pillar FG.
The operation of the toy is easily understood. Sup¬
pose the distance from C to H (fig. 57.) three feet, which
is about 5tx of the height at which the atmosphere would
support a column of water. T-he water poured into AB
would descend through FG (the hole A being shut) till
the air has expanded and then it would stop. If the
pipe C a be now opened, the pressure of the air on the
surface of the water in the cistern DE will cause it to
spout through C to the height ol three feet nearly, and
the water will continue to descend through the pipe
FG. By tempering the cock N so as to allow the water
to pass through it as fast as it is supplied by the jet, the
amusement may be continued a long time. ] t will stop
at last, however 5 because as the jet is made into rare¬
fied air, a little air will be extricated from the water,
which will gradually accumulate in the receiver, and
diminish its rarefaction, which is the moving cause of
the jet. This indeed is an inconvenience felt in every
employment of syphons, so much the more remarkably
as their top is higher than the surface of the water in
the cistern of supply.
Cases of this employment of a syphon are not unfre¬
quent. When water collected at A (fig. 59 ) is to be
conducted in a pipe to C, situated in a lower part of the
country, it sometimes happens, as between Lochend and
Leith, that the intervening ground is higher than the
fountain-head as at B. A forcing pump is erected at A,
and the water forced along the pipe. Once it runs out
at C, the pump may be removed, and the water will
continue to run on the syphon principle, provided BD
do not exceed 33 feet. But the water in that part of
the conduit which is above the horizontal plane AD, is
in the same state as in a receiver of rarefied air, and
gives out some of the air which is chemically united
with it. This gradually accumulates in the elevated
part of the conduit, and at last chokes it entirely. When
this happens, the forcing pump must again be worked.
Although the elevation in the Leith conduit is only
about eight or ten feet, it will seldom run for 12 hours.
N. B. This air cannot be discharged by the usual air-
coversdr'e c°cks } for if there were an opening at B, the air would
combina- rush in, and immediately stop the motion,
tion of air This combination of air with water is very distinct-
witli water, jy geen mean3 0f the air-pump. If a small glass con-
3
180
Syphons are
often used
thus.
Fig- 59-
r8i
The air-
pump dis-
1S2
A T I C S,
taining cold water, fresh drawn from the spring, be ex- Elasticity,
posed, as in fig. 6. under the receiver, and the air rare- Stc.
fied, small bubbles will be observed to form on the inner
surface of the glass, 01 on the surface of any body im¬
mersed in it, which will increase in size, and then detach
themselves from the glass and reach the top 5 as the ra¬
refaction advances, the whole water begins to show very
minute air-bubbles rising to the top j and this appearance
will continue for a very long time, till it be completely
disengaged. Warming the water will occasion a still
farther separation ol air, and a boiling heat will separate
all that can be disengaged. The reason assigned lor
these air-bubbles first appearing on the surface of the
glass, &c. is, that air is attracted by bodies, and adheres
to their surface. This may be so. But it is more pro¬
bably owing to the attraction of the water lor the glass,
which causes it to quit the air which it held in solution,
in the same manner as we see it happen when it is mix¬
ed with spirits-of-wine, with vitriolic acid, &c. or when
salts or sugar are dissolved in it. lor if we pour out
the water which has been purged of air by boiling in
vacuo, and fill the glass with Iresh water, we shall ob¬
serve the same thing, although a film of the purified
water was left adhering to the glass. In this case there
can be no air adhering to the glass.
Wrater thus purged of air by boiling (or even with¬
out boiling) in vacuo, will again absorb air when expo¬
sed to the atmosphere. The best demonstration of this,
is to fill with this water a phial, leaving about the size
of a pea not filled. Immerse this in a vessel of water,
with the mouth undermost, by which means the air-
bubble will mount up to the bottom ol the phial. Af¬
ter some days standing in this condition, the air-bubble
will be completely absorbed, and the vessel quite failed
with water.
The air in this state of chemical solution has lost its
elasticity, for the water is not more compressible than
common water. It is also found that water brought up
from a great depth under ground contains much more
air than water at the surface. Indeed fountain waters
differ exceedingly in this respect. The water which now
comes into the city of Edinburgh by pipes contains so
much as to throw it into a considerable ebullition m va¬
cuo. Other liquors contain much gieater quantities of
elastic fluids in this loosely combined state. A glass of
beer treated in the same way will be almost wholly con¬
verted into froth by the escape of its fixed air, and will
have lost entirely the prickling smartness which is so
agreeable, and become quite vapid.
" The air-pump gives us, in the next place, a great va-an(j iiiu-
riety of experiments illustrative of the air’s elasticity and strates the
expansibility. The very operation of exhaustion, as it^J 6^
is called, is an instance of its great, and hitherto un-
limited, expansibility. But this is not palpably exhibit-
ed to view. The following experiments show it most
distinctly. _ . . is4
1st, Put a flaccid bladder, of which the neck iSExperi-
firmly tied with a thread, under a receiver, and work meats
the pump. The bladder will gradually swell, and t||ese pre-
even be fully distended. Upon readmitting the 1 ptities.
into the receiver, the bladder gradually collapses again
into its former dimensions: while the bladder is flaccid,
the air within it is of the same density and elasticity
with the surrounding air, and its elasticity balances
the pressure of the atmosphere. When part of the aii
of
18.?
•Ei-pcri-
mcnts on
- Air.
185
ig. 61.
186.
187
P N E U M
of the receiver Is abstracted, the remainder expands so
as still to fill the receiver : but by expanding, its elasti¬
city is plainly diminished ; for we see by the fact, that
the elasticity of the air of the receiver no longer balan¬
ces the elasticity of that in the bladder, as it no longer
keeps it in its dimensions. The air in the bladder ex¬
pands also : it expands till its diminished elasticity is
again in equilibrio with the diminished elasticity of the
air in the receiver; that is, till its density is the same.
When all the wrinkles of the bladder have disappeared,
its air can expand no more, although we continue to di¬
minish the elasticity of the air of the receiver by further
rarefaction. The bladder now tends to burst; and if it
be pierced by a point or knife fastened to the slip-wire,
the air will rush out, and the mercury descend rapidly
in the gage.
If a phial or tube be partly filled with water, and im¬
mersed in a vessel of water with the mouth downwards,
the air will occupy the upper part of the phial. If this
apparatus be put under a receiver, and the air be ab¬
stracted, the air in the phial will gradually expand, al¬
lowing the water to run out by its weight till the sur¬
face of the water be on a level within and without.
When this is the case, we must grant that the density
and elasticity of the air in the phial is the same with that
in the receiver. When we work the pump again, we
shall observe the air in the phial expand still more, and
come out of the water in bubbles. Continuing the ope¬
ration, we shall see the air continually escaping from the
phial : when this is over, it shows that the pump can ra¬
refy no more. If we now admit the air into the receiver,
we shall see the water rise into the phial, and at last al¬
most completely fill it, leaving only a very small bubble
of air at top. This bubble had expanded so as to fill the
whole phial. See this represented in fig. 61.
Every one must have ebsex'ved a cavity at the big end
of an egg between the shell and the white. The white
and yolk are contained in a thin membrane or bladder
which adheres loosely to the shell, but is detached from
it at that part; and this cavity increases by keeping the
egg in a dry place. One may form a judgment of its
size, and therefore of the freshness of the egg, by touch¬
ing it with the tongue ; for the shell, where it is not in
contact with the contents, will presently feel warm, be¬
ing quickly heated by the tongue, while the rest of the
egg will feel cold.
If a hole be made in the opposite end of the egg, and
it be set on a little tripod, and put under a receiver, the
expansion of the air in the cavity of the egg will foi’ce
the contents through the hole till the egg be quite emp¬
tied : or, if nearly one half of the egg be taken away at
the other end, and the white and yolk taken out, and
the shell be put under a receiver, and the air absti'acted,
the air in the cavity of the egg will expand, gradually
detaching the membrane from the shell, till it causes it
to swell out, and gives the whole the appearance of an
entire egg. In like manner shrivelled apples and other
fruits will swTell in vacuo by the expansion of the air
confined in their cavities.
If a piece of wood, a twig with green leaves, charcoal,
plaster of Paris, &c. be kept under water in vacuo, a
prodigious quantity of air will be extracted ; and if we
readmit the air into the receiver, it will force the water
into the pores of the body- In this case the body will
not swim in water as it did before, showing that the
Vol. XVI. Part II. f
A T I C S.
697
vegetable fibres are specifically heavier than water. It Compressi-
is found, however, that the air contained in the pith ami biii y, &c.
bark, such as cork, is not all extricated in this way; and v ’ ”
that much of it is contained in vesicles which have no
outlet: beingsecreted into them in the process of vegeta¬
tion, as it is secreted into the air-bladder of fishes, where
it is generally found in a pretty compressed state, consi¬
derably denser than the surrounding air. The air-bladder
of a fish is surrounded by circular and longitudinal mus¬
cles, by which the fish can compress the air still further ;
and, by ceasing to act with them, allow it to swell out
again. It is in this manner that the fish can suit its
specific gravity to its situation in the water, so as to
have no tendency either to rise or sink : but if the fish
be put into the receiver of an air-pump, the rarefaction
of the air obliges the fish to act more strongly with
these contracting muscles, in order to adjust its specific
gravity ; and if too much an* has been abstracted from
the receiver, the fish is no longer able to keep its air-
bladder in the proper degree of compression. It becomes
therefore too buoyant, and comes to the top of the wa¬
ter, and is obliged to struggle with its tail and fins in
order to get down ; frequently in vain. The air-bladder
sometimes bursts, and the fish goes to the bottom, and
can no longer keep above without the continual action
of its tail and fins. When fishes die, they commonly
float at top, their contractive action being now at an end.
All this may be illustrated (but very imperfectly) by a
small half blown bladder, to which is appended a bit
of lead, just so heavy as to make it sink in water : when
this is put under a receiver, and the air abstracted, the
bubble will rise to the top; and, by nicely adjusting the
rarefaction, it may be kept at any height. See fig. 62.
The playthings called Cartesian devils are similar toF^
this: they are hollow glass figures, having a small aper¬
ture in the lower part of the figures, as at the point of
the foot; their weight is adjusted so that they swim up¬
right in water. When put into a tall jar filled to the
top, and having a piece of leather tied over it, they will
sink in the water, by pressing on the leather with the
ball of the hand : this, by compressing the water, forces
some of it to enter into the figure and makes it hea¬
vier than the water ; for which reason it sinks, but xi-
ses again on removing the pressure of the hand. See
figs. 63. and 64.
If a half blown ox bladder be put into a box, and 6’>
great weights laid on it, and the whole be put under aand 64‘
receiver, and the air abstracted ; the air will, by ex¬
panding, lift up the weight, though above an hundred
pounds. See fig. 65.
By such experiments the great expansibility of the Fig. 65.
air is abundantly illustrated, as its compressibility was 1S9
formerly by means of the condensing syringe. We c.<’niPre^si-
now see that the two sets of experiments form an unin-bllU>
terrupted chain ; and that there is no particular state ofikyTrein
the air’s density where the compressibility and expansibi-no state of
lity are remarkable dissimilar. Air in its ordinary state 'cry
expands ; because its ordinary state is a state of com-dissimiiar'’
pression by the weight of the atmosphere : and if there
were a pit about 33 miles deep, the air at the bottom
would probably be as dense as water; and if it were 30
miles deep, it would be as dense as gold, if it did not
become a liquid before this depth : nay, if a bottle with
its mouth undermost were immersed six miles under
water, it would probably be as dense as water; we say
4 T probably,
;. 62.
1S8
698
PNEUMATICS.
Experi¬
ments on
Air.
190
Relation
between
compres¬
sion and
the force
producing
it.
T9T
Density ex'
plained as
applied to
air.
probably, for this depends on tbe nature of its compres¬
sibility ; that is, on the relation which subsists between
the compression and the force which produces it.
This is the circumstance of its constitution, which we
now proceed to examine y and it is evidently a very im¬
portant circumstance. We have long ago observed,
that the great compressibility and permanent fluidity of
air, observed in a vast variety of phenomena, is totally
inexplicable, on the supposition that the particles ot air
are like so many balls of sponge or so many foot-balls.
Give to those what compressibility you please, common
air could no more be fluid than a mass of clay} it could
no more he fluid than a mass of such balls pressed into a
box. It can be demonstrated (and indeed hardly needs
a demonstration), that before a parcel of such balls, just
touching each other, can be squeezed into half their
present dimensions, their globular shape will be entirely
gone, and each will have become a perfect cube, touch¬
ing six other cubes with its whole surface 5 and these
cubes will be strongly compressed together, so that mo¬
tion could never be performed through among them by
any solid body without a very great force. Whereas
we know that in this state air is just as permeable to
every body as the common air that we breathe. There
is no way in which we can represent this fluidity to our
imagination, but by conceiving air to consist of particles,
not only discrete, but distant from each other, and. actu¬
ated by repulsive forces, or something analogous to them.
It is an idle subterfuge, to which some naturalists have
recourse, saying, that they are kept asunder by an in¬
tervening ether, or elastic fluid of any other name.
This is only removing the difficulty a step farther off:
for the elasticity of this fluid requires the same explana¬
tion •, and therefore it is necessary, in obedience to the
rules of just reasoning, to begin the inquiry here; that
is, to determine from the phenomena what is the analo¬
gy between the distances of the particles and the repul¬
sive forces exerted at these distances, proceeding in the
same way as in the examination of planetary gravitation.
We shall learn the analogy by attending to ihe analogy
between the compressing force and the density.
For the density depends on the distance between the
particles } the nearer they are to each other, the denser
is the air. Suppose a square pipe one inch wide and
ei'dit inches long, shut at one end, and filled with com¬
mon air then suppose a plug so nicely fitted to this
pipe that no air can pass by its sides j suppose this pi¬
ston thrust down to within an inch of the bottom : it is
evident that the air which formerly filled the whole
pipe now occupies the space of one cubic inch, which
contains the same number of particles as were formerly
diffused over eight cubic inches.
The condensation would have been the same if the air
which fills a cube whose side is two inches had been
squeezed into a cube of one inch, for the cube of two
inches also contains eight inches. Now, in this case it
is evident that the distance between the particles would
be reduced to its half in every direction. In like manner,
if a cube whose side is three inches, and which therefore
contains 27 inches, be squeezed into one inch, the dis¬
tance of the particles will be one-third of what it was: in
general the distance of the particles will be as the cube-
root of the space into which they are compressed. If the
space be -/T, -yV, t4t» &c- its former dimensions,
the distance of the particles will be £, 7, f, &c. Now
the term density, in its strict sense, expresses the victni- Compress^
ty of the particles; densi arbores are trees growing bilky, &c.
near each other. The measure of this vicinity there- “» —*
fore is the true measure of the density; and when 27
inches of air are compressed into one, we should say
that it is three times as dense; but we say, that it is
27 times denser. <
Density is therefore used in a sense different from its Farther
strictest acceptation: it expresses the comparative num- explana-
ber of equidistant particles contained in the same bulk, don.
This is also abundantly precise, when we compare bodies
of the same kind, differing in density only ; but we also
say, that gold is 19 times denser than water, because
the same bulk of it is 19 times heavier. This assertion
proceeds on the assumption, or the fact, that every ulti¬
mate atom of terrestrial matter is equally heavy : a par¬
ticle of gold may contain more or fewer atoms of mat¬
ter than a particle of water. In such a case, therefore,
the term density has little or no reference to the vicini¬
ty of the particles; and is only a term of comparison of
other qualities or accidents.
But when we speak of the respective densities of the
same substance in its different states of compression, the
word density is strictly connected with vicinity of parti¬
cles, and we may safely take either of the measures.
We shall abide by the common acceptation, and call
that air eight times as dense which has eight times as
many particles in the same bulk, although the particles
are only twice as near to each other. rp3
Thus then we see, that by observing the analogy be-^be ana-
tween the compressing force and the density, we shall
discover the analogy between the compressing force andcompres_
the distance of the particles. Now the force which issingiorce
necessary for compressing two particles of air to a cer- and tbe di-
tain vicinity is a proper measure of the elasticity of the*^*,^
particles corresponding to that vicinity or distance ; forcieS| &c.
it balances it, and forces which balance must be esteem¬
ed equal. Elasticity is a distinctive name for that cor¬
puscular force which keeps the particles at that distance:
therefore observations mi de on the analogy between
the compressing force and the density of air will give
us the law of its corpuscular force, in the same way
that observations on the simultaneous deflections of tbe
planets towards the sun give us the law of celestial
gravitation.
But the sensible compressing forces which we are able
to apply is at once exerted on unknown thousands of
particles, while it is the law of action of a single par¬
ticle that we want to discover. We must therefore
know the proportion of the numbers of particles on which
the compressing force is exerted. It is easy to see, that
since the distance of the particles is as the cube root of
the density inversely, the number of particles in physical
contact with the compressing surface must be as the
square of this root. Thus when a cube of 8 inches is
compressed into one inch, and the particles are twice as
near each other as they were before, there must be four
times the number of particles in contact with each ol
the sides of this cubical inch ; or, when we have pushed
down the square piston of the pipe spoken of above to
within an inch of the bottom, there will be four times
the number of particles immediately contiguous to the
piston, and resisting the compression ; and in order to
obtain the force really exerted on one particle, and the
elasticity of that particle, we must divide the whole com¬
pressing
154
'Experx-
EiienU ou
Air.
PNEUMATICS.
pressing force by 4. In like manner, if we have com¬
pressed air into of its former bulk, and brought the
particles to \ of their former distance, we must divide
the compressing force by 9. In general if d express the
699
compres
J»n
Compiessi-
density, - will express the distance x of the par-
* V d
_ r
tides y 3 ^/dy or rfT, will express the vicinity or real
3
density *, and dJ will express the number of particles
acting on the compressing surface : and ify express the
L .
accumulated external compressing force, 2 will express
dJ
the force acting on one particle j and therefore the elas¬
ticity of that particle corresponding to the distance x.
Experi- We may now proceed to consider the experiments by
ments esta- which the law of compression is to be established.
Wishing The first experiments to this purpose were those made
the law of jjy ]yfr Boyle, published in 1661 in his Jdefensio Doc-
trirue de Aeris Elatere contra Linumy and exhibited be¬
fore the Royal Society the year before. Mariotte made
experiments of the same kind, which were published in
1676 in his Essai sur la Nature de P Air and Traite des
Mouvemens des Eaux. The most copious experiments
are those by Sulzer (Mem. Berlin, ix.), those by Fon¬
tana (Opusc. Physico-Math.), and those by Sir George
Shuckburgh and Gen. Roy.
In order to examine the compressibility of air that is
bilit*y"of°air n°t rarer than the atmosphere at the surface of the earth,
rot rarer we employ a bent tube or syphon ABCD (fig. 66.), her-
dian the metically sealed at A and open at D. The short leg
atthe**16” must be very accurately divided in the proportion of
earth’s sur- *** solid contents, and fitted with a scale whose units de¬
face. note equal increments, not of length, but of capacity.
Tig. 65. There are various ways of doing this ; but it requires
the most scrupulous attention, and without this the ex¬
periments are of no value. In particular, the arched
form at A must be noticed. A small quantity of mer¬
cury must then be poured into the tube, and passed
backwards and forwards till it stands (the tube being
held in a vertical position) on a level at B and C. Then
we are certain that the included air is of the same den¬
sity with that of the contiguous atmosphere. Mercury
is now poured into the leg DC, which will fill it, sup¬
pose to G, and will compress the air into a smaller space
AE. Draw the horizontal line EF : the new bulk of
the compressed air is evidently AE, measured by the
adjacent scale, and the addition made to the compres¬
sing force of the atmosphere is the weight of the column
GF. Produce GF downwards to H, till FH is equal
to the height shown by a Toricellian tube filled with the
same mercury i then the whole compressing force is
HG. This is evidently the measure of the elasticity of
the compressed air in AE, for it balances it. Now
pour in more mercury, and let it rise to g, compressing
the air into Ae. Draw the horizontal line efy and
makefh equal to FH ; then Ac will be the new bulk
AB
of the compressed air, —— will be its new density, and
xjL €
hg will be the measure of the new elasticity. This ope¬
ration may be extended as far as we please, by length¬
ening the tube CD, and taking care that it be strong Compressi-
enough to resist the great pressure. Great care must be bility, &c.
taken to keep the whole in a constant temperature, be- v-~v*^u
cause the elasticity of air is greatly affected by. heat, and
the change by any increase of temperature is different
according to its density or compression. 197
The experiments of Boyle, Mariotte, Amontons, andExpeii-
others, were not extended to very great compressions, mc,lts ot
the density of the air not having been quadrupled in any
of them y nor do they seem to have been made with very nicely made
great nicety. It may be collected from them in gene- nor extend-
ral, that the elasticity of the air is very nearly proper- ed t0 very
tioned to its density; and accordingly this law was al- grcat- com'
most immediately acquiesced in, and was called tl,e preES10nb‘
Boylean law: it is accordingly assumed by almost all
writers on the subject as exact. Of late years, how¬
ever, there occurred questions in which it was of impor¬
tance that this point should be more scrupulously settled,
and the former experiments were repeated and extend¬
ed. Sulzer and Fontana have carried them farther than
any other. Sulzer compressed air into one-eighth of its
former dimensions.
Considerable varieties and irregularities are to be ob- Varieties,
served in these experiments. It is extremely difficult to ^c in
preserve the temperature of the apparatus, particularly L^nents*
of the leg AB, which is most handled. A great quan¬
tity of mercury must be employed ; and it does not ap¬
pear that philosophers have been careful to have it pre¬
cisely similar to that in the barometer, which gives us
the unit of compressing force and of elasticity. The
mercury in the barometer should be pure and boiled.
If the mercury in the syphon is adulterated with bis¬
muth and tin, which it commonly is to a considerable
degree, the compressing force, and consequently the
elasticity, will appear greater than the truth. If the
barometer has not been nicely fitted, it will be lower
than it should be, and the compressing force will ap¬
pear too great, because the unit is too small j and
this error will be most remarkable in the smaller com¬
pressions. I99
The greatest source of error and irregularity in the Heteroge-
experiments is the very heterogeneous nature of the airneous na-
itself. Air is a solvent of all fluids, all vapours, and
perhaps of many solid bodies. It is highly improbable Neatest
that the dift’erent compounds shall have the same elasti-source of
city, or even the same law of elasticity: and it is well error,
known, that air, loaded with water or other volatile
bodies, is much more expansible by heat than pure air j
nay, it would appear from many experiments, that cer¬
tain determinate changes both of density and of tempe¬
rature, cause air to let go the vapours which it holds in
solution. Cold causes it to precipitate water, as ap¬
pears in dew; so does rarefaction, as is seen in the re¬
ceiver of an air-pump. 20Q
In general, it appears that the elasticity of air does The air’s
not increase quite so fast as its density. This will he e!aslicity
best seen by the following tables, calculated from the does not
experiments of Mr Sulzer. The column E in each }£st as*its°
set of experiments expresses the length of the column density.
GH, the unit being FH, while the column D expresses
AB
AE*
4T2
xst
?oo
PNEUMATICS.
1st Set.
D
X.000
1.100
1.222
J-375
*•57*
1.692
*♦833
2.000
2.288
2.444
3-I43
3 666
4.000
4.444
4.888
5-50°
5.882
1.000
1.093
1.2x1
1.284
r-559
1.669
1.796
1.958
2.130
2- 375
2.936
3- 391
3.706
4- 035
4- 43 8
4.922
5- 522
2tl Set.
D
1.000
1.236
i-*94
1-375
1.466
i-57i
1.692
2.000
2.444
3-M3
3.666
4.444
5-500
7-333
E
1.000
1.224
1.288
i-332
1.417
i-5i5
1.647
1.964
2.392
3.078
3-575
4.320
5.096
6.694
3d Set.
13
1.000
1.091
1.200
i-333
1.500
1.714
2.000
2.400
3.000
4.000
6.000
8.000
1.000
1.076
1.183
I-3°3
1- 472
1.659
1.900
2.241
2- 793
3- 63i
5-297
6.835
There appears in thece experiments sufficient grounds
for cH'.ling in question the Boylean law v and the writer
of this article thought it incumbent on him to repeat
them with some precautions, which probably had not
been attended to by Mr Sulzer. He was particularly
anxious to have the air as free as possible from moisture.
For this purpose, having detached the short leg of the
syphon, which was 34 inches long, he boiled mercury
in it, and filled it with mercury boiling hot. He took
a tinplate vessel of sufficient capacity, and put into it a
quantity of powdered quicklime just taken from the
kiln -, and having closed the mouth, he agitated the
lime through the air in the vessel, and allowed it tore-
main there all night. He then emptied the mercury out
of the syphon into this vessel, keeping the open end
far within it. By this means the short leg of the sy¬
phon was filled with very dry air. The other part
was now joined, and boiled mercury put into the bend
of the syphon $ and the experiment was then prosecuted
with mercury which had been recently boiled, and was
the same with which the barometer had been carefully
filled.
The results of the experiments are expressed in the
following table.
Dry Air.
D
1.000
2.000
3.COO
4.000
5-500
6.000
7.620
1.000
1-957
2 848
3- 737
4- 930
5- 342
6.490
Moist Air.
D
1.000
2.000
3.000
4.000
5-5oo
6.000
7.620
E
1.000
1.920
2.839
3.726
c.ooo
5-452
6.775
Damp Air.
D
1.000
2.000
3.000
4.000
5-5oo
6.000
7.620
1.000
1.909
2.845
3-7l8
5.104
5-463
6.812
204
205
the differences are even greater than in Mr Sulzer’s Elasticity
experiments. -y—
The second table contains the results of experiments 203
made on very damp air in a warm summer’s morning.
In these it appears that the elasticities are almost pre¬
cisely proportional to the densities -f- a small constant
quantity, nearly 0.11, deviating from this rule chiefly
between the densities 1 and 1.5, within which limits we
have very nearly DrrE1,0 0 17. As this air is nearer to
the constitution of atmospheric air than the former, this
rule may be safely followed in cases where atmospheric
air is concerned, as in measuring the depths of pits by
the barometer.
The third table shows the compression and elasticity
of air strongly impregnated with the vapours of cam-
phire. Here the Boylean law appears pretty exact, or
rather the elasticity seems to increase a little faster than
the density.
Dr Hooke examined the compression of air by im¬
mersing a bottle to great depths in the sea, and weigh¬
ing the water which got into it without any escape of
air. But this method was liable to great uncertainty,
on account of the unknown temperatui*e of the sea at
great depths.
Hitherto we have considered only such air as is not 206
rarer than what we breathe 5 we must take a very dif¬
ferent method for examining the elasticity of rarefied
air.
Letg/x (fig. 67 ) be a long tube, formed a-top into pig. 5^,
a cup, and of sufficient diameter to receive another Mode of
smaller tube «open at first at both ends. Let the examining
outer tube and cup be filled with mercury, which will
rise in the inner tube to the same level. Let af now refie4 air.
be stopped at a. It contains air of the same density and
elasticity with the adjoining atmosphere. Note exactly
the space a b which it occupies. Draw it up into the
position of fig 68. and let the mercury stand in it at the
height d e, while c e is the height of the mercury in the b
barometer. It is evident that the column e is in equi-
librio between the pressure of the atmosphere and the
elasticity of the air included in the space a d. And
since the weight of c e would be in equilibrio with the
whole pressure of the atmosphere, the weight of c c? is
equivalent to the elasticity of the included air. While
therefore c e is the measure of the elasticity of the sur¬
rounding atmosphere, c d will be the measure of the
elasticity of the included air ; and since the air original¬
ly occupied the space a b, and has now expanded into
a d, we have —, for the measure of its density. N. B.
ad
c e and c d are measured by the perpendicular heights of
the columns, but a b and a d must be measured by their
solid capacities.
By raising the inner tube still higher, the mercury 207
will also rise higher, and the included air will expand
still farther, and we obtain another c d, and another
— ; and in this manner the relation between the den-
a d
sity and elasticity of rarefied air may be discovered.
208
Here it appears again in the clearest manner that the
elasticities do not increase as fast as the densities, and
This examination may be managed more easily by easier
means of the air pump. Suppose a tube ae (fig. 69.) method by
containing a small quantity of air a b, set up in a cistern raean.s of
of mercury, which is supported in the tube at the height
Hg. 6^
Experi¬
ments on
Air.
P N E U M
e b, ami let ec be the height of the mercury in the ba¬
rometer. Let this apparatus be set under a tubulated
receiver on the pump-plate, and let grc be the pump-
gage, and mn be equal to ce.
Then, as has been already shown, c 5 is the measure
of the elasticity of the air in a b, corresponding to the
bulk ab. Now let some air be abstracted from the re¬
ceiver. The elasticity of the remainder will be dimi¬
nished by its expansion ; and therefore the mercury in
the tube ae will descend to some point d. For the same
reason, the mercury in the gage will rise to some point
o, and m o will express the elasticity of the air in the
receiver. This would support the mercury in the tube
a<? at the height er, if the space ar were entirely void
of air. Therefore rd is the effect and measure of the
elasticity of the included air when it has expanded to
the bulk adi and thus its elasticity, under a variety of
other bulks, may be compared with its elasticity when
of the bulk ab. When the air has been so far abstract¬
ed from the receiver that the mercury in ae descends to
then mo will be the precise measure of its elasticity.
In all these cases it is necessary to compare its bulk
ab with its natural bulk, in which its elasticity balances
the pressure of the atmosphere. This may be done by
laying the tube ae horizontally, and then the air will
collapse into its ordinary bulk.
Another easy method may be taken for this exami¬
nation. Let an apparatus abcdef (fig. 70.) be made,
consisting of a horizontal tube ae oi even bore, a ball
dge of a large diameter, and a swan-neck tube hf.
Let the ball and part of the tube geb be filled with
mercury, so that the tube may be in the same horizon¬
tal plane with the surface rf <? of the mercury in the
ball. Then seal up the end a, and connect f with an
air-pump. When the air is abstracted from the surface
d e, the air in 0 ^ will expand into a larger bulk a r,
and the mercury in the pump-gage will rise to some di¬
stance below the barometric height. It is evident that
this distance, without any farther calculation, will be
the measure of the elasticity of the air pressing on the
surface de, and therefore of the air in ae.
The most exact of all methods is to suspend in the
xact mode receiver of an air-pump a glass vessel, having a very
fexainin- narrow mouth, over a cistern of mercury, and then ab¬
stract the air till the gage rises to some determined
height. The difference e between this height and the
barometric height determines the elasticity of the air in
the receiver and in the suspended vessel. Now lower
down that vessel by the slip-wire till its mouth is im¬
mersed into the mercury, and admit the air into the re¬
ceiver j it will press the mercury into the little vessel.
Lower it still farther down, till the mercury within it
is level with that without j then stop its mouth, take
it out and weigh the mercury, and let its weight be w.
Subtract this weight from the weight v of the mer¬
cury, which would completely fill the whole vessel ;
then the natural bulk of the air will bet’—w, while
its bulk, when of the elasticity e in the rarefied receiver,
was the bulk or capacity w of the vessel. Its density
'll—'ll)
therefore, corresponding to this elasticity <?, was 
209
Another
:asy me-
hod.
ftg- 7°-
210
'he most
ig this
lasticily.
And thus may the relation between the density and ela¬
sticity in all cases be obtained.
A great variety of experiments to this purpose have
been made, with different degrees of attention, accord-
A T I C S. 7ci
ing to the interest which the philosophers had in the Doylean
result. Those made by M. de Luc, General Roy, Mr .Law.
Trembley, and Sir George Shuckburgh, are by far ’
the most accurate ; but they are all confined to very yar^s e
moderate rarefactions. The general result has been, that perimentT*
the elasticity of rarefied air is very nearly proportional have been
to its density. We cannot say with confidence that any mfde to
regular deviation from this law has been observed, theretlus Pur"
being as many observations on one side as on the other ;/’0Se'
but we think that it is not unworthy the attention of
philosophers to determine it with precision in the cases
of extreme rarefaction, where the irregularities are most
remarkable. The great source of error is a certain ad¬
hesive sluggishness of the mercury when the impelling
forces are very small ; and other fluids can hardly be
used, because they either smear the inside of the tube
and diminish its capacity, or they are converted into va¬
pour, which alters the law of elasticity. 2J2
Let us, upon the whole, assume the Boylean law, viz. The Boyle-
that the elasticity of the air is proportional to its density, an law may
The law deviates not in any sensible degree from theinsenerHl
truth in those cases which are of the greatest practicalbc assumcc1,
importance, that is, when the density does not much
exceed or fall short of that of ordinary air.
Let us now see what information this gives us with investiga-
respect to the action of the particles on. each other. ti°n o' the
The investigation is extremely easy. We have seen acli,,n °f
that a force eight times greater than the pressure of^^11"
the atmosphere will compress common air into theeach other,
eighth part of its common bulk, and give it eight times
its common density: and in this case we know, that,
the particles are at half their former distance, and that
the number which are now acting on the surface of the
piston employed to compress them is quadruple of the
number which act on it when it is of the common den¬
sity. Therefore, when this eightfold compressing force
is distributed over a fourfold number of particles, the
portion of it which acts on each is double. In like
manner, when a compressing force 27 is employed,
the air is compressed into -jT of its former bulk, the
particles are at y of their former distance, and the force
is distributed among 9 times the number of particles ;
the force on each is therefore 3.
In short, let — be the
x
distance of the particles, the number of them in any
given vessel, and therefore the density will be as a;3,
and the number pressing by their elasticity on its whole
internal surface will be as x'l Experiment shows, that
the compressing force is as x3, which being distributed
over the number as x2, will give the force on each as x.
Now this force is in immediate equilibrium with the
elasticity of the particle immediately contiguous to the
compressing surface. This elasticity is therefore as x:
and it follows from the nature of perfect fluidity, that
the particle adjoining to the compressing surface presses .
with an equal force on its adjoining particles on every
side. Hence we must conclude, that the corpuscular
repulsions exerted by the adjoining particles are inverse-
ly as thejr distauces from each other, or that the adjoin-. ,
ing particles tend to recede from each other with forces Sir Isaac
inversely proportional to their distances.. Newton
Sir Isaac Newton was the first who reasoned in thiswas t^,e
manner from the phenomena. Indeed he was the firstJ^J^
who had the patience to reflect on the phenomena withpIOpe,iy
any precision. His discoveries in gravitation naturally on this salte
gaveJect' •
J02
Hoylean
Law
. VS ,
IiJinits the
action to
adjoining
.particle#.
ai6
317
PNEUMATICS.
gave his thoughts this turn, and he very early hinted
his suspicions that all the characteristic phenomena of
tangible matter were produced by forces which were ex¬
erted by the particles at small and insensible distances :
And he considers the phenomena of air as affording an
excellent example of this investigation, and deduces from
them the law which we have now demonstrated ; and
says, that air consists of particles which avoid the ad¬
joining particles with forces inversely proportional to
their distances from each other. From this he deduces
(in the 2d book of his Principles) several beautiful pro¬
positions, determining the mechanical constitution of
the atmosphere.
But it must be noticed that he limits this action to the
adjoining particles ; and this is a remark ol immense
consequence, though not attended to by the numerous
experimenters who adopt the law.
It is plain that the particles are supposed to act at a
distance, and that this distance is variable, and that the
forces diminish as the distances increase. A very ordi¬
nary air-pump will rarefy the air 125 times. The di¬
stance of the particles is now 5 times greater than be¬
fore *, and yet they still repel each other: for air of this
density will still support the mercury in a syphon-gage
at the height of 0.24, or — of an inch j and a better
pump will allow this air to expand twice as much, and
still leave it elastic. Thus we see that whatever is the
distance of the particles of common air, they can act
five times farther off. The question comes now to be,
Whether, in the state of common air, they really do act
five times farther than the distance of the adjoining par¬
ticles ? While the particle a acts on the particle 6 with
the force 5, does it also act on the particle c with the
force 2.5, on the particle d with the force 1.667, on t]ie
particle e with the force 1.25, on the particle / with
the force 1, on the particle^ with the force0.8333, &c. ?
Sir Isaac Newton shows in the plainest manner, that
this is by no means the case ; for if this were the case,
he makes it appear that the sensible phenomena of con¬
densation would be totally different from what we ob¬
serve. The force necessary for a quadruple condensa¬
tion would be eight times greater, and for a nonuple
condensation the force must be 27 times greater. Two
spheres filled with condensed air must repel each other,
and two spheres containing air that is rarer than the
surrounding air must attract each other, &c. &c. All
this will appear very clearly, by applying to air the rea¬
soning which Sir Isaac Newton has employed in dedu¬
cing the sensible law of mutual tendency of two spheres,
which consist of particles attracting each other with
forces proportional to the square of the distance in¬
versely.
If we could suppose that the particles of air repelled
each other with invariable forces at all distances within
some small and insensible limit, this would produce a
compressibility and elasticity similar to what we observe.
For if we consider a row of particles, within this limit,
as compressed by an external force applied to the two ex¬
tremities, the action of the whole row on the extreme
points would be proportional to the number of particles,
that is, to their distance inversely and to their density: and
a number of such parcels, ranged in a straight line, wpuld
constitute a row of any sensible magnitude having the
same law of compression. But this law of corpuscular Height of
force is unlike every thing we observe in nature, and to the Atmo-
the last degree improbable. sphere.
We must therefore continue the limitation of this mu-
tual repulsion of the particles of air, and be contented
for the present with having established it as an experi¬
mental fact, that the adjoining particles of air are kept
asunder by forces inversely proportional to their distan¬
ces : or perhaps it is better to abide by the sensible law
that the density oj'air is proportional to the compressing
force. This law is abundantly sufficient for explaining
all the subordinate phenomena, and forgiving us a com¬
plete knowledge of the mechanical constitution of our
atmosphere.
And in the first place, this view of the compress!-The height
bility of the air must give us a very different notion of of the air
the height of the atmosphere from what we deduced on |nvestiga-
a former occasion from our experiments. It is found, Co„sj™™int
that when the air is of the temperature 3 2° ot I ah-itscompres.
renheit’s thermometer, and the mercury in the barome-sibiiitj,&c,
ter stands at 30 inches, it will descend one-tenth of an
inch if we take it to a place 87 feet higher. Therefore,
if the air were equally dense and heavy throughout, the
height of the atmosphere would be 30X Io X 87 *cet> or
5 miles and 100 yards. But the loose reasoning addu¬
ced on that occasion was enough to show us that it must
be much higher j because every stratum as we ascend
must be successively rarer as it is less compressed by in¬
cumbent weight. Not knowing to what degree air ex¬
panded when the compression was diminished, we could
not tell the successive diminutions of density and conse¬
quent augmentation of bulk and height; we could only
say, that several atmospheric appearances indicated a
much greater height. Clouds have been seen much
higher; but the phenomenon of the twilight is the most
convincing proof of this. There is no doubt that the vi¬
sibility of the sky or air is owing to its want of perfect
transparency, each particle (whether of matter purely
aerial or heterogeneous) reflecting a little light. 42e
Let b (fig. 71.) be the last particle of illuminated air Fig. 71*
wihch can be seen in the horizon by a spectator at A.
This must be illuminated by a ray SD 6, touching the
earth’s surface at some point D. Now it is a known
fact, that the degree of illumination called twilight is
perceived when the sun is 180 below the horizon of the
spectator, that is, when the angle F. & S or ACD is 18
degrees j therefore 6 C is the secant of 9 degrees (it is
less, viz. about 8|- degrees, on account of refraction).
We know the earth’s radius to be about 397° miles •
hence we conclude & B to be about 45 miles \ nay, a
very sensible illumination is perceptible much farther
from the sun’s place than this, perhaps twice as far, and
air is sufficiently dense for reflecting a sensible light
at the height of nearly 200 miles. _
We have now seen that air is prodigiously expansible.
None of our experiments have distinctly shown us any tjje
limit. But it does not follow that it is expansible with- air.s e,p8n»
out end j nor is this at all likely. It is much more sibUity.
probable that there is a certain distance of the parts in
which they no longer repel each other j and this would
be the distance at which they would arrange themselves
if they were not heavy. But at the very summit of the
atmosphere they will be a very small matter nearc r to
each other, on account of their gravitation to the earth.
PNEUMATICS.
of
Itlje Atmo¬
sphere-
j——v ' <
til
Farther ob-
jervations
on, and in-
restigation
Df, the
height of
the atmo¬
sphere.
223
224
825
iS- 72'
Till we know precisely tke law of this mutual repul¬
sion, we cannot say what is the height of the atmo¬
sphere.
But if the air be an elastic fluid whose density is al¬
ways proportionable to the compressing force, we can
tell what is its density at any height above the surface
of the earth : and we can compare the density so calcu¬
lated with the density discovered by observation : for
this last is measured by the height at which it supports
mercury in the barometer. This is the direct measure
of the pressure of the external air 5 and as we know the
law of gravitation, we can tell what would be the pres¬
sure of air having the calculated density in all its
parts.
Let us therefore suppose a prismatic or cylindric co¬
lumn of air reaching to the top of the atmosphere.
Let this be divided into an indefinite number of strata
of very small and equal depths or thickness j and let us,
for greater simplicity, suppose at first that a particle of
air is of the same weight at all distances from the cen¬
tre of the earth.
The absolute weight of any one of these strata will
on these conditions be proportional to the number of
particles or the gravity of air contained in it $ and since
the depth of each stratum is the same, this quantity of
air will evidently be as the density of the stratum : but
the density of any stratum is as the compressing force j
that is, as the pressure of the strata above it j that is, as
their weight j that is, as their quantity of matter—there¬
fore the quantity of air in each stratum is proportional
to the quantity of air above it $ but the quantity in
each stratum is the difference between the column in¬
cumbent on its bottom and on its top: these differences
are therefore proportional to the quantities of which
they are the differences. But when there is a series of
quantities which are proportional to their own differ¬
ences, both the quantities and their differences are in
continual or geometrical progression : for let a, bf c, be
three such quantities that
b : erza—b : c, then by alter.
b : a—b—c : b—c and by compos.
b 1 a—c : b
and a : b—b : c
therefore the densities of these strata decrease in a geo¬
metrical progression j that is, when the elevations above
the centre or surface of the earth increase, or their depths
under the top of the atmosphere decrease in an arithme¬
tical progression, the densities decrease in a geometrical
progression.
Let ARQ (fig. 72.) represent the section of the earth
by a plane through its centre O, and let O A M be a
vertical line, and AE perpendicular to OA will be a
horizontal line through A, a point on the earth’s surface.
Let A E be taken to represent the density of the air at
A} and let DH, parallel to AE, be taken to AE as
the density at D is to the density at A : it is evident,
that if a logistic or logarithmic curve E H N be drawn,
having AN for its axis, and passing through the points
E and H, the density of the air at any other point C,
in this vertical line, will be represented by C G, the or¬
dinate to the curve in that point: for it is the property
of this curve, that if portions AB, AC, AD, of its ax¬
is be taken in arithmetical progression, the ordinates,
AE, BF, CG, DH, will be in geometrical progres¬
sion.
7°3
226
82J
22S
32$
It is another fundamental property of this curve, that Height of
if EK or IIS touch the curve in E or H, the subtangent the Atmo-
AK or DS is a constant quantity. sphere. ^
And a third fundamental property is, that the infinite¬
ly extended area MAEN is equal to the rectangle K.A
EL of die ordinate and subtangent; and, in like man¬
ner, the area MDHN is equal to SD X D H, or to K A
XDHj consequently the area lying beyond any ordi¬
nate is proportional to that ordinate.
These geometrical properties of this curve are all ana¬
logous to the chief circumstances in the constitution of
the atmosphere, on the supposition of equal gravity.
The area MCGN represents the whole quantity of aerial
matter which is above C : for CG is the density at C,
and CD is the thickness of the stratum between C and
D; and therefore CGHD will be as the quantity of
matter or air in it-, and in like manner of all the others,
and of their sums, or the whole area MCGN : and as
each ordinate is proportional to the area above it, so each
density, and the quantity of air in each stratum, is pro¬
portional to the quantity of air above it: and as the
whole area MAEN is equal to the rectangle KAEL,
so the whole air of variable density above A might be
contained in a column KA, if, instead of being com¬
pressed by its own weight, it were without weight, and
compressed by an external force equal to the pressure of
the air at the surface of the earth. In this case, it
•would be of the uniform density AE, which it has at
the surface of the earth, making what we have repeat¬
edly called the homogeneous atmosphere.
Hence we derive this important circumstance, that
the height of the homogeneous atmosphere is the sub¬
tangent of that curve whose ordinates are as the densities
of the air at different heights, on the supposition of equal
gravity. This curve may with propriety be called the
ATMOSPHERICAL LOGARITHMIC ; and as the different
logarithmics are all characterised by their subtangents,
it is of importance to determine this one.
It may be done by comparing the densities of mercury
and air. For a column of air of uniform density, reach¬
ing to the top of the homogeneous atmosphere, is in
equilibrio with the mercury in the barometer. Now it
is found,, by the best experiments, that when mercury
and air are of the temperature 32° of Fahrenheit’s ther¬
mometer, and the barometer stands at 30 inches, the
mercury is nearly 10440 times denser than air. There¬
fore the height of the homogeneous atmosphere is 10440
times 30 inches, or 26100 feet, or 8700 yards, or 4330
fathoms, or 5 miles wanting 100 yards.
Or it may be found by observations on the barometer.
It is found, that when the mercury and air are of the
above temperature, and the barometer on the sea shore
stands at 30 inches, if we carry it to a place 882 feet
higher it will fall to 29 inches. Now, in all logarith¬
mic curves having equal ordinates, the portions of the
axes intercepted between the corresponding pairs of or¬
dinates are proportional to the subtangents. And the
subtangents of the curve belonging to our common tables
is 0,4342945, and the difference of the logarithms of
30 and 29 (which is the portion of the axis intercepted
between the ordinates 30 and 29), or 0.0147233, is to
0.4342945 as 883 is to 26058 feet, or 8686 yards, or
4342 fathoms, or 5 miles wanting 114 yards. This de¬
termination is 14 yards less than the other, and it is un¬
certain which is the more exact. It is extremely difficult
to
230
2,31
7o+ PNEUM
Height to Measure the respective densities of mercury and air j
of the At- and in measuring the elevation which produces a fall of
mosphere^ Qne Jnch in the barometer, an error of ^ of an inch
¥ ~ would produce all the difference. We prefer the last, as
depending on fewer circumstances.
But all this investigation proceeds on the supposition
of equal gravity, whereas we know that the weight of a
particle of air decreases as the square of its distance from
the centre of the earth increases. In order, therefore,
that a superior stratum may produce an equal pressure
at the surface of the earth, it must be denser, because a
particle of it gravitates less. rl he density, therefore, at
equal elevations, must be greater than on the supposition
of equal gravity, and the law of diminution of density
must be different.
Hake OD : OA=OA : Od{
OC : OA=OA :Oc;
OB : OA=OA : 0 &; &c. j
so that O d,0c,0 b, OA, may be reciprocals to OD,
OC, OB, OA •, and through the points A, b, c, d, draw
the perpendiculars AE, bf, cg, d h, making them pro¬
portional to the densities in A, B, C, D : and let us
suppose CD to be exceedingly small, so that the densi¬
ty may be supposed uniform through the whole stratum.
Thus we have
OD X O f/=OA*—OC X O c
and O c : O tfcrOD : OC \
and O c : O c—O (/— O D : OD—OC,
or O c : c <f~OD : DC }
and c d : CD=0 c : OD }
or, because OC and OD are ultimately in the ratio of
equality, we have
cd: CD=Oe: OC=OA*: 0C%
OA2 OA*
and c r/—CD X q^2-> aud c n X P £—CO X ^ X q^T ?
04* • • r
but CD x C ^ X as tlie Pressure at C arising from
the absolute weight of the stratum CD. For this
weight is as the bulk, as the density, and as the gra¬
vitation of each particle jointly. Now CD expresses
O \*
the bulk, c g the density, and -^77 the gravitation of
each particle. Therefore, c d X c £ is as the pressure on
C arising from the weight of the stratum DC; but
cdXcgh evidently the element of the curvilineal area
A w « E, formed by the curve E /g h n and the ordinates
AE, bf, eg, ah, &c. m n. Therefore the sum of all
the elements, such as cdhg, that is, the area, cm ng
below eg-, will be as the whole pressure on C, arising
from the gravitation of all the air above it; but, by the
nature of air, this whole pressure is as the density which
it produces, that is, as eg1. 1 herefore the curve E g »
is of such a nature that the area lying below or beyond
any ordinate eg is proportional to that ordinate, this
is the property of the logarithmic curve, and E g n is a
logarithmic curve.
But farther, this curve is the same with EGN. For
let B continually approach to A, and ultimately coin¬
cide with it. It is evident that the ultimate ratio of
B A to A b, and of BF to bf, is that of equality ; and if
EFK, E fk, be drawn, they will contain equal angles
with the ordmate AE, and will cut off equal subtan¬
gents AK, A k. The curves EGN, Eg « are therefore
the same, but in oppos.te positions.
5
232
233
A T I C S.
Lastly, it OA, OA, Oc, Or/, &c. be taken in arith- Height
metical progression decreasing, their reciprocals OA, oftheAt-
OB, OC, OD, &c. will be in harmonical progression mosphere.
increasing, as is well known : but, from the nature of''““~ 1
the logarithmic curve, when O A, O A, O c, O r/, &c.
are in arithmetical progression, the ordinates AE, bf,
eg, dh, &c. are in geometrical progression. Therefore
when OA, OB, OC, OD, &c. are in harmonical pro¬
gression, the dtnsities ot the air at A, B, C, D, &c.
are in geometrical progression j and thus may the den¬
sity of the air at all elevations be discovered. Thus to
find the density of the air at K the top of the homoge¬
neous atmosphere, make OK. : OArrOA : OL, and
draw the ordinate LT, LT is the density at K.
The celebrated Dr Halley was the first who observed
the relation between the density of the air and the or¬
dinates of the logarithmic curve, or common loga¬
rithms. This he did on the supposition of equal gra¬
vity ; and his discovery is acknowledged by Sir Isaac
Newton in Princip. ii. prop. 22. sehol. Halley’s disser¬
tation on the subject is in N° 185 of the Phil. Trans.
Newton, with his usual sagacity, extended the same re¬
lation to the true state of the case, where gravity is as
the square of the distance inversely •, and showed that
when the distances from the earth’s centre are in har¬
monic progression, the densities are in geometric pro¬
gression. He shows indeed, in general, what progres¬
sion of the distance, on any supposition of gravity, will
produce a geometrical progression of the densities, so
as to obtain a set of lines OA, OA, Oc, Or/, &c. which
will be logarithms of the densities. The subject was
afterwards treated in a more familiar manner by Cotes
in his Hydrost. Lect. and in his Harm07iia Memurarum ;
also by Dr Brook Taylor, Meth. Increment.; Wolf in
his Aerometria; Herman in his Phoronomia ; &c. &c.
and lately by Horsley, Phil. Trans, tom. Ixiv.
An important corollary is deducible from these prin-The air
ciples, viz. that the air has a finite density at an in- has a finite
finite distance from the centre of the earth, namely,lien.s’cy
• 111 i* i iiii iniimte
such as will be represented by the ordinate OP drawn d;staI,cc
through the centre. It may be objected to this con-from the
elusion, that it would infer an infinity of matter in thee*Mre of
universe, and that it is inconsistent with the phenomena ^ eart“J
of the planetary motions, which appear to be performed
in a space void of all resistance, and therefore of all mat¬
ter. But this fluid must be so rare at great distances,
that the resistance will be insensible, even though the
retardation occasioned by it has been accumulated for
ages. Even at the very moderate distance of 500 miles,
the rarity is so great that a cubic inch of common air
expanded to that degree would occupy a sphere equal to
the orbit of Saturn 5 and the whole retardation which
this planet would sustain after some millions of years
would not exceed what would be occasioned by its meet¬
ing one bit of matter of half a grain weight.
This being the case, it is not unreasonable to suppose
the visible universe occupied by air, which, by its gra¬
vitation, will accumulate itself round every body in it,
in a proportion depending on their quantities of matter,
the larger bodies attracting more of it than the smaller
ones, and thus forming an atmosphere about each. And
many appearances warrant this supposition. Jupiter,
Mars, Saturn, and Venus, are evidently surrounded by
atmospheres. The constitution of these atmospheres
may differ exceedingly from other causes. If the pla¬
net
234
Planets,
&e.
235
The atmo
pbere of
Mars.
236
Of Jupiter.
P N E U M
Atmo- net has nothing on its surface which can be dissolved
spheres by the air or volatilized by heat, the atmosphere will be
continually clear and transparent, like that of the moon.
Mars has an atmosphere which appears precisely like
our own, carrying clouds, or depositing snows : for
when, by the obliquity of his axis to the plane of his
ecliptic, he turns his north pole towards the sun, it is
observed to be occupied by a broad white spot. As
the summer of that region advances, this spot gradually
■wastes, and sometimes vanishes, and then the south pole
comes in sight, surrounded in like manner with a white
spot, which undergoes similar changes. This is precise¬
ly the appearance which the snowy circumpolar regions
of this earth will exhibit to an astronomer on Mars. It
may not, however, be snow that we see j thick clouds
will have the same appearances.
The atmosphere of the planet Jupiter is also very
similar to our own. It is diversified by streaks or belts
parallel to his equator, which, frequently change their
appearance and dimensions, in the same manner as those
tracts of similar sky which belong to diflerent regions
of this globe. There is a certain kind of weather that
more properly belongs to a particular climate than to
any other. This is nothing but a certain general state
of the atmosphere which is prevalent there, though
with considerable variations. This must appear to a
spectator in the moon like a streak spread over that
climate, distinguishing it from others. But the most
remarkable similarity is in the motion of the clouds on
Jupiter. They have plainly a motion from east to west
relative to the body of the planet; for there is a re¬
markable spot on the surface of the planet, which is
observed to turn round the axis in 9I1. 51' 16"; and
there frequently appear variable and perishing spots in
the belts, which sometimes last for several revolutions.
These are observed to circulate in 9I1. 55'. 05". These
numbers are the results of a long series of observations
by Dr Herschel. This plainly indicates a general cur¬
rent of the clouds westward, precisely similar to what
a spectator in the moon must observe in out atmosphere
arising from the trade-winds. Mr Schroeter has made
the atmosphere of Jupiter a study for many years j and
deduces from his observations that the motion of the va¬
riable spots is subject to great variations, but is always
from east to west. This indicates variable winds.
The atmosphere of Venus appears also to be like
ours, loaded with vapours, and in a state of continual
change of absorption and precipitation. About the
middle of the 17th century the surface ot'Venus was pretty
distinctly seen for many years chequered with irregular
spots, which are described by Campani, Bianchini, and
other astronomers in the south of Europe, and also by
Cassini at Paris, and Hooke and Townley in England.
But the spots became gradually more faint and indi¬
stinct j and, for near a century, have disappeared. The
whole surface appears now of one uniform brilliant
white. The atmosphere is probably filled with a reflect¬
ing vapour, thinly diffused through it, like water faint¬
ly tinged with milk. A great depth of this must ap¬
pear as white as a small depth of milk itself; and it
appears to be of a very great depth, and to berefrac-
tive like our air. For Dr Herschel has observed, by
the help of his fine telescopes, that the illuminated
part of Venus is considerably more than a hemisphere,
and that the light dies gradually away to the bounding
Vol. XVI. Part II.
A T I C S.
237
Venus.
/ D
margin. This is the very appearance that the earth Atmo-
would make if furnished with such an atmosphere. The spheres
of the other
Planets,
&c.
boundary of illumination would have a penumbra reach
ing about nine degrees beyond it. If this be the con¬
stitution of the atmosphere of Venus, she may he inha¬
bited by beings like ourselves. They would not be
dazzled by the intolerable splendour of a sun four times
as big and as bright, and sixteen times more glaring,
than ours: for they would seldom or never see him, but
instead of him an uniformly bright and white sky. They
would probably never see a star or planet, unless the
dog-star and Mercury •, and perhaps the earth might
pierce through the bright haze which surrounds their
planet. For the same reason the inhabitants would not
perhaps he incommoded by the sun’s heat. It is in¬
deed a very questionable thing, whether the sun would
cause any heat, even here, if it were not for the chemi¬
cal action of his rays on our air. This is rendered not
improbable by the intense cold felt on the tops of the
highest mountains, in the clearest air, and even under a
vertical sun in the torrid zone.
The atmosphere of comets seems of a nature totally And2of co-
diflerent. This seems to he of inconceivable rarity, mets.
even when it reflects a very sensible light. The tail is
always turned nearly away from the sun. It is thoutrht
that this is by the impulse of the solar rays. If this
be the case, we think it might be discovered by tbe
aberration and the refraction of the light by which we
see the tail: for this light must come to our eye with
a much smaller velocity than the sun’s light, if it be
reflected by repulsive or elastic forces, which there is
every reason in the world to believe ; and therefore the
Velocity of the reflected light will be diminished by all
the velocity communicated to the reflecting particles.
This is almost inconceivably great. The comet of 1680
went half round the sun in ten boars, and had a tail at
least a hundred millions of miles long, which turned
round at the same time, keeping nearly in the direction
opposite to the sun. The velocity necessary for this is
prodigious, approaching to that of light. And perhaps
the tail extends much farther than we see it, but is vi¬
sible only as far as the velocity with which its particles
recede from the sun is less than a certain quantity,
namely, what would leave a sufficient velocity for the
reflected light to enable it to affect our eyes. And it
may be demonstrated, that although the real form of
the visible tail is concave On the anterior side to which
the comet is moving, it may appear convex on that
side, in consequence of the very great aberration of the
light by which the remote parts are seen. All this
may be discovered by properly contrived observations j
and the conjecture merits attention. But of this digres¬
sion there is enough *, and we return to our subject, the
constitution of our air.
We h ave shown how to determine a priori the densi-The baro-
ty of the air at different elevations above the surface 0fniett r.used
the earth. But the densities may be discovered in allj"^1”^
accessible elevations by experiments 3 namely, by oh- S ' *”
serving the heights of the mercury in the barometer.
This is a direct measure of the pressure of the incum¬
bent atmosphere ; and this is proportional to the density
which it produces.
Therefore, by means of the relation subsisting between 24©
the densities and the elevations, we can discover the ele¬
vations by observations made on the densities by means
t 4 U 0f
7o5
Barometer of the barometer *, and thus we may measure elevations
' ^ by means of the barometer*, and, with very little trou¬
ble, take the level of any extensive tract of country.
Of this rve have an illustrious example in the section
which the Abbe Chappe D’Auteroche has given of the
whole country between lirest and F.katenneburg in
Siberia. This is a subject which deserves a minute con¬
sideration : we shall therefore present it under a very
simple and familiar form j and trace the method through
its various steps of improvement by De Luc, Roy,
.j Shuckburgh, See.
Explana- We have already observed, oftener than once, that it
tion of its the mercury in the barometer stands at 30 inches, and if
use, &c. ti,e a;r antl mercury be of the temperature 3 2° in Fah¬
renheit’s thermometer, a column of air 87 feet thick
has the same weight with a column of mercury ^ of an
inch thick. Therefore, if we carry the barometer to a
higher place, so that the mercury sinks to 29.9, we have
ascended 87 feet. Now, suppose we carry it still higher,
and that the mercury stands at 29.8 5 it is required to
know what height we have now got to ? We have evi¬
dently ascended through another stratum of equal weight
with the former: but it must be of greater thickness,
because the air in it is rarer, being less compressed. We
may call the density of the first stratum 300, measuring
the density by the number of tenths of an inch of mercu¬
ry which its elasticity proportional to its density enables
it to support. For the same reason, the density of the
second stratum must be 299: but when the weights are
equal, the bulks are inversely as the densities ; and when
the bases of the strata are equal, the bulks are as the
thicknesses. Therefore, to obtain the thickness of this
second stratum, say 299:300=87: 87.29*, and thisfourth
term is the thickness of the second stratum, and we have
ascended in all 174.29 feet. In like manner we may rise
till the barometer shows the density to be 298 : then say
298 : 30=87 : 87.584 for the thickness of the third
stratum, and 261,875 or 261^ for the whole ascent j
and we may proceed in the same way for any num¬
ber of mercurial heights, and make a table of the corre¬
sponding elements as follows: Where the first column is
the height of the mercury in the barometer, the second
column is the thickness of the stratum, or the elevation
above the preceding station; and the third column is
the whole elevation above the first station.
PNEUMATICS.
station the mercurial height was 29*8 and that at the
upper station it was 29.1
29. r 793*644
29.8 174-291
Taking
heights.
6x9-353= Elevation.
Wre may do the same thing with tolerable accuracy
without the table, by taking the medium m of the mer¬
curial heights, and their difierence d in tenths of an inch 5
and then say, as m to 300, so is 87 d to the height re¬
quired h : or A=300 X 8-7-=^^-/. Thus, in the
A m m.
foregoing example, m is 294.5, and d is — 7 ? an^ there¬
fore A =-^-^———6 20.4, differing only one foot from
294-5
the former value.
Either of these methods is sufficiently accurate for
most purposes, and even in very great elevations will not
produce any error of consequence : the whole error of
the elevation 883 feet 4 inches, which is the extent of
the above table, is only of an inch.
But we need not confine ourselves to methods of ap-
proximation, when we have an accurate and scientific
method that is equally easy. W;e have seen that, upon
the supposition of equal gravity, the densities of the air
are as the ordinates of a logarithmic curve, having the
line of elevations for its axis. We have also seen that,
in the true theory of gravity, if the distances from the
centre of the earth increase in a harmonic progression, the
logarithm of the densities will decreas in an arithmeti¬
cal progression j but if the greatest elevation above the
surface be hut a few miles, this harmonic progression
will hardly differ from an arithmetical one. Thus, if
A i, A c, A rf, are 1, 2, and 3 miles, we shall find that
the corresponding elevations AB, AC, AD are sensibly
in arithmetical progression also for the earth’s radius
AC is nearly 4000 miles. Hence it plainly follows
that BC—AB is * , or a mile,
54000X4°°x’ 16004000
Bar.
Strut.
Elev.
30
29.9
29.8
29.7
29.6
29-5
29.4
29*3
29.2
29.1
29
00.000
87.000
87.291
87.584
87.879
88.176
88.475
88.776
89.079
89.384
89.691
00.000
87.000
174.291
261.875
349*754
437*93°
526.405
615.181
704.260
793*644
883.335
*41
Having done this, we can now measure any elevation
within the limits of our table, in this manner.
Observe the barometer at the lower and at the upper
stations, and write down the corresponding elevations.
Subtract the one from the other, and the remainder is
the height required. Thus suppose that at the lower
or —of an inch 5 a quantity quite insignificant. W7e
25°
may therefore affirm without hesitation, that in all ac¬
cessible places, the elevations increase in an arithmetical
progression, while the densities decrease in a geometrical
progression. 1 herefore the ordinates are proportional
to the numbers which are taken to measure the densities,
and the portions of the axis are proportional to the lo¬
garithms of these number’s. It follows, therefore, that
we may take such a scale for measuring the densities
that the logarithms of the numbers of this scale shall.be
the very portions of the axis j that is, of the vertical line
in feet, yards, fathoms, or what measure we please : and
we may, on the other hand, choose such a scale for mea¬
suring our elevations, that the logarithms of our scale of
densities shall be parts of this scale of elevations *, and we
may find either of these scales scientifically. For it is a
known property of the logarithmic curves, that when the
ordinates are the same, the intercepted portion of the
abscissae are proportioned to their subtangents. Now we
know the subtangent of the atmospherical logarithmic :
it is the height of the homogeneous atmosphere in any
measure we please, suppose fathoms : we find this height
by comparing the gravities of air and mercury, when
' both
!l»n
‘•Hoi
PNEUMATICS.
flnrometer. both are of some determined density. Thus, in the
—v — > temperature of 3 2° of Fahrenheit’s thermometer, when
the barometer stands at 30 inches, it is known (by many
experiments) that mercury is 10423.068 times heavier
than air ; therefore the height of the balancing column
of homogeneous airwill he 10423.068 times 30 inches}
that is, 4342.945 English fathoms. Again, it is known
that the subtangent of our common logarithmic tables,
where 1 is the logarithm of the number 1 o, is 0.4342945.
Therefore the number 0.4342945 is to the difference
D of the logarithms of any two barometric heights as
4342.945 fathoms are to the fathoms F contained in
the portion of the axis of the atmospherical logarith¬
mic, which is intercepted between the ordinates equal
to these barometrical heights } or that 0.4342945 : D
=4342-945 : F, ail(1 0.4342945 : 4342.945=0 : F}
but 0.4342945 is the ten-thousandth part of 4342.945,
and therefore D is the ten-thousandth part of F.
«44 And thus it happens, by mere chance, that the loga¬
rithms of the densities, measured by the inches of mer¬
cury which their elasticity supports in the barometer,
are just the ten-thousandth part of the fathoms con¬
tained in the corresponding portions of the axis of the
atmospherical logarithmic, Therefore, if we multiply
our common logarithms by 1000, they will express the
fathoms of the axis of the atmospherical logarithmic }
nothing is more easily done. Our logarithms contain
what is called the index or characteristic, which is an
integer and a number of decimal places. Let us just
remove the integer-place four figures to the right hand :
thus the logarithm of 60 is 1.7781513, which is one in¬
teger and — . Multiply this by IO.OOO, and we
0 I0000000 ' J
r1q rj q
obtain 17781.1:12, or 17781 —-■.
loot J J 11 1000
*45 The practical application of all this reasoning is ob¬
vious and easy : observe the heights of the mercury in
the barometer at the upper and lower stations in inches
and decimals} take the logarithms of these, and sub¬
tract the one from the other : the difference between
them (accounting the four first decimal figures as inte¬
gers) is the difference of elevation of fathoms.
Example.
Merc. Height at the lower station 29.8
upper station 29.1
1.4742163
1.4638930
Diff. of Log. X 10000 0.0103.233
or IC2 fathoms and —of a fathom, which is 610.202
^ 1000 *
feet, or 619 feet 4^ inches} differing from the approxi-
246 mated value formerly found about 4 an inch,
his me- Such is the general nature of the barometric measure-
od of ment of heights first suggested by Hr Halley} and it has
‘ijjhts11^ ^een verified by numberless comparisons of the heights
>w much calculated in this way with the same heights measured
iprored. geometrically. It was indeed in this way that the pre¬
cise specific gravity of air and mercury was most accu¬
rately determined } namely, by observing, that when the
temperature of air and mercury was 32, the difference
of the logarithms of the mercurial heights were precise¬
ly the fathoms of elevation. But it requires many cor¬
rections to adjust this method to the circumstances of
the case ; and it was not till very lately that it has been
so far adjusted to -them as to become useful. We are
chiefly indebted to Mr de Luc for the improvements.
The great elevations in Switzerland enabled him to
make an immense number of observations, in almost
every variety of circumstances. Sir George Shuckburgh
also made a great number with most accurate instruments
in much greater elevations, in the same country} and he
made many chamber experiments for determining the
laws of variation in the subordinate circumstances. Ge¬
neral Boy also made many to the same purpose. And
to these two gentlemen we are chiefly obliged for the
corrections which are now generally adopted. 247
It is easy to perceive that the method, as already ^
expressed, cannot apply to every case : it depends on t.5 ^
the specific gravity of air and mercury, combined with vity of air
the supposition that this is aflected only by a change o/and raer-
pressure. But since all bodies are expanded by heat,cury*
and as there is no reason to suppose that they are equal¬
ly expanded by it, it follows that a change of tempera¬
ture will change the relative gravity of mercury and
air, even although both suffer the same change of tem¬
perature : and since the air may be warmed or cooled
when the mercury is not, or may change its tempera¬
ture independent of it, we may expect still greater va¬
riations of specific gravity.
The general effect of an augmentation of the specific
gravity of the mercury must be to increase the subtan¬
gent of the atmospherical logarithmic } in which case
the logarithms of the densities, as measured by inches
of mercury, will express measures that are greater than
fathoms in the same proportion that the subtangent is
increased ; or, when the air is more expanded than the
mercury, it will require a greater height of homogene¬
ous atmosphere to balance 30 inches of mercury, and a
given fall of mercury will then correspond to a thicker
stratum of air.
In order, therefore, to perfect this method, we must
learn by experiment how much mercury expands by an
increase of temperature ; we must also learn how much
the air expands by the same, or any change of tempe¬
rature } and how much its elasticity is affected by it.
Both these circumstances must be considered in the
case of air} for it might happen that the elasticity of
the air is not so much affected by heat as its bulk is.
It will, therefore, be proper to state in this place the
experiments which have been made for ascertaining
these two expansions. 2^s
The most accurate, and the best adapted experiments General
for ascertaining the expansion of mercury, are those of1*0?’5 cx-
General Boy, published in the 67th volume of the P|,J. Pcriment*
losophical Transactions. He exposed 30 inches of mer-pansio^of
cury, actually supported by the atmosphere in a baro-mercury,
meter, in a nice apparatus, by which it could be made
of one uniform temperature through its whole length }
and he noted the expansion of it in decimals of an inch.
These are contained in the following table } where the
first column expresses the temperature by Fahrenheit’s
thermometer, the second column expresses the bulk of
the mercury, and the third column the expansion of an
inch of mercury for an increase of one degree in the
adjoining temperatures.
4U 2
Table
708
PNEUMATICS.
Barometer.
249
250
Table A.
j Temp.
Bulk of ^
212
202
192
I 82
172
162
142
13 2
122
II 2
102
92
82
72
62
52
42
32
22
12
2
o
30.4888
30.46 c 2
30.4409
3°-4lJ9
30.3002
30.3638
3°-3367
30.3090
30.2807
3°.25i8
30.2223
30.1922
3°.i6i5
30.1302
30.0984
30.0661
30*°333
30.0000
29.9662
29.9319
29.8971
29.8901
Expan. for i°.
O.OOOO763
O.OOOO787
O.OOOOSIO
O.OOO0833
O.OOO0857
O.OOO0880
O.OOOO903
O.OOOO923.
O.OOOO943
O.OOOO963
O.OOOO983
O.OOOIOO3
O.OOOIO23
O.OOOIO43
O.OOOI063
O.OOOIO77
O.OOOIO93
0.0001110
0.00011 27
0.0001143
0.0001160
0.0000177
This table gives rise to some reflections. The scale
of the thermometer is constructed on the supposition
that the successive degrees of heat are measured by
equal increments of bulk in the mercury of the ther¬
mometer. How comes it, therefore, that this is not ac¬
companied by equal increments of bulk in the mercury
of the column, but that the corresponding expansions
of this column do continually diminish : General Roy
attributes this to the gradual detachment of elastic mat¬
ter from the mercury by heat, which presses on the top
of the column, and therefore shortens it. He applied
a boiling heat to the vacuum a-top, without producing
any farther depression ; a proof that the barometer had
been carefully filled. It had indeed been boiled through
its whole length. He had attempted to measure the
mercurial expansion in the usual way, by tilling 3p
inches of the tube with boiled mercury, and exposing it
to the heat with the open end uppermost. But here it
is evident that the expansion of the tube, and its solid
contents, must be taken into the account. The expan¬
sion of the tube was found so exceedingly irregular,
and so incapable of being determined with precision
for the tubes which were to be employed, that he was
obliged to have recourse to the method with the real
barometer. In this no regard was necessary to any
circumstance but the perpendicular height. There was,
besides, a propriety in examining the mercury in the
very condition in which it was used for measuring the
pressure of the atmosphere; because, whatever compli¬
cation there was in the results, it was the same in the
barometer in actual use.
The most obvious manner of applying these experi¬
ments on the expansion of mercury to our purpose, is to
reduce the observed height of the mercury to what it
would have been if it were of the temperature 32.
Th.ts, uppose that the observed mercurial height is
4
29.2, and that the temperature of the mercury is 720,
make 30.1302:30=229.2: 29.0738. This will be
the true measure of the density of the air of the stan¬
dard temperature. In order that we may obtain the
exact temperature of the mercury, it is proper that
the observation be made by means of a thermometer at¬
tached to the barometer-frame, so as to warm and cool
along with it.
Or, this may be done without the help of a table,
and with sufficient accuracy, from the circumstance
that the expansion of an inch of mercury for one degree
diminishes very nearly Part- each succeeding de¬
gree. If therefore we take from the expansion at 3 20
its thousandth part for each degree of any range above
it, we obtain a mean rate of expansion for that range.
If the observed temperature of the mercury is below
320, we must add this correction to obtain the mean ex¬
pansion. This rule will be made more exact if we sup¬
pose the expansion at 320 to be =0.0001127. 1 hen
multiply the observed mercurial height by this expan¬
sion, and we obtain the correction, to be subtracted or
added according as the temperature of the mercury was
above or below 3 2°. Thus to abide by the former ex¬
ample of 7 2°. This exceeds 3 20 by 40 : therefore take
40 from 0.0001127, and we have 0.0001087 for the
medium expansion for that range. Multiply this by 40,
and we have the whole expansion of one inch of mercu¬
ry, =0.004348. Multiply the inches of mercurial height,
viz. 29.2 by this expansion, and we have for the correc¬
tion 0.12696; which being subtracted from the obser¬
ved height leaves 29.07304, differing from the accurate
quantity less than the thousandth part of an inch. This
rule is very easily kept in the memory, and supersedes-
the use of a table.
This correction may be made with all necessary ex¬
actness by a rule still more simple ; namely', by multi¬
plying the observed height of the mercury by the dif¬
ference of its temperature from 32H, and cutting off
four cyphers before the decimals of the mercurial height.
This will seldom err T£o of an inch- even believe
that it is the most exact method within the range of
temperatures that can be expected to occur in measuring
heights: for it appears, by comparing many experiments
and observations, that General Roy’s measure of the
mercurial expansion is too great, and that the expansion
of an inch of mercury between 20° and 70° of fahren-
heit’s thermometer does not exceed 0.000102 per de¬
gree. Having thus corrected the observed mercurial
heights by reducing them to what they would have been-
if the mercury had been of the standard temperature,
the logarithms of the corrected heights are taken, and
their difference, multiplied by icooo, will give the dif¬
ference of elevations in English fathoms.
There is another way of applying this correction, ful¬
ly more expeditious and equally accurate. T-he diflti-
ence of the logarithms of the mercurial heights is the
measure ot the ratio of those heights. In like manner
the difference of the logarithms of the observed and cor¬
rected heights at any station is the measure ot the latio
of those heights. Therefore this last difference^ of the
logarithms is the measure of the correction of this ratio.
Now the observed height is to the corrected height
nearly as 1 to 1.000102. The logarithm of this ratio,
or the difference of the logarithms of 1 and 1.000102,
is O.OOCQ444. This is the correction for each degree
that
Taking
heights.
5i#®tit
25s
25:
P N E U M
urometer, that the temperature of the mercury (lifters from 32.
—■ v ■ '1 Therefore multiply 0.0000444 by the difference of the
mercurial temperatures from 32, and the products will
be the corrections of the respective logarithms.
254 But there is still an easier way of applying the lo¬
garithmic correction. If both the mercurial tempera¬
tures are the same, the differences of their logarithms
will be the same, although each may be a good deal
above or below the standard temperature, if the expan¬
sion be very nearly equable. The correction will be
necessary only when the temperatures at the two stations
are different, and will be proportional to this difference.
Therefore, if the difference of the mercurial tempera¬
tures be multiplied by 0.0000444, the product will be
the correction to be made on the difference of the lo¬
garithms of the mercurial heights.
But farther, since the differences of the logarithms
of the mercurial heights are also the differences of ele¬
vation in English fathoms, it fellows that the correction
is also a difference of elevation in English fathoms, or
that the correction for one degree of difference of mer¬
curial temperature is T^g— of a fathom, or 32 inches,
or 2 feet 8 inches.
This correction of 2.8 for every degree of difference
of temperature must be subtracted from the elevation
found by the general rate, when the mercury at the up¬
per station is colder than that at the lower. For when
this is the case, the mercurial column at the upper sta¬
tion will appear too short, the pressure of the atmosphere
too small, and therefore the elevation in the atmosphere
will appear greater than it really is.
255 Therefore the rule for this correction will be to mul¬
tiply 0.0000444 by the degrees of difference between
the mercurial temperatures at the two stations, and to
add or subtract the product from the elevation found by
the general rule, according as the mercury at the upper,
station is hotter or colder than at the lower.
256 If the experiments of General Hoy on the expansion
of the mercury in a real barometer be thought most de¬
serving of attention, and the expansion be considered as
variable, the logarithmic difference corresponding to this
, expansion for the mean temperature of the two barome¬
ters may be taken. These logarithmic differences are
contained in the following table, which is carried as far
as 11 20, beyond which it is not probable that any ob¬
servations will be made. The number for each tempera¬
ture is the difference between the logarithms 0130 inches
of the temperature 32, and of 30 inches expanded by
that temperature.
Table B.
A T I C S.
709
Temp.
1X2
102
9?
82
72
62
52
42
32
22
12
O
Long. diff.
O.OOOO427
O.OOOO436
O.OOOO444
o 0000453
O.OOOO460
O.OOOO468
o.0000475
0.0000482
0.0000489
0.0000497
0.0000504
Dee. of
Fath.
.427
•436
■444
•453
.460
.468
•475
.482
.489
•497
•5°4
Ft. In.
2.7
2.7
2.8
2.9
2.9
2.10
2.1 O
2.11
2.11
3-°
3-o
Taking
heights.
It is also necessary to attend to the temperature of
the air ; and the change that is produced by heat in its
density is of much greater consequence than that of the
mercury. The relative gravity of the two, on which 'gh/teni
the subtangent of the logarithmic curve depends, and perature of
consequently the unit of our scale of elevations, is much the air must
more affected by the heat of the air than by the heat of also be at-
the mercury. tended to.
This adjustment is of incomparably greater difficulty,
than the former, and we can hardly hope to make it
perfect. We shall narrate the chief experiments which
have been made on the expansion of air, and deduce
from them such rules as appear to be necessary conse¬
quences of them, and then notice the circumstances
which leave the matter still imperfect. 2_s
General Roy compared a mercurial and an air ther- Compari-
mometer, each of which was graduated arithmetically,son of a
that is, the units of the scales were equal bulks of nier-niercu.rial
eury, and equal bulks (perhaps different from the for-
naer) of air. He found their progress as in the follow^ meter,
ing table.
Table C.
.Mere.
212
192
172
T52
132
112
92
72
52
32
12
Diff.
Air.
20
20
20
20
20
20
20
20
20
20
212.0
194.4
176.2
157-4
I38.O
Il8.0
97.2
75-6
53°
3M
11.4
Did:
17.6
18.2
18.8
19.4
20.0
20.8
21.6
22.6
21.6
20.0
It has been established by many experiments that 259
equal increments of heat produce equal increments in
the bulk of mercury. The differences of temperature
are therefore expressed by the second column, and may
be considered as equal ; and the numbers of the third "
column must be allowed to express the same tempera¬
tures with those of the first. They directly express the-
bulks of the air, and the numbers of the fourth column
express the difference of these bulks. These are evi¬
dently unequal, and show that common air expands most
of all when of the temperature 62 nearly. 2(y0
The next point was to determine what was the actualTo deter-
increase of bulk by some known increase of heat. Formine ari
this purpose he took a tube, having a narrow bore, andactU:1* *n"
a ball at one end. He measured with great care the bnuTfrom
capacity of both the ball and the tube, and divided the a known
tube into equal spaces wbieh bore a determined pro-increase of
portion to the capacity of the ball. This apparatus^ieat*
was set in a long cylinder filled with frigorific mixtures
or with water, which could be uniformly heated up to
the boiling temperature, and was accompanied by a nice
thermometer The expansion of the air was measured
by means of a column pf mercury which- rose or sunk in
the tube The tube being of a small bore, the mercu¬
ry did not drop out of it j and the bore being chosen
as equable as possible, this column remained of an uni¬
form length, whatever part of the tube it chanced to
©ccupy. By this contrivance he was able to examine
the
710
PNEUMATICS.
Barometer, the expansibility of air of various densities. When the
eolumn of mercury contained only a single drop or two,
the air was nearly of the density of the external air. If
he wished to examinethe expansion of air twice or thrice
as dense, he used a column of 30 or 60 inches long j
and to examine the expansion of air that is rarer than
the external air, he placed the tube with the hall upper¬
most, the open end coming through a hole in the bot¬
tom of the vessel containing the mixtures or water. By
this position the column of mercury was hanging in the
tube, supported by the pressure of the atmosphere j and
the elasticity of the included air was measured by the
difference between the suspended column and the com¬
mon barometer.
The following table contains an expansion of 1000
parts of air, nearly of the common density, by heating it
from o to 212. The first column contains the height
of the barometer ; the second contains this height aug¬
mented by the small column of mercury in the tube of
the manometer, and therefore expresses the density of
the air examined ; the third contains the total expan¬
sion of 1000 parts } and the fourth contains the expan¬
sion for l*, supposing it uniform throughout.
Table D.
i5i
£62
Barom.
2995
30.07
29.48
29.90
29.96
29.90
29-95
30.07
29.48
Mean
Density.
of Air
examined.
Expansion
of 1000 pts
by 21a0.
3I-52
30.77
29.9O
30-73
30.92
30.55
30.60
30.60
30.00
30.62
483.89
482.10
480.74
485.86
489.45
476.04
487-55
482.80
489.47
484.21
Expansion
by i°.
2.2825
2.2741
2.2676
2.2918
2.3087
2-2455
2.2998
2.2774
2.3087
2.2840
Temp.
212
I92
172
152
132
11 2
92
82
72
Total
Expansion
Expansion
for i°.
484.210
444.OI I
402.452
359-503
3I5-193
269.513
222.006
197-795
172.671
2.0099
2.0080
2-1475
2.2155
2.2840
2-3754
2.42x1
2.5124
Temp.
72
62
52
42
32
22
12
O
Total
Expansion.
X72.671
147.090
121.053
95-929
71.718
48.421
26.038
Expansion
for ic.
2-558r
2.6037
2.5124
2.4211
2.3297
2.2383
2.1698
If we would have a mean expansion for any particu¬
lar range, as between 12® and 9 2°, which is the most
likely to comprehend all the geodaetical observations,1
we need only take the difference of the bulks 26.038
and 222.006.= 195.968, and divide this by the inter¬
val of temperature 8o°, and we obtain 2.4496* or 2.45
for the mean expansion for 1°.
It would perhaps be better to adapt the table to a
mass of I oco parts of air of the standard temperature
3 2° ; for in its present form it shows the expansibility
of air originally of the temperature O. This will be
done with sufficient accuracy by saying (for 212°)
1071.718 : 1484.210=1000.: 13849, and so of the
rest. Thus we shall construct the following table of the
expansion of 10,000 parts of air.
Table F.
Taking
heights.
163
Temp.
212
192
172
152
132
1X2
92
82
72
62
52
42
32
22
12
O
Bulk.
i3489
J3474
13087
12685
12272
11846
11403
XII77
10942
10704
10461
10226
10000
9783
9574
9331
Differ.
375
387
392
4r3
426
443
226
235
238
243
235
226
217
209
243
Expans,
for i°.
18.7
!9-3
19.6
20.6
21.3
22.1
22.6
23- 5
238
24- 3
23-5
22.6
21.7
20.9
20.2
Hence it appears, that the mean expansion of 1000
parts of air of the density 30.62 by one degree of Fah¬
renheit’s thermometer is 2.284, or that 1000 becomes
1002.284.
If this expansion be supposed to follow the same rate
that was observed in the comparison of the mercurial and
air thermometer, we shall find that the expansion of a
thousand parts of air for one degree of heat at the differ¬
ent intermediate temperatures will be as in the follow¬
ing table.
Table E.
This will give for the mean expansion of 1000 part*
of air between 12° and 92=2.29. tg4
Although it cannot happen that in measuring theQcneraj
differences of elevation near the earth’s surface, we shall Roy’s ex-
have occasion to employ air greatly exceeding the com-Pen,?enU
mon density, we may insert the experiments made by the
General Roy on such airs. They are expressed in thecommo„
following table ; where column first contains the den-density,
sities measured by the inches of mercury that they will
support when of the temperature 3 2°: column second is
the expansion of 1000 parts of such air by being heated
from o to 212} and column third is the mean expan¬
sion for i°.
Table G.
Mean
Density.
IOI.7
92-3
80.5
54-5
49-7
75-7
Expansion
for 212.
45I-54
423-23
41 2.09
439-87
443-24
434
Expans
for 1°
2.130
1.996
1 944
2075
2 091
2.047
165
. j .
We have much more frequent occasion to operate in And on air
air that is rarer than the ordinary state of the superficial below that
atmosphere.
IJarometer. atmosphere. General Roy accordingly made many ex
v periments on such airs. He found in general, that their
expansibility by heat was analogous to that of air in its
ordinary density, being greatest about the temperature
6o°. He found, too, that its expansibility by heat di¬
minished with its density, but he could not determine
the law of gradation. When reduced to about one-fifth
of the density of common air, its expansion was as fol¬
lows.
Table H.
E U M A T I C S. 7,i
stratum where the barometer stands at 30 inches : or Taking
whatever be the elevation indicated by the difference of heights.
the Imromptrifa 1 lif-in-lilc —u—-' >
266
lir of or-
inary den-
ty ex-
ands most,
Temp.
2X2
I92
172
I32
11 2
92
72
52
32
Bulk.
1141.504
1134-429
1122.165
1108.015
1093.864
1079.636
1064.699
io43-788
1017.845
1000.000
Difference.
7-075
12.264
14.150
14.151
14.228
14-93 7
20.911
25-943
17-845
Mean
expansion
Expansion
lor i°
°-354
O.613
O.708
O.708
O.7 11
0.747
1.045
x.297
0.892
0.786
*67
he height
liich
oduces
given fall
the ba-
meter,
icreases
ith the
I r’s expan-
m.
From this very extensive and judicious range of ex¬
periments, it is evident that the expansibility of air by
heat is greatest when the air is about its ordinary den¬
sity, and that in small densities it is greatly diminished.
It appears also, that the law of compression is altered -,
for in this specimen of the rare air half of the whole ex¬
pansion happens about the temperature 990, but in air
of ordinary density at 105°. This being the case, we
see that the experiments of Mr Amontons, narrated in
the Memoirs of the Academy at Paris 1702, &c. are
not inconsistent with those more perspicuous experiments
of General Roy. Amontons found, that whatever was
the density of the air, at least in cases much denser
than ordinary air, the change of 180° of temperature
increased its elasticity in the same proportion : for he
found, that the column of mercury which it supported
when of the temperature 50, was increased one-third at
the temperature 212. Hence he hastily concluded, that
its expansibility was increased in the same proportion ;
but this by no means follows, unless we are certain that
in every temperature the elasticity is proportional to the
density. Phis is a point which still remains undecided j
and it merits attention, because if true it establishes a
remarkable law concerning the action of heat, which
would seem to go to prove that the elasticity of fluids
is the property of the matter of fire, which it superin¬
duces on every body with which it combines in the form
of vapour.
After this account of the expansion of air, we see
that the height through which we must rise in order to
produce a given fall of the mercury in the barometer, or
the thickness of the stratum of air equiponderant with a
tenth of an inch of mercury, must increase with the ex-
pansion of air i and that if  be the expansion for
1000
one degree, we must multiply the excess of the tempera¬
ture of the air above 32° by 0.00229, and multiply the
product by 87, in order to obtain the thickness of the
2158
the barometrical heights, upon the supposition that the
air is of the temperature 32°, we must multiply this by
0.00229 lor every degree that the air is warmer or
colder than 32. The product must be added to the
elevation in the first case, and subtracted in the latter.
Sir George Shuckburgh deduces 0.0024 from his ex¬
periments as the mean expansion of air in the ordinary
cases : and this is probably nearer the truth j because
General Roy’s experiments were made on air which was
freer from damp than the ordinary air in the fields : and
it appears from his experiments, that a very minute
quantity of damp increases its expansibility by heat in
a prodigious degree.
.The great difficulty is how to apply this correction j Difficulties
or rather, how to determine the temperature of the air ’n t^1*s
in those extensive and deep strata in which the elevations m<X^ °-f
are measured. It seldom or never happens that the stra- heights.”8
turn is of the same temperature throughout. It is com-
nionly much coldex* aloft 5 it is also of different constitu¬
tions. Below it is warm, loaded with vapour, and very
expansible j above it is cold, much drier, and less ex¬
pansible, both by its dryness and its i-arity. The cur¬
rents of wind are often disposed in stx-ata, which long
retain their places j and as they c#me from different re¬
gions, are of different temperatures and diffei-ent consti¬
tutions. TV e cannot therefore determine the expansion
of the whole stratum with precision, and must content
ourselves with an approximation : and the best approxi¬
mation that we can make is, by supposing the whole
stratum of a mean temperature between those of its up¬
per and lower extremity, and employ the expansion cor¬
responding to that mean temperature.
I his, however, is founded on a gratuitous supposition,
that the whole intermediate stratum expands alike, and
that the expansion is equable in the different interme¬
diate temperatures j but neither of these is warranted
by experiment. Rare air expands less than what is
denser ; and therefore the general expansion of the whole
stratum renders its density more uniform. Dr Horsley
has pointed out some curious consequences of this in
Phil. Trans, vol. Ixiv. There is a particular eleva¬
tion at which the general expansion, instead of diminish¬
ing the density of the air, increases it by the superior
expansion of what is below; and we know that the ex¬
pansion is not equable in the intermediate temperatures:
but we cannot find out a rule which will give us a more
accurate correction than by taking the expansion for
the mean temperature.
When we have done this, we have carried the method
of measuring heights by the barometer as far as it can
go ; and this source of remaining error makes it needless
to attend to some other very minute equations which
theory points out. Such is the diminution of the weight
of the mercury by the change of distance from the centre
of the earth. This accompanies the diminution of the
weight of the air, but neither so as to compensate it,
nor to go along with it pari passu.
After all, there are found cases where there is a re¬
gular deviation from those rules, of which we cannot
give any very satisfactory account. Thus it is found,
that in the province of Quito in Peru, which is at a
great elevation above the surface of the ocean, the
heights obtained by these rules fall considerably short of
the
I 2
PNEUMATICS.
Barometer, the real heights; and at Spitsbergen they considerably
1 .. —1 ■ exceed them. It appears that the an' in the cncumpo-
lar regions is denser than the air of the temperate cli¬
mates when of the same heat and under the same plea¬
sure ; and the contrary seems to be the case with the air
in the torrid zone. It would seem that the specific gra¬
vity of air to mercury is at Spitsbergen about x to 10224,
and in Peru about 1 to 13 too. This difference is with
great probability ascribed to the greater dryness of the
circumpolar air. # 1 • •
This source of error will always remain ; and it. is
combined with another, which should be attended to
by all who practise this method of measuring heights,
namely, a difference in the specific gravity of the quick¬
silver. It is thought sufficiently pure for a barometer
when it is cleared of all calcinable matter, so as not to
drag or sully the tube. In this state it may contain a
considerable portion of other metals, particularly ol sil¬
ver, bismuth, and tin, which will diminish its specific
gravity. It has been obtained by revivification from
cinnabar of the specific gravity 14.229, and it is thought
very fine if 13.65. Sir George Shuckburgh found the
quicksilver which agreed precisely with the atmospheri¬
cal observations on which the rules are founded, to have
the specific gravity 13.61. It is seldom obtained so
heavy. It is evident that these variations will change
the whole results ; and that it is absolutely necessary, in
order to obtain precision, that we know the density of
the mercury employed. The subtangent of the atmo¬
spherical logarithmic, or the height of the homogeneous,
atmosphere, will increase in the- same proportion with
the density of the mercury ; and the elevation cor¬
responding to one-tenth of an inch of barometric height
will change in the same proportion.
We must be contented with the remaining imperfec¬
tions : and we can readily see, that, for any purpose
that can be answered by such measurements of great
heights, the method is sufficiently exact} but it is quite
inadequate to the purpose of taking accurate levels, for
directing the construction of canals, aqueducts, and
other works of this kind, where extreme precision is ab¬
solutely necessary.
We shall now deduce from all that has been said on
this subject sets of easy rules for the practice of this
mode of measurement, illustrating them by an example.
tion by irfc: this product, according as the air is above Measuring
or below 3 2°. The product is the correct elevation in heights,
fathoms and decimals. v—»i-
Examplc.
Suppose that the mercury in the barometer at the
lower station was at 29.4 inches, that its temperature
was 50°, and the temperature of the air was 45 j and
let the height of the mercury at the upper station be
25.19 inches, its temperature 46, and the temperature
of the air 39. Thus we have
£ al Hts. Temp. ■
29’4 5°,
25.19 46^
I. Log. of 29.4
Log. of 25.19
270
Mode of
measuring
heights by
the baro¬
meter ac¬
cording to
De Luc.
Mean. Temp. Air. Mean.
45
3°
1.4683473
1.40X 2282
48
42
Elevation in fathoms
II. Ex pans, for 48° .473
Multiply - 4
Approximated elevation
III. Expans, of air at 42 0.00238
X42—32,= 10° 10
Multiply
By
0.0238
671.191
1.892
669.299
669.2990
1.0238
271
I. M. DE Luc's Method.
I. Subtract the logarithm of the barometrical height
at the upper station from the logarithm of that at the
lower, and count the index and four first decimal figures
of the remainder as fathoms, the rest as a decimal frac¬
tion. Call this the elevation.
II. Note the different temperatures of the mercury
at the two stations, and the mean temperature. Mul¬
tiply the logarithmic expansion corresponding to this
mean temperature (in Table B, p. 709.) by the differ¬
ence of the two temperatures, and subtract the product
from the elevation if the barometer lias been coldest at
the upper station, otherwise add it. Call the difference
or the sum the approximated elevation.
III. Note the difference of the temperatures of the
air at the two stations by a detached thermometer, and
also the mean temperature and its difference from 3 2°.
Multiply this difference by the expansion of air for the
mean temperature, and multiply the approximate eleva-
Subtract this from
Keduced barometric height - 29.341
Expans, from Tab. A is o.ooom.
0.039
25.190
i40Xo.oooiu X 25.19
Subtract from
Reduced barometric height
II. Log. 29.341
Log. 25.151
Approximated elevation
III. This multiplied by 1.0238 gives
25-I5I
1.4674749
I-4o05553
669.196
685.125
27*
Product =1 the correct elevation 685.228
2. Sir George Shuckburgii's Method.
I. Reduce the barometric heights to what they would ani1 ,ac*
be if they were of the temperature 3 2°. shuck- t0
II. The difference of the logarithms of the reduced bui.g^
barometrical heights will give the approximate eleva¬
tion.
III. Correct the approximated elevation as before.
Same Example.
I. Mean expans, for i° from Tab. A, is 0.000111
i80xo.oconi X29.4= - 0 059
29.4
Remark. 1. If O.OCOIOI be supposed the mean ex-Remarks
pansion of mercury for iG, as Sir George Shuckburgh me"
determines it, the reduction of the barometric heights11
will be had sufficiently exact by multiplying the obser¬
ved heights of the mercury by the difference of its tem¬
peratures
rometer. peratures From 3 2, and cutting off four more decimal
places ; thus 29.4 X gives the reiluceil height
PNEUMATIC ».
Corr. for temp, of mercury, =4X2.83
[32
£9.347, and 25.19 x
10000
T4
10000
gives 25.155, and the dif-
274
easy
te of
Ities.
s-75
heio-hts. Then
30 /, cl.
is the approximated elevation
Very nearly.
Multiply the difference 5 of the mercurial tempera¬
tures by 2.83 feet, and add this product to the approxi¬
mated elevation if the upper barometer has been the
warmest, otherwise subtract it. The result, that is, the
sum or difference, will be the corrected elevation.
Same Exatnple.
e/=294—251.9=42.1
£=874-10 X0.21,=89.1
29.44-25.19
m-—- '—-—- = 27.29
t 30X42.1x89.1 ,
.Approx, elevation =^   =4_}—4123.24 reet.
A^ol. XVI. Part II. "7'29 , 4
41 r 1.92
685.32
ference of their logarithms gives 669.4 fathoms for the
approximated elevation, which differs from the one given
above by no more than 15 inches.
Remark 2. If o OO24 ,)e taken for the expansion of
air for one degree, the correction for this expansion will
he had by multiplying the approximated elevation by
1 2, and this product by the sum of the differences of
the temperatures from 3 20, counting the difference as
negative when the temperature is below 32, and cutting
off four places ; thus 669.196 X 1 2X 134-07 X —^—-
10000
= i6.o6r, which added to 669.196 gives 685.257,
differing from the former only 9 inches.
From the same premises we may derive a rule, which
1 with- is abundantly exact for all geodcetical purposes, and
the which requires no tables of any kind, and is easily re¬
membered.
1. The height through which we must rise in order
to produce any fall of the mercury in the barometer, is
inversely proportional to the density of the air, that is,
to the height of the mercury in the barometer.
2. When the barometer stands at 30 inches, and the
air and quicksilver are of the temperature 32, wre must
rise through 87 feet, in order to produce a depression
of of an inch.
3. But if the air he of a different temperature, this
87 feet must he increased or diminished by 0.21 of a
foot for every degree of difference of the temperature
from 320.
4. Every degree of difference of the temperatures of
the mercury at the two stations makes a change of 2.833
feet, or 2 feet 10 inches in the elevation.
Plence the following rule.
X. Take the difference of the barometric heights in
tenths of an inch. Call this d.
2. Multiply the difference a between 32 and the
mean temperature of the air by 21, and take the sum or
difference of this product and 87 feet. This is the
height through which we must rise to cause the ba¬
rometer to fall from 30 inches to 29.9 Call this
height //.
Let tn he the mean between the two barometric
Corrected elevation in feet
Ditto in fathoms - _ . -
Differing from the former only 15 inches.
'Ibis rule may be expressed by the following simple
and easily remembered formula, where a is the diffe¬
rence between 320 and the mean temperature of the air,
d is the difference of barometric, heights in tenths of an
inch, ?n is the mean barometric height, ^ the difference
between the mercurial temperatures, and F is the cor-
j,_3°(87r±ro.2if/)ff
7r3
Measuring1
Heights
27.
rcct elevation.
:3X 2.83.
277
M e shall now conclude this subject by an account oljjeiglits of
some of the most remarkable mountains, &c. on the the most
earth, above the surface of the ocean, in feet.
rein irkahle
mountains.
Mount Buy de Domme in Auvergne, the first
mountain measured by the barometer
Mount Blanc T
Monte Bosa / ..
Aiguille d’Argonture |
Monastery of St Bernard J - - -
Mount Cenis ...
Pic de los Reyes
Pic du Medi
}
?■1 yvenees
Tic d (Jssano « J
Canegou
Lake of Geneva
Mount ./Etna ...
Mount Vesuvius
Mount Hekla in Iceland
Snowdown ....
Ben More - - -
Ben Lowers -
Ben Gloe -
Schehallion - - . .
Ben Lomond - - -
Tin to -
Table Hill, Cape of Good Hope
Gondar city in Abyssinia
Source of the Nile
Pic of Teneriffe
Chimborazo ...
Cayambourow _ . _
Antisana -
Pinchinha (see Peru, N° 56.)
City of Quito (see ditto) -
Caspian sea below the ocean
This last is so singular, that it is necessary to give
the authority on which this determination is founded.
It is deduced from nine years observations with the ha-
rometer at Astrachan by Mr Lecre, compared with a
series of observations made with the same barometer
at St Petersburgh.
This employment of the barometer has caused it toT ^ .
1 1 • ^ ^ 1 1 -i 1 Improved
become a very interesting instrument to the philosopher barometers
and to the traveller j and many attempts have been with a de-
made of late to improve it, and render it more portable, scription or'
The improvements have either been directed to the en-1*00^' s‘
largement of its range, or to the more accurate measure-
ment of its present scale. Of the first kind are Hooke’s
wheel barometer, the diagonal barometer, and the hori¬
zontal barometer, described in a former part of this
4 X work.
5-83
15662
15084
13402
7944
9212
762a
9300
11700
8544
1232
10954
3938
4887.
3555
3723
3858
3472
3461
3'8o
2342
3454
8440
8082
14026
I9595
I939I
19290
15670
9977
306
P N E U M
Plate
ccccxxx
%• 73-
279
Inferior to
the com¬
mon one
for the
measure-
ment of
heights.
a8o
How the
eommon
one might
he impro¬
ved.
work. See BAROMETER. In that place are also descri¬
bed two very ingenious contrivances oi Mr Rownings,
which are evidently not portable. Of all the barometers
with an enlarged scale, the best is that invented by Dr
Hooke in 1668, and described in the Phil.Trans. N°i85.
The invention was also claimed by Huyghens and by
De la Hire 5 but Hooke’s was published long before.
It consists of a compound tube ABCDE1 G (fig-73-)?
of which the parts AB and DE are equally wide, and
EFG as much narrower as we would amplify the scale.
The parts AB and EG must also be as perfectly cy¬
lindrical as possible. The part HBCDI is filled with
mercury, bavin r a vacuum above in AB. It is filled
with a light fluid, and EG with another light fluid which
will not mix with that in IF. lire cistern G is of the
same diameter as A B. It is easy to see that the range
of the separating surface at t must lie as much greater
than that of the surface I as the area of I is greater
than that of F. And this ratio is in our choice. This
barometer is free from all the had qualities of those for-
merlv described, being most delicately moveable } and
is by far the fittest for a chamber, for amusement, by
observations on the changes of the atmospheric pressure.
The slightest breeze causes it to rise and fall, and it is
continually in motion.
But this, and all other contrivances of the kind, are
inferior to the common barometer for measurement of
heights, on account of their bulk and cumbersome¬
ness : nay, they are inferior for all philosophical pur¬
poses in point of accuracy •, and this lor a reason that
admits of no reply. Their scale must he determined in
all its parts by the common barometer J and, therefore,
notwithstanding their great range, they are susceptible
of no greater accuracy than that with which the scale
of a common barometer can be observed and measured.
This will he evident to any person who will take the
trouble to consider how the points of their scale must
he ascertained. The most accurate method for gradu¬
ating such a barometer as we have now described would
he to make a mixture of vitriolic acid and water, which
should have TV of the density of mercury. Then, let
a long tube stand vertical in this fluid, and connect its
upper end with the open end of the barometer by a
pipe which has a branch to which we can apply the
mouth. Then if we suck through this pipe, the fluid
will rise both in the barometer and in the other tube j
and 10 inches rise in this tube will correspond to one
inch descent in the common barometer. In this manner
may every point of the scale be adjusted in due propor¬
tion to the rest. But it still remains to determine what
particular point of the scale corresponds to some deter¬
mined inch of the common barometer. This can only
be done by an actual comparison •, and this being done,
the whole becomes equally accurate. Except therefore
for the mere purpose of chamber amusement, in which
case the barometer last described has a decided prefer¬
ence, the common barometer is to be preferred •, and
our attention should be entirely directed to its improve¬
ment and portability.
For this purpose it should be furnished with two mi¬
croscopes or magnifying glasses, one of them stationed
at the beginning of the scale j which should either be
moveable, so that it may always be brought to the sur¬
face of the mercury in the cistern, or the cistern should
be so contrived that its surface may always be brought
A T I C S.
to the beginning of the scale. The glass will enable us
to see the coincidence with accuracy. Hie other micro¬
scope must be moveable, so as to be set opposite to the
surface of the mercury in ihe tube; and the scale should
be furnished with a vernier which divides an inch into
IOOO parts, and be made of materials of which we know
the expansion with great precision.—See the article Ba¬
rometrical Measurements in the Supplement;
and for an account of many ingenious contrivances to
make the instruments accurate, portable, and commodi¬
ous, consult Magellan, Disser. dediverses Instr. dePhys.;
Phil. Trans. Ixvii. Ixviii.; Journ. clePhys. xix. ic8. 346.
xvi 392. xviii. 391. xxi. 436. xxii. 390.; Snlzer, Act.
Helvet. iii. 259.; De Luc, lii cherches sur les Modifica¬
tions de P Atmosphere, i. 401. ii. 459, 490. De Luc’s
seems the most simple and pertect of them all. Cardinal
de Luynes (Mem. Par. 1768) ; Brins. De Luc, Re-
cherches, § 63.; Van Swinden’s PositionesPhysicce; Com.
Acad. Petrop. i.; Com. Acad. Petrop. Nov. ii. 200. viii.
Air ns
Motion.
2S1
Thus we have given an elementary account of the
distinguishing propexties of air as a heavy and compres¬
sible fluid, and of the general phenomena which are
immediate consequences ol these properties. Hiis we
have done in a set oi propositions analogous to those
which form the doctrines of hydrostatics. It remains to
consider it in another point of view, namely, as moveable
and inert. The phenomena consequent on these proper¬
ties are exhibited in the velocities which air acquires by
pressure, in the resistance which bodies meet with to their
motion through the air, and in the impression which air
in motion gives to bodies exposed to its action.
We shall first consider the motions of which air is
susceptible when the equilibrium of pressure (whether
arising from its weight or its elasticity) is removed;
and in the next place, we shall consider its action on
solid bodies exposed to its current, and the resistance
which it makes to their motion through it. 2Sa
In this consideration we shall avoid the extreme of Doctrine 0
generality, which renders the discussion too abstract and
difficult, and adapt our investigation t® the circum-
stances in which compressible fluids (of which air is acte(i on
taken for the representative) are most commonly found, equal and
We shall consider air therefore as it is commonly found parallel
in accessible situations, as acted on by equal and paral-^rdV1
lei gravity ; and we shall consider it in the same order
in which water is treated in a system of hydraulics. 2g^
In that science the leading problem is to determine analogous
with what velocity the water will move through a given to the^ ^
orifice when impelled by some known pressure ; and it jn
has been found, that the best form in which this most hj(jrauiics.
difficult and intricate proposition can be put, is to de¬
termine the velocity of water flowing through this ori¬
fice when impelled by its weight alone. Having de¬
termined this, we can reduce to this case every question
which can be proposed ; for, in place of the pressure
of any piston or other mover, we can always substitute
a perp< ndicular column ot water or air whose weight
shall be equal to the given pressure. 284
The first problem, therefore, is to determine with The Te a-
what velocity air will rush into a void when impelled ^
by its weight alone. This is evidently analogous to therusjiesjnto
hydraulic problem of water flowing out of a vessel. a void by
And here we must be contented with referring our its own
readers to the solutions which have been given of that'velS
problem}
PNEUMATICS.
problem, and the demonstration that it flows with the
velocity which a heavy body would acquire by falling
from a height equal to the depth of the hole under the
surface of the water in the vessel. In whatever way we
attempt to demonstrate that proposition, every step, nay,
every word, of the demonstration applies equally to the
air, or to any fluid whatever. Or, if our readers should
wish to see the connection or analogy of the cases, we
only desire them to recollect an undoubted maxim in
the science of motion, that when the moving force and
the matter to be moved vary in the same proportion, the
velocity will be the same. If therefore there be similar
vessels of air, water, oil, or any other fluid, all of the
height of a homogeneous atmosphere, they will all run
through equal and similar holes with the same velocity ;
for in whatever proportion the quantity of matter mo¬
ving through the hole be varied by a variation of den¬
sity, the pressure which forces it out, by acting in cir¬
cumstances perfectly similar, varies in the same propor¬
tion by the same variation of density.
We must therefore assume it as the leading proposi¬
tion, that air rushes from the atmosphere into a void
with the velocity which a heavy body would acquire by
jailing from the top of a homogeneous atmosphere.
It is known that air is about 840 times lighter than
water, and that the pressure of the atmosphere supports
water at the height of 3 3 feet nearly. The height there¬
fore of a homogeneous atmosphere is nearly 33x840*
or 27720 feet. Moreover, to know the velocity ac¬
quired by any fall, recollect that a hca\y body by fall¬
ing one foot acquires the velocity of 8 feet per second j
and that the velocities acquired by falling through
different heights are as the square roots of the heights.
Therefore to find the velocity corresponding to any
height, expressed in feet pex- second, multiply the square
root of the height by 8. We have therefore in the
present instance V=^/27220, =8x 166.493, =1332
feet per second. This therefore is the velocity with
which common air will rush into a void j and this may
be taken as a standard number in pneumatics, as 16 and
32 are standard numbers in the general science of me¬
chanics, expressing the action of gravity at the surface
of the earth.
It is easy to see that greater precision is not necessary
in this matter. The height of a homogeneous atmo¬
sphere is a variable thing, depending on the temperature
of the air. If this reason seems any objection against
the use of the number 1332, we may retain 8^/H in
place of it, where H expresses the height of a homoge¬
neous atmosphere of the given temperature. A vari-
tion of the barometer makes no change in the velocity,
nor in the height of the homogeneous atmosphere, be¬
cause it is accompanied by a proportional variation in
the density of the air. Wrhen it is increased for in¬
stance, the density is also increased Tlo- and thus the
expelling f >rce and the matter to be moved are changed
in the same proportion, and the velocity remains the
same. N. 0. Wre do not here consider the velocity
which the air acquires after its issuing into the void by
its continual expansion. This may be ascertained by
the 39th prop, of Newton’s Principia, b. i. Nay, which
appears very paradoxical, if a cylinder ot air, communi¬
cating in this manner with a void, be compressed by a
piston loaded with a weight, which presses it down as
the air flows out, and thus keep it of the same density,
the velocity of efflux will still be the same, however great
the pressure may chance to be : for the first and imme¬
diate effect of the load on the piston is to reduce the air
in the cylinder to such a density that its elasticity shall
exactly balance the load ; and because the elasticity of
air is proportional to its density, the density of the air
will be increased in the same proportion with the load,
that is, with the expelling power (for we are neglect¬
ing at present the weight of the included air as too in¬
considerable to have any sensible effect). Therefore,
since the matter to be moved is increased in the same
proportion with the pressure, the velocity will be the
same as before.
285
It is equally easy to determine the velocity with which and the
the air of the atmosphere will rush into a space contain- velocity
ing rarer air. Whatever may be the density of this air,
its elasticity, which follows the proportion of its density, to a space
will balance a proportional part of the pressure of the containing
atmosphere ; and it is the excess of this last only which rarer air.
is the moving force. The matter to be moved is the
same as before. Let D be the natural density of the
air, and § the density of the air contained in the vessel
into which it is supposed to run, and let P be the
pressure of the atmosphere, and therefore equal to the
force which impels it into a void ; and let tt be the
force with which this rarer air would run into a void.
We have D : P : ?r, and ?r—Nc
the moving
P$
D.
force in the present instance is P — v, or P—
Lastly, let V be the velocity of air rushing into a void,
and v the velocity with which it will rush into this ra¬
refied air.
It is a theorem in the motion of fluids, that the
pressures are as the squares of the velocities of efflux.
PS
Therefore P : P— — : u2. Hence we derive
D
s—yz
X 1— jj, and y X V :
r
■J i-
1)
We do not
here consider the resistance which the air of the atmo¬
sphere will meet with from the inertia of that in the
vessel which it must displace in its motion.
Here we see that there will always be a current into
the vessel while £ is less than D.
We also learn the gradual diminution of the velocity
as the vessel fills 5 for 3 continually increases, and there-
fore 1 —-jy continually diminishes.
It remains to determine the time t expressed in se¬
conds, in which the air of the atmosphere will flow into
this vessel from its state of vacuity till the air in the
vessel has acquired any proposed density
For this purpose let H, expressed in feet, be the
height through which a heavy body must fall in order
to acquire the velocity V, expressed also in feet per se¬
cond. This we shall express more briefly in future, by
calling it the height producing the velocity V. Let
C represent the capacity of the vessel, expressed in
cubic feet, and O the area or section of the orifice, ex¬
pressed in superficial or square feet j and let the natur¬
al density of the air be H.
Since the quantity of aerial matter contained in a
vessel depends on the capacity of the vessel and the
density of the air jointly, we may express the air which
4X2 would
?16 P N E U M
Ah- in would fill this vessel by the symbol CD when the air is
Motion, in its ordinary state, and by C ^ when it has the densi-
 1 ty In order to obtain the rate at which it fills, we
must take the fluxion of this quantity C This is C § j
for C is a constant quantity, and £ is a variable or flow¬
ing quantity.
But we also obtain the rate of influx by our know¬
ledge of the velocity, and the area of the orifice, and
the density. The velocity is V, or S-y/al, at the first
instant •, and when the air in the vessel has acquired the
density that is, at the end of the time t, the velocity
or
8v/H
or 8\/ll
1)
V U
D
236
illustrated
by ex¬
amples in
itumberj.
The rate of influx therefore (which may be con¬
ceived as measured by the little mass of air which will
enter during the time t with this velocity) will be
8 y/ IIODv/D—^ or g^HCVD^IE^ f, multi-
D
jdyitig the velocity by the orifice and the density.
Here then we have two values «f the rate of influx.
By stating them as equal we have a fluxionary equation,
from which w'e may obtain the fluents, that is, the
time t in seconds necessary for bringing the air in the
vessel to the density 2, or the density £ which will be
produced at the end of any time t. We have the equa¬
tion SyTIO y/Dy/D—21 Hence we derive
c ^
^S'THO y/ D X ‘Tcra 0f tlm the fluent 18
t——rvy X ^ + in 'vl>ich A Is a con-
4y/llUy/JJ
ditional constant quantity. The condition which de¬
termines it is, that t must be nothing when £ is nothing,
that is, when V/D—orry/f); for this is evidently
the ease at the beginning of the motion. Hence it
follows, that the constant quantity is JO, and the
complete confluent, suited to the case, is
  —x ^ d—v/d—y
4y/HOy/D
The motion ceases when the air in the vessel has ac¬
quired the density of the external air 5 that is, when
;=D, or rvben X ,/D,
Therefore the time of completely filling the vessel is
C
4y/HO
Let us illustrate this by an example in numbers.
Supposing then that air is 840 times lighter than wa¬
ter, and the height of the homogeneous atmosphere
27720 feet, we have 4y/H~666. Let us further sup¬
pose the vessel to contain 8 cubic feet, which is nearly
a wine hogshead, and that the hole by which the air ot
the ordinary density, which we shall make =1, enters
is an inch square, or ol a square foot. Ihen the
•
time in seconds of completely filling it will be
it 52'
A T I C S.
of completely filling the hogshead will be 173" very
nearly, or something less than three minutes.
If we make the experiment with a hole cut in a thin
plate, we shall find the time greater nearly in the pro¬
portion of 63 to 100, for reasons obvious to all who
have studied hydraulics. In like manner we can tell the
time necessary for bringing the air in the vessel to ^of
its ordinary density.' The only variable part of our
fluent is the coefficient —y/D—or J1—S. Let $
be —L then >y/ 1 — \I/4—-5, and 1— /^/1—^ — 4 j
and the time is 86 very nearly when the hole is ^ of
an inch wide. " Fig. Sr.
Let us now suppose that the air in the vessel ABCD ^ 2S7
(fig. 81.) is compressed by a weight acting on the cover
AD, which is moveable down the vessel, and is thus whi, tilc
expelled into the external air. additional
The immediate effect of this external pressure is to ai,Pll'sc ot
compress the air and give it another density. The
density D of the external air corresponds to it-, pressure down the
P. Let the additional pressure on the cover of the vessel
vessel be p, and the density of the air in the vessel
be d. We shall have P : V+P=D : d; and therefore
jj—Y X —jj—• Then, because the pressure which ex¬
pels the air is the difference between the force which
compresses the air in the vessel and the force which
compresses the external air, the expelling force is
p. And because the quantities of motion are as the
forces which similarly produce them, we shall have
P : PX i^-MV : viv ; where M and m express
the quantities of matter expelled, V expresses the ve¬
locity with which air rushes into a void, and v ex¬
presses the velocity sought. But because the quanti¬
ties of aerial matter which issue from the same orifice in
a moment are as the densities and velocities jointly,
we shall have MV : m tcxDVV : r/r; f, =DV* : d v*.
Therefore P : —zrDV* : dv. Hence we deduce
D
v=\J
d—D
d
We may have another expression of the velocity with¬
out considering the density. We had P : P4-/;=D ; d :
therefore d—
D x P+P-
Ox^+P
p
-DP
and
and d-
d—T>
d :
-D:
D X b +p
■ D,
1) x Y+p—D P _
D x B -\-p
—L- — -p-— : therefore r=V X */\J '
Y+p ’ Y+p V1^
zss
t^666’
.— , or 1.7297". If the hole is only y— of a
666
square inch, that is, if its side is of an inch, the time
is a very simple and convenient expression.
Hitherto we have considered the motion of air as pro-The effect
duced hv its weight only. Let us now consider the ef-of the air’s
r* c *1 1 elasticity
feet of its elasticity. _ . . ftonsidered.
Let ABC D (fig. 81.) he a vessel containing air ol ^ Sl
anv density D. This air is in a state of compression ;
and if the compressing force be removed it will expand,
and its elasticity will diminish along with its density.
Its elasticity in any state is measured by the force which
keeps it in that state. The force which keeps common
air in its ordinary density is the weight of the atmo¬
sphere, and is the same with the weight of a column of
water 23 feet high. If therefore we suppose that this
air..
PNEUMATICS.
Air in
Motion
air, instead of beinjr confined by tbe top of the vessel, is
pressed down by a moveable piston carrying a column of
water 33 feet high, its elasticity will balance this pres¬
sure as it balances the pressure of the atmosphere ; and
as it is a fluid, and propagates through every part the
pressure exerted on any one part, it will press on any
little portion of the vessel by its elasticity in the same
manner as when loaded with this column.
The consequence of this reasoning is, that if this
small portion of the vessel be removed, and thus a pas¬
sage be made into a void, the air will begin to flow out
with the same velocity with which it would flow when
impelled by its weight alone, or with the velocity ac¬
quired by falling from the top of a homogeneous atmo¬
sphere, or 1332 feet in a second nearly.
But as soon as some air has come out, the density of
the remaining air is diminished, and its elasticity is di¬
minished j therefore the expelling force is diminished.
But the matter to be moved is diminished in the very
same proportion, because the density and elasticity are
found to vary according to the same law; therefore the
velocity will continue the same from the beginning to
the end of the efflux.
This may be seen in another way. Let P be the
pressure of the atmosphere, which being the counter¬
balance and measure of the initial elasticity, is equal to
the expelling force at the first instant. Let D be the
initial density, and V the initial velocity. Let d he its
density at the end of the time t of efflux, and v the
contemporaneous velocity. It is plain that at the end
P a
of this time we shall have the expelling force
for D : rf=P :
These forces are proportional to the quantities of mo¬
tion which they produce ; and the quantities of motion
are proportional to the quantities of matter M and m
and the velocities V and v jointly: therefore we have
P d
P : ^ = MV
m v. But the quantities of matter
-C r/, and t —
—Cd
:8n/HOX d‘
c
'Sv/HOtf’ ~
The fluent of this is t=z g-^-Q log. d. This fluent
must be so taken that t may bezro when r/—D. There-
C 1)
fore the correct fluent will be £ := 0 - .vfTVlog. —, for
o v/HO " d
D .
Me deduce from this, that it
l°g-0= log- 1, = 0.
requires an infinite time for the whole air of a vessel to
How out of it into a void. N. B. By log. r/, &c. is
meant the hyperbolic logarithm of d, &c. 2p0
Let us next suppose that the vessel, instead of letting Vt rlien the
out its air into a void, emits it into air of a less den- vessel emits
sity, which remains constant during the efflux, as we*1-11110 rarec_
may suppose to be the case when a vessel containing^’
condensed air emits it into the surrounding atmo¬
sphere. Let the initial density of the air in the vessel
be and that of the atmosphere D. Then it is plain
. PD
I r—, and that after
that the expelling force
Vd PD
2 T’
Pc/ PD
the time £ it is-
 s;—= MV : m v, : dv*
Me have therefore P—
a
Whence we
t’=V*A
r/—D
which escape through a given orifice are as the densities
and velocities jointly ; that is, M : m~D V : d v : there-
Pc/ ' Pr/DV*
fore P : ~=DV* : dv\andP X dv*= —g— = Pd\\
and V1—1'% and V=i>, and the velocity of efflux is
constant. Hence follows, what appears very unlikely
at first sight, that however much the air in the vessel is
condensed, it will always issue into a void with the same
2<!9- velocity.
Quantity In order to find the quantity of aerial matter which
of air issu- will issue during any time t, and consequently the deu-
voidTnV1 ^ie teniaining air at the end of this time, we
oven time -rttUst get rate efflux. In the element of time
md the t their issues (by what has been said above) the bulk
density at 8^/110 t (for the velocity V is constant) ; and there-
that^iilu'.1 f,irc the quantity 8^/110 d t. On th e other hand, the
quantity of air at the beginning was CD, C being the
capacity of the vessel; and when the air has acquired
the density r/, the quantity is C d, and the quantity
run out is CD—Cd: therefore the quantity which has
run out in the time t must be the fluxion of CD—C d,
or -C d. Therefore we have the equation 8 y'H O d(—
derit
c/2—D
From this equation we learn that the motion will be
at an end when r/~D : and if 2=D there can be no
c®ux" 291
io find the relation between tbe time and the den-Relation
sity, let 11 as before be the height producing the velo-^elw.een
city \ . The height producing the velocity of efflux ^Vdensiiy
t; must bell X ~ and the little parcel of airing into a
D void,
which will flow out in the time t will be nrS^/HOc/tf
/Td—u
** ----- - • On the other hand, it is = — C d.
do—D
Hence we deduce the fluxionary equation t —
c^/y^D
8 /ii(\ ^ —7==r. The fluent of this, correct-
vHOv/2 d
ed so as to make /rrO when d—'S, is ^
X lo.
2—ID-f ^—1)2
/2-1
nzr
f/—.fD+v/c/2—Df/
8 vTIO v2
And the time of com¬
pleting the efflux, when c/=zD, is ^ X log.
o -y/ iri O \Jq
/2—^D-f-^/l*
d;
4rD
)■
FiV.8:
I^astly, let A BCD, CFGH (fig. 82.) be two vessels a
containing airs of diderent densities, and communicating when isSu-<
by the orifice C, there will be a current from the vessel mg from
containing the denser air into that containino the rarer : denser into
suppose from ABCD into CFGH. ° rarer air.
Let P he the elastic force of the air in ABCD, Q
its density, and V its velocity, and D the density of the
air in CJbGH, And, alter the time, t, let the density
of.
P N E U M
of the air in ABCD be q, its velocity v, anil the densi¬
ty of the air in CFGH he The expelling force from
PD
ABCD will be P yr- at the first instant, and at the
Therefore we
end of the time t it will be
P D P <7
shall have P—
Q ' Q
Q
P
Q
-i — -V = QV:
which
trives vz
L’—V X ^ , and the motion will cease
?(Q—D)
when ci—q.
Let A he the capacity of the first vessel, and B that
of the second. We have the second equation AQ-f-
A (Q—f/)-4-B D
BDrrA^-f-B^, and therefore § =:  —•
Substituting this value of 3 in the former value of v,
/Q[BlP D) —A (^ —n) ]
q B(Q—D)
we have
which
gives the relation between the velocity v and the den-
sity q.
In order to ascertain the time when the air in
ABCD has acquired the density <7, it will he convenient
ridne the work by some substitutions. rl here¬
to abridge the work by
fore make Q (B-f-A)~M, BQD-j-BQ2~N, BQ
BD=:K and —m. Then, proceeding as before, we
obtain the fluxionary equation
v'By/?
A^R
AQ-A7=_A?, whence ,=__><
of which the fluent, completed so that t—o when q=Q,
A V/R v . ( Q—\m-\- y (Q*wQ) \
°®‘\ a—lm4- /
rs t—
X
293 .
When air
Fig. 81.
symvjvi & \ <7—4w-j- \/{jj1 mq')
Some of these questions are of difficult solution, and
is expelled they are not of frequent use in the more important and
by force, as usual applications of the doctrines of pneumatics, at
in be o\\s. ]easj. jn Bieir present form. The cases of greatest use
are when the air is expelled from a vessel by an exter¬
nal force, as when bellows are worked, whether of the
ordinary form or consisting of a cylinder fitted rvith a
moveable piston. This last case merits a particular
consideration ; and, fortunately, the investigation is
extremely easy.
Let AD, fig. 81. be considered as a piston moving
downward with the uniform velocity /’, and let the area
of the piston be n times the area of the hole of efflux,
then the velocity of efflux arising from the motion of
the piston will he n f Add this to the velocity V pro¬
duced by the elasticity of the air in the first question,
and the whole velocity will be V -\-n f It will he the
same in the other. The problem is also freed from the
consideration of the time of efflux. For this depends
now on the velocity of the piston. It is still, however,
a very intricate problem to ascertain the relation between
the time and the density, even though the piston is mov¬
ing uniformly ; for at the beginning of the motion the
air is of common density. As the piston descends, it
both expels and compresses the air, and the density of
the air in the vessel varies in a very intricate manner, as
also its resistance or re-action on the piston. For this
reason a piston which moves uniformly by means of an
I
2 94
A T I C S.
external force will never make an uniform blast by suc¬
cessive strokes j it will always be weaker at the heain-
r.ing of the stroke. The best way for securing an uni¬
form blast is to employ the external force only for lift¬
ing up the piston, and then to let the piston descend by
its own Aveight. In this Avay it Avill quickly sink down,
compressing the air, till its density and corresponding
elasticity exactly balance the AA'eight of the piston. Af¬
ter this the piston Avill descend equably, and the blast
Avill he uniform. We shall have occasion to consider
this more particularly under the head of PxzUilA TIC At.
Machines. These observations and theorems will serve
to determine the initial velocity of the air in all im¬
portant cases of its expulsion. The philosopher Avill learn
the rate of its efflux out of one vessel into another •, the
chemist Avill be able to calculate the quantities of the
different gases which are employed in the curious expe¬
riments of the ingenious but unfortunate Lavoisier on
Combustion, and Avill find them extremely different from
Avhat he supposed ; the engineer Avill learn Iioav to pro¬
portion the motive force of his machine to the quantity
of aerial matter Avhich his belloAvs must supply. But
it is not enough, for this purpose, that the air legm
to issue in the proper quantity ; we must see whether
it be not affected by the circumstances of its subsequent
passage.
All the modifications of motion which are observed ! .assage
in Avater conduits take place also in the passage of
through pipes and holes of all kinds. There is the sj4iilar to
same diminution of quantity passing through a hole in the motion
a thin plate that is observed in Avater. Vac knoAVwaur in
that (abating the small effect of friction) water is-C0Eduits*
sues Avith the velocity acquired by falling from the
surface •, and yet if avc calculate by this velocity and
by the area of the orifice, Ave shall find the quantity
of water deficient nearly in the proportion of 63 to ico.
This is oAving to the Avater pressing toAvards the orifice
from all sides, Avhich occasions a contraction of the jet.
The same thing happens in the efllux of air. Also the
motion of water is greatly impeded by all contractions
of its passage. These oblige it to accelerate its veloci¬
ty, and therefore require an increase of pressure to force
it through them, and this in proportion to the squares
of the velocities. Thus, if a machine Avorking a pump
causes it to give a certain number of strokes in a mi¬
nute, it Avill deliver a determined quantity of water in
that time. Should it happen that the passage of the
water is contracted to one half in any part of the ma¬
chine (a thing Avhich frequently happens at the valves),
the Avater must move through this contraction with tAvice
the velocity that it has in the rest of the passage. I bis
will require four times the force to be exerted on the
piston. Nay (Avhich will appear very odd, and is ne¬
ver suspected by engineers), if no part of the passage is
narrower than the barrel of the pump, but on the con¬
trary a part much Avider, and if the conduit be again
contracted to the width of the barrel, an additional
force must he applied to the piston to drive the Avater
through this passage, which would nor have been ne¬
cessary if the passage had not been widened in any
part. It will require a force iqual to the weight of a
column of Avater of the height necessary for communi¬
cating a velocity, the square of wh ch is equal to the
difference of the squares of the velocities ot the water
in the wide and the narrow part of the conduit.
The
Air.18
jloti11"
29:
Air sui
tie sat
[ctaiiii
alonj: I
jsffa'
and ti
tecess
attend
to this
PNEUMATICS.
7!9
Air in The same thing takes place in the motion of air, and
Motion, therefore all contractions and dilatations must be care-
 1 fully avoided, when we want to preserve the velocity un¬
impaired.
Mr suffers A*1' a!so suffers the same retardation in its motion
ihc same along pipes. By not know n ;, or not attending to that,
retardation engineers of the first reputation have been prodigiously
^°water,CS ^•saPP°*n^e^ ‘n their expectations of the quantity of air
md the which will be delivered by long pipes. Its extreme
necessity of mobility and lightness hindered them from suspecting
attending that it would suffer any sensible retardation. Dr Pa-
to this.
pm, a most ingenious man, proposed this as the most
effectual method of transferring the action of a moving
power to a great distance. Suppose, for instance, that
it was required to raise water out of a mine by a wa¬
ter-machine, and that there was no fall of water nearer
than a mile’s distance. He employed this water to
drive a piston, which should compress the air in a cy¬
linder communicating, by a long pipe, with another
cylinder at the mouth of the mine. This second cy¬
linder had a piston in it, whose rod was to give motion
to the pumps at the mine. He expected, that as soon
as the piston at the water-machine had compressed the
air sufficiently, it would cause the air in the cylinder
at the mine to force up its piston, and thus work the
pumps. Dr Hooke made many objections to the
method, when laid before the Royal Society, and it
was much debated there. But dynamics was at this
time an infant science, and very little understood. New¬
ton had not then taken any part in the business of the
society, otherwise the true objections would not have
escaped his sagacious mind. Notwithstanding Papin’s
great reputation as an engineer and mechanic, he could
not bring his scheme into use in England ; but after¬
wards, in France and in Germany, where he settled, he
got some persons of great fortunes to employ' him in this
project; and he erected great machines in Auvergne
ami Westphalia for draining mines. But, so far from
being effective machines, they would not even begin to
move. He attributed the failure to the quantity of air
in the pipe of communication, which must he condensed
before it can condense the air in the remote cylinder.
This indeed is true, and he should have thought of this
earlier. He therefore diminished the size ol this pipe,
and made his water-machine exhaust instead o! conden¬
sing, and had no doubt but that the immense velocity
with which air rushes into a void would make a rapid
and effectual communication of power. But he was
equally disappointed here, and the machine at the mine
stood still as before.
Near a century after this, a very intelligent engineer
attempted a much more feasible thing ol this kind at an
iron-foundery in Wales. He erected a machine at a
powerful fall of water, which worked a set of cylinder
bellows, the blowpipe of which was conducted to the
distance of a mile and a half, where it was applied to a
blast furnace. But notwithstanding every care to make
the conducting pipe very air-tight, of great s ze, and as
smooth as possible, it would hardly blow out a candle.
The failure was ascribed to the impos-ubility of making
the pipe aii-tight. But, what was surprising, above ten
minutes elapsed after the action of the pistons in the
bellows before the least wind could be perceived at the
end of the pipe 5 whereas the engineer expected an in¬
terval of 6 seconds only.
No very distinct theory can be delivered on this sub- Air in
ject •, but we may derive considerable assistance in un- Motion,
derstanding the causes of the obstruction to the motion ' v *
of water in long pipes, by considering what happens y0 gistjnCt
to air. The elasticity of the air, and its great corn-theory on
pressibiiity, have given us the distinctest notions of fiui-this subject,
dity in general, showing us, in a w’ay that can hardly
be controverted, that the particles of a fluid are kept
at a distance from each other, and from other bodies,
by the corpuscular forces. We shall therefore take this
opportunity to give a view of the subject, which did not
occur to us when treating of the motion of water in
pipes, reserving a further discussion to the articles
River, IF4ter-Works. 295
The writers on hydrodynamics have always consider-How fluids
ed the obstruction to the motion of fluids along canalsolj_
of any kind, as owing to something like the friction by111
which the motion of solid bodies on each other is ob-aiongca-
structed ; but we cannot form to ourselves any distinctnals.
notion of resemblance, or even analogy between them.
The fact is, however, that a fluid running along a ca¬
nal has its motion obstructed •, and that this obstruc¬
tion is greatest in the immediate vicinity of the solid
canal, and gradually diminishes to the middle of the
stream. It appears, therefore, that the parts of fluids
can no more move among each other than among so¬
lid bodies, without suft'ering a diminution of their mo¬
tion. The parts in physical contact with the sides and
bottom are retarded by these immoveable bodies. The
particles of the next stratum of fluid cannot preserve
their initial velocities without overpassing the particles
of the first stratum *, and it appears from the fact that
they are by this means retarded. They retard in the
same manner the particles of the third stratum, and so
on to the middle stratum or thread of fluid. It ap¬
pears from the fact, therefore, that this sort of friction
is not a consequence of rigidity alone, but that it is
equally competent to fluids. Nay, since it is a matter
of fact in air, and is even more remarkable there than
in any other fluid, as we shall see by the experiments
which have been made on the subject $ and as our ex¬
periments on the compression of air show us the par¬
ticles of air ten times nearer to each other in some cases
than in others (viz. when we see air a thousand times
denser in these cases), and therefore force us to ac¬
knowledge that they are not in contact j it is plain that
this obstruction has no analogy to friction, which sup¬
poses roughness or inequality of surface. No such ine¬
quality can be supposed in the surface of an aerial par¬
ticle ; nor would it be of any service in explaining the
obstruction, since the particles do not rub on each other,
but pass each other at some small and imperceptible
distance.
We must therefore have recourse to some other mode
of explication. We shall apply this to air only in this
place ; and, since it is proved by the incontrovertible
experiments of Canton, Zimmerman, and others, that
water, mercury, oil, &c. are also compressible and per¬
fectly elastic, the argument from this principle, which
is conclusive in air, must equally explain the similar
phenomenon in hydraulics.
The most highly polished body which -we know’ must
he conceived as having an uneven surtace when we
compare it with the small spaces in which the corpus¬
cular forces are exerted j and a quantity of air moving
in
720
297
Particles of
air resist a
eiiange
Froiii a rec¬
tilineal to
an undula¬
ting mo¬
tion
298
find the
■Undulation
of tlie se¬
cond row
of particles
will be less
Ilian that
‘of the first.
4%. S;l.
299
Eacii par-
'ticle ap¬
pears to
lose no ve¬
locity.
P N E U M
in a JKilisIifcd pipe may be compared to a quantity of
small shot sliding down a channel with undulated sides
and bottom. The row of particles immediately conti¬
guous to the sides will then fore have ao undulated mo¬
tion : but this undulation of the contiguous particles
of air will not be so great as that of the surface
along which they glide; for not only every motion
requires force to produce it, but also every change of
motion. The particles of air resist this change from
a rectilineal to an undulating motion ; and, being ela¬
stic, that is, repelling each other and other bodies,
they keep a little nearer to the surface as they are pas¬
sing over an eminence, and their path is less incurvated
than tiie surface. I'he difference between the motion of
tile particles ol air and the particles of a lluid quite un¬
elastic is, in this respect, somewhat like the difference be- v
tween the motion of a spring-carriage and that of a com¬
mon carriage. hen the common carriage passes along
a road not perfectly smooth, the line described by the
centre of gravity of the carriage keeps perfectly pa¬
rallel to that described by the axis of the wheels, ri¬
sing and falling along with it. Now let a spring body
be put on the same wheels and pass along the same road.
AY hen the axis rises over an eminence perhaps half an
inch, sinks down again into the next hollow, and then
rises a second time, and so on, the centre of gravity of
the body describes a much straighter line ; lor upon the
lising of the wheels, the body resists the motion, and
compresses the springs, and thus remains lower than it
Would have been had the springs not been interposed.
In like manner, it does not sink so low as the axle does
when the wheels go into a hollow. And thus the mo¬
tion of spring-carriages becomes less violently undulated
than the road along which they pass. This illustration
will, we hope, enable the reader to conceive how the
deviation of the particles next to the sides and bottom
of the canal from a rectilineal motion is less than that
of the canal itself.
It is evident that the same reasoning will prove that
the undulation of the next row of particles will be less
than that of the first, that the undulation of the third
row will be less than that of the second, and so on, as
is represented in fig. 83. And thus it appears, that
while the mass of air has a progressive motion along the
pipe or canal, each particle is describing a Waving line,
of which a line parallel to the direction of the canal is
the axis, cutting all these undulations. This axis of
each undulated path will he straight or curved as tlie
canal is, and the excursions of the path on each side of
its axis will he less and less as the axis of the path is
nearer to the axis of the canal.
Let us now see what sensible effect this will have ; for
all the motion which we here speak of is imperceptible.
It is demonstrated in mechanics, that if a body moving
with any velocity he deflected from its rectilineal path
by a curved and perfectly smooth channel, to which the
rectilineal path is a tangent, it will proceed along this
channel with undiminished velocity. Now the path, in
the present case, may he considered as perfectly smooth,
since the particles do not touch it. It is one of the un¬
dulations which we are considering, and we may at pre¬
sent conceive this as without any subordinate inequali¬
ties. I here should not, thereiore, be any diminution
of the velocity. Let us grant this of the absolute ve¬
locity of the particle j but what we observe is the ve-
5
A T [ C S.
locily of the mass, and we judge of it perhaps bv the Airm
motion of a feather carried along by it. Let us sup- Motion,
pose a single atom to be a sensible object, and let us at- '—■" V"—^
tend to two such particles, one at the side, and the other
in the middle : although we cannot perceive the undu¬
lations of these particles during their progressive mo¬
tions, we sec the progressive motions themselves. Let
us suppose then that the middle particle has moved
Without any undulation whatever, and that it has ad¬
vanced ton feet. The lateral particle will also have
moved ten feet; but this has not been in a straight line.
It will not be so far advanced, therefore, in the direc¬
tion of the canal 5 it will be left behind, and will ap¬
pear to us to have been retarded in its motion : and in
like manner each thread of particles will be more and
more retarded (apparently only) as it recedes farther
from the axis of the canal, or what is usually called the
thread of the stream. ^oo
And thus the observed fact is shown to be a neces-Eut on ihe
sary consequence of what we know to be the nature of'vllole tlie
a compressible or elastic fluid ; and that without sup-inu1,.'latorjr
posing any diminution in the real velocity of each par-"ea/ob-8 **
tide, there will be a diminution of the velocity of thestvuction.
sensible threads of the general stream, and a diminu¬
tion of the whole quantity of air which passes along it
during a given time.
Let us now suppose a parcel of air impelled along
a pipe, which is perfectly smooth, out of a larger
vessel, and issuing from this pipe with a certain velocity.
It requires a certain force to change its velocity in the
vessel to the greater velocity which it has in the pipe.
This is abundantly demonstrated. How long soever
we suppose this pipe, there will he no change in the ve¬
locity, or in the force to keep it up. But let us sup¬
pose that about the middle ol this pipe there is a part of
it which has suddenly got an undulated surface, how¬
ever imperceptible. Let us further suppose that the
final velocity of the middle thread is the same as be¬
fore. In this case it is evident that the sum total of the
motions of all the particles is greater than before, be¬
cause the absolute motions of the lateral particles is
greater than that of the central particle, which we sup¬
pose the same as before. This absolute increase of mo¬
tion cannot be without an increase of propelling force :
the force acting now, therefore, must be greater than
tiie force acting formerly. Therefore, if only the for¬
mer force had continued to act, the same motion of the
central particle could not have been preserved, or the
progressive motion of the whole stream must be dimi¬
nished.
And thus we see that this internal insensible ondula-
tory motion becomes a real obstruction to the sensible
motion which we observe, and occasions an expence of
power.
Let us see what will be the consequence of extend-An addl¬
ing this obstructing surface further along the canal, tionai force
It must evidently be accompanied by an augmentation lu'ccsfar7
of the motion produced, if the central velocity be still1'01' Pr«se1'-
kept up tor the particles winch are now in contact ven pr0_
with the sides do not continue to occupy that situation jgres?ive
the middle particles moving faster forward get over11'0^11-
them, and in their turn come next the side \ and as
they are really moving equally fast, hut not in the di¬
rection into which they are now to be forced, force is
necessary for changing the direction also ; and this is in
addition
30i
specially
ihrough
iny con-
xactiotL
vhere are
resides
ither ob-
tructions,
s angular
sperities,
lie.
P N E U M
addition to the force necessary for producing the undula¬
tions so minutely treated of. The consequence of this
must be, that an additional force will be necessavy for
preserving a given progressive motion in a longer ob¬
structing pipe, and that the motion produced in a pipe
of greater length by a given force will be less than in a
shorter one, and the efflux will be diminished.
There is another consideration which must have an
influence here. Nothing is more irrefragably demon¬
strated than the necessity of an additional force for pro¬
ducing an efflux through any contraction, even though
it should be succeeded by a dilatation of the passage.
Now both the inequalities of the sides and the undula¬
tions ot the motions of each particle are equivalent to a
succession of contractions and dilatations j although each
of these is next to infinitely small; their number is also
next to infinitely great, and therefore the total effect
may be sensible.
We have hitherto supposed that the absolute velocity
of the particles was not diminished 5 this we did, ha¬
ving assumed that the interval of each undulation of
the sides was without inequalities. But this was gra¬
tuitous : it was also gratuitous that the sides were only
undulated. We have no reason for excluding angular
asperities. These will produce, aud most certainly of¬
ten produce, real diminutions in the velocity of the
contiguous particles', and this must extend to the very
axis of the canal, and produce a diminution of the sum
total of motion : and in order to preserve the same sen¬
sible progressive motion, a greater force must be em¬
ployed. This is all that can be meant by saying that
there is a resistance to the motion of air through long
304
id a
I iant of
erfecl fiui
ty.
I3°S
ie law of
'.ardation
tending
>m the
is to the
es of the
-Hal un-
fown.
pipes
There remains another cause of diminution, viz. the
want of perfect fluidity, whether arising from the dis-
- semination of solid particles in a real fluid, or from the
viscidity of the fluid. We shall not insist on this at pre¬
sent, because it cannot be shown to obtain in air, at
least in any case which deserves consideration. It seems
of no importance to determine the motion of air hur¬
rying along with it soot or dust. The effect of fogs on
a particular modification of the motion of air has been
considered under Acoustics. What has been said on
this subject is sufficient for our purpose, as explaining
the prodigious and unexpected obstruction to the pas¬
sage of air through long and narrow pipes. We are able
to collect an important maxim from it, viz. that all pipes
of communication should be made as wide as circum¬
stances will permit j for it is plain that the obstruction
■depends on the internal surface, and the force to over¬
come it must be in proportion to the mass of matter
which is in motion. The first increases as the diameter
of the pipe, and the last as the square. The obstruc¬
tion must therefore bear a greater proportion to the whole
motion in a small pipe than in a large one.
It were very desirable to know the law by which the
retardation extends from the axis to the sides of the ca¬
nal, and the proportion which subsists between the
lengths of the canal and the forces necessary for overcom¬
ing the obstructions when the velocity is given j as also
whether the proportion of the obstruction to the whole
motion varies with the velocity : but all this is unknown.
It does not, however, seem a desperate case in air: we
know pretty distinctly the law of action among its par¬
ticles, viz. that their mutual repulsions are inversely as
Vol. XVI. Part II. *
A T I C S.
their distances. This promises to enable us to trace the
progress of undulation from the sides of the canal to the
axis. (
We can see that the retardations will not increase so jt wjj^ot
fast as the square of the velocity. Were the fluid in- increase °so
compressible, so that the undulatory path of a particle fast as the
were invariable, the deflecting forces by which each in-Flluare of.
dividual particle is made to describe its undulating path *!le Yeloci~
would be precisely such as arise from the path itself andtlCS
the motion in it j for each particle would be in the situ¬
ation of a body moving along a fixed path. But in a
very compressible fluid, such as air, each particle may be
considered as a solitary body, actuated by a projectile
and a transverse force, arising from the action of the ad¬
joining particles. Its motion must depend on the ad¬
justment of these forces, in the same manner as the ellip¬
tical motion of a planet depends on the adjustment of
the force of projection, with a gravitation inversely pro¬
portional to the square of the distance from the focus.
The transverse force in the present case has its origin
in the pressure on the air which is propelling it along the
pipe : this, by squeezing the particles together, brings
their mutual repulsion into action. Now it is the pro¬
perty of a perfect fluid, that a pressure exerted on any
part of it is propagated equally through the whole fluid j
therefore the transverse forces which are excited by this
pressure are proportional to the pressure itself; and we
know that the pressures exerted on the surface of a fluid,
so as to expel it through any orifice, or along any canal,
are proportional to the squares of the velocities which
they produce. Therefore, in every point of the undu¬
latory motion of any particle, the transverse force by
which it is deflected into a curve is proportional to the
square of its velocity. When this is the case, a body
would continue to describe the same curve as before ;
but by the very compression, the curvatures are increa¬
sed, supposing them to remain similar. This would re¬
quire an increase of the transverse forces ; but tliis is not
to be found : therefore the particle will not describe a
similar curve, but one which is less incurvated in all its
parts; consequently the progressive velocity of the whole,
which is the only thing perceivable by us, will not be so
much diminished; that is, the obstructions will not in¬
crease so fast as they would otherwisedo, eras the squares
of the velocities.
This reasoning is equally applicable to all fluids, and
is abundantly confirmed by experiments in hydraulics,
as we shall see when considering the motion of rivers.
We have taken this opportunity of delivering our notions
on this subject; because, as we have often said, it is in
the avowed discrete constitution of air that we see most
distinctly the operations of those natural powers which
constitute fluidity in general.
We would beg leave to mention a form of experiment m. Bossut's
for discovering the law of retardation with considerable experi-
accuracy. Experiments have been made on pipes andm< nt:> 011
canals. Mr Bossut, in his Hydrodynamiqve, has given pi^an^
a very beautiful set made on pipes of an inch and twotana *’
inches diameter, and 200 feet long : but although these
experiments are very instructive, they do not give us
any rule by which we can extend the result to pipes of
greater length and different diameters.
Let a smooth cylinder be set upright in a very large
vessel or pond, and be moveable round its axis : let it be
turned round by means of a wheel and pulley with aa
4 Y Uniterm
3°S
"Wind is
air in mo¬
tion.
722 P N E U M
Velocity of uniform motion and determined velocity. It will ex-
Wind. ert the same force on the contiguous water which would
^J be exerted on it by water turning round it with the
same velocity : and as this water would have its motion
gradually retarded by the fixed cylinder, so the moving
cylinder will gradually communicate motion to the sur¬
rounding water. We should observe the watei gradually
dragged round by it j and the vortex would extend bli¬
ther and farther from it as the motion is continued, and
the velocities of the parts of the vortex will be less and
less as we recede from the axis. Now, we apprehend,
that when a point of the surface of the cylinder has
moved over 200 feet, the motion of the water at differ¬
ent distances from it will be similar and proportional to,
if not precisely the same with, the retardations of water
flowing 200 feet at the same distance from the side of
a canal: at any rate, the two are susceptible of an accu¬
rate comparison, and the law of retardation may be ac¬
curately deduced from observations made on the motions
of this vortex.
Air in motion is a very familiar object of observation;
and it is interesting. In all languages it has got a name;
we call it wind : and it is only upon reflection that we
consider air as wind in a quiescent state. Many persons
hardly know what is meant when air is mentioned j but
they cannot refuse that the blast from the bellows is the
expulsion of what they contained ; and thus they learn
that wind is air in motion.
3°9 . It is of consequence to know the velocity of wind •,
Thof wind " but no good and unexceptionable method has been con-
not easHy trived for this purpose. The best seems to be by mea-
dheovered. suring the space passed over by the shadow of a cloudy}
blit this is extremely fallacious. In the first place, it is
certain, that although we suppose that the cloud has the
velocity of the air in which it is carried along, this is not
an exact measure of the current on the surface of the
earth •, we may be almost certain that it is greater : lor
air, like all other fluids, is retarded by the sides and bot¬
tom of the channel in which it moves. But, in the next
place, it is very gratuitous to suppose, that the velocity
of the cloud is the velocity of the stratum of air between
the cloud and the earth \ we are almost certain that it is
not. It is abundantly proved by Dr Hutton of Edin¬
burgh, that clouds are always formed when two parcels
of air of different temperatures mix together, each con¬
taining a proper quantity of vapour in the state 6f che¬
mical solution. We know that different strata of air will
frequently flow in different directions for a long time.
In 1781 while a great fleet rendezvouzed in Leith
Hoads during the Dutch war, there was a brisk easterly
wind for about five weeks *, and, during the last fortnight
of this period, there was a brisk westerly current at the
height of about three-fourths of a mile. This was distinct¬
ly indicated by frequent fleecy clouds at a great distance
above a lower stratum of these clouds, which were driv¬
ing all this time from the eastward. A gentleman who
was at the siege of Quebec in 1759, informed us, that
one day while there blew a gale h orn the west, so hard
that the ships at anchor in the river were obliged to
strike their topmasts, and it was with the utmost diffi¬
culty that some tvell manned boats could row against it,
carrying some artillery stores to a post above the town,
several shells were thrown from the town to destroy the
boats : one of the shells burst in the air near the top of
$ts flight, which was about half a mile high. The
A T I C S.
smoke of this bomb remained 111 the same spot for abo .e \e;ority
a quarter of an hour, like a great round ball, and gra- i v’ illd-
dually dissipated by diffusion, without removing many v J
vards from its place. When, therefore, two strata ol air
come from diflerent quarters, and one of them flows
over the other, it will be only in the contiguous surfaces
that a precipitation of vapour will be made. This will
form a thin fleecy cloud j and it will have a velocity
and direction which neither belongs to the upper nor to
the lower stratum of air which produced it. Should
one of these strata come from the east and the other
from the west with equal velocities, the cloud formed
between them will have no motion at all j should one
come from the east, and the other from the north, the
cloud will move from the north-east with a greater velo¬
city than either of the strata. So uncertain then is the
information given by the clouds either of the velocity
or the direction ef the wind. A thick smoke from a
furnace will give us a much less equivocal measure ; and
this combined with the effects of the wind in impelling
bodies, or deflecting a loaded plane from the perpendicu¬
lar, or other effects of this kind, may give us measures of
the different currents of wind with a precision sufficient
for all practical uses. ' # 310
The celebrated engineer Mr John Smeaton has given, The result
in the 51st volume of the Philosophical Iransactions, the of Smea-
velocities of wind corresponding to the usual denominar^^j^
t
Vilocll
Win
SiOWi
i«l.
. Vf-. ^ r j i »servation
tions in our language. Ihese are founded on a great(
"on this
number of observations made by himself in the course 01 head,
his practice in erecting wind-mills. They are eontahw
ed in the following table.
Miles
per hour.
Feet
per second.
Names.
3
4
5
10
*5
20
1.47
2,93 7
4- 4° j
5- 871
7-33 i
T4-^71
22. S
29-34
25
3°
35
40
45
50
60
1
36.67 5
44.° 1 7
5J-34 A
58.687
66.0x3
73-35 1
88.023
Light airs.
Breeze.
Brisk gale.
Fresh gale.
Strong gale.
Hard gale.
Storm.
Mi
80
100
117.36
146.70
f Hurricane, tearing up
< trees, overtuiming build-
lings, &c.
See also some valuable experiments by him on tins
subject, Philosophical Transactions, 1760 and 1761. 3n _
One of the most ingenious and convenient methods Account
for measuring the velocity ot the wind is to employ *ts^el^onie-
pressure in supporting a column ot water, in the sametcl4
way as Mr Pitot measures the velocity of a current ol
water. We believe that it was first proposed by Dr
James Lind of Windsor, a gentleman eminent lor bis
great knowledge in all the branches of natural science,
and for his ingenuity in every matter of experiment or
practical application.
His anemometer (ns these instruments are called) c6n- Fig- 84-
•  * • . ’ 'slsts
P N E U M A T I C S.
U2
it is inge-
;uou« and
isciul.
Velocity ofsls>s ^ glass tube of the form ABCD (fig. 840> open
Wind, at both ends, and having the branch AB at right angles
v ~ to the branch CD. This tube contains a few inches of
water or any fluid (the lighter the better) ; it is held
with the part CD upright, and AB horizontal and in
the direction of the wind ; that is, with the mouth A
fronting the wind. The wind acts in the way of pres¬
sure on the air in AB, compresses it, and causes it to
press on the surface of the liquor; forcing it down to F,
while it rises to E in the other leg. The velocity of
the wind is concluded from the difference E f between
the heights of the liquor in the legs. As the wind does
not generally blow with uniform velocity, the liquor is
apt to dance in the tube, and render the observation dif¬
ficult and uncertain: to remedy this, it is proper to con¬
tract very much the communication at C between the
two legs. If the tube has half an inch of diameter (and
it should not have less), a hole of ^ of an inch is large
enough ; indeed the hole can hardly be too small, nor
the tubes too large.
This instrument is extremely ingenious, and will un¬
doubtedly give the proportions of the velocities of dif¬
ferent currents with the greatest precision; for in what¬
ever way the pressure of wind is produced by its mo¬
tion, we are certain that the different pressures are as the
squares of the velocities: if, therefore, avc can obtain one
certain measure of the velocity of the wind, and observe
the degree to which the pressure produced by it raises
the liquor, we can at all other times observe the pres¬
sures and compute the velocities from them, making pro¬
per allowances for the temperature and the height of
the mercury in the barometer; because the velocity will
be in the subduplicate ratio of the density of the air in¬
versely when the pressure is the same.
It is usually concluded, that the velocity of the wind
is that which would be acquired by falling from a height
which is to Ey'as the weight of water is to that of an
equal bulk of air. Thus, supposing air to be 840 times
lighter than water, and that E /' is ^ of an inch, the
velocity will be about 63 feet per second, which is that
of a very hard gale, approaching to a storm. Hence we
see by the bye, that the scale of this instrument is ex¬
tremely short, and that it would be a great improvement
of it to make the leg CD not perpendicular, but very
much sloping ; or perhaps the following form of the
instrument will give it all the perfection of which it is
capable. Let the horizontal branch AB (fig. 85.) be
contracted at B, and continued horizontally for several
inches BG of a much smaller bore, and then turned
down ffor two or three inches GC, and then upwards
with a wide bore. To use this instrument, hold it with
the part DC perpendicular; and (having sheltered the
mouth A from the wind) pour in water at D till it ad¬
vances along GB to the point B, wdiich is made the
beginning of the scale; the water in the upright branch
standing at f in the same horizontal line with BG.
723
%• SS-
Now, turn the mouth A to the wind ; the air in AB
will he compressed and will force the water along BG
to F, and cause it to rise fromy to E ; and the range
y’E will be to the range BE on the scale, as the section
of the tube BG to that of CD. Thus, if the width of
DC be i an inch, and that of BG T~, we shall have 25
inches in the scale for orte inch of real pressure E f.
But it has not been demonstrated in a very satisfac¬
tory manner, that the velocity of the wind is that ac¬
quired by falling through the height of a column of airVelocity of
whose w’eight is equal to that of the column of water Wind.
E/ Experiments made with Pitot’s tube in currents-v-—
of water show that several corrections are necessary for
concluding the velocity of the current from the eleva¬
tions in the tube : these corrections may however be
made, and safely applied to the present case ; and then
the instrument will enable us to conclude the velocity
of the wind immediately, without any fundamental com¬
parison of the elevation, with a velocity actually deter¬
mined upon other principles. The chief use which we
have for this information is in our employment of wind
as an impelling powder, by which we can actuate ma¬
chinery or navigate ships. These are very important
applications of pneumatical doctrines, and merit 4 par¬
ticular consideration; and this naturally brings us to the
last part of our subject, viz. the consideration of the
impulse of air on bodies exposed to its action, and the
resistance which it opposes to the passage of bodies
through it. ,, ,
1 his is a subject of the greatest importance ; being This sub-
the foundation of that art which has done the greatest Jert is n,osl
honour to the ingenuity of man, and the greatest service
to human society, by connecting together the most dis-s0 difficult
tant inhabitants of this globe, and making a communi¬
cation of benefits which would otherwise have been im¬
possible ; we mean the art of Navigation or Seamanship.
Of all the machines which human art has constructed, a
ship is not only the greatest and most magnificent, but
also the most ingenious and intricate; and the clever
seaman possesses a knowledge founded on the most difli
cult and abstruse doctrines of mechanics. The seamaa
probably cannot give any account of his own science ;
and he possesses it rather by a kind of intuition than bv
any process of reasoning; but the success and efficacy of
all the mechanism of this complicated engine, and the
propriety of all the manoeuvres which the seaman prac ¬
tises, depend on the invariable laws of mechanics ; and
a thorough knowledge of these would enable an intelli¬
gent person not only to understand the machine and the
manner of working, hut to improve both.
Unfortunately this is a subject of very great difficulty;
and although it has employed the genius of Newton, and
he has considered it with great care, and his followers
have added more to his labours oh this subject than on
any other, it still remains in a very imperfect state.
A minute discussion of this subject cannot therefore
he expected in a work like this : we must content our¬
selves with such a general statement of the most approv¬
ed doctrine on the subject as shall enable our readers to
conceive it distinctly, and judge with intelligence and
confidence of the practical deductions which may he
made from it. 314
It is evidently a branch of the general theory of the IlllPUJ'>e
impulse and resistance of fluids, which belongs to HY-^er^.lst“
Draulics, but will he better understood when the me- air
chanical properties of compressible fluids have been con¬
sidered. It was thought very reasonable to suppose that
the circumstances of elasticity would introduce the same
changes in the impulse and resistance of fluids that it
does in solid bodies. It would greatly divert the atten¬
tion from the distinctive properties of air, if we should
in this place enter on this subject, w'hich is both exten¬
sive and difficult. We reckon it better therefore to take
the whole together: this we shall do under the article
4 Y 2 Resistance
724
Velocity of
Wind
Fig, §5.
PNEUMATICS.
3T5
Air mo¬
ving with
a double
velocity
will gene¬
rally impel
as the
square of
that velo¬
city.
Resistance of Fluids, and confine ourselves at present
to what relates to the impulse and resistance of air
alone-, anticipating a few of the general propositions
of that theory, but without demonstration, in order to
understand the applications which may he made of it.
Suppose then a plane surface, of which a C (fig. 86.)
is the section, exposed to the action of a stream ot wind
blowing in the direction QC, perpendicular to a C.
The motion of the wind will be obstructed, and the sur¬
face a C pressed forward. And as all impulse or pres¬
sure is exerted in a direction perpendicular to the sur¬
face, and is resisted in the opposite direction, the surface
will be impelled in the direction CD, the continuation
of QC. And as the mutual actions of bodies depend on
their relative motions, the force acting on the surface
a C will be the same, if we shall suppose the air atr- st,
and the surface moving equally swift in the opposite
direction. The resistance of the air to the motion of
the body will be equal to the impulse of the air in the
former case. TLhus resistance and impulse aie equal and
contrary.
If the air be moving twice as fast, its particles will
give a double impulse j but in this case a double num¬
ber of particles will exert their impulse in the same time:
the impulse will therefore be fourfold ; and in general
it will be as the square of the velocity : or it the air
and body be both in motion, the impulse and resistance
will be proportional to the square of the relative velo-
city.
This is the first proposition on the subject, and it ap¬
pears very consonant to reason. I here will therefore
be some analogy between the force of the air’s impulse
or the resistance of a body, and the weight of a column
of air incumbent on the surface } for it is a principle
in the action of fluids, that the heights of the columns
of fluid are as the squares of the velocities which their
pressures produce. Accordingly the second proposition
is, that the absolute impulse of a stream of air, blowing
perpendicularly on any surface, is equal to the weight
of a column of air which has that surface for its base,
and for its height the space through which a body must
fall in order to acquire the velocity of the air.
Thirdly, Supp ose the surface AC equal to o C no
longer to be perpendicular to the stream of air, but in¬
clined to it in the angle ACD, which we shall call the
angle ojincidencei then, by the resolution of forces, it
follows, that the action of each particle is diminished in
the proportion of radius to the sine of the angle of in¬
cidence, or of AC to AL, AL being perpendicular to
CD.
Again : Draw AK parallel to CD. It is plain that
no air lying farther from CD than KA is will strike
the plane. The quantity of impulse therefore is dimi¬
nished still farther in the proportion of o C to KC, or
«f AC to AL. Therefore, on the whole, the absolute
impulse is diminished in the proportion of AC2 to AL*
hence the proposition, that the impulse and resistance of
a given surface are in the proportion of the square of the
sine of the angle of incidence.
Fourthly, This impulse is in the direction PL, per¬
pendicular to the impelled surface, and the surface tends
to move in this direction : but suppose it moveable only
in some other direction PO, or that it is in the direction
PO that we wish to employ this impulse, its action is
therefore oblique j and if we wish to know the intensity
of the impulse in this direction, it must be diminished Velocity sf
still farther in the proportion of radius to the cosine of the Wind,
angle LPO or sine of CPO. Hence the general pro- « -
position: The effective impulse is us the surface, as the
square of the velocity of the wind, as the square oj the sine
of the angle of incidence, and as the sine of the obliquity
jointly, which we may express by the symbol R=S-\’S
sin.'-l-sin. O 5 and as the impulse depends on the den¬
sity of the impelling fluid, we may take in every circum¬
stance by the equation ItzzS'DA "* sin.2 I * sin. O. If
the impulse be estimated in the direction of the stream,
the angle of obliquity ACD is the same with the angle
of incidence, and the impulse in this direction is as the
surface, as the sqhare of the velocity, and as the cube
of the angle of incidence jointly.
It evidently follows from these premises, that if ACAf
be a wedge, of which the base AA' is perpendicular to
the wind, and the angle ACA' bisected by its direction,
the direct or perpendicular impulse on the base is to the
oblique impulse on the sides as radius to the square ot
the sine of half the angle ACA'.
The same must be affirmed of a pyramid or cone
ACA', of which the axis is in the direction of the
wind.
If ACA' (fig. 87.) represent the section of a solid, Fig. 87;
produced by the revolution of a curve line APC round
the axis CD, which lies in the direction of the wind,
the impulse on this body may be compared with the di¬
rect impulse on this base, or the resistance to the mo¬
tion of this body through the air may be compared with
the direct resistance of its base, by resolving its surface
into elementary planes P p, which are coincident with
a tangent plane PU, and comparing the impulse on P_p
with the direet impulse on the corresponding part K £ of
the base.
In this way it follows that the impulse on a sphere
is one half ol the impulse on its great circle, or on the
base of a cylinder of equal diameter.
We shall conclude this sketch of the doctrine with a
very important proposition to determine the most advan¬
tageous position of a plane surface, when required to
move in one direction while it is impelled by the wind
blowing in a difterent direction. Thus, 316
Let AB (fig. 88.) be the sail of a ship, CA the di-Important
rection in which the wind blows, and AD the line of”^^ge
the ship’s course. It is required to place the yard ACdocUiiei
in such a position that the impulse of the wind upon the
sail may have the greatest effect possible in impelling
the ship along AD.
Let AB, A b, be two positions of the sail very near Fig. 88.
the best position, but on opposite sides of it. Draw BE
b e, perpendicular to CA, and BF, bf, perpendicular to
AD, calling AB radius -, it is evident that BE, BF,
are the sines of impulse and obliquity, and that the ef¬
fective impulse is BE* X BF, or X bf. This must
be a maximum.
Let the points B, b, continually approach and ulti¬
mately coincide-, the chord 6 B will utimately coincide
with a straight line CBD touching the circle in B j the
triangles CBE, c b e are similar, as also the triangles
DBF, D b f: therefore BE* : be2 — BC* : be2, and
BF:6/=BD:AD-, and BE* X BF : ^*x6/=CBaX
BD : cA1 X AD. Therefore when AB is in the dest po¬
sition, so that BE* X BF is greater than be1 Y. we
shallhave CB X BD greater than C 6* X 6 D, or c B* X BD
PNEUMATICS.
[Velocity of is a^so a maximum. This we know to be the case when
Wind CBzr213D ; therefore the sail must be so placed that
"v ' the tangent of the angle of incidence shall be double of
the tangent of the angle of the sail and keel.
In a common windmill the angle CAD is necessarily
a right angle $ for the sail moves in a circle to which
the wind is perpendicular : therefore the best angle of
the sail and axle will be 54°-44 nearly.
■Such is the theory of the resistance and impulse of
the air. It is extremely simple and of easy application.
In all physical theories there are assumptions which de¬
pend on other principles, and those on the judgment of
the naturalist j so that it is always proper to confront
the theory with experiment. There are even circum¬
stances in the present case which have not been attended
to in the theoiy. When a stream of air is obstructed by
a solid body, or when a solid body moves along in air,
the air is condensed before it and rarefied behind.
There is therefore a pressure on the anterior parts aris¬
ing from this want of equilibrium in the elasticity of the
air. This must be superadded to the force arising from
the impetus or inertia of the air. We cannot tell with
precision what may be the amount of this condensation j
it depends on the velocity with which any condensa¬
tion diffuses itself.
Also, if the motion be so rapid that the pressure of
the atmosphere cannot make the air immediately occupy
the place quitted by the body, it will sustain this pres¬
sure on its fore part to be added to the other forces.
! Account of Experiments on this subject are by no means nume-
:he princi- rous } at least such experiments as can be depended on
jalexperi- for the foundation of any practical application. The
nents on first t|iat have this character are those published by Mr
;lm sub- JJ0bins in 1742 in his treatise on Gunnery. They were
repeated with some additions by tbe Chevalier Borda,
and some account of them published in the Memoirs of
the Academy of Sciences in I7^3‘ ^ie Philoso¬
phical Transactions of the Royal Society of London,
vol. Ixxiii. there are some experiments of the same kind
on a larger scale by Mr Edgeworth. These were all
made in the way described in our account of Mr Robins’s
improvements in gunnery. Bodies were made to move
with determined velocities, and the resistances were
measured by weights.
In all these experiments the resistances were found
very exactly in the proportion of the squares of the ve¬
locities ; but they were found considerably greater than
the weight of the column of air, whose height would
produce the velocity in a falling body. Mr Robins’s
experiments on a square of 16 inches, describing 25.2
feet per second, indicate the resistance to be to this
weight nearly as 4 to 3. Borda’s experiments on the
same surface state the disproportion still greater.
The resistances are found not to be in the proportion
of the surfaces, but increase considerably faster. Sur¬
faces of 9, 16, 36, and Si inches, moving with one ve¬
locity, had resistances in the proportion of 9, 174, 42|,
and 104^.
Now as this deviation from the proportion of the sur¬
faces increases with great regularity, it is most probable
that it continues to increase in surfaces of still greater
extent; and these are the most generally to be met
with in practice in the action of wind on ships and mills.
Porda’s experiments on 81 inches show that the im-
- . .
pulse of wind moving one fool per second is about Velocity of
of a pound on a square foot. Therefore to find the Wind,
impulse on a foot corresponding to any velocity, divide
the square of the velocity by 500, and we obtain the
impulse in pounds, Mr Rouse of Leicestershire made
many experiments, which are mentioned with great ap¬
probation by Mr Smeaton. His great sagacity and ex¬
perience in the erection of windmills oblige us to pay a
considerable deference to his judgment. These experi¬
ments confirm our opinion, that the impulses increase
faster than the surfaces. The following table was cal¬
culated from Mr Rouse’s observations, and may be con¬
sidered as pretty near the truth.
Velocity Impulse on a
in Feet. Foot in Pounds. 1
o 0,000
10 0,229
20
3° 2,039
40 3,660
50 5>7l8
60 8,234
70 11,207
80 14,638
90 18,526
100 22,872
no 27,675
120 32,926
*30 38>654
140 44»83°
150 51,462
If we multiply the square of the velocity in feet by
16, the product will be the impulse or resistance in a
square foot in grains, according to Mr Rouse’s numbers.
The greatest deviation from the theory occurs in tile
oblique impulses. Mr Robins compared the resistance
of a wedge, whose angle was 90°, with the resistance
of its base ; and instead of finding it less in the propor¬
tion of 2 to I, as determined by the theory, he found
it greater in the proportion of 55 to 68 nearly; and
when he formed the body into a pyramid, of which the
sides had the same surface and the same inclination as
the sides of the wedge, the resistance of the base and
face were now as 55 to 39 nearly: so that here the
same surface with the same inclination had its resistance
reduced from 68 to 39 by being put into this form.
Similar deviations occur in the experiments of the Che¬
valier Borda j and it maybe collected from both, that
the resistances diminish more nearly in the proportion
of the sines of incidence than in the proportion of the
squares of those sines.
The irregularity in the resistance of curved surfaces
is as great as in plane surfaces. In general, the theory
gives the oblique impulses on plane surfaces much too
small, and the impulses on curved surfaces too great.
The resistance of a sphere does not exceed the fourth
part of the resistance of its great circle, instead of being
its half j but the anomaly is such as to leave hardly any
room for calculation. It would be very desirable to
have the experiments on this subject repeated in a great¬
er variety of cases, and on larger surfaces, so that the
errors of the experiments may be of less consequence.
726
&c
P N E U M
Resistance Till this matter he reduced to some rule, the art of
of Air in working ships must remain very imperfect, as must also
Gunnery. ^jie construction ot windmills.
' IT"' The case in which rve are most interested in the
It is^of knowledge of the resistance ot the air is the motion ot
great con- bullets and shells. Writers on artillery have long been
sequence to sensible of the great effect of the air’s resistance. It
know the geems to liave been this consideration that chiefly enga-
ofafrTn6 ged Sir Isaac Newton to consider the motions of bodies
the motion in a resisting medium. A proposition or two would
of bullets, liave sufficed for showing the incompatibility of the pla¬
netary motions with the supposition that the celestial
spaces were tilled with a fluid matter j but he has with
great solicitude considered the motion of a body pro¬
jected on the surface of the earth, and its deviation
from the parabolic track assigned by Galileo. He has
bestowed more pains on this problem than any other in
his whole work •, and his investigation has pointed out
almost all the improvements which have been made in
the application of mathematical knowledge to the study
of nature. Nowhere does his sagacity and fertility ot
resource appear in so strong a light as in the second
book of the Principia, which is almost wholly occupied
by this problem. The celebrated mathematician John
Bernouilli engaged in it as the finest opportunity of dis¬
playing his superiority. A mistake committed by New¬
ton in bis attempt to a solution was matter ot triumph
to him ; and the whole of his performance, though a
piece of elegant and elaborate geometry, is greatly hurt
by his continually bringing this mistake (which is a
mere trifle) into view. The difficulty of the subject is
so great, that subsequent mathematicians seem to have
kept aloof from it; and it has been entirely overlooked
by the many voluminous writers who have treated pro¬
fessedly on military projectiles. They have spoken in¬
deed of the resistance of the air as aftecting the flight of
shot, but have saved themselves from the task of inves¬
tigating this effect (a task to which they were unequal),
by supposing that it was not so gi-eat as to render their
theories and practical deductions very erroneous. Mr
Robins was the first who seriously examined the subject.
He showed, that even the Newtonian theory (which had
been corrected, but not in the smallest degree improved
or extended in its principles) was sufficient to show
that the path of a cannon ball could not resemble a pa¬
rabola. Even this theory showed that the resistance was
more than eight times the weight of the ball, and should
produce a greater deviation from the parabola than the
parabola deviated from a straight line.
This simple but singular observation was a strong
v. proof how faulty the professed writers on artillery had
the writers been, in rather amusing themselves with elegant but use-
in thifr^ less appl‘cat*°ns easY geometry, than in endeavouring
S1C" to give their readers any useful information. He add¬
ed, that the difference between the ranges by the New¬
tonian theory and by experiment was so great, that
the resistance of the air must be vastly superior to what
that theory supposed. It was this which suggested to
him the necessity of experiments to ascertain this point.
We have seen the result of these experiments in mode¬
rate velocities ; and that they were sufficient for calling
the whole theory in question, or at least for rendering it
useless. It became necessary, therefore, to settle every
point by means of a direct experiment. Here was a
freat difficulty. How shall we measure eithe these
2
3} 9
The igno¬
rance of
rpect
A T I C S.
great velocities which are observed in the motions of Resistance
cannon-shot, or the resistances .which these enormous of Air in
velocities occasion ? Mr Robins had the ingenuity to do < Gunnery,
both. The method which he took for measuring the ve- “
locity of a musket-ball was quite original; and it was
susceptible of great accuracy. We have already given
an account of it under the article Gunnery. Having
gained this point, the other was not difficult. In the
moderate velocities he had determined the resistances by
the forces which balanced them, the weights which kept
the resisted body in a state of uniform motion. In the
great velocities, he proposed to determine the resistances
by their immediate effects, by the retardations which they
occasioned. This was to be done by first ascertaining
the velocity of the ball, and then measuring its velocity-
after it had passed through a certain quantity of air. The
difference of these velocities is the retardation, and the
proper measure of the resistance j for, by the initial and
final velocities of the ball, we learn the time which rvas
employed in passing through this air with the medium
velocity. In this time the air’s resistance diminished the
velocity by a certain quantity. Compare this with the
velocity which a body projected directly upwards would
lose in the same time by the resistance of gravity. The
two forces must be in the proportion ot their efiects.
Thus we learn the proportion of the resistance of the au¬
to the weight of the ball. It is indeed true, that the
time of passing through this space is not accurately had
by taking the arithmetical medium ot the initial and
final velocities, nor does the resistance deduced trom this
calculation accurately correspond to this mean velocity j
but both may be accurately found by the experiment by
a very troublesome computation, as is shown in the 5th
and 6th propositions of the second book of Newton’s
Principia. The difference between the quantities thus
found and those deduced from the simple process is quite
trifling, and far within the limits of accuracy attain¬
able in experiments of this kind; it may, thereiore, be
safely neglected. 320
Mr Robins made many experiments on this subject 5 Mr Robin
but unfortunately he has published only a very few, such made manJr
as were sufficient for ascertaining the point he had in
view. He intended a regular work on the subject, in this sut>-
which the gradual variations of resistance corresponding Ject.
to diflerenr velocities should all be determined by expe¬
riment : but he was then newly engaged in an import¬
ant and laborious employment, as chief engineer to the
East India Company, in whose service he went out to
India, where he died in less than two years. It is to be
regretted that no person has prosecuted these experiments.
It would be neither laborious nor difficult, and would
add more to the improvement of artillery than any thing
that has been done since Mr Robins’s death, if we except
the prosecution of his experiments on the initial veloci¬
ties of cannon-shot by Dr Charles Hutton royal professor
at the Woolwich Academy. It is to be hoped that this
gentleman, after having with such effect and success ex¬
tended Mr Robins’s experiments on the initial velocities
of musket-shot to cannon, will take up this other subject,
and thus give the art of artillery all the scientific foun¬
dation which it can receive in the present state of out
mathematical knowledge. Till then we must content
ourselves with the practical rules which Robins has de'-
duced from his own experiments. As he has not given
us the mode of deduction, we must compare the results
with
flesistanee
iof Air in
Kanneiy.
General re-
ait oi
hem, &.c.
322
'artly coi
•overt ed
y Euier,
ut wi th¬
at suffi-
ient
rounds.
PNEUMATICS.
with experiment. He has indeed given a very extensive
comparison with the numerous experiments made both in
Britain and on the continent j and the agreement is very
great. His learned commentator Euler has been at no
pains to investigate these rules, and has employed him¬
self chiefly in detecting errors, most of which are sup¬
posed, because he takes for a finished work what Mr
Robins only gives to the public as a hasty but useful
sketch of a new and very difficult branch of science.
The general result of Robins’s experiments on the re¬
tardation of musket-shot is, that although in moderate
velocities the resistance is so nearly in the duplicate pro¬
portion of the velocities that vve cannot observe any de¬
viation, yet in velocities exceeding 200 feet per second
the retardations increase faster, and the deviation from
this rate increases rapidly with thevelocity. Heascribes
this to the causes already mentioned, via. the condensa¬
tion of the air before the ball and to the rarefaction be¬
hind, in consequence of the air not immediately occu¬
pying the space left by the bullet. This increase is so
great, that if the resistance to a ball moving with the
velocity of 1700 feet in a second be computed on the
supposition that the resistance observed in moderate ve¬
locities is increased in the duplicate ratio of the velocity,
it will be found hardly one-third part of its real quanti¬
ty. He found, for instance, that a ball moving through
1670 feet in a second lost about 125 feet per second of
its velocity in passing through 50 feet of air. This it
must have done in the TV of a second, in which time it
would have lost one foot if projected directly upwards $
From which it appears that the resistance was about 1 25
times its weight, and more than three times greater
than if it had increased from the resistance in small
velocities in the duplicate ratio of the velocities. He
relates other experiments which show similar results.
But he also mentions a singular circumstance, that till
the velocities exceed 1 ico feet per second, the resistan¬
ces increase pretty regularly, in a ratio exceeding the
duplicate ratio of the velocities *, but that in greater
velocities the resistances become suddenly triple of what
they would have been, even according to this law of in¬
crease. He thinks this explicable by the vacuum which
is then left behind the hall, it being w'ell known that
air rushes into a vacuum with the velocity of 1132 feet
per second nearly. Mr Euler controverts this conclu¬
sion, as inconsistent vvith that gradation which is observed
in all the operations of nature ; and says, that although
the vacuum is not produced in smaller velocities than
this, the air behind the ball must be so rare (the space
being but imperfectly filled), that the pressure on the
.anterior part of the ball must gradually approximate to
that pressure which an absolute vacuum would produce5
but this is like his other criticisms. Robins does no¬
where assert that this sudden change of resistance hap¬
pens in the transition of the velocity from 1132 feet to
that of 1131 feet ri inches or the like, but only that
it is very sudden and very great- It may be strictly
demonstrated, that such a change must happen in a nar¬
row enough limit of velocities to justify the appellation
of sudden : a similar fact may be observed in the motion
of a solid through water. If it be gradually accelera¬
ted, the water will be found nearly to fill up its place,
.till the velocity arrives at a certain magnitude, corre¬
sponding to the immersion of the body in the water j
and then the smallest augmentation of its motion imme-
727
diately produces a void behind it, into which the water Resistance
rushes in a violent manner and is dashed into froth. A of Air in
gentleman, who has had many opportunities for such Gunnery,
observations, assures us, that when standing near the
line of direction of a cannon discharging a ball with a
large allotment of powder, so that the initial velocity
certainly exceeded 1100 feet per second, he always ob¬
served a very sudden diminution of the noise which the
bullet made during its passage. Although the ball was
coming towards him, and therefore its noise, if equable,
would he continually increasing, he observed that it was
loudest at first. That this continued for a second or two,
and suddenly diminished, changing to a sound which
was not only weaker, hut differed in kind, and gra¬
dually increased as the bullet approached him. He
said, that the first noise was like the hissing of red-hot
iron in water, and that the subsequent noise rather re¬
sembled a hazv whistling. Such a change of sound is a
necessary consequence of the different agitation of the
air in the two cases. We know also, that air rushing
into a void, as when we break an exhausted bottle, makes
a report like a musket.
Mr Robins’s assertion thex-efore has every argument
for its truth that the nature of the thing will admit.
But we are not left to this vague reasoning : his expe¬
riments show us this diminution of resistance. It clear¬
ly appears from them, that in a velocity of 1700 feet
the resistance is more than three times the resistance de¬
termined by the theory which he supposes the common
one. When the velocity was 1065 feet, the actual re¬
sistance was ” of the theoretical j and when the velo¬
city was 400 feet, the actual resistance was about * of
the theoretical. That he assumed a theory of resistance
which gave them all too small, is of no consequence in
the present argument. 323
Mr Robins, in summing up the results of his obser-H11^ V
vations on this subject, gives a rule very easily remem-^ob'ns.101
bered for computing the resistances to those very rapid resistances
motions. It has been already mentioned in the article and very
Gunnery, but we repeat it here, in oi'der to accommo-Inpid nro.
date it to the quantities which have been determined in110118,
some degree by experiment.
A C B D
Let AB represent the velocity of 1700 feet per second,
and AC any other velocity. Make BD to AD as the
resistance given by the ordinary theory to the resistance
actually observed in the velocity 1700: then will CD
be to AD as the resistance assigned by the ordinary
theory to the velocity AC is to that which really cor¬
responds to it.
To accommodate this to experiment, recollect* that a * See Gun.'
sphere of the size of a 12 pound iron shot, moving 25 feet
in a second, had a resistance of ofa pound. Augment 19‘ ^cc’
this in the ratio of 25* to 1700*, and we obtain 210
nearly for the theoretical resistance to this velocity j
but by comparing its diameter of 4-J inches with A, the
diameter of the leaden ball, which had a resistance of at
least IX pounds with this velocity, we conclude that the
1 2 pound shot would have had aresistanceof 396pounds:
therefore BD : ADrr2io : 396, and AB : AD=i86 :
396 ; and AB being 1700, AD will be 3613.
Let AD—c, AC—a-, and let R he the resistance to a
12 pound iron shot moving one foot per second, and
r the resistance (in pounds) wanted for the velocity x;
we
728
PNEUMATI C S.
Uno^,u^on we have Mr Robins’s experiments give
ax
a—x
R= very nearly. This gives Ra =0,26^235,
which is nearly one-fourth. Thus our formula becomes
0.263235#* , #* f
3613—# J 4(36x3—#) _ °
short of the truth abowt xVth part. The simplicity of
the formula recommends it to our use, and when we in¬
crease its result ffV, it is incomparably nearer to the
true result of the theory as corrected hy Mr Robins than
We can hope that the theory is to the actual resistance.
We can easily see that Mr Robins’s correction is only a
sagacious approximation. If vvesupposethevelocity 3613
feet, a very possible thing, the resistance by this formula
is infinite, which cannot be. We may even suppose that
the resistance given by the formula is near the truth only
in such velocities as do not greatly exceed 17CO feet
per second. No military projectile exceeds 2200,
and it is great folly to make it so great, because it is
reduced to 1700 almost in an instant, by the enormous
resistance.
The resistance; to other balls will be made by tak-
^24 ing them in the duplicate ratio of the diameters.
The dicus- It has been already observed, that the first mathema-
sions °f ™a-ticians of Europe have lately employed themselves in
thematrci- Jmprovingr this theory of the motion of bodies in a resist-
silyapplied.ing uiedium j but their discussions are such as few ar¬
tillerists can understand. The problem can only be
solved by approximation, and this by the quadrature of
very complicated curves. They have not been able
therefore to deduce from them any practical rules of
easy application, and have been obliged to compute
Borda’sand tables suited to different cases. Of these performances,
Robins’s t|iat of the Chevalier Borda, in the Memoii’s of the A-
The best*^ ca(lemy of Sciences for 1769, seems the best adapted to
military readers, and the tables are undoubtedly of con¬
siderably use ; but it is not too much to say, that the
simple rules of Mr Robins are of as much service, and
are more easily remembered : besides, it must be obser¬
ved, that the nature of military service does not give
room for the application of any very precise rule. The
only advantage that we can derive from a perfect theory
would be an improvement in the construction of pieces
of ordnance, and a more judicious appropriation of cer¬
tain velocities to certain purposes. The service of a
i(- gun or mortar must always be x’egulated by the eye.
Undulation There is another motion of which air and other elastic
of air. fluids are susceptible, viz. an internal vibration of their
particles, or undulation, by which any extended portion
of air is distributed into alternate pax-cels of condensed
and rarefied air, which are continually changing their
condition without changing their places. By this change
the condensation which is produced in one pax-t of the air
is gradually ti-ansferred along the mass of air to the great¬
est distances in all directions. It is of importance to have
some distinct conception of this motion. It is found to
be by this means that distant bodies produce in us the
sensation of sound. See Acoustics. Sir Isaac Newton
treated this subject with his accustomed ingenuity, and
has given us a theory of it in the end of the second book
•f his Principia. This theory has been objected to with
respect to the conduct of the argument, and other expla¬
nations have been given by the most eminent mathema-
tiqaiis. Though they appear to differ from Newton’s,
their results are precisely the same j but, on a close exa- Unduktio*
mination, they differ no more than John Bernouilli’s of Air.
theorem of centripetal forces differs from Newton’s,—y~-J
viz. the one being expressed by geometry and the other
by literal analysis. The celebrated De la Grange redu¬
ces Newtown’s investigation to a tautological proposition
or identical equation ; but Mr Young of Trinity college,
Dublin, has, by a different turn of expression, freed
Newton’s method from this objection. We shall not
repeat it here, but refer our mathematical readers to
tire article Acoustics, as it is not our business at pre¬
sent to consider its connexion with sound.
But since Newton published this theory of aerial un-Has been
dulations, and of their propagation along the air, and used to en-
since the theory has been so collected and improved asPla*n a va-
to be received by the most accurate philosophers as
branch of natural philosophy susceptible of rigid de nomeBai
monstration, it has been freely xe.sorted to by many
writers on other parts of natural science, who did not
profess to be mathematicians, but made use of it for
explaining phenomena in their own line on the autho-
rity of the mathematicians themselves. Learning from
them that this vibration, and the quaquaversion propa¬
gation of the pulses, were the necessary propex ties of an
elastic fluid, and that the rapidity of this propagation
had a certain assignable proportion to the elasticity and
density of the fluid, they freely made use of these con¬
cessions, and have introduced elastic vibrating fluids in¬
to many facts, where others would suspect no such
thing, and have attempted to explain by their means
many abstruse phenomena of nature. ^Ethers are every¬
where introduced, endued with great elasticity and te¬
nuity. Vibrations and pulses are supposed in this aether,
and these ai’e offei'ed as explanations. The doctrines
of animal spirits and nervous fluids, and the whole
mechanical system of Hartley, by which the operations
of the soul are said to be explained, have their foun¬
dation in this theory of aerial undulations. If these
fancied fluids, and their internal vibrations, really ope¬
rate in the phenomena ascribed to them, any explana¬
tion that can be given of the phenomena from this
principle must be nothing else than showing that the
legitimate consequences of these undulations are similar
to the phenomena $ or, if we are no moi*e able to see
this last step than in the case of sound (which we know
to be one consequence of the aerial undulations, although
we cannot tell how), we must be able to point out, as in
the case of sound, certain constant relations between
the general laws of these undulations and the general
laws of the phenomena. It is only in this way that we
think ourselves entitled to say that the aerial undulations
are causes, though not the only causes, of sound $ an
it is because there is no such relation, but, on the con¬
trary, a total dissimilarity, to be observed between the
laws of elastic undulation and the laws of the propaga¬
tion of light, that we assert with confidence that ethe¬
real undulations ax-e not the causes of vision.
Explanations of this kind suppose, therefore, in the gut [heap,
first place, that the philosopher who proposes them un- piicstion
derstands precisely the nature of these undulations j innot be1^
the next place, that he makes his reader sensible of™^^
those circumstances of them which are concerned in the preclsion.
effect to be explained j and, in the third place, that
he makes the reader understand how this circumstance
of the vibrating fluid is connected with the phenome-
xion, either by showing it to be its mechanical cause,
a*
P N E U M
insulation as when the philosopher explains the resounding of a
of Air. musical chord to a flute or pipe which gave the same
“•"V—““l tone ; or by showing that this circumstance of the un¬
dulation always accompanies the phenomenon, as when
the philosopher shows that 233 vibrations of air in a
second, in whatever manner or by whatever cause they
are produced, always are followed by the sensation of
the tone C in the middle of the harpsichord.
But here we must observe, that, with the exception
of Euler’s unsuccessful attempt to explain the optical
phenomena by the undulations of ether, we have met
with no explanation of natural phenomena, by means of
elastic and vibrating fluids, where the author has so
much as attempted any one of these three things, so in¬
dispensably requisite in a logical explanation. They
have talked of vibrations without describing them, or
giving the reader the least notion of what kind they are j
and in no instance that we can recollect have they
showed how such vibrations could have any influence in
the phenomenon. Indeed, by not describing with pre¬
cision the undulations, they were freed from the task of
showing them to be mechanical causes of the phenome¬
non 5 and when any of them show any analogy between
the general laws of elastic undulations and the general
laws of the phenomenon, the analogy is so vague, indi¬
stinct, or partial, that no person of common prudence
would receive it as argument in any case in which he
was much interested.
nbe- We think it our duty to remonstrate against this slo-
jne the venly way of writing : we would even hold it up to re-
i ndation probation. It has been chiefly on this faithless founda-
*|^e' tion that the blind vanity of men has raised that de¬
grading system of opinions called Materialism, by
which the affections and faculties of the soul of man have
been resolved into vibrations and pulses of ether.
We also think it our duty to give some account of
this motion of elastic fluids. It must be such an account
as shall be understood by those who are not mathema¬
ticians, because those only are in danger of being misled
by the improper application of them. Mathematical
discussion is, however, unavoidable in a subject purely
mathematical j but we shall introduce nothing that may
not be easily understood or confided in ; and we trust
that mathematical readers will excuse us for a mode of
reasoning which appears to them lax and inelegant.
The first thing incumbent on us is to show how elastic
fluids differ from the unelastic in the propagation of any
agitation of the parts. When a long tube is filled
with water, and any one part of it pushed out of its
place, the whole is instantly moved like a solid mass.
But this is not the case with air. If a door be suddenly
shut, the window at the farther end of a long and close
room will rattle ; but some time will elapse between the
shutting of the door and the motion of the window.
If some light dust be lying on a braced drum, and an¬
other be violently beat at a little distance from it, an at¬
tentive observer will see the dust dance up from the
parchment ; but this will be at the instant he hears the
sound of the stroke on the other drum, and a sensible
time after the stroke. Many such familiar facts show
that the agitation is gradually communicated along the
air 5 and therefore that when one particle is agitated by
any sensible motion, a finite time, however small, must
elapse before the adjoining particle is agitated in the
same manner. This would not be the case in water if
Vol. XVI. Part II. f
330
tf'the mo-
li 1 of ela-
& fluids.
, 331
lUv they
<fcr from
udastic
f 3s in
1‘paga-
tfr any
Ration
1 heir
t :s.
A T I C S.
729
water be perfectly incompressible. We think that this
may be made intelligible with very little trouble.
A a B b C D
Undulation
of Air.
Let A, B, C, D, &c. be a row of aerial particles,
at such distances that their elasticity just balances the
pressure of the atmosphere 5 and let us suppose (as is
deducible from the observed density of air being pro¬
portional to the compressing force) that the elasticity of
the particles, by which they keep each other at a dis¬
tance, is as their distances inversely. Let us farther
suppose that the particle A has been carried, with an
uniform motion, to a by some external force. It is evi¬
dent that B cannot remain in its present state *, for be¬
ing now nearer to a than to C, it is propelled towards
C by the excess of the elasticity of A above the natural
elasticity of C. Let E be the natural elasticity of the
particles, or the force corresponding to the distance BC
or BA, and let F be the force which impels B towards
C, and let f be the force exerted by A when at o.
We have
E : /*=B a : BC, =B a : BA j
and E E=B a : BA—B a = B a : A. a ;
or E : E=B a : A 0.
Now in fig. 89. let ABC be the line joining three Fig. 89.
particles, to which draw EG, PH parallel, and IAF,
HBG perpendicular. Take IF or HG to represent the
elasticity corresponding to the distance AB. Let the
particle A be supposed to have been carried with an uni¬
form motion to a by some external force, and draw
II a M perpendicular to RG, and make FI : I1M—
B a : BA. We shall then have FI : PMnrB a : A a ;
and PM will represent the force with which the particle
B is urged towards C. Suppose this construction to be
made for every point of the line AB, and that a point
M is thus determined for each of them, mathematicians
know that all these points M lie in the curve of a hy¬
perbola, of which FG and GH are the asymptotes. It
it is also known by the elements of mechanics, that since
the motion of A along AB is uniform, A a or IP may
be taken to represent the time of describing A a; and
that the area IPM represents the whole velocity which
B has acquired in its motion towards C when A has
come to a, the force urging B being always as the por¬
tion PM of the ordinate.
Take GX of any length in IIG produced, and let
GX represent the velocity which the uniform action of
the natural elasticity IF could communicate to .the par¬
ticle B during the time that A would uniformly describe
AB. Make GX to GY as the rectangle IFGH to the
hyperbolic space IFRM, and draw YS cutting MR
produced in S, and draw FX cutting MR in T. It is
known to the mathematicians that the point S is in a
curve line FS.y called the logarithmic curve ; of which
the leading property is, that any line RS parallel to
GX is to GX as the rectangle IFGH is to the hy¬
perbolic space IFRM, and that FX touches the curve
in F.
This being the case, it is plain, that because RT in¬
creases in the same proportion with FR, or with the
rectangle IFRP, and RS increases in the proportion of
the space IFRM, TS increases in the proportion of the
space IPM. Therefore TS is proportional to the velocity
4 Z of !
is
Undulation
of Air.
PNEUMATICS.
of B when A has reached tf, and It V is proportional to
the velocity which the uniform action ot the natural
elasticity would communicate to B in the same time.
Then since FT is as the time, and TS is as the velocity,
the area FTS will be as the space described by B
(urged by the variable force PM) ; while A, urged by
the external force, describes Ac; and the triangle
FTLT will represent the space which the uniform action
of the natural elasticity would cause B to describe in the
same time.
And thus it is plain that these three motions can be
compared together : the uniform motion of the agitated
particle A, the uniformly accelerated motion which the
natural elasticity would communicate to B by its con¬
stant action, and the motion produced in B by the agi¬
tation of A. But this comparison, requiring the qua¬
drature of the hyperbola and logarithmic curve, would
lead us into most intricate and tedious computations.
Of these wTe need only give the result, and make some
other comparisons which are palpable.
Let A c be supposed indefinitely small in comparison
of AB. The space described by A is therefore inde¬
finitely small ", but in this case we know that the ratio
of the space FRT to the rectangle IFRP is indefinitely
small. There is therefore no comparison between the
agitation of A by the external force, and the agitation
which natural elasticity would produce on a single par¬
ticle in the same time, the last being incomparably
smaller than the first. And this space FRT is incom¬
parably greater than FTS j and therefore the space which
B would describe by the uniform action of the natural
elasticity is incomparably greater than what it would
describe in consequence of the agitation of A.
From this reasoning we see evidently that A must be
sensibly moved, or afiniteor measurable time must elapse
before B acquires a measurable motion. In like manner
B must move during a measurable time before C ac¬
quires a measurable motion, &c. ; and therefore the agi¬
tation of A is communicated to the distant particles in
gradual succession.
By a farther comparison of these spaces we learn the
time in which each succeeding particle acquires the very
agitation of A. If the particles B and C only are con¬
sidered, and the motion of C neglected, it will be found
that B has acquired the motion of A a little before it
has described ^ of the space described by A •, but if the
motion C be considered, the acceleration of B must
be increased by the retreat of C, and B must describe a
greater space in proportion to that described by A. By
computation it appears, that when both B and C have
acquired the velocity of A, B has described nearly f of
A’s motion, and C more nearly +. Extending this to
D, we shall find that D has described still more nearly
of A’s motion. And from the nature of the compu¬
tation it appears that this approximation goes on rapid¬
ly : therefore, supposing it accurate from the very first
particle, it follows from the equable motion of A, that
each succeeding particle moves through an equal space
in acquiring the motion of A.
The conclusion which we must draw from all this is,
that when the agitation of A has been fully communi¬
cated to a particle at a sensible distance, the intervening
particles all moving forward with a common velocity,
are equally compressed as to sense, except a very few of
the first particles •, and that this communication, or this
propagation of the original agitation, goes on with an Undulatios
uniform velocity. , of ^ir
These computations need not be attended to by such Y J
as do not wish for an accurate knowledge of the precise
agitation of each particle. It is enough for such
readers to see clearly that time must escape between the
agitation of A and that of a distant particle ; and this
is abundantly manifest from the incomparability (excuse
the term) of the nascent rectangle IFRP with the nas¬
cent triangle FRT, and the incomparability of FRT
with FTS.
What has now been shown of the communication of
any sensible motion A a must hold equally with respect
to any change of this motion. Therefore if a tremulous
motion of a body, such as a spring or hell, should agi¬
tate the adjoining particle A by pushing it forward in
the direction AB, and then allowing it to come back
again in the direction BA, an agitation similar to this
will take place in all the particles of the row one after ^
the other. Now if this body vibrate according to the Newton’s
law of motion of a pendulum vibrating in a cycloid, the
neighbouring particle of air ivill of necessity Vibrate in SBbject just
the same manner } and then Newton’s demonstration in as tar as it
art. Acoustics needs no apology. Its only deficiency goes;
W'as, that it seemed to prove that this would be the way
in which every particle would of necessity vibrate 'y
which is not true, for the successive parcels of air will
be differently agitated according to the original agita¬
tion. Newton only wants to prove the uniform propa¬
gation of the agitations, and he selects that lorm which
renders the proof easiest. He proves, in the most unex¬
ceptionable manner, that if the particles of a pulse ot
air are really moving like a cycloidal pendulum, the
ferces acting on each particle, in consequence ot the
compression and dilatation of the different parts of the
pulse, are precisely such as are necessary for continuing
this motion, and therefore no other forces are required..
Then since each particle is in a certain part of its path,
is moving in a certain direction and with a certain ve¬
locity, and urged by a determined force, it must move
in that very manner. The objection started by John
Bernouilli against Newton’s demonstration (in a single
line) of the elliptical motion of a body urged by a force
in the inverse duplicate ratio of the distance from the
focus, is precisely the same with the objection against
Newton’s demonstration of the progress of aerial undu¬
lations, and is equally futile.
It must, however, be observed, that Newton’s demon¬
stration proceeds on the supposition that the linear agita¬
tions of a particle are incomparably smaller than the ex¬
tent of an undulation. This is not strictly the case in
any instance, and in many it is far from being true. In
a pretty strong twang of a harpsichord wire, the agita¬
tion of a particle may be near the 50^1 Parf ex*
tent of the undulation. This must distui’b the regula¬
rity of the motion, and cause the agitations in the re¬
mote undulations to differ from those in the first pulse.
In the explosion of a cannon, the breaking of an ex¬
hausted bottle, and many instances which may be given,
the agitations are still greater. The commentators on
Newton’s Principia, Le Sueur and Jacquier, haveshown,
and Euler more clearly, that when the original agita¬
tions are very violent, the particles of air will acquire a.
subordinate vibration compounded with the regular cy¬
cloidal vibration, and the progress of the pulses will be
[aJiiliit
of A"
-"Y
| siren?1
rdi>y(
| neural
adista
lion in
frokab:
iitlie
tessive
mines
! mloid
Sinn,
near and at
i distance.
P N E U M
Undulation somewhat more rapid ; but the Intricacy of the calculus
of Air. is so great, that they have not been able to determine
"""-■v ' with any tolerable precision what the change of velocity
_ 333 will be.
tis All this, however, is fully confirmed by experiment
-d b^corn "0n ^'*,e sound of a cannon at 10 or 20 miles
,arinir the distance does not in the least resemble its sound when
ound of a near. In this case it is a loud instantaneous crack, to
annon which tve can assign no musical pitch : at a distance, it
is a grave sound, of which we can tell the note 5 and it
begins softly, swells to its greatest loudness, and then
dies away growling. The same may be said of a clap
of thunder, which we know to be a loud snap of still
less duration. It is highly probable that the appreciable
tones which those distant sounds afford are produced by
the continuance of these subordinate vibrations which
are added together and fortified in the successive pulses,
though not perceptible in the fir-d, in a way somewhat
resembling the resonance of a musical chord. Newton’s
explanation gathers evidence therefore from this cir¬
cumstance. And we must further observe, that all ela¬
stic bodies tremble or vibrate almost precisely as a pen¬
dulum swinging in a cycloid, unless their vibrations are
uncommonly violent; in which case they are quickly re¬
duced to a moderate quantity by the resistance of the
air. The only very loud sounds which we can produce
in this way are from great bells ; and in these the ut¬
most extent of the vibration is very small in comparison
with the breadth of the pulse. The velocity of these
sounds has not been compared with that of cannon, or
perhaps it would be found less, and an objection against
Newton’s determination removed. He gives 969 feet
per second, Experiment 1142.
But it is also very probable, that in the propagation
robability through the air, the agitation gradually and rapidly ap-
1 the sue- proaches to this regular cycloidal form in the successive
pulses, in the same way as we observe that whatever is
the form of agitation in the middle of a smooth pond of
water, the spreading circles are always of one gentle
form without asperities. In like manner, into whatever
form we throw a stretched cord by the twang which we
give it, it almost immediately makes smooth undula¬
tions, keeping itself in the shape of an elongated tro¬
choid. Of this last we can demonstrate the necessity,
because the case is simple. In the wave, the investiga¬
tion is next to impossible ; but we see the fact. We
may therefore presume it in air. And accordingly yve
know that any noise, however abrupt and jarring, near
at hand, is smooth at a distance. Nothing is more rough
and harsh than the scream of a heron ; but at half a
mile’s distance it is soft. The ruffle of a drum is also
Plate smoolh at a distance.
ccxxxir. Fig- 90. shows the successive situations of the parti-
fig. 90. cles of a row. Each line of the figure shows the same
particles marked with the same letters ; the first particle
a being supposed to be removed successively from its
quiescent situation and back to it again. The mark X
is. put on that part of each line where the agitated par¬
ticles are at their natural distances, and the air is of the
natural density. The mark 1 is put where the air is most
of all compressed, and : where it is most of all dilated $
the curve line drawn through the lowest line of the fi¬
gure is intended to represent the density in every point,
by drawing ordinates to it from the straight line: the
those Undulation
of Air.
334
ike agita-
on in all
jssive
ilses ar¬
mies a
cloidal
nn.
A T I C S.
ordinates below the line indicate a rarity, and
above the line a density, greater than common.
It appears that when a has come hack to its natural
situation, the part of greatest density is between the
particles 1 and /r, and the greatest rarity between c
and d.
We have only to add, that the velocity of this pro¬
pagation depends on the elasticity and density of the
llnid. If these vary in the same proportion, that is, if
the fluid has its elasticity proportional to its density, the
velocity will remain the same. If the elasticity or den¬
sity alone be changed, the velocity of the undulations
will change in the direct subduplicate ratio of the elas¬
ticity and the inverse subduplicate ratio of the den¬
sity , for should the elasticity be quadrupled, the quanti¬
ty of motion produced by it in any given time will be
quadrupled. This will be the case if the velocity be
doubled } for there would then be double the number
of particles doubly agitated. Should the density be qua¬
drupled, the elasticity remaining the same, the quantity
of motion must remain the same. This will be the case
if the velocity be reduced to one half; for this will pro¬
pagate half the agitation to half the distance, which
will communicate it to twice the number of particles,
and the quantity of motion will remain the same. The
same may be said of other proportions, and therefore
/v/~K
^ — —7=. Therefore a chamm in the barometer will
U-D
not affect the velocity of the undulations in air 5 but
they will be accelerated by heat, which diminishes its
density, or increases its elasticity. The velocity of the
pulses in inflammable air must be at least thrice as great,
because its density is hut one-tenth of that of air when
the elasticity of both are the same.
Let us now attend a little to the propagation of aerial Further
pulses as they really happen; for this hypothesis of a c'.onsidera-
single row of particles is nowhere to be observed. j;!0" °{.ae7
Suppose a sphere A, fig. 91. filled with condensed air,
and that the vessel which contains it is suddenly annihi-really De¬
lated. The air must expand to its natural dimensions,
suppose BCD. But it cannot do this without pressing ^^ Se¬
aside the surrounding air. We have seen that in any
single row of particles this cannot be at once diffused to
a distance, but must produce a condensation in the air
adjoining; which will be gradually propagated to a di¬
stance. Therefore this sphere BCD of the common
density will form round it a shell, hounded by EFG, of
condensed air. Suppose that at this instant the inner
air BCD becomes solid. The shell of condensed air can
expand only outwards. Let it expand till it is of the
common density, occupying the shell HIK. This ex¬
pansion, in like manner, must produce a shell of con¬
densed air without it : at this instant let HIK become
solid. The surrounding shell of condensed air can ex¬
pand only outward, condensing another shell without it.
It is plain that this must .go on continually, and the cen¬
tral agitation will he gradually propagated to a distance
in all directions. But, in this process, it is not the same
numerical particles that go to a distance. Those of the
original sphere go no further than BCD, those of the
next shall go no further than HIK, &c. Farther, the
expansion outwards of any particle will be more mode¬
rate as the diffusion advances; for the whole motion of
4 Z 2 each
' U.
732 P N E U M
Undulation each shell cannot exceed the original quantity of mo¬
ot' Air. tion ; and the number of particles in each successive
1 v " 1 sl,cll increases as the surface, that is, as the square of
the distance from the centre ; therefore the agitation of
the particles will decrease in the same ratio, or will be
in the inverse duplicate ratio of the distance from the
centre. Each successive shell, therefore, contains the
same quantity of motion, and the successive agitations of
the particles of any row out from the centre will not be
equal to the original agitation, as happens in the solitary
row. But this does not affect the velocity of the pro¬
pagation, because all agitations are propagated equally
fast.
We supposed the air A to become solid as soon as it
acquired the common density 5 but this was to facilitate
the conception of the diffusion. It does not stop at this
bulk} for while it was denser it had a tendency to ex¬
pand. Therefore each particle has attained this distance
with an accelerated motion. It will, therefore, conti¬
nue this motion like a pendulum that has passed the per¬
pendicular, till it is brought to rest by the air without
it} and it is now rarer than common air, and collapses
again by the greater elasticity of the air without it.
This outward air, therefore, in regaining its natural
density, must expand both ways. It expands towards
the centre, following the collapsing of the air within itj
and it expands outwards, condensing the air beyond it.
By expanding inwards, it will again condense the air
within it, and this will again expand ; a similar motion
happens in all the outward shells y and thus there is pro¬
pagated a succession of condensed and rarefied shells of
air, which gradually swell to the greatest distance.
It may be demonstrated, that when the central air
has for the second time acquired the natural density, it
will be at rest, and be disturbed no more ; and that
this will happen to all the shells in succession. But the
demonstration is much too intricate for this place j we
336 must be contented with pointing out a fact perfectly
Application ana}0gous. When we drop a small pebble into water,
of the fact we s^e jt prociuce a series of circular waves, which go
a lehb/e"8 along the surface of smooth water to a great distance,
into water, becoming more and more gentle as they recede from the
centre , and the middle, where the agitation was first
produced, remains perfectly smooth, and this smooth¬
ness extends continually ; that is, each wave when
brought to a level remains at rest. Now these waves
are produced and propagated by the depression and ele¬
vation made at the centre. The elevation tends to dif¬
fuse itself 5 and the force with which each particle of
water is actuated is a force acting directly up and down,
and is proportional to the elevation or depression of the
particle. This hydrostatical pressure operates precisely
in the same way as the condensation and rarefaction of
the air ; and the mathematical investigation of the pro¬
pagation of the circular undulations on smooth water
is similar in every step to that of the propagation of the
spherical waves in still air. For this we appeal to New¬
ton’s Principia, or to Euler’s Opuscvhty. where he gives
a very beautiful investigation of the velocity of the aerial
pulses and to some memoirs of de la Grange in the
collections of the academies of Berlin and Tuiin. Ihese
two last authors have made the investigation as simple
as seems possible, and have freed it from every objection
which can be stated against the geometrical one of their
great teacher Newton.
A T I C S.
Elaving said this much on the similarity between the Undulation
waves on water and the aerial undulations, we shall Of Air.
have recourse to them, as affording us a very sensible oh-v
ject to represent many affections of the other which itThe3^7
would be extremely difficult to explain. We neither see of wat^€*
nor feel the aerial undulations 5 and they behoved, there-are useful
fore, to be described very abstractedly and imperfectly, for explain.
In the watery wave there is no permanent progressive inS .tho«e
motion of the water from the centre. Throw a small bitofdir‘
of cork on the surface, and it will be observed to popple
up and down without the least motion outwards. In like
manner, the particles of air are only agitated a very
little outwards and inwards 5 which motion is commu¬
nicated to the particles beyond them, while they them¬
selves come to rest, unless agitated afresh 5 and this agi¬
tation of the particles is inconceivably small. Even the
explosion of a cannon at no great distance will but
gently agitate a feather, giving it a single impulse out¬
wards, and immediately after another inwards or to¬
wards the cannon. When a harpsichord wire is forcibly
twanged at a few' feet distance, the agitation of the
air is next to insensible. It is not, however, nothing;
and it differs from that in a watery vvave.by hzmg realty
outwards and inwards. In consequence of this, when
the condensed shell reaches an elastic body, it impels
it slightly. If its elasticity be such as to make it ac¬
quire the opposite shape at the instant that the next
agitation and condensed shell of air touches it, its agi¬
tation will be doubled, and a third agitation will increase
it, and so on, till it acquire the agitation competent
to that of the shell of air which reaches it, and it is
thrown into sensible vibration, and gives a sound ex¬
tremely faint indeed, because the agitation which it ac¬
quires is that corresponding to a shell of air consider¬
ably removed from the original string. Hence it hap¬
pens that a musical chord, pipe, or bell, will cause
another to resound, whose vibrations are isochronous
with its own j or if the vibrations of the one coin¬
cides with every second, or third, or fourth, &c. of the
other; just as we can put a very heavy pendulum into
sensible motion by giving it a gentle puff with the
breath at every vibration, or at every second, third, or
fourth, &c. A drum struck in the neighbourhood of
another drum will agitate it very sensibly; for here the
stroke depresses a very considerable surface, and pro¬
duces an agitation of a considerable mass of air : it will
even agitate the surface of stagnant water. The explo¬
sion of a cannon will even break a neighbouring win¬
dow. The shell of condensed air which comes against
the glass has a great surface and a great agitation : the
best security in this case is to throw up the sash ; this
admits the condensed air into the room, which acts on
the inside of the window, balancing part of the external
impulse. . 33s
It is demonstrated in every elementary treatise of na-For waves
tural philosophy, that when a wave on water meets any°f air^d
plane obstacle, it is reflected by it from a centre equal-nia.
ly removed behind the obstacle j that waves radiating^ i-espocts
from the focus of a parabola are reflected in waves per-very siwi-
pendicular to its axis j that waves radiating from onelar.
focus of an ellipse are made to converge to the other
focus, &c. &c. All this may be affirmed of the aerial
undulations 5 that when part of a wave gets through a
hole in the obstacle, it becomes the centre of a new se¬
ries of waves j that waves bend round the extremities
, 33!
[autioi
tleffll
jotters
itleri,
aalspi
i p
34
W
PNEUMATICS.
JJndulation of an obstacle: all this happens in the aerial undula-
of Air. tions. And lastly, that when the surface of water is
 * ' thrown into regular undulations by one agitation, ano¬
ther agitation in another place will produce other re¬
gular waves, which will cross the former without di¬
sturbing them in the smallest degree. The same thing
happens in air 5 and experiments may be made on wa¬
ter which will illustrate in the most perfect manner
many other affections of the aerial pulses, which we
should otherwise conceive very imperfectly. We would
recommend to our curious readers to make some of
these experiments in a large vessel of milk. Take a
long and narrow plate of lead, which, when set on the
bottom of the vessel, will reach above the surface of the
milk 5 bend this plate into a parabola, elliptical or other
curve. Make the undulations by dropping milk on the
focus from a small pipe, which will cause the agitations
to succeed with rapidity, and then all that we have said
will be most distinctly seen, and the experiment will be
very amusing and instructive, especially to the musical
reader.
Caution to We would now request all who make or read expla-
he sup- nations of natural phenomena by means of vibrations of
wrtersof gibers animal spirits, nervous fluids, &c. to fix their
nal spirits attention on the nature of the agitation in one of these
lie. undulations. Let him consider whether this can pro¬
duce the phenomenon, acting as any matter must act, by
impulse or by pressure. If he sees that it can produce
the phenomenon, he will be able to point out the very
motion it will produce, both in quantity and direction,
in the same manner as Sir Isaac Newton has pointed
out all the irregularities of the moon’s motion produ¬
ced by the disturbing fox-ce of the sun. If he cannot
do this, he fails in giving the first evidence of a me¬
chanical explanation by the action of an elastic vibrating
fluid. Let him then try to point out some palpable con¬
nection between the general phenomena of elastic undu¬
lations and the phenomena in question 5 this would
show an accompaniment to have at least some probabi¬
lity. It is thus only we learn that the undulations of
air produce sound: we cannot tell how they affect the
mechanism of the ear; but we see that the phenomena
of sound always accompany them, and that certain mo¬
difications of the one ax-e regularly accompanied by cer¬
tain modifications of the other. If we cannot do this
neither, we have derived neither explanation nor illus¬
tration from the elastic fluid. And lastly, let him re¬
member that even if he should be able to show the com¬
petency of this fluid to the production of the phenome¬
non, the ivhole is still an hypothesis, because we do not
^ know that such a fluid exists,
he folly We will venture to say, that whoever will proceed in
f appeal- this pimdent manner will soon see the futility of most
igto such 0f t]ie explanations of this kind which have been given,
ibstances They are unfit for any but consummate mathematicians;
* for they alone really undei-stand the mechanism of ae¬
rial undulations, and even they speak of them with he¬
sitation as a thing but imperfectly understood. But
even the unlearned in this science can see the incom¬
patibility of the hypotheses with many things which
they are brought to explain. To take an instance of
the conveyance of sensation along the nerves; an elastic
fluid is supposed to occupy them, and the undula¬
tions of this fluid are thought to be propagated along
the nerves. Let us just think a little how the undula-
733
tions would be conveyed along the surface of a canal Air’s
which was completely filled up with reeds and bul- Pressure,
rushes, or let us make the expeximent on such a canal : ' v ' ■ '
we may rest assured that the undulations in the one
case will resemble those in the other; and we may see
that in the canal there will be no x’egular or sensible
propagation of the waves.
Let these observations have their influence, along
with others which we have made on other occasions, to
wean our readei’s from this fashionable proneness to in¬
troduce invisible fluids and unknown vibrations into our
physical discussions. They have done immense, and we
fear irreparable, mischief in science; and there is but
one phenomenon that has ever received any explanation
by their means.
I his may suffice for a loose and popular account of
aerial undulations ; and with it we conclude our ac¬
count of the motion, impulse, and resistance of air.
We shall now explain a number of natural appear¬
ances, depending on its pressure and elasticity, appear¬
ances not sufficiently general, or too complicated for the
purposes of argument, while we were employed in the
investigation of these properties, but too important to be
passed over in silence.
It is owing to the pressure of the atmosphere that The air’s
two surfaces which accurately fit each other cohere with pressure oe~
such force. rl his is a fact familiarly known to the glass- cas’<>I?s
grinders, polishers of marble, &c. A large lense or °
speculum, ground on its tool till it becomes very smooth, faces accu-
requires more than any man’s strength to separate it di-rately fit-
rectly from the tool. If the surface is only a square til}s each
inch, it will require 15 pounds to separate them perpen-0t 1C1 ’
dicularly, though a very moderate force will make them
slide along each other. But this cohesion is not ob¬
served unless the surfaces are wetted or smeared with
oil or grease; otherwise the air gets between them, and
they separate without any trouble. That this cohesion
is owing to the atmospheric pressure, is evident from
the ease with which the plates may be separated in an
exhausted receiver.
To the same cause we must ascribe the very strong and the ad--
adhesion of snails, periwinkles, limpets, and other uni- hesion of
valve shells, to the rocks. The animal forms the rim
of its shell, so as to fit the shape of the rock to which it 10 “
intends to cling. It then fills its shell (if not already
filled by its own body) with water. In this condition
it is evident that we must act with a force equal to 15
pounds for every square inch of touching surface be¬
fore we can detach it. This may be illustrated by fill¬
ing a drinking glass to the brim with water; and having
covered it with a piece of thin wet leather, whelm it on
a table, and then try to pull it straight up ; it will re¬
quire a considerable force. But if we expose a snail ad¬
hering to a stone in the exhausted receiver, we shall see
it drop off by its own weight. In the same manner
do the remora, the polypus, the lamprey, and many
other animals, adhere with such firmness. Boys fre¬
quently amuse themselves by pulling out large stones
from the pavement by means of a circle of stiff wetted
leather fastened to a string. It is owing to the same
cause that the bivalve shell fishes keep themselves so
firmly shut. We think the muscular force of an oyster
prodigious, because it requires such force to open it; but
if we grind off a bit of the convex shell, so as to make a
hole in it, though without* hurting the fish in the small¬
est
7.5+
PNEUMATICS.
343
Other ef¬
fects of
the air’s
pressure.
Plate
ccccxxxi.
fig- 74-
344
Why frosts
instantly
occasion a
Effects of est degree, It opens with great ease, as it does also in
Air’s pres- vacuo.
sure. The pressure of the air, operating in this way, con¬
tributes much to the cohesion ot bodies, where we do
not suspect its influence. The tenacity of our mortars
and cements would frequently be ineffectual without
this assistance.
It is owing to the pressure of the atmosphere that a
cask will not run by the cock unless a hole be opened
in some other part of the cask. If the cask is not quite
full, some liquor indeed will run out, but it will stop as
soon as the diminished elasticity of the air above the li¬
quor is in equilibrio (together with the liquor) with the
atmospheric pressure. In like manner, a teapot must
have a small hole in its lid to ensure its pouring out the
tea. If indeed the hole in the cask is of large dimen¬
sions, it will run without any other hole, because air
will net in at the upper side of the hole while the liquor
runs out by the lower part of it.
On the same principle depends the performance of
an instrument used by the spirit dealers for taking out
a sample of their spirits. It consists of a long tinplate
tube AB (fig. 74.), open a-top at A, and ending in a
small bole at B. The end B is dipped into the spirits,
which rises into the tube ; then the thumb is clapt on
the mouth A, and the whole is lifted out of the cask.
The spirit remains in it till the thumb be taken oft 5 it
is then allowed to run into a glass for examination.
It seems principally owing to the pressure ot the all
that frosts immediately occasion a scantiness of water in
scarcity1 of our fountains and wells. This is erroneously accounted
water/ for, by supposing that the water freezes in the bowels
of the earth. But this is a great mistake : the most
intense frost of a Siberian winter would not fieeze the
ground two feet deep ) but a very moderate frost will
consolidate the whole surface of a country, and make it
impervious to the air especially if the frost has been
preceded by rain, which has soaked the surface. When
this happens, the water which was filtering through the
ground is all arrested and kept suspended in its capil¬
lary tubes by the pressure of the air, in the very same
manner as the spirits are kept suspended in the instru¬
ment just now described by the thumb’s shutting the
hole A. A thaw melts the superficial ice, and allows
the water to run in the same manner as the spirits run
when the thumb is removed.
The neces- Common air is necessary for supporting the lives of
sity of com- niost animals. If a small animal, such as a mouse or
mon air to be pUt under the receiver of an air-pump, and the
animal life. ^ ^ exl,austed, the animal will quickly be thrown into
convulsions and fall down dead ; if the air be immedi¬
ately readmitted, the animal will sometimes revive, es¬
pecially if the rarefaction has been briskly made, and
has not been very great. We do not know that any
breathing animal can bear the air to be reduced to one-
fourth of its ordinary density, nor even one-third ; nor
have wc good evidence that an animal will ever recover
if the rarefaction is pushed very far, although continued
for a very short time.
But the mere presence of the air is by no means suf¬
ficient for preserving the life of the animal j for it is
found, that an animal shut up in a vessel of air cannot
live in it for any length of time. If a man he shut up
in a box, containing a wine hogshead of air, he cannot
Jive in it much above an hour, and long before this he
4
will find his breathing very unsatisfactory and uneasy. Effects of
A gallon of air will support him about a minute. A Air’s pres-
box EF (fig. 75.) may he made, having a pipe AB in-, sure- ^
sorted into its top, and fitted with a very light valve atFig ^
B, opening upwards. This pipe sends oft a lateral
branch a D C, which enters the box at the bottom,
and is also fitted with a light valve at C opening up¬
wards. If a person breathe through the pipe, keeping
his nostrils shut, it is evident that the air which he ex¬
pires will not enter the box by the hole B, nor return
through the pipe CD d; and by this contrivance he
will gradually employ the whole air of the box. VWth
this apparatus experiments can be made without any
risk or inconveniency, and the quantity of air necessary
for a given time of easy breathing may be accurately
ascertained.
How the air of our atmosphere produces this effect,
is a question which does not belong to mechanical phi¬
losophy to investigate or determine. We can, how¬
ever affirm, that it is neither the pressure nor the elasti¬
city of the air which is immediately concerned in main¬
taining the animal functions. We know that we can
live and breathe with perfect freedom on the tops of the
highest mountains. The valley of Quito in Peru, and
the country round Gondar in Abyssinia, are so far ele¬
vated above the surface of the ocean, that the pressure
and the elasticity of the air are one-third less than in the
low countries j yet these are populous and healthy places.
And, on the other hand, we know, that when an ani¬
mal has breathed in any quantity of air for a certain
time without renewal, it will not only be suftocated, but
another animal put into this air will die immediately ;
and we do not find either the pressure or elasticity of
the air remarkably diminished : it is indeed diminished,
but by a very small quantity. Restoring the former
pressure and elasticity has not the smallest tendeney to
prevent the death of the animal : for an animal will live
no longer under a receiver that has its mouth inverted
on water, than in one set upon the pump-plate covered
with leather. Now when the receiver is set on water,
the pressure of the atmosphere acts completely on the
included air, and preserves it in the same state of elas¬
ticity. _ 34<>
In short, it is known that the air which has alread y The nature
served to maintain the animal functions has its chemical air
and alimentary properties completely changed, and is no
longer fit for this purpose. So much of any mass of air e(j animal
as has really been thus employed is changed into what functions
is called fixed air by Dr Black, or carbonic acid by the is quite al¬
chemists of the Lavoisierian school. Any person may10101,
be convinced of this by breathing or blowing through
a pipe immersed in lime water. Every expiration will
produce white clouds on the water, till all the lime
which it contains is precipitated in the form ot pure
chalk. In this case we know that the lime has combi¬
ned with the fixed air. 347
The celebrated Dr Stephen Hales made many ex- HaJes^ex-
periments, with a view to clear the air from the nox'
ious vapour which he supposed to be emitted Irom the jts tonner
lungs. qualities,
He made use of the apparatus which we have been See.
just now mentioning 5 and he put several diaphragms
//> &c- tl“n Pollen stuff into the box, and mois¬
tened them with various liquids. He found nothing so
efficacious as a solution ot potash. "W e now under¬
stand
. 348
| Eow it
uraes to
e changed
y breath-
ng, and
lie nature
finspira-
ion, Sec.
P N E U M
stand this perfectly. If tlie solution is not already sa¬
turated tvith fixed air, it tvill take it up as fast as it is
produced, and thus will purify the air : a solution of
caustic alkali therefore will have this effect till it is ren¬
dered quite mild.
These experiments have been repeated, and varied in
many circumstances, in order to ascertain whether this
fixed air was really emitted by the lungs, or whether
the inspired air was in part changed into fixed air by
its combination with some other substance. This is a
question which comes properly in our way, and which
the doctrines of pneumatics enable us to answer. If
the fixed air be emitted in substance from the lungs, it
does not appear how a renewal of the air into which it
is emitted is necessary : for this does not hinder the
subsequent emission ; and the bulk of the air would be
increased by breathing in it, viz. by the bulk of all the
fixed air emitted j but, on the contrary, it is a little di¬
minished. We must therefore adopt the other opinion }
and the discoveries in modern chemistry enable us to
give a pretty accurate account of the whole process.
Fixed air is acknowledged to be a compound, of which
cue ingredient is found to constitute about three-eighths
of the whole atmospheric fluid ; we mean vital air or the
oxygen of Lavoisier. When this is combined with phlo¬
giston, according to the doctrine of Stahl, or with char¬
coal, according to Lavoisier, the result is fixed air or.
carbonic acid. The change therefore which breathing,
makes on the air is the solution of this matter by vital
air j and the use of air in breathing is the carrying off
this noxious principle in the way of solution. When
therefore the air is already so far saturated as not to dis¬
solve this substance as fast as it is secreted, or must be
secreted in the lungs, the animal suffers the pain of suf¬
focation, or is otherwise mortally affected. Suffocation
is not the only consequence ; for we can remain for a.
number of seconds without breathing, and then we be¬
gin to feel the true pain of suffocation j but those who
have been instantaneously struck down by an inspiration,
of fixed air, and afterwards recovered to life, complain¬
ed of no such pain, and seemed to have suffered chiefly
by a nervous affeotion. It is said (but we will not
vouch for the truth of it, that a person may safely take
a full inspiration of fixed air, if the passages of the nose be
shut} and that unless these nerves are stimulated by the
fixed air, it is not instantaneously mortal. But these are
questions out of our present line of inquiry. They are
questions of physiology, and are treated of in other places
of this work. See Anatomy and Physiology } see
also Lungs and Respiration. Onr business is to ex¬
plain in what manner the pressure and elasticity of the
air, combined with the structure and mechanism of the
body, operate in producing this necessary secretion and
removal of the matter discharged from the lungs in the
act of breathing.
It is well ascertained, that the secretion is made from
the mass of blood during its passage through the lungs.
The blood delivered into the lungs is of a dark blackish
colour, and is there changed into a florid red. In
the lungs it is exposed to the action of the air in a pro¬
digiously extended surface : for the lungs consist of an
inconceivable number of small vessels or bladders, com¬
municating with each other and with the windpipe.
These are filled with air in every inspiration. Ihese
vessels are every where in contact with minute blood-ves-
a t i c s. . ns-
sels. The blood does not in toto come into immediate Effects of
contact with the air 5 and it would seem that it is only Air's pres-
the thin serous part of it which is acted on by the air , sure'
at the mouths of the vessels or pores, where it stands by
capillary attraction. Dr Priestley found, that venous
blood, inclosed in thin bladders and other membranes,
was rendered florid by keeping the bladders in contact
with abundance of pure vital air. We know also, that
breath is moist or damp, and must have acquired this
moisture in the lungs. It is immaterial whether this
secretion of water or lymph (as the anatomists call it)
be furnished by mere exudation through simple pores,
or by a vascular and organic secretion ; in either case,
some ingredient of the blood comes in contact with air
in the lungs, and there unites with it. This is farther
confirmed, by observing, that all breathing animals are
warmer than the surrounding medium, and that by every
process in which fixed air is formed from vital air heat
is produced. Hence this solution in air of something
from the blood has been assigned by many as the source
of animal heat. We touch on these things in a very
transitory way in this place, only in order to prove that,
for the support of animal life, there must be a very ex¬
tensive application of air to the blood, and that this is
made in the limes.
The question before us in this place is, How is this
brought about by the weight and elasticity of the air P
This is done in two waysj by the action of the muscles
of the ribs, and by the act ion of the diaphragm and other
muscles of the abdomen. The thorax or chest is a great
cavity, completely filled by the lungs. The sides of
this cavity are formed by the ribs. These are crooked
or arched, and each is moveable round its two ends, one
of them being inserted into the vertebrae of the back,
and the other into the sternum or breast-bone. The rib
turns in a manner resembling the handle of a drawer.
The inspection of fig. 76. will illustrate this matter a Fig. ^
little. Suppose the curves a c ey b kf,c Ig, &c. to re¬
present the ribs moveable round the extremities. Each
succeeding rib is more bent than the one above it, and
this curvature is both in the vertical and horizontal di¬
rection. Suppose each so broad as to project a little
over its inferior like the tiles of a roof. It is evident,
that if we take the lower one by its middle, and draw
it out a little, moving it round the line 11 p, it will bring
out the next dm h along with it. Also, because the di¬
stance of the middle point 0 from the axis of motion np
is greater than the distance of from the axis d h, and
because 0 will therefore describe a portion of a larger
circle than m does, the rib n 0p will slide up a little un¬
der the rib dm h, or the rib dm h will overlap nop &
little more than before; the distance 0 in will therefore
be diminished. The same must happen to all the supe¬
rior ribs 5 but the change of distance will be less and less
as we go upwards. Now, instead of this great breadth
of the ribs overlapping each other, suppose each inferior
rib connected with the one above it by threads or fibres
susceptible of contraction at the wilt of man. The arti¬
culations e,a, of the first or upper rib with the spine and
sternum are so broad and firm, that this rib can have
little or no motion round the line a e; this rib therefore
is as a fixture for the ends of all the contracting fibres j
therefore, whenever the fibres which connect the second
rib with the first rib contract, the second must rise a
little, and also go outward, and will carry the lower
ribs-
736 P N E U M
Effects of ribs along with it; the third rib will rise still farther by
Air's pres- the contraction of the muscles which connect it with
the second, and so on : and thus the whole ribs are rais-
1 ed and thrown outward (and a little forward, because
the articulation of each with the spine is considerably
higher than that with the sternum), and the capacity of
the thorax is enlarged by the contraction of its muscu¬
lar covering. The direction of the muscular fibres is
vei'y oblique to the direction of the circular motion
which it produces; from which circumstance it follows,
that a very minute contraction of the muscles produces
all the motion which is necessary. This indeed is not
great; the whole motion of the lowest ribs is less than
an inch in the most violent inspiration, and the whole
contraction of the muscles of the twelve ribs does not
exceed the eighth part of an inch, even supposing the
intercostal muscles at right angles to the ribs; and be¬
ing oblique, the contraction is still less (see BoRELLI,
Sabatier, Monro, &c.). It would seem, that the
intensity of the contractive power of a muscular fibre is
easily obtained, but that the space through which it can
be exerted is very limited ; for in most cases nature
places the muscles in situations of great mechanical dis¬
advantage in this respect, in order to procure other con¬
veniences.
But this is not the whole effect of the contraction of
the intercostal muscles: since the compound action of the
two sets of muscles, which cross each other from rib to
rib like the letter X, is nearly at right angles to the
rib, but is oblique to its plane, it tends to push the ribs
closer on their articulations, and thus to press out the
two pillars on which they are articulated. Thus, sup-
Fig. 77. posing af (fig. 77.) to represent the section of one of
the Vertebrae of the spine, and c c? a section of the ster¬
num, and a b c,fed, two opposite ribs, with a lax thread
b e connecting them. If this thread be pulled upwards
by the middle g till it is tight, it will tend to pull the
points b and e nearer to each other, and to press the
vertebra a f and the sternum c d outwards. The spine
being the chief pillar of the body, may be considered
as immoveable in the present instance. The sternum is
sufficiently susceptible ol motion for the present purpose.
It remains almost fixed a-top at its articulation with the
first rib, bilt it gradually yields below; and thus the
capacity of the thorax is enlarged in this direction also.
The whole enlargement of the diameters of the thorax
during inspiration is Very small, not exceeding the fif¬
tieth part of an inch in ordinary cases. This is easily
calculated. Its quiescent capacity is about two cubic
feet, and we never draw in more than 15 inches. Two
spheres, one of which holds 2 cubic feet and the other
2 feet and 15 inches, will not differ in diameter above
the fiftieth part of an inch.
The other method of enlarging the capacity of the
thorax is very different. It is separated from the ab¬
domen by a strong muscular partition called the dia¬
phragm, which is attached to firm parts all around.
In its quiescent or relaxed state it is considerably convex
upwards, that is, towards the thorax, rising up into its
cavity like the bottom of an ordinary quart bottle, only
not so regular in its shape. Many of its fibres tend
from its middle to the circumference, where they are in¬
serted into firm parts of the body. Now suppose these
fibres to contract. This must draw down its middle,
A T I C S.
or make it flatter than before, and thus enlarge the ca- Effects of
pacity of the thorax. Airs pres-
Pbysiologists are not well agreed as to the share which , Sllre-
each of these actions has in the operation of enlarging v~
the thorax. Many refuse all share of it to the intercostal
muscles, and say that it is performed by the diaphragm
alone. But the fact is, that the ribs are really observed
to rise even while the person is asleep; and this cannot
possibly be produced by the diaphragm, as these anato¬
mists assert. Such an opinion shows either ignorance
or neglect of the laws of pneumatics. If the capacity
of the thorax were enlarged only by drawing down the
diaphragm, the pressure of the air would compress the
ribs, and make them descend. And the simple laws
of mechanics make it as evident as any proposition in
geometry, that the contraction of the intercostal muscles
vmst produce an elevation of the ribs and enlargement
of the thorax ; and it is one of the most beautiful con¬
trivances of nature. It depends much on the will of
the animal what share each ol these actions shall have.
In general, the greatest part is done by the diaphragm ;
and any person can breathe in such a manner that his
rib shall remain motionless ; and, on the contrary, he
can bi’eathe almost entirely by raising his chest. In the
first method of breathing, the belly rises during inspira¬
tion, because the contraction of the diaphragm com¬
presses the upper part of the bowels, and therefore,
squeezes them outwards; so that an ignorant person
would be apt to think that the breathing was performed
by the belly, and that the belly is inflated with the air.
The strait lacing of the women impedes the motion of
the ribs, and changes the natural habit of breathing, or
brings on an unnatural habit. When the mind is de¬
pressed, it is observed that .the breathing is more per¬
formed by the muscles of the thorkx ; and a deep sigh
is always made in this way.
These observations on the manner in which the capa¬
city of the chest can be enlarged were necessary, before
we can acquire a just notion ol the way in which the
mechanical properties of air operate in applying it to
the mass of blood during its passage through the lungs.
Suppose the thorax quite empty, and communicating
with the external air by means of the trachea or wind¬
pipe, it would then resemble a pair ol bellows. Raising
the boards corresponds to the raising of the ribs; and
we might imitate the action of the diaphragm by for¬
cibly pulling outwards the folded leather which unites
them. Thus their capacity is enlarged, and the air
rushes in at the nozzle by its weight in the same manner
as water would do. The thorax differs from bellows
only in this respect, that it is filled by the lungs, which
is a vast collection of little bladders, like the holes in a
piece of fermented bread, all communicating with the
trachea, and many of them with each other. When
the chest is enlarged, the air rushes into them all in the
same manner as into the single cavity of an empty tho¬
rax. It cannot be said with propriety that they are in¬
flated : all that is done is the allowing the air to come
in. At the same time, as their membranous covering
must have some thickness, however small, and some
elasticity, it is not unlikely that, when compressed by
expiration, they tend a little to recover their former
shape, and thus aid the voluntary action of the muscles.
It is in this manner that a small bladder of caoutchouc
swells
ct
Fief
Air's*
sf
I OHIO
I ictioi
lyes
Nth]]
“pin
P N E U M
Effects of sivclls again after compression, and fills itself with air
But this cannot happen except in the most
349 .
We take in
air not by
our own
Air’s pres- or water.
suie minute vesicles : those of sensible bulk have not ela¬
sticity enough for this purpose. The lungs of birds,
however, have some very large bladders, which have a
very considerable elasticity, and recover their shape and
size with great force after compression, and thus fill
themselves with air. The respiration of these animals
is considerably difl’erent from that of land animals, and
their muscles act chiefly in expiration. This will be
explained by and by as a curious variety in the pneuma¬
tic instrument.
This account of the manner in which the lungs are
filled with air does not seem agreeable to the notions
we entertain of it. We seem to suck in the air } but al¬
though it be true that we act, and exert force, in order
to get air into our lungs, it is not by our actions, but by
action, but external pressure, that it does come in. If we apply
by external our m0uth to the top of a bottle filled with water, we
pressure. £n(i that no draught, as we call it, of our chest will
suck in any of the water; but if we suck in the very
same manner at the end of a pipe immersed in water, it
follows immediately. Our interest in the thing makes
us connect in imagination our own action with the
effect, without thinking on the many steps which may
intervene in the train of natural operations ; and we
consider the action as the immediate cause of the air’s
reception into the lungs. It is as if we opened the
door, and took in by the hand a person who was really
pushed in by the crowd without. If an incision be made
into the side of the thorax, so that the air can get in by
that way, when the animal acts in the usual manner, the
air will really come in by this hole, and fill the space
between the lungs and the thorax; but no air is sucked
into the lungs by this process, and the animal is as com¬
pletely suffocated as if the windpipe were shut up. And
on the other hand, if a hole be made into the lungs
without communicating with the thorax, the animal will
breathe through this hole, though the windpipe be stop¬
ped. This is successfully pex-formed in cases of patients
whose trachea is shut up by accident or by inflammation j
only it is necessary that this perforation he made into a
part of the lungs where it may meet with some of the
great pulmonary passages : for if made into some remote
part of a lobe, the air cannot find its way into the rest
of the lungs through such narrow passages, obstructed
too by blood, &c.
We have now explained, on pneumatical principles,
:xpuation. the process of inspiration. The expiration is chiefly
performed by the natural tone of the parts. In the act
of inspiration the ribs were raised and drawn outwards
in opposition to the elasticity of the solids themselves j
for although the ribs are articulated at their extremities,
the articulations are by no means such as to give a free
and easy motion like the joints of the limbs. This is
particularly the case in the articulations with the ster¬
num, which are by no means fitted for motion. It would
seem that the motion really produced here is chiefly
by the yielding of the cartilaginous parts and the bend¬
ing of the rib j when therefore the muscles which pro¬
duced this effect are allowed to relax, the ribs again
collapse. Perhaps this is assisted a little by the action
of the long muscles wrhich come down across the ribs
without being inserted into them. These may draw them
Vol. XVI. Part II,
f
3SO
Mature of
A T I C S. 737
together a little, as we compress a loose bundle by a Effects oi
string. Air’s pits*
In like manner, when the diaphragm was drawn down, sme' .
it compressed the abdomen in opposition to the elasticity
of all the viscera contained in it, and to the elasticity
and tone of the teguments and muscles which surround
it. When therefore the diaphragm is relaxed, these
parts push it up again into its natural situation, and in
doing this expel the air from the lungs.
If this be a just account of the matter, expiration It requires
should be performed without, any effort. This accord-110 vflo't.
ingly is the case. We feel that, after having made an
ordinary easy inspiration, it requires the continuance of
the effort to keep the thorax in this enlarged state, and
that all that is necessary for expiration is to cease to
act. No person feels any difficulty in emptying the
lungs $ but weak people often feel a difficulty of in¬
spiration, and compare it to the feeling of a weight on
their breast j and expiration is the last motion of the
thorax in a dying person.
But nature has also given us a mechanism by which
we can expire, namely, the abdominal muscles; and
when we have finished an ordinary and easy expiration,
we can still expel a considerable bulk of air, (nearly
half of the contents of the lungs) by contracting the ab¬
dominal muscles. These, by compressing the body,
force up its moveable contents against the diaphragm,
and cause it to rise further into the thorax, acting in
the same manner as when we expel the fceces per anum.
When a person breathes out as much air as he can in
this manner, he may observe that his ribs do not col¬
lapse during the whole operation.
There seems then to be a certain natural unconstrain- A certain
ed state of the vesicles of the lungs, and a certain quan-<l}lanllty ol
tity of air necessary for keeping them of this size. It is dir ,5ec,es'
probable that this state of the lungs gives the freest mo-t]le 1
tion to the blood. Were they more compressed, the oi-a natural
blood vessels would be compressed by the adjoining size,
vesicles ; were they more lax, the vessels would be more
crooked, and by this means obstructed. The frequent
inspirations gradually change this air by mixing fresh
air with it, and, at every expiration, carrying off’some
of it. In catarrhs and inflammations, especially when
attended with suppuration, the small passages into the
remote vessels are obstructed, and thus the renewal of
air in them will be prevented. The painful feeling
which this occasions causes us to expel the air with vio¬
lence, shutting the windpipe, till we have exerted strong¬
ly with the abdominal muscles, and made a strong com¬
pression on the lower part of the thorax. We then open
the passage suddenly, and expel the air and obstructing
matter by violent coughing: ^
We have said, that birds exhibit a curious variety Process of
in the process of breathing. The muscles of their hreatbin^
wings being so very great, required a very extensive1" l,11^s*
insertion, and this is one use of the great breast-bone.
Another use of it is, to form a firm partition to hinder
the action of these muscles from compressing the thorax
in the act of flying: therefore the form of their chest
does not admit of alternate enlargement and contrac¬
tion to that degree as in land animals. Moreover, the
muscles of their abdomen are also very small; and it
would seem that they are not sufficient for producing
the compression on the bowels which is necessary for
5 A carrying
7 58 P N E U M
F,fi'ects of carrying on the process of concoction and digestion.
Air's pres- Instead of aiding the lungs, they receive help from
surc them. _
sr~~J Jn an ostrich, the lungs consist of a fleshy part A, A
Fig. 7S. (fig- composed ol vesicles like those ol land ani¬
mals, and, like theirs, serving to expose the blood to the
action of the air. Besides these, they have on each side
four large hags B, C, I), E, each of which has an ori¬
fice G communicating with the trachea •, but the second,
C, has also an orifice H, by which it communicates with
another bag F situated below the rest in the abdomen.
Now, when the lungs are compressed by the action of
the diaphragm, the air in C is partly expelled by the
trachea through the orifice G, and partly driven through
the orifice H into the bag F, which is then allowed to
receive it; because the same action whic h compresses the
lungs enlarges the abdomen. Vv hen the thorax is en¬
larged, the bagC is partly supplied with fresh air through
the trachea, and partly from the bag F. As the lungs
of other animals resemble a common bellows, the lungs
of birds resemble the smith’s bellows with a partition ;
and anatomists have discovered passages from this part
of the lungs into their hollow bones and quills. We do
not know all the uses of this contrivance ; and only can
observe, that this alternate action must assist the muscles
of the abdomen in promoting the motion of the food
along the alimentary canal, &c. We can distinctly ob¬
serve in birds that their belly dilates when the chest col¬
lapses, and vice versa, contrary to what we see in the
land animals. Another use of this double passage may
be to produce a circulation of air in the lungs, by which
3 compensation is made for the smaller surface of action
on the blood : for the number of small vesicles, of equal
capacity with these large bags, gives a much more ex¬
tensive surface.
If wTe try to raise mercury in a pipe by the action of
the chest alone, we cannot raise it above two cr three
inches ; and the attempt is both painful and hazardous.
It is painful chiefly in the breast, and it provokes cough¬
ing. Probably the fluids ooze through the pores of the
vesicles by the pressure of the surrounding parts.
On the other hand, we can by expiration support mer¬
cury about five or six inches high : but this also is very
painful, and apt to produce extravasation ot blood. Ibis
^ seems to be done entirely by the abdominal muscles.
The opera- The operation properly termed si' KING is totally dif-
tion ot’ ferent from breathing, and resembles exceedingly the
mucking, action of a common pump. Suppose a pipe held in the
mouth, and its lower end immersed in water. We fill
the mouth with the tongue, bringing it forward, and
applying it closely to the teeth and to the palate ; ive
then draw it back, or bend it downwards (behind) from
the palate, thus leaving a void. The pressure of the
air on the cheeks immediately depresses them, and ap¬
plies them close to the gums and teeth j and its pressure
on the water in the vessel causes it to rise through the
pipe into the empty part of the mouth, which it quickly
fills. We then push forward the tip of the tongue, be¬
low the water, to the teeth, and apply it to them all
round, the water being above the tongue, which is kept
much depressed. We then apply the tongue to the palate,
beginning at the tip, and gradually going backwards in
this appl-cation. By this means the water is gradually
forced backward by an operation similar to that, of the
gullet ip swallowing. Ti\is is done by contracting the
A T I C S.
gullet above and relaxing it below, just as we would EflVets of
empty a gut of its contents by drawing our closed hand Air’s pres-
along it. By this operation the mouth is again complete- s,u'l‘-
ly occupied by the tongue, and we are ready for repeat- v~' f
ing the operation. Thus the mouth and tongue resem¬
ble the barrel and piston of a pump; and the application
of the tip of the tongue to the teeth performs the office
of the valve at the bottom of the barrel, preventing the
return of the water into the pipe. Although usual, it
is not absolutely necessary, to withdraw the tip of the
tongue, making a void before the tongue. Sucking may
he performed by merely separating the tongue gradually
from the palate, beginning at the root. If we withdraw
the tip of the tongue a very minute quantity, the water
gets in and flows back above the tongue.
The action of the tongue in this operation is very
powerful ; some persons can raise mercury 25 inches:
but this strong exertion is very fatiguing, and the soft
parts are prodigiously swelled by it. It causes the blood
to ooze plentifully through the pores of the tongue, fau¬
ces, and palate, in the same manner as if a cupping-
glass and syringe were applied to them ; and, when the
inside of the mouth is excoriated or tender, as is fre¬
quent with infants, even a very moderate exertion of
this kind is accompanied with extravasation of blood.
W hen children suck the nurse’s breast, the milk follows
their exertion by the pressure of the air on the breast;
and a weak child, or one that witholds its exertions on
account of pain from the above mentioned cause, may
be assisted by a gentle pressure of the hand on the
breast: the infant pupil of nature, without any know¬
ledge of pneumatics, frequently helps itself by pressing
its face to the yielding breast.
In the whole of this operation the breathing is perfor¬
med through the nostrils ; and it is a prodigious distress
to an infant when this passage is obstructed by mucus.
We beg to be forgiven for observing by the way, that
this obstruction may be almost certainly remosed for a
little while, by rubbing the child’s nose with any liquid
of quick evaporation, or even with water. 355
The operation in drinking is not very different from and of
that in sucking, we have indeed little occasion here to dunking,
suck, but we must do it a little. Dogs and some other
animals cannot drink, but only lap the water into their jar>
mouths with their tongue, and then swallow it. The
gallinaceous birds seem to drink very imperfectly; they
seem merely to dip their head into the water up to the
eyes till their mouth is filled with water, and then hold¬
ing up the head, it gets into llie gullet by it:- weight,
and is then swallowed. The elephant drinks in a very
complicated manner : he dips his trunk into the water,
and fills it by making a voiel in bis mouth: this he does
in the contrary way to man. After having depressed his
tongue, he begins the application of it to the palate at
the root, and by extending the application forward, he
expels the air by the mouth which came into it from the
trunk. The process here is not very unlike that ot the
condensing syringe without a piston valve, described m
58. in which the external air (corresponding here to
the air in the trunk) enters by the hole F in the .side,
and is expelled through the hole in the end of the bar¬
rel ; by this operation the trunk is filled with water;
then he lifts his trunk out of the water, and bringing it
to his mouth, pours the contents into it, and swallows
it. On considering this operation, it appears that, by
PNEUMATICS.
Effects rf tbe saAie process by which the air of the trunk is taken
3S6
ilode of
A.u s prts- into the mouth, the water could also be taken in, to be
su'. afterwards swallowed : but we do not find upon inquiry,
that this is done by the elephant •, we have always ob¬
served him to drink in the manner now described. In
either way it is a double operation, and cannot be car¬
ried on any way but by alternately sucking and swallow¬
ing, and while one operation is going on the other is in-
temipted ; whereas man can do both at the same time.
Nature seems to delight in exhibiting to rational obser¬
vers her inexhaustible variety of resource 5 for many in¬
sects, which drink with a trunk, drink without inter¬
ruption : yet we do not call in question the truth of the
aphorism, Natura maxime simplex et semper sibi com
sona, nor doubt but that, if the w/iolc of her purpose were
seen, we should find that her process is the simplest pos¬
sible : for Nature, or Nature’s God, is wise above our
wisest thoughts, and simplicity is certainly the choice of
wisdom : but alas ! it is generally but a small and the
most obvious part of her purpose that we can observe or
appreciate. A\ e seldom see this simplicity of nature stat¬
ed to us, except by some system-maker, who has found
a principle which somehow tallies with a considerable
variety of phenomena, and then cries out, Frustra Jit per
plura quod jieri potest per pauciora.
There is an operation similar to that of the elephant,
Continued w^‘c*1 mAn.V a great difficulty in acquiring, viz. keep-
last with a *ng UP a continued blast with a blow-pipe. We would
low-pipe, desire our chemical reader to attend minutely to the gra¬
dual action of his tongue in sucking, and he will find it
such as we have described. Let him attend particularly
to the way in which the tip of the tongue performs the
office of a valve, preventing the return of the water into
the pipe : the same position of the tongue would hinder
air from coming into the mouth. Next let him observe,
that in swallowing what water he has now got lodged
above his tongue, he continues the tip of the tongue ap¬
plied to the teeth ; now let him shut his mouth, keeping
his lips firm together, the tip of the tongue at the teeth,
and the whole tongue forcibly kept at a distance from
the palate j bring up the tongue to the palate, and allow
the tip to separate a little from the teeth, this will expel
the air into the space between the fauces and cheeks, and
will blow up the cheeks a little : then, acting with the
tip of the tongue as a valve, hinder this air from getting
back, and depressing the tongue again, more air (from
the nostrils) will get into the mouth, which may be ex¬
pelled into the space without the teeth as before, and
the cheeks will be more inflated : continue this opera¬
tion, and the lips will be no longer able to retain it, and
it will ooze through as long as the operation is continued.
When this has become familiar and easy, take the blow¬
pipe, and there will be no difficulty in maintaining a
blast as uniform as a smith’s bellows, breathing all
the while through the nostrils. The only difficulty
is the holding the pipe : this fatigues the lips j but it
may be removed by giving the pipe a convenient shape,
a pretty flat oval, and wrapping it round with leather or
thread.
Another phenomena depending on the principles al¬
ready established, is the land and sea-breeze in the warm
countries.
We have seen that air expands exceedingly by heat 5
therefore heated air, being lighter than an equal bulk
of cold air, must rise in it. If we lay a hot stone in the
357
uure of
Jfe land
d sea-
i1 ieze in
rat
1 mtries.
sunshine in a room, we shall observe the shadow of the
stone surrounded with a fluttering shadow ofdill’cicnt de¬
grees of brightness, and that this flutter rises rapidly in
a column above the stone. If we hold an extinguished
candle near the stone, we shall see the smoke move to¬
wards the stone, and then ascend from it. Now,
suppose an island receiving the first rays of the sun in a
perfectly calm morning j the ground will soon be warm¬
ed, and will warm tbe contiguous air. If the island be
mountainous, this effect will be more remarkable ; be¬
cause the inclined sides of tbe hills will receive the light
more directly : the midland air will therefore be most
warmed : tbe heated air will rise, and that in the middle
will use fastest j and thus a current of air upwards will
begin, which must be supplied by air coming in from all
sides, to be heated and to rise in its turn ; and thus tbe
morning sea-breeze is produced, and continues all day.
This current will frequently be reversed during tbe
night, by tbe air cooling and gliding down the sides of
the hills, and we shall have the land-breeze.
% It 19 owing to the same cause that we have a cii cu- circulation
tion of air in mines which have the mouths of their of air in
shalts of unequal heights. The temperature underground mints,
is pretty constant through the whole year, while that of
the atmosphere is extremely variable. Now, suppose a
mine having a long horizontal drift, communicating be¬
tween two pits or shafts, and that one of the shafts ter¬
minates in a valley, while the other opens on the brow
of a hill perhaps 100 feet higher. Let us farther sup¬
pose it summer, and the air heated to 65°, while the
temperature of the earth is but 450 j this last will he
also the temperature of the air in the shafts and the
drift. Now, since air expands nearly 24 parts in 10,000
by one degree of heat, we shall have an odds of pressure
at the bottom of the two shafts equal to nearly the 20th
part of the weight of a column of air 100 feet high
(100 feet being supposed the difierence of the heights of
the shafts). Thiswill beahout six ounces on every square
foot of tbe section of the shaft. If this pressure could
be continued, it would produce a prodigious current of
air down the long shafts, along the drift, and up the
short shaft. The weight of the air acting through 100
feet would communicate to it the velocity of 80 feet
per second: divide this by ,J20, that is, by 4.5, and
we shall have 18 feet per second for the velocity : this is
the velocity of what is called a brisk gale. This pressure
would be continued, if the warm air which enters the
long shaft were cooled and condensed as fast as it comes
in ; but this is not the case. It is however cooled and
condensed, and a current is produced sufficient to make
an abundant circulation of air along the whole passage ;
and care is taken to dispose the shafts and conduct the
passages in such a manner that no part of the mine is
out of the circle. When any new lateral drift is made,
the renewal of air at its extremity becomes more im¬
perfect as it advances : and when it is carried a certain
length, the air stagnates and becomes suffocating, till
either a communication can be made with the rest of
the mine, or a shaft be made at the end of this drift.
As this current depends entirely on the difference of
temperature between tbe air below and that above, it
must cease when this difference ceases. Accordingly,
in the spring and autumn, the miners complain much of
stagnation *, hut in summer they never want a current
from the deep pits to the shallow, nor in the winter
5 A 2 a,
P N E U M
a current from the shallow pits to the deep ones. It
frequently happens also, that in mineral countries the
chemical changes which are going on in diflerent parts
of the earth make dift'erences of temperature suflicient
to produce a sensible current.
It is easy to see that the same causes must produce
a current down our chimneys in summer. The chim¬
ney is colder than the summer air, and must therefore
condense it, and it will come down and run out at the
doors and windows.
e And this naturally leads us to consider a very impor¬
tant effect of the expansion and consequent ascent of air
by heat, namely the drawing (as it is called) of chim¬
neys. The air which has contributed to the burning ot
fuel must he intensely heated, and will rise in the atmo¬
sphere. This will also be the case with much of the sur¬
rounding air which has come very near the fire, although
not in contact with it. If this heated air be made to rise
in a pipe, it will be kept together, and therefore will not
soon cool and collapse: thus we shall obtain a long column
of light air, which will rise with a force so much the great¬
er as the column is longer or more heated. Therefore the
taller we make the chimney, or the hotter we make the
fire, the more rapid will be the current *, or the draught
or suction, as it is injudiciously called, will be so much
the greater. The ascensional force is the difference be¬
tween the weight of the column of heated air in the fun¬
nel and a column of the surrounding atmosphere of equal
height. We increase the draught, therefore, by increas¬
ing the perpendicular height of the chimney. Its length
in a horizontal direction gives no increase, hut, on the
contrary, diminishes the draught by cooling the air be¬
fore it gets into the effective Paft. of the funnel. e
increase the draught also by obliging all the air which
enters the chimney to come very near the fuel } there¬
fore a low mantle-piece will produce this effect; also
fillino- up all the spaces on each side of the grate. v> hen
much air gets in above the fii'e, by having a lofty man¬
tle-piece, the general mass of air in the chimney cannot
be much heated. Hence it must happen that the gieat-
est draught will he produced by bringing down the man¬
tle-piece to the very fuel; but this converts a fire-place
into a furnace, and by thus sending the whole air through
the fuel, causes it to burn with great rapidity, producing
a prodigious heat; and this producing an increase of
ascensional force, the current becomes furiously rapid,
and the heat and consumption of fuel immense. If the
fire-place be a cube of a loot and a half, and the front
closed by a door, so that all the air must enter through
the bottom of the grate, a chimney of 15 or 20 feet high,
and sufficiently wide to give passage to all the expanded
air which can pass through the fire, will produce a cur¬
rent which will roar like thunder, and a heat sufficient
to run the whole inside into a lump of glass.
All that is necessary, however, in a chamberfire place,
is a current sufficiently great for carrying up the smoke
and vitiated air of the fuel. And as we want also the
enlivening flutter and light of the fire, we give the chim¬
ney-piece both a much greater height and width than
what is merely necessary for carrying up the smoke, on¬
ly wishing to have the current sufficiently determinate
and steady for counteracting any occasional tendency
which it may sometimes have to come into the room.
By allowing a greater quantity of air to get into the
chimney, heated only to a moderate degree, we produce
A T I C S.
a more rapid renewal of the air of the room : did we Effects of
oblige it to come so much nearer the fire as to produce Air’s pres-
the same renewal of the air in consequence of a more , Sl”'e- ,
rapid current, we should produce an inconvenient heat.
But in this country, where pit-coal is in general so very
cheap, we carry this indulgence to an extreme j or ra¬
ther we have not studied how to get all the desired ad¬
vantages with economy. A much smaller retienal of
air than we commonly produce is abundantly wholesome
and pleasant, and we may have all the pleasure of the
light and flame of the fuel at much less expence, by
contracting greatly the passage into the vent. I he best
way of doing this is by contracting the brick-work on
each side behind the mantle-piece, and reducing it to a
narrow parallelogram, having the back of the vent for
one of its long sides. Make an iron plate to fit this hole,
of the same length, but broader, so that it may lie slop¬
ing, its lower edge being in contact with the foreside ol
the hole, and its upper edge leaning on the back of the
vent. In this position it shuts the hole entirely. Now
let the plate have a hinge along the front or lower edge,
and fold up like the lid of a chest. We shall thus be
able to enlarge the passage at pleasure. In a fire-place
fit for a room of 24 feet by 18, if this plate may be
about 18 inches long from side to side, and folded back
within an inch or an inch and a hall of the wall, this
will allow passage for as much air as will keep up a
very cheerful fire : and by raising or lowering this Re¬
gister, the fire may be made to burn more or less ra¬
pidly. A free passage of half an inch will be sufficient
in weather that is not immoderately cold. The prin¬
ciple on which this construction produces its effect is,
that the air which is in the front ol the fire, and much
warmed by it, is not allowed to get into the chimney,
where it would be immediately hurried up the vent,
but rises up to the ceiling and is diffused over the whole
room. This double motion of the air may be distinct¬
ly observed by opening a little ot the door and holding
a candle in the way. If the candle be held neai the
floor, the flame will be blown into the room 5 hut if
held near the top of the door, the flame will be blown
outward. , ,
But the most perfect method of warming an apart-DescnptioE
ment in the temperate climates, where we can indulge
in the cheerfulness and sweet air produced by an °Pen c]iape]ie.
fire, is what we call a stove-grate, and our neighbours
on the continent call a chapelle, from its resemblance
to the chapels or oratories in the great churches.
In the great chimney-piece, which, in this case, may
be made even larger than ordinary, is set a smaller one
fitted up in the same style of ornament, but ot a size
no greater than is suflicient for holding the fuel The
sides and back of it are made of iron (cast-iron is
preferable to hammered iron, because it does not so rea¬
dily calcine), and are kept at a small distance Irom the
sides and back of the main chimney-piece, ami are con¬
tinued down to the hearth, so that the ash-pit is also se¬
parated. The pipe or chimney of the stove grate is
carried up behind the ornaments ot the mantle-piece
till it rises above the mantle-piece of the main chim¬
ney-piece, and is fitted with a register or damper-plate
turning round a transverse axis. The best form ol this
register is that which we have recommended tor an or¬
dinary fire-place, having its axis or joint close at the
front : so that when it is open or turned up, the burnt
* air
361
Sect of
>i con-
.vuction.
’Sects of air an(^ smoke striking it obliquely, are directed vvitli
ir's pt'es- certainty into the vent, without any risk of reveibera-
sure. ting and coming out into the room. All the rest of
the vent is shut up by iron plates or brick-work out of
sight.
The effect of this construction is very obvious. The
fuel, being in immediate contact with the back and
sides of the grate, heats them to a great degree, and
they heat the air contiguous to them. This heated
air cannot get up the vent, because the passages above
these spaces are shut up. It therefore comes out into
the room *, some of it goes into the real fire-place and
is carried up the vent, and the rest rises to the ceiling
and is diffused over the room.
It is surprising to a person who does not consider
it with skill how powerfully this grate warms a room.
Less than one-fourth of the fuel consumed in an ordi¬
nary fire place is sufficient ; and this with the same
cheerful blazing hearth and salutary renewal of air. It
even requires attention to keep the room cool enough.
The heat communicated to those parts in contact with
the fuel is needlessly great j and it will be a considerable
improvement to line this part with very thick plates
of cast iron, or with tiles made of fire clay which will
not crack with the heat. These, being very bad con¬
ductors, will make the heat, ultimately communicated
to the air, very moderate. If, with all these precau¬
tions, the heat should be found too great, it may be
brought under perfect management by opening passages
into the vent from the lateral spaces. These may be
valves or trap doors moved by rods concealed behind
the ornaments.
Thus we have a fire-place under the most complete
regulation, where we can always have a cheerful fire
without being for a quarter of an hour incommoded by
the heat 5 and we can as quickly raise our fire, when
too low, by hanging on a plate of iron on the front,
which shall reach as low as the grate. This in five mi¬
nutes will blow up the fire into a glow : and the plate
may he sent out of the room, or set behind the stove-
grate out of sight.
The propriety of inclosing the ash-pit is not so ob¬
vious *, but if this be not done, the light ashes, not find¬
ing a ready passage up the chimney, will come out into
the room along with the heated air.
We do not consider in this place the various extra¬
neous circumstances which impede the current of air in
our chimneys and produce smoky houses: these will be
treated of, and the methods of removing or remedying
them, under the article Smoke. We consider at pre¬
sent only the theory of this motion in general, and the
modifications of its operation arising from the various
purposes to which it may be applied.
Under this head we shall next give a general ac¬
count and description of the method of warming apart-
mi'tinents rnents by stoves. A Stove in general is a fire-place
st°ves. gjlut Up'on a|i sj(]es? having only a passage for admitting
the air to support the fire, and a tube for carrying off
the vitiated air and smoke; and the air of the room
is warmed by coming into contact with the outside of
the stove and flue. The general principle of construc¬
tion, therefore, is very simple. The air must be made
to come into as close contact as possible with the fire, or
even to pass through it, and this in such quantities as
fust to consume a quantity of fije! sufficient for produ-
PNEUMATICS. 741
cing the heat required ; and the stove must be so con- Effects of
362
iode of
armin'!
structed, that both the burning fuel and the air which Air’s pres-
has been heated by it shall be applied to as extensive , 'v,l^c' ,
a surface as possible of furnace, all in contact with the
air of the room ; and the heated air within the stove
must not be allowed to get into the funnel which is to
carry it off*till it is too much cooled to produce any con¬
siderable heat on the outside of the stove.
In this temperate climate no great ingenuity is ne¬
cessary for warming an ordinary apartment; and stoves
are made rather to please the eye as furniture than as
economical substitutes for an open fire of equal calori¬
fic power. But our neighbours on the continent, and
especially towards the north, where the cold of winter
is intense and fuel very dear, have bestowed much at¬
tention on their construction, and have combined inge¬
nious economy with every elegance of form. Nothing-
can be handsomer than the stoves of Fayencerie that are
to be seen in French Flanders, or the Russian stoves at
St Petersburg, finished in stucco. Our readers will
not, therefore, he displeased with a description of them.
In this place, however, we shall only consider a stove in
general as a subject of pneumatical discussion, and we
refer our readers to the article Stove for an account of
them as articles of domestic accommodation. 363
The general form, therefore, of a stove, and of9ener/
which all others are only modifications adapted to cir-^1^0 1
cumstances of utility or taste, is as follows :
MLKL (fig. 79.) is a quadrangular box of any size Fig. 79.
in the directions MILK. The inside width from front
to hack is pretty constant, never less than ten inches,
and rarely extending to 20 ; the included space is di¬
vided by a great many partitions. The lowest chamber
AB is a receptacle for the fuel, which lies on the
bottom of the stove without any grate ; this fire-place
has a door AO turning on hinges, and in this door is
a very small wicket P: the roof of the fire-place ex¬
tends to within a very few inches of the farther end,
leaving a narrow passage B for the flame. The next
partition c C is about eight inches higher, and reaches
almost to the other end, leaving a narrow passage for
the flame at C. The partitions are repeated above, at
the distance of eight inches, leaving passages at the
ends, alternately disposed as in the figure ; the last of
them H communicates with the room vent. This com¬
munication may be regulated by a plate of iron, which
can be slid across it by means of a rod or handle which
comes through the side. The more usual way of shut¬
ting up this passage is by a sort of pan or bowl of earthen
ware, which is whelmed over it with its brim resting in
sand contained in a groove formed all round the hole.
This damper is introduced by a door in the front, which
is then shut. The whole is set on low pillars, so that
its bottom may be a few inches from the floor of the
room : it is usually placed in a corner, and the apart¬
ments are so disposed that their chimneys can be joined
in stacks as with us.
Some straw or wood-shavings are first burnt on the
hearth at its farther end. This warms the air in the
stove, and creates a determined current. The fuel is
then laid on the hearth close by the door, and pretty
much piled up. It is now kindled ; and the current
being already directed to the vent, there is no danger
of any smoke coming out into the room. Effectually to
prevent this, the door js shut, and the wicket P open¬
ed.
1'.fleets of
Air s pres
sure
,64
Aim and
e-fleets of
this con
struction.
P N E U M
ctL Tlic nir sup|.‘lit(l l>y tills, lieing directed to the
middle or bottom oi‘ the fuel, quickly kindles it, and
the operation goes on.
The aim of this construction is very obvious. The
flame and heated air are retained as long as possible
within the body of the stove by means of die long pas¬
sages •, and the narrowness of these passages obliges the
flame to come in contact with every particle of soot, so
as to consume it completely, and thus convert the whole
combustible matter of the fuel into heat. For want of
this a very considerable portion of our fuel is wasted by
our open fires, even under the very best management:
the soot which sticks to our vents is very inflammable,
and a pound weight of it will give as much if not more
heat than a pound of coal. And what sticks to our
vents is very inconsiderable in comparison with what
escapes unconsumed at the chimney top. In fires of
green wood, peat, and some kinds of pit-coal, nearly
one-fifth of the fuel is lost in this way ; but in these
stoves there is hardly ever any mark of soot to be seen;
and even this small quantity is produced only after
lighting the fires. The volatile inflammable matters are
expelled from parts much heated indeed, but not so hot
as to burn; and some of it charred or half burnt cannot
be any further consumed, being enveloped in flame and
air already vitiated and unfit for combustion. But when
the stove is well heated, and the current brisk, no part
of the soot escapes the action of the air.
The hot air retained in this manner in the body of
the stove is applied to its sides ina very extended surface.
To increase this still more, the stove is made narrower
from front to hack in its upper part; a certain breadth
is necessary below, that there may be room for fuel. If
this breadth were preserved all the Way up, much heat
would he lost, because the heat communicated to the
partitions of the stove does no good. By diminishing
their breadth, the proportion of useful surface is in¬
creased. The whole body of the stove may be consider¬
ed as a long pipe folded up, and its effect would be the
greatest possible if it really were so; that is, if each par¬
tition c C, d D, &c. were split into two, and a free
passage allowed between them for the air of the room.
Something like this will be observed afterwards in some
German stoves.
It is with the same view of making an extensive
application of a hot surface to the air, that the stove is
not built in the wall, not even in contact with it, nor
with the floor : for by its detached situation, the air in
contact with the back, and with the bottom (where it
is hottest’), is warmed, and contributes at least one half
of the whole effect; for the great heat of the bottom
makes its effect on the air of the room at least equal
to that of the two ends. Sometimes a stove makes part
of the wall between two small rooms, and is found suf¬
ficient.
It must be remarked, on the whole, that the effect of
a stove depends much on keeping in the room the air
already heated by it. This is so remarkably the case,
that a small open fire in the same room will be so far
from increasing its heat, that it will greatly diminish it :
it will even draw the warm air from a suite of adjoining
apartments. This is distinctly observed in the houses
of the English merchants in St Petersburg!!: their
habits of life in Britain make them uneasy without an
cqjen fire in their sitting rooms ; and this obliges them
i 5
A T I C S. •
to heat all their stoves twice a-day, and their houses are Eft'ectsof
cooler than those of the Russians who heat them only Air's pres-
once. In many German houses, especially of the lower i ^le'
class, the fire-place of the stove does not open into the v~”
room, but into the yard or a lobby, where all the fires
are lighted and tended ; by this means is avoided the
expence of warm air which must have been carried off
by the stove : but it is evident that this must be very
unpleasant, and cannot be. wholesome. We must breathe
the same quantity of stagnant air loaded with all the va¬
pours and exhalations which must he produced in every
inhabited place. Going into one of these houses from
the open air, is like putting one’s head into a stew-pan
or under a pie-crust, and quickly nauseates us who are
accustomed to fresh air and cleanliness. In these coun¬
tries it is a matter almost of necessity to fumigate the
rooms with frankincense and other gums burnt. The
censer in ancient worship was in all probability an uten¬
sil introduced by necessity for sweetening or rendering
tolerable the air of a crowded place : and it is a constant
practice in the Russian houses for a servant to go round
the room after dinner, waving a censer with some gums
burning on bits of charcoal. 365
The account now given of stoves for heating rooms, Of hot
and of the circumstances which must be attended to in wa*is 'n
their construction, will equally apply to hot walls in^ ‘ s!
gardening, whether within or without doors. The on¬
ly new circumstance which this employment of a flue in¬
troduces, is the attention which must be paid to the equa-
bilitv of the heat, and the gradation which must be ob¬
served in different parts of the building. The beat in the
flue gradually diminishes as it recedes from the fire place,
because it is continually giving out heat to the flue. It
must therefore be so conducted through the building by
frequent returns, that in every part there may be a
mixture of warmer and cooler branches of the flue, and
the final chimney should be close by the fire place. It
would, however, be improper to run the flue from the
end of the floor up to the ceiling, where the second ho¬
rizontal pipe would be placed, and then return it down¬
ward again and make the third horizontal flue adjoining
to the first, &c. This would make the middle of the
wall the coldest. If it is the flue of a greenhouse, this
would be highly improper, because the upper part of
the wall can be very little employed ; and in this case it
is better to allow the flue to proceed gradually up the
wall in its different returns, by which the lowest part
would he the warmest, and the heated air will ascend
among the pots and plants ; but in a hot wall, where
the trees are to receive heat by contact, some approxi¬
mation to the above method may be useful.
In the hypocausta and sudaria of the Greeks and Ro¬
mans, the flue was conducted chiefly under the floors. -gg
Malt-kilns are a species of stove which merit our at-Mak Jdltfs _
tention. Many attempts have been made to improvea sPec*e8 5
them on the principle of flue stoves : but they have beensl
unsuccessful, because heat is not what is chiefly wanted
in malting: it is a copious current of very dry air to
carry off the moisture. We must refer the examination
of this subject also to the article Stove, and proceed to
consider the current of heated air in the chief varieties
of furnaces.
All that is to be attended to in the different kinds of
melting furnaces is, that the c urrent of air he sufficiently in 1IRiting
rapid, and that it be applied in as extensive a surface asfurnace?5
possible
Effects of
J.ir's pres-
363
i reverbc-
itory fur-
ices,
P N E U M
possible to the substance to be melted. The more rapid
the current it is the hotter, because it is consumin'*'
more fuel j and therefore its effect increases in a higher
proportion tuan its rapidity. It is doubly effectual if
twice as hot j and if it then be twice as rapid, there is
twice the quantity of doubly hot air applied to the sub¬
ject j it would theretore be four times more powerful.
This is procured by raising the chimney of the furnace
to a greater height. The close application of it to ihe
subject can hardly be laid down in general terms, be¬
cause it depends on the precise circumstances of each
case.
In reverberatory furnaces, such as refining furnaces
tor gold, silver, anil copper, the flame is made to play
over the surface of the melted metal. This is produced
entirely by the form of the furnace, by making tiie arch
of the furnace as low as the circumstances of the mani¬
pulation will allow. See Furnace. Experience has
pointed out in general the chief circumstance-, of their
construction, viz. that the fuel should be at one end on
a grate, through which the air enters to maintain the
fire j and that the metal should be placed on a level
floor between the fuel and the tall chimney which pro¬
duces the current. But there is no kind of furnace
more variable in its effect, and almost every place has
a small peculiarity of construction, on which its pre-emi¬
nence is rested. This has occasioned many whimsical
varieties in their form. This uncertainty seems to de¬
pend much on a circumstance rather foreign to our pre¬
sent purpose ’, but as we do not observe it taken notice
of by mineralogtcal writers, we beg leave to mention
it here. It is not heat alone that is wanted in the re¬
fining of silver by lead, for instance. We must make
a continual application to its surface of air, which has
not contributed to the combustion of the fuel. Any
quantity of the hottest air, already saturated with the
fuel, may play on the surface of the metal for ever, and
keep it in the state of most perfect fusion, but without
refining it in the least. Now, in the ordinary construc¬
tion of a furnace, that is much the case. If the whole
air has come in by the grate, and passed through the
middle of the fuel, it can hardly be otherwise than near¬
ly saturated with it; and if air be also admitted by the*
door (which is genera.ly done or something equivalent),
the pure air lies above the vitiated air, and during the
passage along the horizontal part of the furnace, and
along the surface of the metal, it still keeps above it, at
least there is nothing to promote their mixture. Thus
the metal does not come into contact with air fit to act
on the base metal and calcine it, and the operation of
refining goes on slowly. Trifling circumstances in the
form of the arch or canal may tend to promote the
jumbling of the airs together, and thus render the ope¬
ration more expeditious; and as these are but ill un¬
derstood, or perhaps this circumstance not attended to,
no wonder that we see these considered as so many nos¬
trums of great importance. It were therefore worth
while to try the effect of changes in the form of the
roof directed to this very circumstance. Perhaps some
little prominence down from the arch of the reverbera¬
tory would have this effect, by suddenly throwing the
current into confusion. If the additional h ngth oi pas¬
sage do not cool the air too much, we should think that
if, there were interposed between the fuel aqd the re-
A T I C S.
74.5
fining floor a passage twisted like a cork-screw, making Effects of
just half a turn, it would be most effectual : for we ima- Air’s pres-
gine, that the two airs, keeping each to their respective Slll'e-
sides of the passage, would by tins means be turned up- v_ ''
suit down, and that the pure stratum would now he in
contact with the metal, and the vitiated air would be
above it.
'the glasshouse furnace exhibits the chief variety inand i/tlie
the management of the current of heated air. In this g^sshouse
it is necessary that the bole at which the workman dips iuim*ccs*'
his pipe into the pot shall be as hot as any part of the
furnace. This could never be the case, if the furnace
had a chimney situated in a pan above the dipping-
hole ; tor in this case cold air would immediately rush
in at the hole, play over the surface of the pot, and go
up the chimney. To prevent this the hole itself is made
the chimney ; but as tins would be too short, and would
produce very little current and very little heat, the whole
furnace is set under a tali dome. Thus the heated air
from the real furnace is confined in this dome, and con¬
stitutes a high column of very light air, which will there¬
fore rise with great force up the dome, and escape at
the top. The dome is therefore the chimney, and will
produce a draught or current proportioned to its height,
home are raised above a hundred feet. When all the
doors ol this house are shut, and thus no supply given
except through the tire, the current and heat become
prodigious. This, however, cannot be done, because
the workmen are in this chimney, and must have re¬
spirable air. But notwithstanding this supply by the
house-doors, the draught of the real furnace is vastly
increased by the dome, and a heat produced sufficient
for the work, and which could not have been produced
without the dome.
This has been applied with great ingenuity and effect Impfovc-
to a furnace for melting iron from the ore, and an iron ment of
finery, both without a blast. The common blast ir0nMr90tt<>
furnace is well known. It is a tall cone with the apex
undermost. The ore and fluxes are thrown into this hon from
cone mixed intimately with the fuel till it is full, and the ore.
the blast of most powerful bellows is directed into the
bottom of this cone through a hole in the side. The
air is thrown in with such force, that it makes its way
through the mass of matter, kindles the fuel in its pas¬
sage, and fluxes the materials, which then drop down
into a receptacle below the blast hole, and thus the pas¬
sage for the air is kept unobstructed. It was thought
impossible to produce or maintain this current without
bellows; hut Mr Cotterel, an ingenious founder, tried
the effect of a tall dome placed over the mouth of the
furnace, and though it w as not half the height ol many
glasshouse domes it had the desned effect. Consider¬
able difficulties, however, occurred 5 and he had not
surmounted them all when he left the neighbourhood of
Edinburgh, nor have we since heard that he has brought
the invention to perfection. It is extremely difficult to
place the holes below, at which the air is to enter, at
such a (precise height as neither to be choked b) the
melted matter, nor to leave ore and stones below them
unmelted •, but the invention is very ingenious, and will
be of immense service if it can be perfected j for in
many places iron ore is to be found.where w'ater cai>
not be had for working a blast furnace.
The last application which we shall make of the cur-
rents •.
to free
mines,
ships, pri¬
sons, &c.
of noxious
air.
37 2
Air neces-
7U P N E U M
Effects of rents produced by heating the air is to the freeing mines,
Air’s prc- ships, prisons, &c. trom the damp and noxious vapouis
sure. wi1;cJ1 frequently infest them.
* v ' As a drift or tvork is carried on in the mine, let a
Currents of trunk of deal boards, about 6 or 8 inches square, he
air applied laid along the bottom of the drift, communicating with
a trunk carried up in the corner of one of the shafts.
Let the top of this last trunk open into the ash-pit ot a
small furnace, having a tall chimney. Let fire be kin¬
dled in the furnace ; and when it is well heated, shut
the fire-place and ash-pit doors. There being no other
supply for the current produced in the chimney of this
furnace, the air will flow into it from the trunk, and
will bring along with it all the offensive vapours. This
is the most effectual method yet found out. In the
same manner may trunks be conducted into the ash-pit
of a furnace from the cells of a prison or the wards of
an hospital.
«... Jn the account which we have been giving of the
sary for the management 0f a;r in furnaces and common fires, we
of fuel*41011 l,ave frequently mentioned the immediate application of
U air to the burning fuel as necessary for its combustion.
This is a general fact. In order that any inflammable
body may be really inflamed, and its combustible matter
consumed and ashes produced, it is not enough that the
body be made hot. A piece of charcoal inclosed in a
box of iron may be kept red hot for ever, without wast¬
ing its substance in the smallest degree. It is farther
necessary that it be in contact with a particular species
of air, which constitutes about three-fourths of the air of
the atmosphere, viz. the vital air or oxygen of Lavoisier.
It was called empyreal air by Scheele, who first observed
its indispensable use in maintaining fire : and it appears,
that, in contributing to the combustion of an inflam¬
mable body, this air combines with some of its ingredi¬
ents, and becomes fixed air, suffering the same change as
by the breathing of animals. Combustion may therefore
be considered as a solution of the inflammable hotly in
air. This doctrine was first promulgated by the cele¬
brated Dr Hooke in his Micrographia, published in
1660, and afterwards improved in his treatise on Lamps.
It is now completely established, and considered as a new
discovery. It is for this reason, that in fire-places of all
kinds we have directed the construction, so as to pro¬
duce a close application of the air to the fuel. It is
, quite needless nt this day to enter into the discussions
which formerly occupied philosophers about the manner
in which the pressure and elasticity of the air promoted
combustion. Many experiments were made in the 17th
century by the first members of the Royal Society, to
discover the office of air in combustion. It was thought
that the flame was extinguished in rare air for want of a
pressure to keep it together, but this did not explain its
extinction when the air was ftot renewed. These expe¬
riments are still retained in courses of experimental
philosophy, as they are judiciously styled ; but they give
little or no information, nor tend to the illustration of
any pneumatical doctrine •, they are therefore omitted
in this place. In short, it is now fully established, that
it is not a mechanical but a chemical phenomenon. We
can only inform the chemist, that a candle will consume
faster in the low countries than in the elevated regions of
Quito and Gondar, because the air is nearly one half
denser below, and will act proportionally faster in de¬
composing the candle.
2
A T I C S.
We shall conclude ibis pai't of our subject with the
~ . x 1 1 • x iic 1;mail
explanation of a curious phenomenon observed in many Engines.
places. Certain springs or fountains are observed to 1 v  
have periods of repletion and scantiness, or seem to ebb ;73
and flow at regular intervals j and some of these periods ^
are of a complicated nature. Thus a well will have se- frCtS °f
  r  air’spres-
veral returns of high and low water, the difference ofsme.
which gradually increases to a maximum, and then di¬
minishes, just as we observe in the ocean. A very in¬
genious and probable explanation of this has been given
in N° 424. of the Philosophical Transactions, by Mr
Atwell, as follows.
Let ABCD (fig. 80.) represent a cavern, into which Fig 80,
water is brought by the subterraneous passage OT. Let
it have an outlet MNP, of a crooked form, with its
highest part N considerably raised above the bottom of
the cavern, and thence sloping downwards into lower
ground, and terminating in an open well at P. Let
the dimensions of this canal be such that it will discharge
much more water than is supplied by TO. All this is
very natural, and may be very common. The effect of
this arrangement rvill be a remitting spring at P: for
when the cavern is filled higher than the point N, the
canal MNP will act as a syphon ; and, by the condi¬
tions assumed, it will discharge the water faster than
TO supplies it; it will therefore run it dry, and then
the spring at P will cease to furnish water. After some
time the cavern will again be filled up to the height N,
and the flow at P will recommence.
If, besides this supply, the well P also receive water
from a constant source, we shall have a reciprocating
spring.
The situation and dimensions of this syphon canal,
and the supply of the feeder, may be such, that the ef¬
flux at P will be constant. If the supply increase in a
certain degree, a reciprocation will be produced at P
with very short intervalsj if the supply diminishes consi¬
derably, we shall have another kind of reciprocation
with great intervals and great differences of water.
If the cavern have another simple outlet R, new va¬
rieties will be produced in the spring P, and R will af¬
ford a copious spring. Let the mouth of R, by which
the water enters into it from the cavern, be lower than
N, and let the supply of the feeding spring be no great¬
er than R can discharge, we shall have a constant spring
from R, and P will give no water. But suppose that
the main feeder increases in winter or in rainy seasons,
but not so much as will supply both P and R, the ca¬
vern will fill till the water gets over N, and R will be
running all the while *, but soon after P lias begun to
flow, and the water in the cavern sinks below R, the
stream from R will stop. The cavern will be emptied
by the syphon canal MNP, and then P will stop. The
cavern will then begin to fill, and when near full R
will give a little water, and soon after P will run and R
stop as before, &c.
Desagulier shows, vol. ii. p. 177, &c. in what man¬
ner a prodigious variety of periodical ebbs and flows
may be produced by underground canals, which are ex-
ti’emely simple and probable.
j Plati
j teccn
%*9
iw
I? 94
• • 374
"We shall conclude this article with the descriptions ^CCOnnt of
of some pneumatical machines or engines which have some pneu-
not been particularly noticed under their names in the m.^gc eB'
former volumes of this work.
Bellows
'ueumatic
Engines.
Plate
| iccxxxii.
fig. 92.
fS- 9.3-
■§■ 94'
P N E U M
Bellows are of most extensive and Important use j
and it will be of service to describe such as are of un¬
common constx-uction and great power, fit for the great
operations in metallurgy.
It is not the impulsive force of the blast that is want¬
ed in most cases, but merely the copious supply of air,
to produce the rapid combustion of inflammable matter j
and the service would be better performed in general if
this could be done with moderate velocities, and an ex¬
tended surface. What are called air-furnaces, where a
considerable surface of inflammable matter is acted on
at once by the current which the mere heat of the ex¬
pended air has produced, are found more operative in
proportion to the air expended than blast furnaces ani¬
mated by bellows 5 and we doubt not but that the me¬
thod proposed by Mr Cotterel, (which we have already
mentioned) of increasing this current in a melting fur¬
nace by means of a dome, will in time supersede the
blast furnaces. There is indeed a great impulsive force
required in some cases ; as for blowing off the scoriae
from the surface of silver or copper in refining furnaces,
or for keeping a clear passage for the air in the great
iron furnace.
In general, however, we cannot procure this abun¬
dant supply of air any other way than by giving it a
great velocity by means of a great pressure, so that the
general construction of bellows is pretty much the same
in all kinds. The air is admitted into a very large ca¬
vity, and then expelled from it through a small hole.
The furnaces at the mines having been greatly en¬
larged, it was necessary to enlarge the bellows also : and
the leathern bellows becoming exceedingly expensive,
wooden ones were substituted in Germany about the be¬
ginning of the 17th century, and from them became
general through Europe. They consist of a wooden box
ABCPFE (fig. 92.), which has its top and two sides
flat or straight, and the end BAE e formed into an
arched or cylindrical surface, of which the line FP at
the other end is the axis. This box is open below, and
receives within it the shallow box KHGNML (fig. 93-)»
which exactly fills it. The line FP of the one coincides
with FP of the other, and along this line is a set of
hinges on which the upper box turns as it rises and sinks.
The lower box is made fast to a frame fixed in the
ground. A pipe OQ proceeds from the end of it, and
terminates at the furnace, where it ends in a small pipe
called the tewer or tuyere. This lower box is open
above, and has in its bottom two large valves V, V,
fig. 94. opening inwards. The conducting pipe is some¬
times furnished with a valve opening outwards, to pre¬
vent burning coals from being sucked into the bellows
when the upper box is drawn up. The joint along PI
is made tight by thin leather nailed along it. 1 he sides
and ends of the fixed box are made to fit the sides and
curved end of the upper box, so that this last can be
raised and lowered round the joint I P without sensible
friction, and yet without suffering much air to escape :
but as this would not be sufficiently air-tight by reason
of the shrinking and warping of the wood, a farther
contrivance is adopted. A slender lath of wood, divided
into several joints, and covered on the outer edge with
very soft leather, is laid along the upper edges of the
sides and ends of the lower box. 1 his lath is so broad,
that when its inner edge is even with the inside oi the
box, its outer edge projects about an inch. It is kept
VOL. XVI. Part II. +
A T I C S. 745
m this position by a number of steel wires, which are Pneumatic
driven into the bottom of the box, and stand up touch- Engines.
ing the sides, as represented in fig. 95. where ah c are ^—v -J
the wires, and e the lath, projecting over the outside of*1*’- ^
the box. By this contrivance the laths are pressed close
to the sides and curved end of the moveable box, and
the spring wires yield to all their inequalities. A bar
of wood RS (fig. 92.) is fixed to the upper board, by*1*’1
which it is either raised by machinery, to sink again by
its own weight, having an additional load laid on it, or
it is forced downward by a crank or wiper of the ma¬
chinery, and afterwards raised.
The operation here is precisely similar to that of
blowing with a chamber-bellows. When the board is
lifted up, the air enters by the valves V, V, fig. 94. and
is expelled at the pipe OQ by depressing the boards.
There is therefore no occasion to insist on this point.
These bellows are made of a very great size, AD
being 16 feet, AB five feet, and the circular end AE
also five feet. The rise, however, is but about 3 or 34
feet. They expel at each stroke about 90 cubic feet
of air, and they make about 8 strokes per minute.
Such are the bellows in general use on the continent.
We have adopted a different form in this kingdom, which
seems much preferable. We use an iron or wooden cy¬
linder, with a piston sliding along it. This may be made
with much greater accuracy than the wooden boxes, at
less expence, if of wood, because it may be of coopers
work, held together by hoops j but the great advantage
of this form is its being more easily made air-tight. The
piston is surrounded with a broad strap of thick and soft
leather, and it has around its edge a deep groove, in
which is lodged a quantity of wool. This is called the
packing or stuffing, and keeps the leather very closely
applied to the inner surface of the cylinder. Iron cylin¬
ders may be very neatly bored and smoothed, so that
the piston, even when very tight, will slide along it very
smoothly. To promote this, a quantity of black lead is
ground very fine with water, and a little of this is smear¬
ed on the inside of the cylinder from time to time.
The cylinder has a large valve, or sometimes two, in
the bottom, by which the atmospheric air enters when
the piston is drawn up. When the piston is thrust down,
this air is expelled along a pipe of great diameter, which
terminates in the furnace with a small orifice.
This is the simplest form of bellows which can be
conceived. It differs in nothing but size from the bel¬
lows used by the rudest nations. The Chinese smiths
have a bellows very similar, being a square pipe of wood
ABCDE (fig. 96.), with a square board G which ex-Fig. 96.
actly fits it, moved by tbe handle I G. At the farther
end is the blast pipe HK, and on each side of it a valve
in the end of the square pipe, opening inwards. The
piston is sufficiently tight for their purposes without any
leathering.
The piston of this cylinder bellows is moved by ma¬
chinery. In some blast engines the piston is simply
raised by the machine, and then let go, and it descends
by its own weight, and compresses the air below it to
such a degree, that the velocity of efllux becomes con¬
stant, and the piston descends uniformly : for this pur¬
pose it must be loaded with a proper weight. This
produces a very uniform blast, except at the very begin¬
ning, while the piston falls suddenly and compresses the
air: but in most engines the piston rod is forced down
3 B the
746
PNEUMATICS.
Pneumatic the cylinder with a determined motion, by means of a
Engines, beam, crank, or other contrivance. This gives a more
u—-v-—unequal blast because the motion of the piston is neces¬
sarily slow in the beginning and end of the stroke, and
quicker in the middle.
But in all it is plain that the blast must be desultory.
It ceases while the piston is rising*, for this reason it is
usual to have two cylinders, as it was formerly usual to
have two bellows, which worked alternately. Some¬
times three or four are used, as at the Carron iron
works. This makes the blast abundantly uniform.
But an uniform blast may be made with a single cy¬
linder, by making it deliver its air into another cylin¬
der, which has a piston exactly fitted to its bore, and
loaded with a sufficient weight. The blowing cylinder
3,';,,. p- ABCD (fig. 97.) has its piston P worked by a rod
‘ NP, connected by double chains with the arched head
of the working beam NO, moving round a gudgeon at
R. The other end O of this beam is connected by the
rod OP, with the crank PQ of a wheel machine; or it
may be connected with the piston of a steam engine,
&c. &c. The blowing cylinder has a valve or valves
E in its bottom, opening inwards. There proceeds
from it a large pipe CF, which enters the regulating
cylinder GHKI, and has a valve at top to prevent the
air from getting back into the blowing cylinder. It is
evident that the air forced into the cylinder must raise
its piston L, and that it must afterwards descend, while
the other piston is rising. It must descend uniformly,
and make a perfectly equable blast.
Observe, that if the piston L be at the bottom when
the machine begins to work, it will be at the bottom
at the end of every stroke, if the tuyere T emits as
much air as the cylinder ABCD furnishes j nay, it will
lie a while at the bottom, for, while it was rising, air
was issuing through T. This would make an interrupt¬
ed blast. To prevent this, the orifice T must be lessen¬
ed; but then there will be a surplus of air at the end of
each stroke, and the piston L will rise continually, and
at last get to the top, and allow air to escape. It is
just possible to adjust circumstances, so that neither
shall happen. This is done easier by putting a stop in
the way of the piston, and putting a valve on the piston,
or on the conducting pipe KST, loaded with a weight
a little superior to the intended elasticity of the air in
the cylinder. Therefore, when the piston is prevented
by the stop from rising, the snifting valve, as it is called,
is forced open, the superfluous air escapes, and the blast
preserves its uniformity.
It may be of use to give the dimensions of a machine
of this kind, which has worked for some years at a very
great furnace, and given satisfaction.
The diameter of the blowing cylinder is 5 feet, and
the length of the stroke is 6. Its piston is loaded with
3-*- tons. It is worked by a steam engine whose cylin¬
der is 3 feet 4 inches wide, with a six-feet stroke. The
regulating cylinder is 8 feet wide, and its piston is load¬
ed with tons, making about 2.63 pounds on the square
inch ; and it is very nearly in equilibrio with the load
on the piston of the blowing cylinder. The conducting
pipe KST is 12 inches in diameter, and the orifice of
the tuyere was 4 of an inch when the engine was erect¬
ed, but it has gradually enlarged by reason of the in¬
tense heat to which it is exposed. The snifting valve
is loaded with 3 pounds on the square inch.
When the engine worked briskly, it made 18 strokes Pneumatis
per minute, and there was always much air discharged Engines,
by the snifting valve. WThen the engine made 15 strokes i'“—v~—^
per minute, the snifting valve opened but seldom, so that
things were nearly adjusted to this supply. Each stroke
of the blowing cylinder sent in 118 cubic feet of com¬
mon air. The ordinary pressure of the air being sup¬
posed 144 pounds on an inch, the density of the air in
the regulating cylinder must be—^-,= 1.1783,
the natural density being 1.
This machine gives an opportunity of comparing the
expence of air with the theory. It must (at the rate
of 15 strokes) expel 30 cubic feet of air in a second
through a hole of ijj- inches in diameter. This gives
a velocity of near 2000 feet per second, and of more
than 1600 feet for the condensed air. This is vastly
greater than the theory can give, or is indeed possible;
for air does not rush into a void with so great velocity.
It shows with great evidence, that a vast quantity of
air must escape round the two pistons. Their united
circumferences amount to above 40 feet, and they move
in a dry cylinder. It is impossible to prevent a very
great loss. Accordingly, a candle held near the edge
of the piston L has its flame very much disturbed. This
case therefore gives no hold for a calculation ; and it
suggests the propriety of attempting to diminish this
great waste.
This has been very ingeniously done (in part at least)
at some other furnaces. At Omoah foundry, near
Glasgow, the blowing cylinder (also worked by a steam
engine) delivers its air into a chest without a bottom,
which is immersed in a large cistern of water, and sup¬
ported at a small height from the bottom of the cistern,
and has a pipe from its top leading to the tuyere. The
water stands about five feet above the lower brim of the
regulating air-chest, and by its pressure gives the most
perfect uniformity of blast, without allowing a particle
of air to get off by any other passage besides the tuyere.
This is a very effectual regulator, and must produce a
great saving of power, because a smaller blowing cylin¬
der will thus supply the blast. We must observe, that
the loss round the piston of the blowing cylinder re¬
mains undiminished.
A blowing machine ivas erected many years ago at
Chastillon in France on a principle considerably differ¬
ent, and which must be perfectly air-tight through¬
out. Two cylinders AB (fig. 98.), loaded with great Plate
weights, were suspended at the end of the levers CD,eeeexuviii
moving round the gudgeon E. From the top F, G ^ 9 •
of each there was a large flexible pipe which united
in H, from whence a pipe KT led to the tuyere T.
There were valves at F and G opening outwards, or
into the flexible pipes; and other valves L, M, adjoin¬
ing to them in the top of each cylinder, opening in¬
wards, but kept shut by a slight spring. Motion was
given to the lever by a machine. The operation of this
blowing machine is evident. When the cylinder A
was pulled down, or allowed to descend, the w'ater, en¬
tering at its bottom, compressed the air, and forced it
along the passage FHKT. In the mean time, the cy¬
linder B was rising, and the air entered by the valve M.
We see that the blast will be very unequal, increasing
as the cylinder is immersed deeper. It is needless to
describe this machine more particularly, because we shall
give
P N E U M
iPneumatic give an account of one which we think perfect in its
Engines, kind, and which leaves hardly any thing to be desired
IL"—’V in a machine of this sort. It was invented by Mr John
Laurie, land-surveyor in Edinburgh, about 15 years
ago, and improved in some respects since his death by
an ingenious person of that city.
Eig. 99. ABCD (fig. 99.) is an iron cylinder, truly bored
within, and evasated a-top like a cup. EFGH is an¬
other, truly turned both without and within, and a small
matter less than the inner diameter of the first cylinder.
This cylinder is close above, and hangs from the end
of a lever moved by a machine. It is also loaded with
weights at N. KlLM is a third cylinder, whose out¬
side diameter is somewhat less than the inside diameter
of the second. This inner cylinder is fixed to the same
bottom with the outer cylinder. The middle cylinder
is loose, and can move up and down between the outer
and inner cylinders without rubbing on either of them.
The inner cylinder is perforated from top to bottom
by three pipes OQ, SV, PR. The pipes OQ, PR
have valves at their upper ends O, P, and communicate
with the external air below. The pipe SV has a hori¬
zontal part VW, which again turns upwards, and has
a valve at top X. This upright part WX is in the
middle of a cistern of water J'/ikg. Into this cistern
is fixed an air-chest aYZb, open below, and having
at top a pipe cde terminating in the tuyere at the fur¬
nace.
When the machine is at rest, the valves X, O, P,
are shut by their own weights, and the air-chest is full
of water. When things are in this state, the middle
cylinder EFGH is drawn up by the machinery till its
lower brims F and G are equal with the top RM of the
inner cylinder. Now pour in water or oil between the
outer and middle cylinders: it will run down and fill
the space between the outer and inner cylinders. Let
it come to the top of the inner cylinder.
Now let the loaded middle cylinder descend. It
cannot do this without compressing the air which is
between its top and the top of the inner cylinder. This
air being compressed will cause the water to descend be¬
tween the inner and middle cylinders, and rise between
the middle and outer cylinders, spreading into the cup ;
and as the middle cylinder advances downwards, the
water will descend farther within it, and rise farther
without it. When it has got so far down, and the air
has been so much compressed, that the dilference between
the surface of the water on the inside and outside ot
this cylinder is greater than the depth ol water between
X and the surface of the water f g, air will go out by
the pipe SVW, and will lodge in the air chest, and
will remain there if c be shut, which we shall suppose
for the present. Pushing down the middle cylinder
till the partitisn touch the top of the inner cylinder,
all the air which was formerly between them will be
forced into the air chest, and will drive out water from
it. Draw up the middle cylinder, and the external
air will open the valves O, P, and again fill the space
between the middle and inner cylinders ; for the valve
X will shut, and prevent the regress of the condensed
air. By pushing down the middle cylinder a second
time, more air will be forced into the air-chest, and it
will at last escape by getting out between its brims Y,
,Z and the bottom of the cistern j or if we open the pas-
A T 1 C S. 747
sage c, it will pass along the conduit cde to the tuyere, Pneumatic
and form a blast. Engines.
The operation of this machine is similar to Mr Has- v "" ^
kin’s ^quicksilver pump described by Desaguliers at
the end of the second volume of his Experimental Phi¬
losophy. The force wdiich condenses the air is the load
on the middle cylinder. The use of the water between
the inner and outer cylinders is to prevent this air from
escaping j and the inner cylinder thus performs the office
of a piston, having no friction. It is necessary that
the length of the outer and middle cylinders be greater
than the depth of the regulator-cistern, that there
may be a sufficient height for the water to rise between
the middle and outer cylinders, to balance the com¬
pressed air, and oblige it to go into the air-chest. A
large blast-furnace will require the regulator-cistern
five feet deep, and the cylinders about six or seven feet
long.
It is in fact a pump without friction, and is perfectly
air-tight. The quickness of its operation depends on
the small space between the middle cylinder and the two
others j and this is the only use of these two. With¬
out these it would be similar to the engine at Chastillon,
and operate more unequally and slowly. Its only im¬
perfection is, that if the cylinder begin its motion of
ascent or descent rapidly, as it will do when worked
by a steam-engine, there will be some danger of water
dashing over the top of the inner cylinder and getting
into the pipe SV j but should this happen, an issue can
easily be contrived for it at V, covered with a loaded
valve v. This will never happen if the cylinder is
moved by a crank.
One blowing cylinder only is represented here, but
two may be used.
We do not hesitate in recommending this form of
bellows as the most perfect of any, and fit for all uses
where standing bellows are required. They will be
cheaper than any other sort for common purposes. For
a common smith’s forge they may be made with square
wooden boxes instead of cylinders They are also easily
repaired. They are perfectly tight j and they may be
made with a blast almost perfectly uniform, by making
the cistern in which the air-chest stands of considerable
dimensions. When this is the case, the height of water,
which regulates the blast, will vary very little.
This may suffice for an account of blast machines.
The leading parts of their construction have been de¬
scribed as far only as was necessary for understanding
their operation, and enabling an engineer to erect them
in the most commodious manner. Views of complete
machines might have amused, but they would not Lave
added to our reader’s information.
But the account is imperfect unless we show how
their parts may be so proportioned that they shall per¬
form what is expected from them. The engineer should
know what size of bellows, and what load on the board
or piston, and what size of tuyere, will give the blast
which the service requires, and what force must be em¬
ployed to give them the necessary degree of motion.
We shall accomplish these purposes by considering the
efflux of the compressed air through the tuyere. The
propositions formerly delivered will enable us to ascer¬
tain this.
That we may proportion every thing to the power
5 B 2 employed,
748
PNEUMATICS.
Pneumatic employed, we must recollect, that If the piston of a cy-
Engines. Under employed for expelling air he pressed down with
' any force p, it must be considered as superadded to the
atmospheric pressure P on the same piston, in order that
we may compare the velocity v of efflux with the known
velocity V with which air rushes into a void. By what
has been formerly delivered, it appears that this velocity
, where P is the pressure of the atmo-
=Vx J-
v*p.
sphere on the piston, and p the additional load laid on it.
This velocity is expressed in feet per second j and, when
multiplied by the area of the orifice (also expressed in
square feet, it will give us the cubical feet of conden¬
sed air expelled in a second : hut the bellows are always
to be filled again with common air, and therefore
we want to know the quantity of common air which
will be expelled ; for it is this which determines the
number of strokes which must be made in a minute, in
order that the proper supply may be obtained. There¬
fore recollect that the quantity expelled from a given
orifice with a given velocity, is in the proportion of the
density ; and that when D is the density of common air
produced by the pressure P, the density d produced by
, P+P
the pressure P-f-p, is D X —j or if D be made I,
, • ; P+/7
we have cl— ^ .
Therefore, calling the area of the orifice expressed in
square feet O, and the quantity of common air, or the
cubic feet expelled in a second Q, we have QmV X O X
/ P
P+T
X
It will be sufficiently exact for all practical purposes
to suppose P to be 15 pounds on every square inch of
the piston ; and p is then conveniently expressed by the
pounds of additional load on every square inch : we may
also take V=ri332 feet.
As the orifice through which the air is expelled is ge¬
nerally very small, never exceeding three inches in dia¬
meter, it will be more convenient to express it in square
inches j which being the of a square foot, we shall
have the cubic feet of common air expelled in a second, or
=lMl0J
Q
P
v+p
p+p
= Q x 9-25
p+p
and this, seems to be as simple an expression
Q—2 X 9,25 X 7X =9.053 cubic feet of com¬
mon air expelled in a second. This will however be di¬
minished at least one-third by the contraction of the jet j
and therefore the supply will not exceed six cubic feet
per second. Supposing therefore that this blowing ma¬
chine is a cylinder or prism of this dimension in its sec¬
tion, the piston so loaded would (after having compres¬
18
144
X £+?•
p >
as we can obtain.
This will perhaps be illustrated by taking an example
in numbers. Let the area of the piston be four square
feet, and the area of the round hole through which the
air is expelled be two inches, its diameter being 1.6,
and let the load on the piston be 1728 pounds : this is
thi'ee pounds on every square inch. We have P—15.
p=3, P+P=i8, and Orr2; therefore-we will have
sed the air) descend about 15 inches in a second: It Pneumatic,
■would first sink one-fifth of the whole length of the cy- Engines.
Under pretty suddenly, till it had reduced the air to the ' v—
density and would then descend uniformly at the
above rate, expelling six cubic feet of common air in a
second.
The computation is made much in the same way for
bellows of the common form, with this additional cir¬
cumstance, that as the loaded board moves round a
hinge at one end, the pressure of the load must be calcu¬
lated accordingly. The computation, however, becomes
a little intricate, when the form of the loaded board is
not rectangular: it is almost useless when the bellows
have flexible sides, either like smiths bellows or like
organ bellows, because the change of figure during their
motion makes continual variation on the compressing
powers. It is therefore chiefly with respect to the
great wooden bellows, of which the upper board slides
down between the sides, that the above calculation is of
service.
The propriety, however, of this piece of information
is evident : we do not know precisely the quantity of
air necessary for animating a furnace 5 but this calcula¬
tion tells us what force must be employed for expelling
the air that may be thought necessary. If we have fixed
on the strength of the blast, and the diameter of the cy¬
linder, we learn the weight with which the piston must
be loaded ; the length of the cylinder determines its ca¬
pacity, the above calculation tells the expence per se¬
cond 5 hence we have the time of the piston’s coming
to the bottom. This gives us the number of strokes per
minute : the load must be lifted up by the machine this
number of times, making the time of ascent precisely
equal to that of descent; otherwise the machine will ei¬
ther catch and stop the descent of the piston, or allow it
to lie inactive for a while of each stroke. These circum¬
stances determine the labour to be performed by the ma¬
chine, and it must be constructed accordingly. Thus
the engineer will not be affronted by its failure, nor will
he expend needless power and cost.
In machines which force the piston or bellows-board
with a certain determined motion, different from what
arises from their own weight, the computation is ex¬
tremely intricate. When a piston moves by a crank, its
motion at the beginning and end of each stroke is slow,
and the compression and efflux is continually changing :
vce can however approximate to a statement of the force
required.
Every time the piston is drawn up, a certain space
of the cylinder is filled again with air of the common
density ; and this is expelled during the descent of the
piston. A certain number of cubic feet of common air
is therefore expelled with a velocity which perhaps con¬
tinually varies j but there is a mediumvelocity with which
it might have been uniformly expelled, and a pressure
corresponding to this velocity. To find this, divide the
area of the piston by the area of the blast-hole (or ra¬
ther by this area multiplied by 0.613, in order to take
in the effect of the contracted jet), and multiply the
length of the stioke performed in a second by the quo¬
tient arising from this division ; the product is the me¬
dium velocity of the air (of the natural density). Then
find by calculation the height through which a heavy
body must fall in order to acquire this velocity j this is
the height of a column of homogeneous air which would
expel
P N E U M
nnnt'c expel it with this velocity. The weight of this column
T4int*- i 1S the least force that can be exerted by the engine : but
this force is too small to overcome the resistance in the
middle of the stroke, and it is too great even for the end
of the stroke, and much too great for the beginning of
it. But if the machine is turned by a very heavy water¬
wheel, this will act as a regulator, accumulating in it¬
self the superfluous force during the too favourable posi¬
tions of the crank, and exerting it by its vis insita dur¬
ing the time of greatest effort. A force not greatly ex¬
ceeding the weight of this column of air will therefore
suffice. On the other hand, if the strength of the blast
be determined, which is the general state of the problem,
this determines the degree of condensation of the air,
and the load on the square inch of the piston, or the
mean force which the machine must exert on it. A
table, which will be given presently, determines the
cubic feet of common air expelled in a second, corre¬
sponding to this load, This combined with the proposed
dimensions of the cylinder, will give the descent of the
piston or the length of the stroke.
These general observations apply to all forms of bel¬
lows ; and ivithout a knowledge of them no person can
erect a machine for working them without total uncer¬
tainty or servile imitation. In order, therefore, that they
may be useful to such, as are not accustomed to the ma¬
nagement of even these simple formulae, we insert the
following short table of the velocity and quantity of air
discharged from a cylinder whose piston is loaded with
the pounds contained in the first column on every square
inch. The second column contains the velocity with
which the condensed air rushes out through any small
hole ; and the third column is the cubic feet discharged
from a hole whose area is a square inch 5 column fourth
contains the mean velocity of air of the common den¬
sity •, and column fifth is the cubic feet of common air
discharged •, the sixth column is the height in inches at
which the force of the blast would support a column of
water if a pipe were inserted into the side of the cylin¬
der. This is an extremely proper addition to such ma¬
chines, showing at all times the power of the machines,
and teaching us what intensity of blast is employed for
different purposes. The table is computed from the
supposition that the ordinary pressure of the air is 15
pounds on a square inch. This is somewhat too great,
and therefore the velocities are a little too small ; but
the quantities discharged will be found about one-third
too great (without affecting the velocities) on account of
the convergency of the stream.
A T I C S. 749
This table extends far beyond the limits of ordinary Pneumatic
use, very few blast-furnaces having a force exceeding Engines.
60 inches of water. 1 v 111 '
We shall conclude this account of blowing machines
with a description of a small one for a blowpipe.
ABCD, fig. 100. is a vessel containing water, about Fig. icc,
two feet deep. EFGH is the air-box of the blower
open below, and having a pipe ILK rising up from it
to a convenient height; an arm ON which grasps this
pipe carries the lamp N : the blowpipe LM comes from
the top of the upright pipe. PKQ is the feeding pipe
reaching near to the bottom of the vessel.
Water being poured into the vessel below, and its
cover being put on, which fits the upright pipe, and
touches two studs a, o, projecting from it, blow in a
quantity of air by the feeding pipcPQj this expels the
■water from the air box, and occasions'a pressure which
produces the blast through the blowpipe M.
In N° 54. of this article, we mentioned an applica¬
tion which has been made of Hero’s fountain, at Chem¬
nitz in Hungary, for raising water from the bottom of
a mine. We shall now give an account of this very in¬
genious contrivance.
In fig. 101. B represents the source of water elevated fig. ICI;
above the mouth of the pit 136 feet. From this there
is led a pipe B b CD four inches diameter. This pipe
enters the top of a copper cylinder b c de, feet high,
five feet diameter, and two inches thick, and it reaches
to within four inches of the bottom 5 it has a cock at
C. This cylinder has a cock at F, and a very large
one at E. From the top b c proceeds a pipe CHIP
two inches in diameter, which goes down the pit 96
feet, and is inserted into the top of another brass cy- *
Under f g h i, which is 6f feet high, four feet diameter,
and two inches thick, containing 83 cubic feet, which is
very nearly one half of the capacity of the other, viz.
of 170 cubic feet. There is another pipe NI of four
inches diameter, which rises from within four inches of
the bottom of this lower cylinder, is soldered into its
top, and rises to the trough NO, which carries off the
water from the mouth of the pit. This lower cylinder
communicates at the bottom with the water L which
collects in the drains of the mine. A large cock K
serves to admit or exclude this water j another cock M,
at the top of this cylinder, communicates with the ex¬
ternal air.
Nowt suppose the cock C shut, and all the rest open 5
the upper cylinder will contain air, and the lower cy¬
linder will be filled with water, because it is sunk so
deep that its top is below the usual surface of the mine-
waters. Now shut the cocks F, E, M, K, and open
the cock C. The w’ater of the source B must run in
by the orifice I), and rise in the upper cylinder, com¬
pressing the air above it and along the pipe GHH', and
thus acting on the surface of the water in the lower
cylinder. It will therefore cause it to rise gradually
in the pipe IN, where it will always be of such a height
that its weight balances the elasticity of the compressed
air. Suppose no issue given to the air from the upper
cylinder, it would be compressed into one-fifth of its
bulk by the column of 136 feet high ; for a column of
34 feet nearly balances the ordinary elasticity of the air.
Therefore, when there is an issue given to it through
the pipe GHH', it will drive the compressed air along
this pipe, and it will expel water from the lower cylin-
•jro p N E U M
t *3
Pneumatic Jer. When tlie upper cylinder is full of water, there
Engines, will be 34 cubic feet of water expelled from the lower
—“v 1 cylinder. If the pipe IN had been more than 136 feet
long, the water would have risen 136 feet, being then
in equilibrio with the water in the feeding pipe B b CD
(as was shown in N° 52.), by the intervention of the
elastic air \ but no more water would have been ex¬
pelled from the lower cylinder than what fills this pipe.
But the pipe being only 96 feet high, the water will
be thrown out at N with a very great velocity. If it were
not for the great obstructions which water and air must
meet within their passage along pipes, it would issue at N
with a velocity of more than 50 feet per second. It
issues much more slowly, and at last the upper cylinder
is full of water, and the water would enter the pipe GH
and enter the lower cylinder, and without displacing the
air in it, would rise through the discharging pipe IN,
and run off to waste. To prevent this there hangs in
the pipe HG a cork ball or double cone, by a brass
wire which is guided by holes in trvo cross pieces in the
pipe HG. When the upper cylinder is filled with water,
this cork plugs up the orifice G, and no water is wasted j
the influx at D now stops. But the lower cylinder con¬
tains compressed air, which would balance water in a
discharging pipe 136 feet high, whereas IN is only 96.
Therefore the water will continue to flow at N till the
air has so far expanded as to balance only 96 feet of
water, that is, till it occupies one-fourth of its ordinary
bulk, that is, one-fourth of the capacity of the upper cy¬
linder, or 42I- cubic feet. Iherefore 42-J cubic feet
will be expelled, and the efflux at N will cease j and the
lower cylinder is about one halt full of water. W hen
the attending workman observes this, he shuts the cock
C. He might have done this before, had he known
when the orifice G was stopped; but no loss ensues
from the delay. At the same time the attendant opens
the cock E, the water issues with great violence, being
pressed by the condensed air from the lower cylinder.
It therefore issues with the sum of its own weight and
of this compression. These gradually decrease together,
by the efflux of the water and the expansion of the air j
but this efflux stops before all the water has flowed out:
for there is 42-^ feet of the lower cylinder occupied by
air. This quantity of water remains, therefore, in the
upper cylinder nearly: the workman knows this, be¬
cause the discharged water is received first of all into
a vessel containing three-fourths of the capacity of the
upper cylinder. Whenever this is filled, the attendant
opens the cock K by a long rod which goes down
the shaft; this allows the water of the mine to fill the
lower cylinder, allows the air to get into the upper cy¬
linder, and this allows the remaining water to run out
of it.
And thus every thing is brought into its first condi¬
tion 5 and when the attendant sees no more water come
out at E, he shuts the cocks E and M, and opens the
cock C, and the operation is repeated.
There is a very surprising appearance in the working
of this engine. When the efflux at N has stopped, if
the cock F be opened, the water and air rush out toge¬
ther with prodigious violence, and the drops of water
are changed into hail or lumps of ice. It is a sight
usually shown to strangers, who are desired to hold their
hats to receive the blast of air : the ice comes out with
such violence as frequently to pierce the hat like a pistol
4
A T I C S.
bullet. This rapid congelation is a remarkable instance Pneumatic! I
of the general fact, that air by suddenly expanding, ge- Engines,
nerates cold, its capacity for heat being increased. Thus —y*—1
the peasant cools his broth by blowing over the spoon,
even from warm lungs : a stream of air from a pipe is
always cooling.
The above account of the procedure in working this
engine shows that the efflux both at N and E becomes
very slow near the end. It is found convenient therefore
not to wait for the complete discharges, but to turn the
cocks when about 30 cubic feet of water have been dis¬
charged at N: more work is done in this way. A gen¬
tleman of great accuracy and knowledge of these subjects
took tiie trouble, at our desire, of noticing particularly
the performance of the machine. He observed that
each stroke, as it may be called, took up about three mi¬
nutes and one-eighth j and that 32 cubic feet of water
were discharged at N, and 66 were expended at E. The
expence therefore is 66 feet of water falling 136 feet,
and the performance is 32 raised 96, and they are in
the proportion of 66x136 to 32x96, or of 1 to
0.3422, or nearly as 3 to 1. This is superior to the
performance of the most perfect undershot mill, even
when all friction and irregular obstructions are neglect¬
ed } and is not much inferior to any overshot pump-mill
that has yet been erected. When we reflect on the
great obstructions which water meets with in its passage
through long pipes, we may be assured that, by dcu*-
bling the size of the feeder and discharger, the perfor¬
mance of the machine will be greatly improved; we do
not hesitate to say, that it would be increased one-
third : it is true that it will expend more water ; but
this will not be nearly in the same proportion ; ior most
of the deficiency of the machine arises from the needless
velocity of the first efflux at N. The discharging pipe
ought to be 110 feet high, and not give sensibly less ^yater,
Then it must be considered how inferior in original
expence this simple machine must be to a mill of any
kind which would raise 10 cubic feet 96 feet high in a
minute, and how small the repairs on it need be, when
compared with a mill.
And, lastly, let it be noticed, that such a machine can
be used where no mill whatever can be put in motion.
A small stream of water, which would not move any
kind of wheel, will here raise one-third of its own quan¬
tity to the same height; working as fast as it is supplied.
For all these reasons, we think that the Hungarian
machine eminently deserves the attention of mathemati¬
cians and engineers, to bring it to its utmost perfection,
and into general use. T here are situations where this
kind of machine may be very useful. 1 bus, where the
tide rises 17 feet, it may be used for compressing air to
seven-eighths of its bulk ; and a pipe leading trom a
very large vessel inverted in it, may be used for raising
the water from a vessel of one eighth of its capacity 17
feet high ; or if this vessel has only xTg- of the capacity
of the large one set in the tide way, two pipes may be led
fromit, oneintothesmallvessel and the other intoanequal
vessel 16 feet higher, which receives the water from the
first. Thus one sixteenth of the water may be raised 34
feet, and a smaller quantity to a still greater height; and
this with a kind of power that can hardly be applied in
any other way. Machines ol this kind aic desciibe
by Schottus, Sturmius, Leopold, and other old writers;
and they should not be forgotten, because opportunities
* Q V
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PNEUMATICS.
Pneumatic may offer of making them highly useful. A gentleman’s
Engines, house in the country may thus be supplied with water by a
' v machine that will cost little, and hardly go out of repair.
The last pneumatical engine which we shall speak of
at present is the common fanners, used for winnowing
grain, and for drawing air out of a room : and we have
but few observations to make on them.
The wings of the fanners are inclosed in a cylinder
or drum, whose circular sides have a large opening BDE
Fig. 202^ (fig. 102.) round the centre, to admit the air. By
turning the wings rapidly round, the air is hurried
round along with them, and thus acquires a centrifugal
tendency, by which it presses strongly on the outer rim
of the drum : this is gradually detached from the circle
as at KL, and terminated in a trunk IHGF, which goes
off in a tangential direction j the air therefore is driven
along this passage.
If the wings were disposed in planes passing through
the axis C, the compression of the air by the anterior
surface would give it some tendency to escape in every
direction, and would obstruct in some degree the arrival
751
of more air through the side-holes. They are therefore Pneumatic
reclined a little backward, as represented in the figure. Engines.
It may be shown that their best form would be that of a y
hyperbolic spiral ab c ; but the straight form approaches
sufficiently near to the most perfect shape.
Much labour is lost, however, in carrying the air
round those parts of the drum where it cannot escape.
The fanners would either draw or discharge almost
twice as much air if an opening were made all round
one side. This could be gradually contracted (where
required for winnowing) by a surrounding cone, and
thus directed against the falling grain : this has been
verified by actual trial. When used for drawing air out
of a room for ventilation, it would be much better to
remove the outer side of the drum entirely, and let the
air fly freely off on all sides $ but the flat sides are ne¬
cessary, in order to prevent the air from arriving at the
fanners any other way but through the central holes,
to which trunks should be fitted leading to the apart¬
ment which is to be ventilated. See Barometer and
Barometrical Measurements, Supplement.
Pneuma¬
tosis
II
Pococke.
P o c
PNEUMATOSIS. See Medicine, N° 336.
PNEUMONIA. See Medicine, N° 183.
PNEUMONICS, in Pharmacy, medicines proper in
diseases of the lungs, in which respiration is affected.
PO, a large and celebrated river of Italy, which has
its source at Mount Yiss in Piedmont, and on the con¬
fines of Dauphiny. It runs through Piedmont, Mont-
fferrat, the Milanese, and duchy of Mantua ; from thence
it runs to the borders of the Parmesan, and a part of
the Modenese j and having entered the Ferrarese, it be->
gins to divide at Ficheruolo, and proceeds to discharge
itself into the gulf of Venice by four principal mouths.
As it passes along, it receives several rivers, and often
overflows its banks, doing a great deal of mischief: the.
reason of which is, that most of those rivers descend
from the Alps, and are increased by the melting of the
snow.
POA, Meadow-grass j a genus of plants belonging
to the pentandria class, and in the natural method rank¬
ing under the fourth order, Grainiua. See Botany
and Agriculture Index.
POCHETTE See Barbatelli.
POCOCKE, Dr Edward, a learned oriental scho¬
lar, was the eldst son of the Rev. Edward Pococke j
and was born at Oxford in 1604, where he was also
educated. In 1628 he was admitted probationer-fellow
of his college, and about the same time had prepared an
edition of the Second Epistle of St Peter, the Second
and Third of St John, and that of St Jude, in Syriac
and Greek, with a Latin Translation and Notes. In
1629 he was ordained priest, and appointed chaplain to
the English merchants at Aleppo, where he continued
five or six years j in which time he distinguished himself
by his fortitude and zeal while the plague raged there.
At length returning to England, he was in 1636 ap¬
pointed reader of the Arabic lectures founded by Arch¬
bishop Laud. Three years after he went to Constanti-
F O C
nople, where he prosecuted his studies of the eastern Pococke.
tongues, and procured many valuable manuscripts. Af- 1 1
ter near four years stay in that city, he embarked in
1640 ; and taking Paris in his way, visited Gabriel Sio-
nita the famous Maronite, and Hugo Grotius. In 1643
he was presented to the rectory of Childrey in Berks ;
and about three years after married the daughter of
Thomas Burdett, Esq. About the middle of 1647 he
obtained the restitution of the salary of his Arabic lec¬
ture, which had been detained from him about three
years. In 1648 King Charles I. who was then prisoner
in the isle of Wight, nominated Mr Pbcocke to the pro¬
fessorship of Hebrew, and the canonry of Christ church
annexed to it j but in 1650 he was ejected from his ca¬
nonry for refusing to take the engagement, and soon
after a vote passed for depriving him of his Hebrew and
Arabic lectures; but several governors of houses, &c.
presenting a petition in his favour, he was suffered to
enjoy both these places. He had some years before
published his Specimen IIistorice Arabnm ; and now ap¬
peared his Porta Mosis : and soon after the English Po¬
lyglot edition of the Bible, to which he had largely
contributed, and also Eutychius’s Annals, with a Latin
version. At the Restoration, he was restored to the
canonry of Christ-church, and also received the degree
of doctor of divinity. He then published his Arabic
version of Grotius’s Treatise of the Truth of the Chris¬
tian Religion ; and an Arabic poem entitled Laimato ly
Ajam, with a Latin translation and notes. Soon after
he published Gregory AbulPharajius’s Historia Dynas-
tiarum. In 1674 he published an Arabic version of the
chief parts of the Liturgy of the church of England4
and a few years after his Commentary on the Prophecies
of Micah, Malachi, Hosea, and Joel. This great man
died in 1691, after having been for many years con¬
fessedly the first person in Europe for eastern learnings
and was no less worthy of admiration for his uncommon
modesty
POE [ 752 ] POE
Pococke modesty and humility, and all the virtues that can adorn
IS a Christian. His theological works were republished
Pcestum. at Jjondon in i^o, in two volumes in folio.
\ PODAGRA, or the Gout. See AIedicine, N°
211.
PODALIRIUS, son of Tpsculapius and Epione,
was one of the pupils of the Centaur Chiron, under whom
he made himself such a master of medicine, that during
the Trojan war the Greeks invited him to their camp to
stop a pestilence which had baffled the skill of all their
physicians. Some suppose, however, that he went to
the Trojan war, not in the capacity of a physician in
the Grecian army, but as a warrior, attended by his
brother Machaon, in 30 ships, with soldiers from Oe-
chalia, Ithome, and Trica. At his return Podalirius
was shipwrecked on the coast of Caria, where he cured
of the falling sickness a daughter of the king of the
place. He fixed his habitation there j and built two
towns, one of which he called Syrna, after his wife.
The Cafians, on his death, built him a temple, and paid
him divine honours.
PODEX, in Anatomy, the same with Anus.
PODGRAJE. See Asisia.
PODOLIA, a province of Russian Poland, bounded
on the north and north-east, by Volhinia and Kiew ; on
the south-east, by Cherson, and on the south-west and
west, by Moldavia and Ruckovina. The principal
rivers are the Dneister and the Bug. This province
is extremely fertile in grain, great quantities of which
are conveyed by the rivers to Odessa, and thence ship¬
ped to the Mediterranean. It also abounds in cattle.
The chief town is Kaminiek. In 1815, this province
contained 1,181,200 inhabitants upon an area of 14,700
square miles.
PODOPHYLLUM, a genus of plants belonging
to the polyandria class 5 and in the natural method
ranking under the 27th order, Rhcecedce. See Botany
Index.
PODURA, or Springtail, a genus of insects of
the order of aptera. See Entomology Index.
POE-BIRD is an inhabitant of some of the South sea
islands, where it is held in great esteem and veneration
by the natives. It goes by the name of kogo in New
Zealand: but it is better known by that of poe-bird.
It is somewhat less than our blackbird, and is remark¬
able for the sweetness of its note, as well as the beauty
of its plumage. Its flesh is also delicate food.
POECILE was a famous portico at Athens, which
received its name from the variety (wootjAos) of paint¬
ings which it contained. Zeno kept his school there 5
and there also the stoics received their lessons, whence
their name d voce, a poj'ch. The Poecile was adorned,
among many others, with a picture of the siege and
sacking of Troy, the battle of Theseus against the
Amazons, and the fight between the Lacedaemonians
and Athenians at Oenoe in Argolis. The only reward
which Miltiades obtained after the battle of Marathon
was to have his picture drawn more conspicuous than
that of the rest of the officers that fought with him, in
the representation which was made of the engagement,
and which was hung up in the Poecile in commemora¬
tion of that celebrated victory.
POEM, a poetical composition. See Poetry.
POESTUM, or Posidonia, an ancient city of
Grecia Magna, now part of the kingdom of Naples,
t 3
It was founded by one of those colonies from Greece Pcestum,
which in the early ages established themselves in Italy ;-y-—~
and it flourished before the foundation of Rome itself.
It was destroyed by the Goths on the decline of the
Roman empire, who in their barbarous zeal for the
Christian religion overturned every place of Pagan wor¬
ship which was exposed to their ravages. Since that
time it has been in ruins ; and these ruins were unknown
till they were discovered in the following manner: “ In
the year 1755 (says the author of the Antiquities, Hi-
story, and Views of Pees turn), an apprentice to a painter
at Naples, who was on a visit to his friends at Capaccio,
by accident took a walk to the mountains which sur¬
round the territory of Poestum. The only habitation
he perceived was the cottage of a farmer, who cultivated
the best part of the ground, and reserved the rest for
pasture. The ruins of the ancient city made a part of
this view, and particularly struck the eyes of the young
painter j who approaching nearer, saw with astonish¬
ment walls, towers, gates and temples. Upon his re¬
turn to Capaccio, he consulted the neighbouring people
about the origin of these monuments of antiquity. He
could only learn, that this part of the country had been
uncultivated and abandoned during their memory ; that
about ten years before, the farmer, whose habitation he .
had noticed, established himself there; and that having
dug in many places, and searched among the ruins that
lay round him, he had found treasures sufficient to enable
him to purchase the whole. At the painter’s return
to Naples, he informed his master of these particulars,
whose curiosity was so greatly excited by the descrip¬
tion, that he took a journey to the place, and made
drawings of the principal views. These were shown to
the king of Naples, who ordered the ruins to be cleared,
and Pcestum arose from the obscurity in which it had
remained for upwards of 700 years, as little known to
the neighbouring inhabitants as to travellers.”
Our author gives the following description of it in
its present state. It isj says he, of an oblong figure,
about two miles and a half in circumference. It has
four gates, which are opposite to each other. On the
key-stone of the arch of the north gate, on the outside,
is the figure of Neptune in basso relievo, and within a
hippocampus. The walls which still remain are com¬
posed of very large cubical stones, and are extremely
thick, in some parts 18 feet. That the walls have re¬
mained unto this time is owing to the very exact manner
in which the stones are fitted to one another (a circum¬
stance observed universally in the masonry of the an¬
cients), and perhaps in some measure to a stalactical
concretion which has grown over them. On the walls
here and there are placed towers of different heights:
those near the gates being much higher and larger than
the others, and evidently of modern workmanship. He
observes, that from its situation among marshes, bitu¬
minous and sulphureous springs,Pcestum must have been
unwholesome} a circumstance mentioned by Strabo,
Morbosam earnfacit fluvius inpuludes diffusus. In such
a situation the water must have been bad. Hence the
inhabitants were obliged to convey that necessary of life
from purer springs by means of aqueducts, of which
many vestiges still remain.
The principal monuments of antiquity are a theatre,
an amphitheatre, and three temples. The theatre and
amphitheatre are much ruined. The first temple is
hexastylos,
POE
Poestum. liexastylos, and am phi prostylos
lasters and two columns which divided the cella from
the pronaos are still remaining. Within the cella are
two xows of smaller columns, with an architrave, which
support the second order. This temple our author takes
to be of that kind called by Vitruvius hyphcethros, and
supports his opinion, by a quotation from that author.
The second temple is also amphiprostylos : it has nine
columns in front and 18 in flank, and seems to be of that
kind called by Vitruvius pseudodipteros. The third is
likewise amphiprostylos. It has six columns in front and
13 flank. \ itruvius calls this kind of temple peri-
ptcros. “ The columns of these temples (says our au¬
thor) are of that kind of Doric order which we find em¬
ployed in works of the greatest antiquity. They are
hardly five diameters in height. They are without bases,
which also has been urged as a proof of their antiquity $
but we do not find that the ancients ever used bases to
this order, at least till very late. Vitruvius makes no
t 753 ]
At one end, the pi- mention of bases for
POE
this order : and the only instance
we have of it is in the first order of the Colisaeum at
Rome, which was built by Vespasian. The pillars of
these temples are fluted with very shallow flutings in
the manner described by Vitruvius. The columns di¬
minish from the bottom, which was the most ancient
method almost universally in all the orders. The co¬
lumns have astragals of a very singular form ; which
shows the error of those who imagine that this member
was first invented with the Ionic order, to which the
Greeks gave an astragal, and that the Romans were the
first who applied it to the Doric. The echinus of the
Capitol is of the same form with that of the temple of
Corinth described by Le Roy.” See Swinburne's IVa-
vels in the Two Sicilies, vol. ii. p. 131—140.
POET, the author of a poem. See the article
Poetry.
Provenfal Poets. See Troubadours.
Fcestiim,
Poet.
POETRY.
A MIDST those thick clouds which envelope the
first ages of the world, reason and history throw
some lights on the origin and primitive employment of
this divine art. Reason suggests, that before the inven-
T tion of letters, all the people of the earth had no other
Oiigin of method of transmitting to their descendants the prin-
poetry. ciples of their worship, their religious ceremonies, their
laws, and the renowned actions of their sages and heroes,
than by poetry ; which included all these objects in a
kind of hymns that fathers sung to their children, in
order to engrave them with indelible strokes in their
hearts. History not only informs us, that Moses and
Miriam, the first authors that are known to mankind,
sung, on the borders of the Red sea, a song of divine
praise, to celebrate the deliverance which the Almighty
had vouchsafed to the people of Israel, by opening a
passage to them through the waters ; but it has also
transmitted to us the song itself, which is at once the
most ancient monument and a masterpiece of poetic
composition.
The Greeks, a people the most ingenious, the most
animated, and in every sense the most accomplished, that
the world ever produced—strove to ravish from the He¬
brews the precious gift of poetry, which was vouchsafed
them by the Supreme Author of all nature, that they
might ascribe it to their false deities. According to
their ingenious fictions, Apollo became the god of poe-
try^and dwelt on the hills of Phocis, Parnassus and
Helicon, whose feet were washed by the waters of Hip-
pocrene, of which each mortal that ever drank was
seized with a sacred delirium. The immortal swans
floated on its waves. Apollo was accompanied by the
Muses—those nine learned sisters—the daughters of
Memory : and he was constantly attended by the Graces.
Pegasus, his winged courser, transported him with a ra¬
pid flight into all the regions of the universe. Happy
emblems ! by which we at this day embellish our poe¬
try, as no one has ever yet been able to invent more
brilliant images.
The literary annals of all nations afford vestiges of
Vol. XVI. Part II. -f
poetry from the remotest ages. They are found among
the most savage of the ancient barbarians, and the most
desolate of all the Americans. Nature asserts her rights
in every country and every age. Tacitus mentions
the verses and the hymns of the Germans, at the time
when that rough people yet inhabited the woods, and
while their manners were still savage. The first inha¬
bitants of Runnia and the other northern countries,
those of Gaul, Albion, Iberia, Ausonia, and other na¬
tions of Europe, had their poetry, as well as the an¬
cient people of Asia, and of the known borders of A-
frica. But the simple productions of nature have con¬
stantly something unformed, rough, and savage. The
Divine Wisdom appears to have placed the ingenious
and polished part of mankind on the earth, in order to
refine that which comes from her bosom rude and im¬
perfect : and thus art has polished poetry, which issued
quite naked and savage from the brains of the first of
mankind.
But what is Poetry ? It would be to abridge the Definition
limits of the poetic empire, to contract the sphere of of poetry,
this divine art, should we say, in imitation of all the
dictionaries and other treatises on versification, That
poetry is the art of making verses, of lines or periods that
are in rhyme or metre. This is rather a grammatical
explanation of the word, than a real definition of the
thing, and it would be to degrade poetry thus to de¬
fine it. The father of criticism has denominated poe¬
try re^vii ftipflow, an imitative art; but this, though
just in itself, is too general for a definition, as it does
not discriminate poetry from other arts which depend
equally on imitation. The justest definition seems to
be that given by Baron Bielfield *, That poetry is the* Elem. of
art of expressing our thoughts by fiction. In fact, it is Vniv.Erud.
after this manner (if we reflect with attention) that all
the metaphors and allegories, all the various kinds of
fiction, form the first materials of a poetic edifice: it
is thus that all images, all comparisons, allusions, and
figures, especially those which personify moral subjects,
as virtues and vices, concur to the decoration of such a
5 C structure.
754
P O E
structure. A worlc, therefore, that is filled with in¬
vention, that incessantly presents images which render
the reader attentive and affected, where the author gives
interesting sentiments to every thing that he makes speak,
and where he makes speak by sensible figures all those
objects which would affect the mind but weakly when
clothed in a simple prosaic style, such a work is a poem.
While that, though it be in verse, which is of a didactic,
dogmatic, or moral nature, and where the objects are
presented in a manner quite simple, without fiction,
Avithout images or ornaments, cannot be called poetry^
but merely a work in verse j for the art of reducing
thoughts, maxims, and periods, into rhyme or metie, is
very different from the art of poetry.
An ingenious fable, a lively and interesting romance,
a comedy, the sublime narrative of the actions ot a hero,
such as the Telemachus of M. Fenelon, though written
in prose, but in measured prose, is therefore a work of
poetry: because the foundation and the superstructure
are the productions of genius, as the whole proceeds
from fiction } and truth itself appears to have employed
an innocent and agreeable deception to instruct with ef¬
ficacy. This is so true, that the pencil also, in order to
please and affect, has recourse to fiction ; and this part
of painting is called the poetic composition oj a picture. 11
is therefore by the aid of fiction that poetry, so to speak,
paints its expressions, that it gives a body and a mind
to its thoughts, that it animates and exalts that which
would otherwise have remained arid and insensible. It
is the peculiar privilege of poetry to exalt inanimate
things into animals, and abstract ideas into persons.
The former licence is so common, that it is now con¬
sidered as nothing more than a characteristical dralect
appropriated by the poets to distinguish themselves from
the writers of prose 5 and is at the same time so essen¬
tial, that we question much if this species of composi-
T ft Y.
tion could subsist without it! for it will perhaps, up<m
examination, be found, that in every poetical descriptimr
some of the qualities of Animal Nature are ascribed to
things not having life. Every work, therefore, vyhere
the thoughts are expressed by fictions or images, is po¬
etic ; and every work where they are expressed natural¬
ly, simply, and without ornament, although it be in
verse, is prosaic.
Verse, however, is not to be regarded as foreign or
superfluous to poetry. To reduce those images, those
fictions, into verse, is one of the greatest dimcnlties in
poetry, and one of the greatest merits in a poem : and
for these reasons, the cadence, the harmony of sounds,
particularly that of rhyme, delight the ear to a high
degree, and the mind insensibly repeats them while the
eye reads them. There results therefore a pleasure to
the mind, and a strong attachment to these ornaments i
but this pleasure would he frivolous, and even childish, ^
if it were not attended by a real utility, \erses were Verse,
invented in the first ages of the world, merely to aid though not
and to strengthen the memory: for cadence, ^armony>pQSeet°yajn^ !
and especially rhyme, afford the greatest assistance to ot jts gX_
the memory that art can invent j and the images, or cellencies*
poetic fictions, that strike our senses, assist in graving
them with such deep traces in our minds, as even time
itself frequently cannot efface. How many excellc-nt
apophthegms, sentences, maxims, and precepts, would
have been buried in the abyss of oblivion, it poetry had
not preserved them by its harmony ? To give more
efficacy to this lively impression, the first poets sung
their verses, and the words and phrases must necessarily
have been reduced, at least to cadence, or they coold
not have been susceptible of musical expression. One
of the great excellencies, therefore, though not a ne¬
cessary constituent of poetry, consists in its being ex¬
pressed in verse. See Part III.
PART L GENERAL PRINCIPLES OF THE ART.
Sect. I. 0/ the Essence and End of Poetry.
4
Essence of
Poetry.
THE essence of Polite Arts in general, and conse¬
quently of poetry in particular, consists in expression;
and we think that, to he poetic, the expression must
necessarily arise from fiction, or invention. (See the ar¬
ticle Art, particularly from N° 12. to the end). This in¬
vention, which is the fruit of happy genius alone, arises,
I. From the subject itself of which we undertake to
treat: 2. From the manner in which we treat that sub¬
ject, or the species of writing of which we make use:
3. From the plan that we propose to follow in conformi¬
ty to this manner j and, 4. From the method of exe¬
cuting this plan in its full detail. Our first guides, the
ancients, afford us no lights that can elucidate all these
objects in general. The precepts which Aristotle lays
down, relate to epic and dramatic poetry only: and
which, by the way, confirms our idea, that antiquity
itself made the essence of poetry to consist in fiction, and
not in that species of verse which is destitute of it, or in
that which is not capable of it. But since this art has
risen to a great degree of perfection j and as poetry,
like electricity, communicates its fire to every thing it
touches,and animates and embellishes whatever it treaty
there seems to be no subject in the universe to which
poetry cannot be applied, and which it cannot render
equally brilliant and pleasing. From this universality
of poetry, from its peculiar property of expression by
fiction, which is applicable to all subjects, have arisen
its different species, of which a particular description
will be given in the second part.
Horace, in a well-known verse, has been supposed to
declare the end of poetry to be twofold, to please, or to
instruct:
Aut prodesse volunt, aut detectare poetce.
But Dr Beattie * maintains, that the ultimate end of End of
this art is to please j instruction being only one ot the poetry,
means (and not always a necessary one) by which
ultimate end is to be accomplished. The passage rightly
understood, he observes, will not appear to contain any pHrt j.
thing inconsistent with this doctrine. The author is chap i.
there stating a comparison between the Greek and Ro¬
man writers, with a view to the poetry ot the stage 5 and,
after commending the former for their correctness, and
for the liberal spirit wherewith they conducted their
literary labours, and blaming his countrymen for their
. inaccuracy
Part I.
Essence
and End
of Poetry.
f IT or. Ar.
Poet. 333.
—347*
%UorCarm
iib. iv.
ode 9.
$ Hor. Sat.
Jib. i. sat. 4
"VW. 40.
«
Poetical
invention
to be regu¬
lated
* Iliad, viii,
5SS-
Beattie's
Essays,
Part i.
idiap. 3..
POE
inaccuracy and avarice, lie proceeds thus : “ The ends
proposed by our dramatic poets (or by poets in ge-
neral) are, to please, to Instruct, or to do both. When
instruction is your aim, let your moral sentences be
expressed with brevity, that they may be readily un¬
derstood, and long remembered j where you mean to
please, let your fictions be conformable to truth or
probability. The elder part of your audience (or
readers) have no relish for poems that give pleasure only
without instruction j nor the younger for such writings
as give instruction without pleasure. He only can se¬
cure the universal suffrage in his favour, who blends
the useful wdth the agreeable, and delights at the same
time that he instructs the reader. Such are the works
that bring money to the bookseller, that pass into fo¬
reign countries, and perpetuate the author’s name
through a long succession of agesf.”—Now, what is the
meaning of all this ? What, but that to the perfection
of dramatic poetry (or, if you please, of poetry in ge¬
neral) both sound morals and beautiful fiction are re¬
quisite ? But Horace never meant to say, that instruc¬
tion, as well as pleasure, is necessary to give to any
composition the poetical character; or he would not in
another place have celebrated with so much affection
and rapture the melting strains of Sappho, and the
playful genius of Anacreon —two authors transcen-
dently sweet, but not remarkable instructive. We are
sure, that pathos, and harmony, and elevated language,
were, in Horace’s opinion, essential to poetry § ; and
of these decorations nobody will affirm that instruction
is the end, who considers that the most instructive books
in the world are written in plain prose.
In short, our author has endeavoured by many inge¬
nious arguments and illustrations to establish it as a
truth in criticism, that the end of poetry is to please.
Verses, if pleasing, may be poetical, though they con¬
vey little or no instruction; but verses, whose sole merit
it is that they convey instruction, are not poetical. In¬
struction, however, he admits, especially in poems of
length, is necessary to their perfection, because they
would not be perfectly agreeable without it.
Sect. II. Of the Standard of Poetical Invention.
Homer’s beautiful description of the heavens and
earth, as they appear in a calm evening by the light of
the moon and stars, concludes with this circumstance,
“ And the heart of the shepherd is glad Madame
Dacier, from the turn she gives to the passage in her
version, seems to think, and Pope, in order perhaps to
make out his couplet, insinuates, that the gladness of
the shepherd is owing to his sense of the utility of those
luminaries. And this may in part be the case : but
this is not in Homer; nor is it a necessary consideration.
It is true, that, in contemplating the material universe,
they who discern the causes and effects of things must
be more rapturously entertained than those who perceive
nothing but shape and size, colour and motion. Yet,
in the mere outside of Nature’s work, there is a splen¬
dour and a magnificence to which even untutored minds
cannot attend without great delight.
Not that all peasants or all philosophers are equally
susceptible of these charming impressions. It is strange
to observe the callousness ot some men, before whom all
the glories of heaven and earth pass in daily succession,
T R Y- 755
without touching their hearts, elevating their fancy, or of
leaving any durable remembrance. Even of those who Invention,
pretend to sensibility, how many are there to whom the
lustre of the rising or setting sun ; the sparkling concave
of the midnight sky; the mountain-forest tossing and
roaring to the storm, or warbling with all the melodies
of a summer evening ; the sweet interchange of hill and
dale, shade and sunshine, grove, lawn, and water, which
an extensive landscape offers to the view ; the scenery
of the ocean, se lovely, so majestic, and so tremendous ;
and the many pleasing varieties of the animal and vege¬
table kingdoms, could never afford so much real satis¬
faction, as the steams and noise of a ball-room, the in¬
sipid fiddling and squeaking of an opera, or the vexations
and wranglings of a card-table !
But some minds there are of a different make ; who,
even in the early part of life, receive from the contem¬
plation of Nature a species of delight which they would
hardly exchange for any other, and who, as avarice and
ambition are not the infirmities of that period, would,
with equal sincerity and rapture, exclaim,
I care not, Fortune, what you me deny;
You cannot rob me of free Nature’s grace ;
You cannot shut the windows of the sky,
Through which Aurora shows her bright’ning face ;
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace
The woods and lawns by living stream at eve.
Castle of Indolence.
Such minds have always in them the seeds of true taste,
and frequently of imitative genius. At least, though
their enthusiastic or visionary turn of mind (as the man
of the world would call it) should not always incline
them to practise poetry or painting, we need not scruple
to affirm, that without some portion of this enthusiasm
no person ever became a true poet or painter. For he
who would imitate the works of nature, must first ac¬
curately observe them; and accurate observation is to
be expected from those only who take great pleasure in
it.
To a mind thus disposed no part of creation is indif¬
ferent. In the crowded city and howling wilderness ;
in the cultivated province and solitary isle; in the
flowery lawn and craggy mountain ; in the murmur of
the rivulet and in the uproar of the ocean ; in the ra¬
diance of summer and gloom of winter; in the thunder
of heaven and in the whisper of the breeze; he still
finds something to rouze or to soothe his imagination,
to draw7 forth his affections, or to employ his under¬
standing. And from every mental energy that is not
attended with pain, and even from some of those that
are, as moderate terror and pity, a sound mind derives
satisfaction ; exercise being equally necessary to the
body and the soul, and to both equally productive of
health and pleasure.
This happy sensibility to the beauties cf nature should
be cherished in young persons. It engages them to
contemplate the Creator in his wonderful works; it pu¬
rifies and harmonizes the soul, and prepares it for moral
and intellectual discipline ; it supplies an endless source
of amusement; it contributes even to bodily health:
and, as a strict analogy subsists between material and mo¬
ral beauty, it leads the heart by an easy transition from
the one to the other ; and thus recommends virtue for
its transcendant loveliness, and makes vice appear the
5 C 2 object
POE
Of
Invention.
7
by the
standard of
nature.
object of contempt and abomination. An intimate ac¬
quaintance with the best descriptive poets, Spenser,
Milton, and Thomson, but above all with the divine
Georgic, joined to some practice in the art of drawing,
will promote this amiable sensibility in early years : for
then the face of nature has novelty superadded to its
other charms, the passions are not pre-engaged, the heart
is free from care, and the imagination warm and ro¬
mantic.
But not to insist longeron those ardent emotions that
are peculiar to the enthusiastic disciple of nature, may it
not be affirmed of all men, without exception, or at
least of all the enlightened part of mankind, that they
are gratified by the contemplation of things natural, as
opposed to unnatural ? Monstrous sights please but for
a moment, if they please at all ; for they derive their
charm from the beholder’s amazement, which is quick-
*Brydones |y over- We read indeed of a man of rank in Sicily *,
Tour in Si- c}1003es adorn villa with pictures and statues
city, let. 24. „ . 1 .. . - , .r . ...
or most unnatural deformity : but it is a singular in¬
stance ; and one would not be much more surprised to
hear of a person living without food, or growing fat by
the use of poison. To say of any thing, that it is
contrary to nature, denotes censure and disgust on the
part of the speaker *, as the epithet natural intimates an
agreeable quality, and seems for the most part to imply
that a thing is as it ought to be, suitable to our own
taste, and congenial with our own constitution. Think
with what sentiments we should peruse a poem, in
which nature was totally misrepresented, and principles
of thought and of operation supposed to take place, re¬
pugnant to every thing we had seen or heard of:—in
which, for example, avarice and coldness were ascribed
to youth, and prodigality and passionate attachment to
the ok!; in which men were made to act at random,
sometimes according to character, and sometimes con¬
trary to it j in which cruelty and envy were productive
of love, and beneficence and kind afiection of hatred :
in which beauty was invariably the object of dislike, and
ugliness of desire \ in which society was rendered happy
by atheism and the promiscuous perpetration of crimes,
and justice and fortitude were held in universal contempt.
Or think, how we should relish a painting, where no
regard was had to the proportions, colours’, or any of
the physical laws, of Nature :—where the ears and eyes
of animals were placed in their shoulders j where the
sky was green and the grass crimson ; where trees grew
with their branches in the earth and their roots in the
air j where men were seen fighting after their heads were
cut off, ships sailing on the land, lions entangled in cob¬
webs, sheep preying on dead carcases, fishes sporting in
the woods, and elephants walking on the sea. Could
such figures and combinations give pleasure, or merit
the appellation of sublime or beautiful? Should we he¬
sitate to pronounce their author mad ? And are the ab¬
surdities of madmen proper subjects either of amuse¬
ment or of imitation to reasonable beings ?
Let it be remarked, too, that though we distinguish
our internal powers by different names, because other¬
wise we could not speak of them so as to be understood,
they are all but so many energies of the same individual
mind 5 and therefore it is not to be supposed, that what
contradicts any one leading faculty should yield perma¬
nent delight to the rest. That cannot be agreeable to
reason, which conscience disapproves j no^r can that gra-
3
TRY. Part I.
tify imagination, which is repugnant to reason. Be- (yf
sides, belief and acquiescence of mind are pleasant, as Invention,
distrust and disbelief are painful: and therefore, that
only can give solid and general satisfaction, which has
something of plausibility in it j something which we
conceive it possible for a rational being to believe. But
no rational being can acquiesce in what is obviously
contrary to nature, or implies palpable absurdity.
Poetry, therefore, and indeed every art whose end is
to please, must be natural; and if so, must exhibit real
matter of fact, or something like it } that is, in other
words, must be either according to truth or according
to verisimilitude.
And though every part of the material universe a-
bounds in objects of pleasurable contemplation, yet no¬
thing in nature so powerfully touches our hearts, or gives
so great variety of exercise to our moral and intellectual
faculties, as man. Human affairs and human feelings are
universally interesting. There are many who have no
great relish for the poetry that delineates only irrational
or inanimate beings j but to that which exhibits the
fortunes, the characters, and the conduct of men, there
is hardly any person who does not listen with sympathy
and delight. And hence to imitate human action, is
considered by Aristotle as essential to this art 5 and must
be allowed to be essential to the most pleasing and most
instructive part of it, Epic and Dramatic composition.
Mere descriptions, however beautiful, and moral reflec- >
tions, however just, become tiresome, where our passions
are not occasionally awakened by some event that con¬
cerns our fellow men. Do not all readers of taste re¬
ceive peculiar pleasure from those little tales or episodes
with which Thomson’s descriptive poem on the Seasons
is here and there enlivened ? and are they not sensible,
that the thunder-storm would not have been half so in¬
teresting without the tale of the two lovers {Summer, v.
1171) } nor the harvest-scene, without that of Palemon
and Lavinia (Autumn, v. 177.) : nor the driving snows,
without that exquisite picture of a man perishing among
them (IFinter, v. 276)? It is much to be regretted,
that Young did not employ the same artifice to animate
his Night-Thoughts. Sentiments and descriptions may
be regarded as the pilasters, carvings, gildings, and
other decorations of the poetical fabric : but human ac¬
tions are the columns and the rafters that give it sta¬
bility and elevation. Or, changing the metaphor, we
may consider these as the soul which informs the lovely
frame j while those are little more than the ornaments
of the body.
Whether the pleasure we take in things natural, and
our dislike to what is the reverse, be the effect of habit
or of constitution, is not a material inquiry. There is
nothing absurd in supposing, that between the soul, in
its first formation, and the rest of nature, a mutual har¬
mony and sympathy may have been established, which
experience may indeed confirm, but no perverse habits
could entirely subdue. As no sort of education could ^
make man believe the contrary of a self-evident axiom,
or reconcile him to a life of perfect solitude ; so we fluence
should imagine, that our love of nature and regularity over senti-
might still remain with us in some degree, though we had ment and
been born and bred in the Sicilian villa above mentioned, al)d
and never heard any thing applauded but what deserved.Upoa
censure, nor censured but what merited applause. Yet poetry,
habit must be allowed to have a powerful iufluence over
the
Part I.
POETRY.
9
No ne.ce«-
sity that
the poet
should ex¬
actly copy
nature.
10
Fiction suf¬
ficiently
conform¬
able to
nature
when it ac¬
cords with
received
opinions,
the sentiments and feelings of mankind j for objects to
which we have been long accustomed, we are apt to
contract a fondness: we conceive them readily, and
contemplate them with pleasure ; nor do we quit our
old tracts of speculation or practice without reluctance
and pain. Hence in part arises our attachment to our
own professions, our old acquaintance, our native soil,
our homes, and to the very hills, streams, and rocks in
our neighbourhood. It would therefore be strange, if
man, accustomed as he is from his earliest days to the
regularity of nature, did not contract a liking to her
productions and principles of operation.
Yet we neither expect nor desire, that every human
invention, where the end is only to please, should be an
exact transcript of real existence. It is enough, that the
mind acquiesce in it as probable or plausible, or such as
wre think might happen without any direct opposition to
the laws of nature:—Or, to speak more accurately, it is
enough that it be consistent, either, first, with general
experience; or, secondly, with popular opinion j or
thirdly, that it be consistent with itself, and connected
with probable circumstances.
First: Ifa human invention be consistent with general
experience, we acquiesce in it as sufficiently probable.
Particular experiences, however, there may be, so un¬
common, and so little expected, that we should not ad¬
mit their probability, if we did not know them to be
true. No man of sense believes, that he has any likeli¬
hood of being enriched by the discovery of hidden trea¬
sure ; or thinks it probable, on purchasing a lottery-
ticket, that he shall gain the first prize } and yet great
wealth has actually been acquired by such good fortune.
But we should look upon these as poor expedients in a
play or romance for bringing about a happy catastrophe.
We expect that fiction should be more consonant to tl.e
general tenor of human affairs •, in a word, that not pos¬
sibility, but probability, should be the standard of poeti¬
cal invention.
Secondly : Fiction is admitted as conformable to this
standard, when it accords with received opinions. These
may be erroneous, but are not often apparently repug¬
nant to nature. On this account, and because they are
familiar to us from our infancy, the mind readily ac¬
quiesces in them, or at least yields them that degree of
credit which is necessary to render them pleasing: hence
the fairies, ghosts, and witches of Shakespeare, are ad¬
mitted as probable beings 5 and angels obtain a place in
religious pictures, though we know that they do not now
appear in the scenery of real life. A poet who should at
this day make the whole action of his tragedy depend
upon enchantment, and produce the chief events by the
assistance of supernatural agents, would indeed be censur¬
ed as transgressing the bounds of probability, be banished
from the theatre to the nursery, and condemned to write
fairy tales instead of tragedies. But Shakespeare was in
no danger of such censures : In his days the doctrine of
witchcraft was established both by law and by the fa¬
shion 5 and it was not only unpolite, but criminal, to
757
doubt it. Now indeed it is admitted only by the vul- of
gar; but it does not therefore follow that an old poem Invention,
built upon it should not be acceptable to the learned "" 4
themselves. When a popular opinion has long been ex¬
ploded, and has become repugnant to philosophical be¬
lief, the fictions built upon it are still admitted as natu¬
ral, both because we all remember to have listened to
them in childhood with some degree of credit, and be¬
cause we know that they were accounted natural by the
people to whom they were first addressed ; whose senti¬
ments and views of things we are willing to adopt, when,
by the power of pleasing description, we are introduced
into their scenes, and made acquainted with their man¬
ners. Hence we admit the theology of the ancient poets,
their Elysium and Tartarus, Scylla and Charybdis, Cy¬
clops and Circe, and the rest of those “ beautilul won¬
ders” (as Horace calls them) which were believed in
the heroic ages j as well as the demons and enchantments
of Tasso, which may be supposed to have obtained no
small degree of credit among the Italians of the 16th
century, and are suitable enough to the notions that pre¬
vailed universally in Europe not long before (a). In
fact, when poetry is in other respects true, when it gives
an accurate display of those parts of nature about which
we know that men in all ages must have entertained the
same opinion, namely, those appearances in the visible
creation, and those feelings and workings of the human
mind, which are obvious to all mankind ;—when poetry
is thus far according to nature, we are very willing to
be indulgent to what is fictitious in it, and to grant a
temporary allowance to any system of fable which the
author pleases to adopt; provided that he lay the scene
in a distant country, or fix the date to a remote period.
This is no unreasonable piece of complaisance } we owe
it both to the poet and to ourselves 5 for without it we
should neither form a right estimate of his genius, nor
receive from his works that pleasure which they were
intended to impart. Let him, however, take care, that
his system of fable be such as his countrymen and cotem¬
poraries (to whom his work is immediately addressed)
might be supposed capable of yielding their assent to;
for otherwise we should not believe him to be in earnest:
and let him connect it as much as he can with probable
circumstances, and make it appear in a series of events
consistent with itself.
For (thirdly) if this be the case, we shall admit his
story as probable, or at least as natural, and consequently
be interested in it, even though it be not warranted by
general experience, and derive but slenderauthority from
popular opinion. Calyban, in the Tempest, would have
shocked the mind as an improbability, if we had not been
made acquainted with his origin, and seen his character
displayed in a series of consistent behaviour. But when
we are told that he sprung from a witch and a demon, a
connection not contrary to the laws of nature, as they
were understood in Shakespeare’s time, and find his
manners conformable to his descent, we are easily recon¬
ciled to the fiction. In the same sense, the Lilliputians
of
(a) In the 14th century, the common people of Italy believed that the poet Dante went down to hell ; that
the Inferno was a true account of what he saw there ; and that his sallow complexion, and stunted beard (which
seemed by its growth and colour to have been too near the fire), were the consequence of his passing so much of. -
his time in that hot and smoky region. See Vicende della Literatura del Sig. C. Denina, cap. 4. ..
758
POETRY.
Pail I.
and is
consistent
with itself.
Beattie's
Essays.
at su^ra
Of of Swift may pass for probable beings j not so much be-
luvention. cause we know that a belief in pigmies was once current
in the world (for the true ancient pigmy was at least
thrice as tall as those whom Gulliver visited), but be¬
cause we find that every circumstance relating to them
accords with itself, and with their supposed character.
It is not the size of the people only that is diminutive ;
their country, seas, ships, and towns, are all in exact
proportion j their theological and political principles,
their passions, manners, customs, and all the parts of
their conduct, betray a levity and littleness perfectly
suitable: and so simple is the whole narration, and ap¬
parently so artless and sincere, that we should not much
wonder if it had imposed (as we have been told it has)
upon some persons of no contemptible understanding.'
The same degree of credit may perhaps for the same rea¬
sons be due to his giants. But when he grounds his
narrative upon a contradiction to nature ; when he pre¬
sents us with rational brutes, and irrational men} when
he tells us of hordes building houses for habitation, milk¬
ing cows for food, riding in carriages, and holding con¬
versations on the laws and politics of Europe : not all
his genius (and he there exerts it to the utmost) is able
to reconcile us to so monstrous a fiction : we may smile
at some of his absurd exaggerations ; we may be pleased
with the energy of style, and accuracy of description, in
particular places} and a malevolent heart may triumph
in the satire} but we can never relish it as a fable, be¬
cause it is at once unnatural and self-contradictory.
Swift’s judgment seems to have forsaken him on this
occasion: he wallows in nastiness and brutality: and the
general run of his satire is downright defamation. Lu¬
cian’s True History, is a heap of extravagancies put to¬
gether without order or unity, or any other apparent
design than to ridicule the language and manner of grave
authors. His ravings, which have n® better right to
the name of fable, than a hill of rubbish has to that of
palace, are destitute of every colour of plausibility. Ani¬
mal trees, ships sailing in the sky, armies of monstrous
things travelling between the sun and moon on a pave¬
ment of cobwebs, rival nations of men inhabiting woods
and mountains in a whale’s belly,—are liker the dreams
of a bedlamite than the inventions of a rational being.
If we were to prosecute this subject any farther, it
probability would be proper to remark, that in some kinds of poe-
vequisite in tical invention a stricter probability is required than in
ot^ers '•“’“that, f°r instance, Comedy, whether dramatic
than in or narrative (b), must seldom deviate from the ordinary
others. course of human affairs, because it exhibits the manners
of real and even of familiar life :—that the tragic poet,
because he imitates characters more exalted, and gene¬
rally refers to events little known, or long since past,
may be allowed a wider range} but must never attempt
the marvellous fictions of the epic muse, because he ad¬
dresses his work, not only to the passions and imagina¬
tion of mankind, but also to their eyes and ears, which
are not easily imposed on, and refuse to be gratified with
any representation that does not come very near the
truth :—that the epic poem may claim still ampler pri¬
vileges, because its fictions are not subject to the scru-
12
A stricter
tiny of any outward sense, and because it conveys in- Of
formation in regard both to the highest human charac- Invention,
ters, and the most important and wonderful events, and —■v—'
also to the affairs of unseen worlds and superior beings.
Nor would it be improper to observe, that the several
species of comic, of tragic, of epic composition, are not
confined to the same degree of probability : for that
farce may be allowed to be less probable than the regu¬
lar comedy, the masque than the regular tragedy} and
the mixed epic, such as the Fairy Queen, and Orlando
Furioso, than the pure epopee of Homer, Virgil, and
Milton. But this part of the subject seems not to re¬
quire further illustration. Enough has been said to
show, that nothing unnatural can please} and that there¬
fore poetry, whose end is to please, must be according
to nature.
And if so, it must he either according to real na¬
ture, or according to nature somewhat different from
the reality.
Sect. III. Of the System of Nature exhibited by Toe try.
To exhibit real nature is the business of the historian}
who, if he were strictly to confine himself to his own
sphere, would never record even the minutest circum¬
stance of any speech, event, or description, which was ^
not warranted by sufficient authority. It has been the jiist0riaaE
language of critics in every age, that the historian ought embellish
to relate nothing as true which is false or dubious, and lheir werks
to conceal nothing material which he knows to be true,
But it is to be doubted whether any writer of profane
history has ever been so scrupulous. Thucydides him¬
self, who began his history when that war began which
he records, and who set down every event soon after it
happened, according to the most authentic information,
seems, however, to have indulged his fancy not a little
in his harangues and descriptions, particularly that of
the plague of Athens : and the same thing has been
practised, with greater latitude, by Livy and Tacitus,
and more or less by all the best historians both ancient
and modern. Nor are they to be blamed for it. By
these improved or invented speeches, and by the height-
enings thus given to their descriptions, their work be¬
comes more interesting, and more useful} nobody is de¬
ceived, and historical truth is not materially affected. A
medium is, however, to be observed in this, as in other
things. When the historian lengthens a description in¬
to a detail of fictitious events, as Voltaire has done in
his account of the battle of Fontenoy, he loses his cre¬
dit with us, by raising a suspicion that he is more in¬
tent upon a pretty story than upon the truth. And
we are disgusted with his insincerity, when, in defiance
even of verisimilitude, he puts long elaborate orations iu
the mouth of those, of whom we know, either from the
circumstances that they could not, or from more authen¬
tic records that they did not, make any such orations}
as Dionysius of Halicarnassus has done in the caseofVo-
lumnia haranguing her son Coriolanus, and Flavius Jose¬
phus in that of Judah addressing his brother as viceroy
of Egypt. From what these historians x-elate, one would
conjecture
(b) Fielding’s Jam Jones, Amelia, and Joseph Andrews, are examples of what may be called the Epic or
Narrative Comedy, or more properly perhaps the Comic Epopee.
I
gree poe¬
tical.
Beattie's
Essays,
chap. ii.
Part I. POE
Of Nature conjecture tW die Roman matron had studied at Athens
in Poetry, under some long-winded rhetorician, and that the Jewish
v 1 patriarch must have been one of the most flowery orators
of antiquity. But the fictitious part of history, or of
story-telling, ought never to take up much room j and
must be highly blameable when it leads into any mi-
stake either of facts or of characters,
in some de- Now why do historians take the liberty to embellish
their works in this manner? One reason, no doubt, is,
that they may display their talents in oratory and nar¬
ration : but the chief reason, as hinted already, is, to
render their composition more agreeable. It would seem,
then, that something more pleasing than real nature,
or something which shall add to the pleasing qualities
of real nature, may be devised by human fancy. And
this may certainly be done. And this it is the poet’s
business to do. And when this is in any degree done
by the historian, his narrative becomes in that degree
poetical.
The possibility of thus improving upon nature must
be obvious to every one. When we look at a land¬
scape, we can fancy a thousand additional embellish¬
ments. Mountains loftier and more picturesque ; rivers
more copious, more limpid, and more beautifully wind¬
ing ; smoother and wider lawns j valleys more richly
diversified ; caverns and rocks more gloomy and more
stupendous ; ruins more majestic $ buildings more mag¬
nificent j oceans more varied with islands, more splendid
with shipping, or more agitated by storm, than any we
have ever seen—it is easy for human imagination to con¬
ceive. Many things in art and nature exceed expecta¬
tion ; but nothing sensible transcends or equals the ca¬
pacity of thought:—a striking evidence of the dignity
of the human soul ! The finest woman in the w'orld ap¬
pears to every eye susceptible of improvement, except
perhaps to that of her lover. No wonder, then, if in
poetry events can be exhibited more compact, and of
more pleasing variety, than those delineated by the hi¬
storian, and scenes of inanimate nature more dreadful or
more lovely, and human characters more sublime and
more exquisite, both in good and evil. Yet still let
nature supply the ground-work and materials, as well as
the standard, of poetical fiction. The most expert
painters use a layman, or other visible figure, to direct
their hand and regulate their fancy. Homer himself
founds his two poems on authentic tradition ; and tragic
as well epic poets have followed the example. The
writers of romance, too, are ambitious to interweave true
adventure with their fables j and when it can be conve¬
niently done, to take the outlines of their plan from
real life. Thus the tale of Robinson Grusoe is founded
on an incident that actually befel one Alexander Sel¬
kirk, a seafaring man, who lived several years alone in
the island of Juan Fernandes : Smollet is thought to
have given us several of his own adventures in the hi¬
story of Roderic Random } and the chief characters in
Tom Jones, Joseph Andrews, and Pamela, are said to
have been copied from real originals. Dramatic co¬
medy, indeed, is for the most part purely fictitious ; for
•* Compare ^ were exhibit real events as well as present man-
Hot'. lib. i. ners, it would become too personal to be endured by a
sat. 4 vers well-bred audience, and degenerate into downright
i.—5 with abuse ; which appears to have been the case with the
Ar. Poet, come(jy 0f (-[,0 Greeks But in general, hints ta-
‘ ken from real existence will be found to give no little
TRY.
59
IS
Poets em¬
bellish na¬
ture itself.
grace and stability to fiction, even in the most fanciful Of Nature
poem. These hints, however, may be improved by the in Poetry,
poet’s imagination, and set oil’ with every probable or- ’■*
nament that can be devised, consistently with the design
and genius of the work j or in other words, with the
sympathies that the poet means to awaken in the mind
ot his reader. For mere poetical ornament, when it
fails to interest the aflections, is not only useless, but im¬
proper j all true poetry being directed to the heart, and
intended to give pleasure by raising or soothing the pas¬
sions •,—the only effectual way of pleasing a rational and
moral creature. And therefore we would take Ho¬
race’s maxim to he universal in poetry : “ Non satis est,
pnlchra esse poemata; dulcia sttrcfo:” “ It is not enough
that poems be beautiful j let them also be ajfeeting—
For that this is the meaning of the word dulcia in this Ar.
place, is admitted by the best interpreters, and is indeed ^ -° ' 7o
evident from the context f. 0 jg
That the sentiments and feelings of percipient beings and de-
when expressed in poetry, should call forth our aflec-scribe
tions, is natural enough \ but can descriptions of inani-
mate things also be made affecting ? Certainly they can: so as to
and the more they affect, the more they please us, and make them
the more poetical we allow them to be. Virgil’s Geor-a^ect‘uS>
gic is a noble specimen (and indeed the noblest in the
world) of this sort of poetry. His admiration of exter¬
nal nature gains upon a reader of taste, till it rise to
perfect enthusiasm. The following observations will
perhaps explain this matter.
Every thing in nature is complex in itself, and bears
innumerable relations to other things ; and may there¬
fore he viewed in an endless variety of lights, and con¬
sequently described in an endless variety of ways Some
descriptions are good, and others bad. An historical
description, that enumerates all the qualities of any ob¬
ject, is certainly good because it is true j but may be
as unaffecting as a logical definition. In poetry, no un¬
affecting description is good, however conformable to
truth : for here we expect not a complete enumeration
of qualities (the chief end of the art being to please),
but only such an enumeration as may give a lively and
interesting idea. It is not memory, or the knowledge
of rules, that can qualify a poet for this sort of descrip¬
tion j but a peculiar liveliness of fancy and sensibility
of heart, the nature whereof we may explain by its
effects, but we cannot lay down rales for the attain¬
ment of it.
When our mind is occupied by any emotion, we na¬
turally use words and meditate on things that are suit¬
able to it and tend to encourage it. If a man were to
write a letter when he is very angry, there would pro¬
bably be something of vehemence or bitterness in the
style, even though the person to whom he wrote were
not the object of his anger. The same thing holds true
of every other strong passion or emotion :—while it pre¬
dominates in the mind, it gives a peculiarity to our
thoughts, as well as to our voice, gesture, and counte- f7
nance: and hence we expect, that every personage in*sen^ntro^
troduced in poetry should see things through the me-(juce(j in
dium of his ruling passion, and that his thoughts and poetry
language should be tinctured accordingly. A melan-should see
choly man walking in a grove, attends to those things^
that suit and encourage his melancholy \ the sighing of
the wind in the trees, the murmuring of waters, the his ruling
darkness and solitude of the shades; A cheerful man in passion,
the
>]6o
Of Nature same P^ace) many subjects of cheerful medita-
in Poetry, tions, in the singing of birds, the brisk motions of the
'-—Y—J babbling stream, and the liveliness and variety of the ver¬
dure. Persons of different characters, contemplating
the same thing, a Roman triumph, for instance, feel dif¬
ferent emotions, and turn their view to different objects.
One is filled with wonder at such a display of wealth and
power, another exults in the idea of conquest, and pants
for military renown ; a third, stunned with clamour, and
harassed with confusion, wishes for silence, security, and
Beattie's solitude ; one melts with pity to the vanquished, and
Essays, makes many a sad reflection upon the insignificance of
ut supia, worldly grandeur, and the uncertainty of human things j
while the buffoon, and perhaps the philosopher, con¬
siders the whole as a vain piece of pageantry, which, by
its solemn procedure, and by the admiration of so many
people, is only rendered the more ridiculous:—and each
of these persons would describe it in a way suitable to
his own feelings, and tending to raise the same in others.
We see in Milton’s Allegro and Penseroso, how a dif¬
ferent cast of mind produces a variety in the manner of
conceiving and contemplating the same rural scenery.
In the former of these excellent poems, the author per¬
sonates a cheerful man, and takes notice of those things
in external nature that are suitable to cheerful thoughts,
and tend to encourage them : in the latter, every object
described is serious and solemn, and productive of calm
reflection and tender melancholy; and we should not
be easily persuaded, that Milton wrote the first under
the influence of sorrow, or the second under that of
gladness. We often see an author’s character in his
works} and if every author were in earnest when he
writes, we should oftener see it. Thomson was a man
of piety and benevolence, and a warm admirer of the
beauties of nature j and every description in his delight¬
ful poem on the Seasons tends to raise the same laudable
affections in his reader. The parts of nature that at¬
tract his notice are those which an impious or hard¬
hearted man would neither attend to, nor be affected
with, at least in the same manner. In Swift we see a
turn of mind very different from that of the amiable
Thomson ; little relish for the sublime or beautiful, and
a perpetual succession of violent emotions. All his pic¬
tures of human life seem to show, that deformity and
meanness were the favourite objects of his attention, and
that his soul was a constant prey to indignation (c),
disgust, and other gloomy passions, arising from such a
view of things. And it is the tendencv of almost all
his writings (though it was not always the author’s de¬
sign), to communicate the same passions to his reader :
insomuch, that notwithstanding his erudition and know¬
ledge of the world, his abilities as a popular oi'ator and
man of business, the energy of his style, the elegance
■ of some of his verses, and his extraordinary talents in
wit and humour, there is reason to doubt, whether by
studying his works any person was very much improv¬
ed in piety or benevolence.
And thus we see, how the compositions of an inge¬
nious author may operate upon the heart, whatever be
Part I.
the subject. The affections that prevail in the author Qf Nature
himself, direct his attention to objects congenial, and in Poetry,
give a peculiar bias to his inventive powers, and a pe-' v—■1 J
culiar colour to his language. Hence his work, as well {t is
as face, if nature is permitted to exert herself freely in t}lat p0eti^
it, will exhibit a picture of his mind, and awaken cor-afiects the
respondent sympathies in the reader. When these are heart what-
favourable to virtue, which they always ought to be,ev^.r be lts
the work will have that sweet pathos to which Horace
alludes in the passage above mentioned j and which wTe
so highly admire, and so warmly approve, even in those
parts of the Georgic that describe inanimate nature.
Horace’s account of the matter in question differs not
from what is here given. “ It is not enough (says he*) * Ar. Poet.
that poems be beautiful-, let them be affecting, andv,9S;»
agitate the mind with whatever passions the poet wishes 1 '
to impart. The human countenance, as it smiles on
those who smile, accompanies also with sympathetic tears
those who mourn. If you would have me weep, you
must first weep yourself j then, and not before, shall 1 be
touched with your misfortunes.—For nature first makes
the emotions of our mind correspond with our circum¬
stances, infusing real joy, sorrow, or resentment, accord¬
ing to the occasion ; and afterwards gives the true pa¬
thetic utterance to the voice and language.” This
doctrine, which concerns the orator and the player no
less than the poet, is strictly philosophical, and equally
applicable to dramatic, to descriptive, and indeed to
every species of interesting poetry. The poet’s sensibi¬
lity must first of all engage him warmly in his subject,
and in every part of it j otherwise he will labour in vain
to interest the reader. If he would paint external nature,
as Virgil and Thomson have done, so as to make her
amiable to others, he must first be enamoured of her him¬
self 5 if he would have his heroes and heroines speak the
language of love or sorrow, devotion or courage, ambi¬
tion or anger, benevolence or pity, his heart must be
susceptible of these emotions, and in some degree feel
them, as long at least as he employs himself in framing
words for them j being assured, that
He best shall paint them who can feel them most.
Pope’s Eloisa, v. 366.
The true poet, therefore, must not only study nature,,^ bpe
and know the reality of things, but must also possess p0et must
fancy, to invent additional decorations-, judgment, to possess fan-
direct him in the choice of such as accord with verisi-cy to in-
militude j and sensibility, to enter with ardent emotions
into every part of his subject, so as to transfuse into eve- nature,
ry part of his work a pathos and energy sufficient to
raise corresponding emotions in the reader.
“ The historian and the poet (says Aristotle *) dif-* Poetic.
fer in this, that the former exhibits things as they are,sect. 9.
the latter as they might be 5”—i. e. in that state of per¬
fection which is consistent with probability, and in which,
for the sake of our own gratification, we wish to find
them. If the poet, after all the liberties he is allowed
to take with the truth, can produce nothing more ex¬
quisite than is commonly to be met with in history, his
reader
POETRY.
(c) For part of this remark we have his own authority, often in his letters, and very explicitly in the Latin
epitaph which he composed lor himselfubi saeva indignatio ulterius cor lacerare nequit.” See his last will
and testament.
Part I. POE
Of Nature reader will he disappointed and dissatisfied. Poetical re¬
in Poetry, presentations must therefore be framed after a pattern of
' the highest probable perfection that the genius of the
work will admit:—external nature must in them be
more picturesque than in reality J action more animated j
sentiments more expressive of the feelings and character,
and more suitable to the circumstances of the speaker $
personages better accomplished in those qualities that
raise admiration, pity, terror, and other ardent emo¬
tions j and events more compact, more clearly connect¬
ed with causes and consequences, and unfolded in all
order more flattering to the fancy, and more interesting
to the passions. But where, it may be said, is this pat¬
tern of perfection to be found? Not in real nature j
otherwise history, which delineates real nature, would
also delineate this pattern of perfection. It is to be
found only in the mind of the poet j and it is imagina¬
tion, regulated by knowledge, tiiat enables him to form it.
In the beginning of life, and while experience is con¬
fined to a small circle, we admire every thing, and are
pleased with very moderate excellence. A peasant thinks
the hall of his landlord the finest apartment in the uni¬
verse, listens with rapture to the strolling ballad-singer,
and wonders at the rude wooden cuts that adoru his
ruder compositions. A child looks upon his native vil¬
lage as a town ; upon the brook that runs by as a ri¬
ver; and upon the meadows and hills in the neighbour¬
hood as the most spacious and beautiful that can be.
But when, after long absence, he returns in his de¬
clining years, to visit, once before he die, the dear spot
that gave him birth, and those scenes whereof he re¬
members rather the original charms than the exact pro¬
portions j how is he disappointed to find every thing so
debased and so diminished ! The hills seem to have sunk
into the ground, the brook to be dried up, and the vil¬
lage to be forsaken of its people ; the parish-church,
stripped of all its fancied magnificence, is become low,
gloomy, and narrow j and the fields are now only the
miniature of what they were. Had he never left this
spot, his notions might have remained the same as at
first; and had he travelled but a little way from it, they
would not perhaps have received any material enlarge¬
ment. It seems then to be from obsex-vation of many
things of the same or similar kinds, that we acquire, the
talent of forming ideas more perfect than the real ob-
kindagreat jects that lie immediately around us: and these ideas we
help to poe-may improve gradually more and more, according to the
Wause10^ vivacity our m*n^> extent of our experience, till at
last we come to raise them to a degree of perfection su¬
perior to any thing to be found in real life. There can¬
not sure be any mystery in this doctrine; for we think
and speak to the same purpose every day. Thus nothing
is more common than to say, that such an artist excels
all we have ever known in his profession, and yet that
we can still conceive a superior performance. A mo¬
ralist, by bringing together into one view the separate
virtues of many persons, is enabled to lay down a sy¬
stem of duty more perfect than any he has ever seen ex¬
emplified in human conduct. Whatever he the emo¬
tion the poet intends to raise in his reader, whether ad¬
miration or terror, joy or sorrow j and whatever he the
object he would exhibit, whether Venus or Tisiphone,
Achilles or Thersites, a palace or a pile of ruins, a
dance or a battle he generally copies an idea of his
own imagination •, considering each qualitv as it is
Vol. XVI. Part Ih ' f
20
Observa¬
tion of
many
things of
the same
TRY. 76i
found to exist in several individuals of a species, and Of Nature
thence forming an assemblage more or less perfect in in Roe try.
its kind, according to the purpose to which he means to ' —'
appiy it. ^ 3I
Hence it would appear, that the ideas of poetry are poetical
father general than singular j rather collected from the conceptions
examination of a species or class of things, than copied must 1)45
from an individual. And this, according to Aristotle,nera1,
is in fact the case, at least for the most part; whence
that critic determines, that poetry is something more
exquisite and more philosophical than history *. The hi- * Poetic.
storian may describe Bucephalus, but the poet delineates § 9-
a war-horse ; the former must have seen the animal he
speaks of, or received authentic information concern-
ing it, it he mean to describe it historically} for the
latter, it is enough that he has seen several animals
of that sort. The former tells us, what Achilles ac¬
tually did and said; the latter, what such a species of
human character as that which bears the name of Achil¬
les would probably do or say in certain given circum¬
stances.
U is indeed true, that the poet may, and often does,
copy after individual objects. Homer, no doubt, took
his characters from the life; or at least, in forming
them, was careful to follow tradition as far as the na¬
ture of liis plan would allow. But he probably took
the freedom to add or heighten some qualities, and
take away others; to make Achilles, for example,
stronger, perhaps, and more impetuous, and more emi¬
nent for filial affection, and Hector more patriotic and
more amiable than he really was. If he had not done
this, or something like it, his work would have been
rather a history than a poem ; would have exhibited
men and things as they were, and not as they might have
been ; and Achilles, and Hector would have been the
names of individual and real heroes; whereas, according
to Aristotle, they are rather to be considered as two
distinct modifications or species of the heroic character.
Shakespeare’s account of the cliffs of Dover comes so
near the truth, that we cannot doubt of its having been
written by one who had seen them: hut he who takes
it for an exact historical description, will be surprised
when he comes to the place, and finds those cliffs not
half so lofty as the poet had made him believe. An
historian would be to blame for such amplification }
because, being to describe an individual precipice, he
ought to tell us just what it is; which if he did, the
description would suit that place and perhaps mo other
in the whole world. But the poet means only to give
an idea of what such a precipice may be: and therefore
his description may perhaps be equally applicable to
many such chalky precipices on the sea-shore.
This method of copying after general ideas formed
by the artist from observation of many individuals, di¬
stinguishes the Italian and all the sublime painters,
from the Dutch and their imitators. These give us
bare nature, with the imperfections and peeuliarities
of individual things or persons; but those give nature
improved as far as probability and the design of the
piece will admit. Teniers and Hogarth draw faces,
and figures, and dresses, from real life, and present man¬
ners ; and therefore their pieces must in some degree
lose the effect, and become awkward, when the present
fashions become obsolete.——Raphael and Reynolds
take their models from general nature; avoiding, as
7^2
Of Nature
in Poetry.
P 0 E
far as possible, (at least in all their great performances),
those peculiarities that derive their beauty from mere
fashion 5 and therefore their works must give pleasure,
and appear elegant as long as men are capable of form¬
ing general ideas, and of judging from them. The
last-mentioned incomparable artist is particularly ob¬
servant of children, whose looks and attitudes, being
less under the controul of art and local manners, are
more charaeteristical of the species than those of men
and women. This field of observation has supplied
him with many fine figures, particularly that most ex¬
quisite one of Comedy, struggling for and winning (for
who could resist her!) the affections of Garrick:—a
figure which could never have occurred to the imagi¬
nation of a painter who had confined his views to
grown persons looking and moving in all the forma¬
lity of polite life —a figure which in ail ages and coun¬
tries would he pronounced natural and engaging 5—
whereas those human forms that we see everyday bow¬
ing and courtesying, and strutting, and turning out
their toes secundum artem, and dressed in ruffles, and
wigs, and flounces, and hoop-petticoats, and lull-trim¬
med suits, would appear elegant no further than the
present fashions are propagated, and no longer than
they remain unaltered.
There is, in the progress of human society, as well
as of human life, a period to which it is of great im-
gress of hu-p0rtance for the higher order of poets to attend,, and
man society jrom t[iey vv;n do well to take their characters,
epic and ani^ manners, and the era of their events; namely,
tragic poets that wherein men are raised above savage life, and cou-
sliould at- siderahly improved by arts, government, and conver¬
sation 5 but not advanced so high in the ascent towards
politeness, as to have acquired a habit of disguising
their thoughts and passions, and of reducing their be¬
haviour to the uniformity of the mode. Such was the
period which Homer had the good fortune (as a poet) to
live in, and to celebrate. This is the period at which
the manners of men are most picturesque, and their ad¬
ventures most romantic. This is the period when the
appetites unperverted by luxury, the powers unnervat-
ed by effeminacy, and the thoughts disengaged from
artificial restraint, will, in persons of similar dis<-
positions and circumstances, operate in nearly the same
way ^ and when, consequently, the characters of par¬
ticular men will approach to the nature of poetical or
general ideas, and, if well imitated, give pleasure to the
whole, or at least to a great majority of mankind.
But a character tinctured with the fashions of polite life
would not be so generally interesting. Like a human
figure adjusted by a modern dancing-master, and dres¬
sed by a modern tailor, it may have a good effect in
satire, comedy, or faree r but if introduced into the
higher poetry, it would be admired by those only who
had learned to admire nothing but present fashions,
and by them no longer than the present fashions last¬
ed ; and to all the rest of the world would appear awk¬
ward, unaffecting, and perhaps ridiculous. But A-
ehilles and Sarpedon, Diomede and Hector, Nestor
and Ulysses, as drawn by Homer, must in all ages, in¬
dependently on fashion, command the attention and ad¬
miration of mankind. These have the qualities that are
universally known to belong to human nature; whereas
the modern fine gentleman is distinguished by qualities
that belong only to a particular age, society, and cor-
T J{ Y. Parti.
ner of the world. We speak not of moral or intellec-of i'oeiica!
tuai virtues, which are objects of admiration to every tharntiers,
but of those outward accomplishments, and that—v"-—■'
23.
The period
in the pro
temk
age
particular temperature of the passions, which form the
most perceptible part of a human character. As,
therefore, the politician, in discussing the rights of
mankind, must often allude to an imaginary state of na¬
ture ; so the poet who intends to raise admiration, pity,
terror, and other important emotions, in the generality
of mankind, especially in those readers whose minds are.
most improved, must take his pictures of life and man¬
ners, rather from the heroic period we now speak of,
than from the ages of refinement; and must therefore
(to repeat the maxim of Aristotle) “ exhibit things, not
as they are, but as they might be.”
Sect. IV. Of Poetical Characters.
Horace seems to think, that a competent know-neqUi^tCg
ledge of moral philosophy will fit an author for assign-to the deli-
ing the suitable qualities and duties to each poetical neation of
personage : (-<4r£. Poctf. v. 309.—316.). The maxim
may be true, as far as mere morality is the aim of the
poet; but cannot be understood to refer to the deline¬
ation of poetical characters in general: for a thor ough
acquaintance with all the moral philosophy in the world
would not have enabled Blackmore to paint such a per¬
sonage as Homer’s Achilles, Shakespeare’s Othello, or
the Satan of Paradise Lost. To a competency of mo¬
ral science, there must be added an extensive knowledge
of mankind, a warm and elevated imagination, and tire
greatest sensibility of heart, before a genius can be for¬
med equal to so difficult a task. Horace is indeed so
sensible of the danger of introducing a new character in
poetry, that he even discourages the attempt, and ad¬
vises the poet rather to take his persons from the an¬
cient authors, or from tradition : Ibid. v. 119 130.
To conceive the idea of a good man, and to invent
and support a great poetical character, are two very ,
different things, however they may seem to have been
confounded by some late critics. The first is easy to
any person sufficiently instructed in the duties of life :
the last is . perhaps of all the effor ts of human genius
the most difficult; so very difficult, that, though at¬
tempted by many, Homer, Shakespeare, and Milton,
are almost the only authors who have succeeded in it.
But characters of perfect virtue are not the most pro¬
per for poetry. It seems to be agreed, that the Dei¬
ty should not be introduced in the machinery of a poe¬
tical fable. To ascribe to him words and actions ot
our own invention, seems very unbecoming ; nor can
a poetical description, that is known to be, and must
of necessity be, infinitely inadequate, ever satisfy the
human mind. Poetry, according to the best critics, 25-
is an imitation of human action ; and therefore poeti- , liC/’ ,
cal characters, though elevated, should still partake orv.lte2
the passions and frailties of humanity. If it were not should par-
for the vices of some principal personages, the Iliad take ot the
would not be either so interesting or so moral : the
most moving and most eventful parts of the .^Eneid are ’
those that describe the effects of unlawful passion : 
the most instructive tragedy in the world, we mean
Macbeth, is founded in crimes of dreadful enormity :
—and if Milton had not taken into his plan the fall of
our first parents, as well as their state of innocence,
hrs
Part T.
26
whilst the
personages
in whose
fate the
poet means
that we
should be
interested
ought to
have good
and great
qualities.
POE
his divine poem must have wanted 'much of its pathos,
and could not have been (what it now is) such a trea¬
sure of important knowledge, as no other uninspired
writer ever comprehended in so small a compass. 
Virtue, like truth, is uniform and unchangeable. We
may anticipate the part a good man will act in any gi¬
ven circumstances : and therefore the events that de¬
pend on such a man must be less surprising than those
which proceed from passion ; the vicissitudes whereof
it is frequently impossible to foresee. From the vio¬
lent temper of Achilles, in the Iliad, spring many great
incidents •, which could not have taken place, if he had
been calm and prudent like Ulysses, or pious and pa¬
triotic like Eneas : his rejection of Agamemnon’s of¬
fers, in the ninth book, arises from the violence of his
resentment •,—his yielding to the request of Patroclus,
in the 16th, from the violence of his friendship (if we
may so speak) counteracting his resentment j and his
restoring to Priam the dead body of Hector, in the
24th, from the violence of his affection to his own aged
father, and his regard to the command of Jupiter, coun¬
teracting, in some measure, both his sorrow for Ids friend,
and his thirst for vengeance. Besides, except where
there is some degree of vice, it pains us too exquisitely
to see misfortune ; and therefore poetry would cease to
have a pleasurable influence over our tender passions, if
it were to exhibit virtuous characters only. And as in
life, evil is necessary to our moral probation, and the
possibilitv of error to our intellectual improvement; so
bad or mixed characters are useful in poetry, to give to
the good such opposition, as puts them upon displaying
and exercising their virtue.
All those personages, however, in whose fortune
the poet means that we should be interested, must have
agreeable and admirable qualities to recommend them
to our regard. And perhaps the greatest difficulty in
the art lies in suitably blending those faults which the
poet finds it expedient to give to any particular hero,
with such moral, intellectual, or corporeal accomplish¬
ments, as may engage our esteem, pity, or admira¬
tion, without weakening our hatred of vice, or love
of virtue. In most of our novels, and in many of our
plays, it happens unluckily, that the hero of the piece
is so captivating, as to incline us to he indulgent to
every part of his character, the had as well as the
good. But a great master knows how to give the pro¬
per direction to human sensibility, and, without any
perversion of our faculties, or any confusion of right
and wrong, to make the same person the object of
very different emotions, of pity and hatred, of admi¬
ration and horror. Who does not esteem and admire
Macbeth for his courage and generosity P who does
not pity him when beset with all the terrors of a preg¬
nant imagination, superstitious temper, and awakened
conscience ? who does not abhor him as a monster of
T
R
>-A •>
/
cruelty, treachery, and ingratitude ? His good quali-or potties i
ties, by drawing us near to him, make us, as it were, Character.,,
eye-witnesses of his crime, and give us a fellow-feel- v"*' '
ing of his remorse } and therefore, his example cannot
fail to have a powerful effect in cherishing our love of
virtue, and fortifying our minds against criminal im¬
pressions ; whereas, had he wanted those good quali¬
ties, wg should have kept aloof from his concerns, or
viewed them with a superficial attention ; in which case
his example would have had little more weight than
that of the robber, of whom we know nothing, bu$
that he was tried, condemned, and executed.—Satan,
in Paradise Lost, is a character drawn and supported
with the most consummate judgment. The old furies
and demons, Hecate, Tisiphone, Alecto, Megara, are
objects of unmixed and unmitigated abhorrence ; Ti-
tyus, Enceladus, and their brethren, are remarkable
lor nothing but impiety, deformity, and vastness of size ;
Pluto is, at best, an insipid personage ; Mars, a hair¬
brained ruffian j Tasso’s infernal tyrant, an ugly and
overgrown monster:—but in the Miltonic Satan, we
are forced to admire the majesty of the ruined arch¬
angel, at the same time that we detest the unconquer¬
able depravity of the fiend. “ But, of all poetical cha- Beat lie's
racters, (says the elegant critic from whom we arc ex-
trading), the Achilles of Homer (d) seems to me the
most exquisite of invention, and the most highly finish¬
ed. The utility of this character in a moral view is
obvious; for it may be considered as the source of all
the morality of the Iliad. Had not the generous and
violent temper of Achilles determined him to patronize
the augur Calchas in defiance of Agamemnon, and af¬
terwards on being affronted by that vindictive com¬
mander, to abandon for a time the common cause of
Greece j—the fatal effects of dissension among confede¬
rates, and of capricious and tyrannical behaviour in a so¬
vereign, would not have been the leading moral of Ho¬
mer’s poetry ; nor could Hector, Sarpedon, Eneas, Ulys¬
ses, and the other amiable heroes, have been, brought
fonvatd to signalize their virtues, and to recommend
themselves to the esteem and imitation of mankind. 2y
“ They who form their judgment of Achilles from The excel-
the imperfect sketch given of him by Horace in the Art^ence; ot-
of Poetry, (v. 121, 122.) ; and consider him only as a
hateful composition of anger, revenge, fierceness, obsti-r.<lcter
nacy and pride, can never enter into the views of Ho-Achilles,
mer, nor be suitably affected with his narration. All and
these vices are no doubt, in some degree, combined in
Achilles ; hut they are tempered with qualities of a dif¬
ferent sort, which render him a most interesting charac¬
ter, and of course make the Iliad a most interesting
poem. Every reader abhors the faults of this hero :
and yet, to an attentive reader of Homer, this hero must
be the object of esteem, admiration, and pity ; for he
has many good as well as bad affections, and is equally
violent
(d) “ I say the Achilles of Homer. Later authors have degraded the character of this hero, by supposing
every part ol Ins body invulnerable except the heel. I know not how often I have heard this urged as one of
Homer’s absurdities j and indeed the whole Iliad is one continued absurdity, on this supposition. But Ho¬
mer all along makes his hero equally liable to wounds and death with other men. Nay, to prevent all mis¬
takes in regard to this matter, (if those who cavil at the poet would but rea(j* his work), he actually wounds
him in the right arm by the lance of Asteropceus, in the battle near the river Scamander.” See IUlicI xxi.
verse 161—168.
764 POE
Of Poetical violent in all:—Nor is he possessed of a single vice or
Characters, virtue, 'which the wonderful art of the poet has not
r, vsubservient to the design of the poem, and to the
progress and catastrophe of the action j so that the hero
of the Iliad, considered as a poetical personage, is jii't
what he should be, neither greater nor less, neither
worse nor better.—He is everywhere distinguished by
an abhorrence of oppression, by a liberal and elevated
mind, by a passion for glory, and by a love of truth,
freedom, and sincerity. He is for the most part atten¬
tive to the dufies of religion •, and, except to those who
have injured him, courteous and kind: he is affectionate
to his tiuor Phenix ; and not only pities the misfortunes
of his enemy Priam, but in the most soothing manner
administers to him the best consolation that Homer’s
poor theology could furnish. Though no admirer of
the cause in which his evil destiny compels him to en¬
gage, he is warmly attached to his native land ; and,
ardent as he is in vengeance, he is equally so in love to
his aged father Peleus, and to his friend Patroclus. He
is not luxurious like Paris, or clownish like Ajax ; his
accomplishments are princely, and his amusements wor¬
thy of a hero. Add to this, as an apology for the vehe¬
mence of his anger, that the affront he had received
was (according to the manners of that age) of the most
atrocious nature j and not only unprovoked, but such
as, on the part of Agamemnon, betrayed a brutal in¬
sensibility to merit, as well as a proud, selfish, ungrate¬
ful, and tyrannical disposition. And though he is of¬
ten inexcusably furious ; yet it is but justice to remark,
that he was not naturally cruel (e) ; and that his
wildest outrages were such as in those rude times might
be expected from a violent man of invincible strength
and valour, when exasperated by injury, and frantic
with sorrow. Our hero’s claim <0 the admiration of
mankind is indisputable. Every part of his character
is sublime and astonishing. In his person, he is the
strongest, the swiftest, the most beautiful of men :—ibis
last circumstance, however, occurs not to his own obser-
vation, being too trivial to attract the notice of so great
a mind. The Fates had put it in his power, either to
return home before the end of the war, or to remain at
Troy :—if he chose the former, he would enjoy tran¬
quillity and happiness in his own country to a good old
age ; if the latter, he must perish in the bloom of his
youth :—his affection to his father and native country,
and his hatred to Agamemnon, strongly urged him to
the first j but a desire to avenge the death of his friend
determines him to accept the last with alt its consequen¬
ces. This at once displays the greatness of his forti¬
tude, the warmth of his friendship, and the violence of
his sanguinary passions : and it is this that so often and
so powerfully recommends him to the pity, as well as
2g admiration, of the attentive reader.”
all Ho- It is equally a proof of rich invention and exact
mens cha- judgment in Homer, that he mixes some good qualities
rafters. jn a]j j,js i,..,) characters, and some degree of imperfec¬
tion in almost all his good ones.—Agamemnon, not¬
withstanding his pride, is am able general, and a valiant
T It Y, Part I.
man, and highly esteemed as such by the greater part of Of Poetical
the army.— Paris, though effeminate, and vain of his Characters
dr ess and person, is, however, good-natured, patient of '■ '
reproof, not destitute of courage, and eminently skilled
in music and other fine arts.—Ajax is a huge giant;
fearless rather from insensibility to danger, and confi¬
dence in bis massy arms, than from any nobler principle j
boastful and rough ; regardless of the gods, though not
downright impious : yet there is in his manner some-
thing ot frankness and blunt sincerity, which entitle himut su^)ia'
to a share in our esteem ; and he is ever ready to assist
his countrymen, to whom he renders good service on
many a perilous emergency. The character of He¬
len, in spite of her faults, and of the many calamities
whereof she is the guilty cause, Homer has found means
to recommend to our pity, and almost to our love j and
this he does, without seeking to extenuate the crime
of Pai us, of which the most respectable personages in
the poem are made to speak with becoming abhorrence.
She is so full of remorse, so ready on every occasion
to condemn her past conduct, so affectionate to her
friends, so willing to do justice to every body’s merit,
and withal so finely accomplished, that she extorts our
admiration, as well as that of the Trojan senators. —
Menelaus, though sufficiently sensible of the injury he
had received, is yet a man of moderation, clemency, ancf
good-nature, a valiant soldier, and a most affectionate
brother: but there is a dash of vanity in his composi¬
tion, and he entertains rather too high an opinion of his
own abilities, yet never overlooks nor undervalues the
merit of others.—Priam would claim unreserved esteem*
as well as pity, if it were not for his inexcuseable weak¬
ness, in gratifying the humour, and by indulgence abet¬
ting the crimes, of the most worthless of all his chil¬
dren, to the utter ruin of his people, family, and king¬
dom. Madame Dacier supposes, that he had lost his
authority, and was obliged to fall in with the politics of
the times : but of this there appears no evidence ; on
the contrary, he and his unworthy favourite Paris seem
to have been the only persons of distinction in Troy
who were averse to the restoring of Helen. Priam’s
foible (if it can be called by so soft a name), however
faulty, is not uncommon, and has often produced cala¬
mity both in private and public life. The Scripture
gives a memorable instance in the history of the good
old Eh. Sarpedon comes nearer a perfect character
than any other of Homer’s heroes; but the part he has
to act is short. It is a character which one could hard¬
ly have expected in those rude times: a sovereign prince,
who considers himself as a magistrate set up by the
people for the public good, and therefore bound in ho¬
nour and gratitude to be himself their example, and
study to excel as much in virtue as in rank and authori¬
ty Hector is the favourite of evei y reader, and with
good reason. To the truest valour he joins the most ge¬
nerous patriotism. He abominates the crime of Paris :
but not being able to prevent the war, he thinks it hi»
duty to defend his country, and his father and sove¬
reign, to the last. He too, as well as Achilles, foresees
his
(e) See Jliud xxi. loo. and xxiv. 4^5'—673-—In the first of these passages, Achilles himself declares, that
belore. Patroclus was slain, he often spared the lives ot his enemies, and took pleasure in doing it. It is strange*,
as JQr Beattie observes, that this should be left out in Pope’s Translation.
Part I. POE
Of Poetical 1ms own death j which heightens our compassion, and
Characters, raises our idea of his magnanimity. In all the relations
,n v of pri vate life, as a son, a father, a husband, a brother,
he is amiable in the highest degree ; and he is distin¬
guished among all the heroes for tenderness of affection,
gentleness of manners, and a pious regard to the duties
of religion. One circumstance of his character, strong¬
ly expressive of a great and delicate mind, we learn
from Helen’s lamentation over his dead body, that he
was almost the only person in Troy who had always
treated her with kindness, and never uttered one re¬
proachful word to give her pain, nor heard others re¬
proach her without blaming them for it. Some ten¬
dency to ostentation (which however may be pardon¬
able in a commander in chief), and temporary fits of
timidity, ai'e the only blemishes discoverable in this he¬
ro j whose portrait Homer appears to have drawn with
an affectionate and peculiar attention.
By ascribing so many amiable qualities to Hector and
some others of the Trojans, the poet interests us in the
fate of that people, notyvithstanding our being conti¬
nually kept in mind that they are the injurious party.
And by thus blending good and evil, virtue and frailty,
in the composition of his characters, he makes them
the more conformable to the real appearances of human
nature, and more useful as examples for our improve¬
ment; and at the same time, yvithout hurting verisimi¬
litude, gives every necessary embellishment to particu¬
lar parts of his poem, and variety, coherence, and anima¬
tion, to the whole fable. And it may also be observed,
that though several of his characters are complex, not
one of them is made up of incompatible parts: all are
natural and probable, and such as we think we have
met yvith, or might have met yvith, in our intercourse
with mankind.
From the same extensive vieyvs of good and evil in
all their forms and combinations, Homer has been en¬
abled to make each of his characters perfectly distinct
in itself, and different from all the rest; insomuch that
before yye come to the end of the Iliad, yve are as well
# acquainted with his heroes, as with the faces and tempers
of our most familiar friends. Virgil, by confining him-
charaeterf Se^ to a ^ew general ideas of fidelity and fortitude, has
made his subordinate heroes a very good sort of people 5
but they are all the same, and we have no clear know¬
ledge of any one of them. Achates is faithful, and
Gyas is brave, and Cloanthus is brave; and this is all
we can say of the matter. We see these heroes at a
distance, and have some notion of their shape and size ;
but are not near enough to distinguish their features;
and every face seems to exhibit the same faint and am¬
biguous appearance. But of Homer’s heroes we know
every particular that can be knoyvn. We eat, and drink,
and talk, and fight, yvitli them : yve see them in action
and out of it; in the field and in their tents and houses :
the very face of the country about Troy we seem to be
as well acquainted with as if we had been there. Si¬
milar characters there are among these heroes, as there
are similar faces in every society ; but we never mistake
one for another. Nestor and Ulysses are' both wise and
both eloquent: but the wisdom of the former seems to
he the effect of experience; that of the latter of genius:
the eloquence of the one is sweet and copious, but not
always to the purpose, and apt to degenerate into story-
tfjling; that of the other is close, emphatical, and per-
T RY. 7c5
suasive, and accompanied with a peculiar modesty and o> Poetical
simplicity of manner. Homer’s heroes are all valiant; Character.
yet each displays a modification of valour peculiar to 1 ^
himself; one is valiant from principle, another from
constitution ; one is rash, another cautious ; one is im¬
petuous and headstrong, another impetuous, 1>ut tract¬
able ; one is cruel, another merciful; one is insolent and
ostentatious, another gentle and unassuming; one is vain
of his person, another of his strength, and a third of his
family.—It yvould be tedious to give a complete enu¬
meration. Almost every species of the heroic character
is to be found in Homer.
Of the agents in Paradise Lost, it has been observed*, * Johnson'»>
that “ the weakest are the highest and noblest of human °f
beings, the original parents of mankind ; yvith whose 1 ^
actions the elements consented ; on whose rectitude or
deviation of will depended the state of terrestrial nature,
and the condition of all the future inhabitants of the
globe. Of the other agents in the poem, the chief are
such as it is irreverence to name on slight occasions:
the rest are lower powers ;
  Of which the least could yvield
These elements, and arm him yvith the force
Of all their regions:
Poyvers, which only the controul of Omnipotence re- Tkeddli-
strains from laying creation yvaste, and filling the vastculty of
expanse of space with ruin and confusion. To display (b'»"'ing
the motives and actions of beings thus superior, so farand d|sclfi*
as human reason can examine, or human iroagination re-™,1”
present them, is the task which Milton undertook and ters in Pa-
performed. The characters in the Paradise Lost, whiebradise.Lost..
admit of examination, are those of angels and of men :
of angels good and evil ; of man in his innocent and
sinful state.
“ Among the angels, the virtue of Raphael is mild and
placid, of easy condescension, and free communication :
that of Michael is regal and lofty, attentive to the dig¬
nity of his own nature. Abdiel and Gabriel appear oc¬
casionally, and act as every incident requires: the soli¬
tary fidelity of Abdiel is very amiably painted.
“ Of the evil angels, the characters are more diver¬
sified. To Slatan such sentiments are given as suit the
most exalted and most depraved being. Milton has
been censured for the impiety which sometimes breaks
from Satan’s mouth ; for there are thoughts, it is justly
remarked, yvhich no observation of character can justify;
because no good man would willingly permit them to.
pass, hoyvever transiently, through his mind. This cen¬
sure has been shown to lie groundless by the great critic
from whom we quote. To make Satan speak as a rebel,
says he, without any such expressions as might taint the
reader’s imagination, was indeed one of the great diffi¬
culties in Milton’s undertaking ; and I cannot but think
that he has extricated himself with great happiness.
There is in Satan’s speeches little that can give pain to 31
a pious ear. The language of rebellion cannot be the Milton’s
same with that of obedience: the malignity of Satan’“Vcessl“
foams in haughtiness and obstinacy ; but his expressions '
are commonly general, and no otherwise offensive than tajiiug,
as they are wicked.—The other chiefs of the celestial
rebellion are very judiciously discriminated; and the
ferocious character of Moloch appears, both in the battle
and in the council, with exact consistency.
To 1
7 65
POETRY.
Part I
Of Poetical “ To Adam and to Eve are given, during their inno-
Arrange- cence, such sentiments as innocence can generate and
mciu. See. utter> Their love is pure benevolence and mutual vene-
ration j their repasts are without luxury, and their dili¬
gence without toil. Their addresses to their Maker
have little more than the voice of admiration and grati¬
tude : fruition left them nothing to ask, and innocence
left them nothing to fear. But with guilt enter distrust
and discord, mutual accusation and stubborn self-de¬
fence : they regard each other with alienated minds,
and dread their Creator as the avenger of their trans¬
gression ; at last, they seek shelter in his mercy, soften
to repentance, and melt in supplication. Both before
and after the fall, the difl'erent sentiments arising from
difference of sex are traced out with inimitable delicacy
and philosophical propriety. Adam has always that pre¬
eminence in dignity, and Eve in loveliness, which we
should naturally look for in the father and mother of
mankind.
From what has been said, it seems abundantly evi¬
dent,—That the end of poetry is to please j and there¬
fore that the most perfect poetry must be the most plea¬
sing ;—that what is unnatural cannot give pleasure j
and therefore that poetry must be according to nature:
—that it must be either according to real nature, or ac¬
cording to nature somewhat different from the reality j
—that, if according to real nature, it would give no
greater pleasure than history, which is a transcript of
real nature;—that greater pleasure is, however, to be
expected from it, because we grant it superior indul¬
gence, in regard to fiction, and the choice of words ;—
and, consequently, that poetry must be, not according
to real nature, but according to nature improved to that
degree which is consistent with probability and suitable
to the poet’s purpose. And hence it is that we call
poetry, An imitation of nature.—For that which is pro¬
perly termed imitation has always in it something which
is not in the original. If the prototype and transcript
be exactly alike j if there be nothing in the one which
is not in the other ; we may call the latter a representa¬
tion, a copy, a draught, or a picture, of the former ; hut
wTe never call it an imitation.
3*
Poetry ac¬
cording to
nature im¬
proved to
that degree
which is
consistent
with pro¬
bability.
33
How a
SECT. V. Of Arrangement, Unity,Digression.—Further
remarks on Nature in Poetry.
I. The origin of nations, and the beginnings of great
events, are little known, and seldom interesting; whence
the first part of every history, compared with the sequel,
t is somewhat dry and tedious. But a poet must, even in
toTe ^‘Uthe beginning of his work, interest the readers, and raise
high expectation ; not by an affected pomp of style, far
less by ample promises or bold professions; but by set¬
ting immediately before them some incident, striking
enough to raise curiosity, in regard both to its causes
and to its consequences. He must therefore take up his
story, not at the beginning, but in the middle ; or ra¬
ther, to prevent the work from being too long, as near
the end as possible; and afterwards take some proper op¬
portunity to inform us ol the preceding events, in the
way of narrative, or by conversation of the persons in¬
troduced, or by short and natural digressions.
The action'd both the llmd and 0cly,vsey begins about
six weeks before its conclusion; although the principal
4-
events of the war of Troy are to be found in the former; of Poetical
and the adventures of a ten years voyage, followed bv Arrange-
the suppression of a dangerous domestic enemy, in the ment,&c.
latter. One of the first things mentioned by Homer in
the Iliad, is a plague, which Apollo in anger sent into
the Grecian army commanded by Agamemnon and now
encamped before Troy. Who this Agamemnon was,
and who the Grecians were; for what reason they had
come hither ; how long the siege had lasted ; what me¬
morable actions had been already performed ; and in
what condition both parties now were:—all this, and
much more, we soon learn from occasional hints and
conversations interspersed through the pot m.
Jn the JEneid, which, though it comprehends the
transactions of seven years, opens within a few months
of the concluding event, we are first presented with a
view of the Trojan fleet at sea, and no less a person than
Juno interesting herself to raise a storm for theii destruc
tion. This excites a curiosity to know something fur¬
ther : who these Trojans were, whence they had come,
and whither they were bound ; why they had left their
own country, and what had befallen them since they
left it. On all these points, the poet, without quitiing
the track of his narrative, soon gives the fullest informa¬
tion : The storm rises; the Trojans are driven to
Africa, and hospitably received by the queen of the
country; at whose desire their commander relates his
adventures.
The action of Paradise Lost commences not manv
days before Adam and Eve are expelled from the gar¬
den of Eden, which is the concluding event. This
poem, as its plan is incomparably more sublime and more
important than that of either the Iliad or iEneid, opens
with a far more interesting scene: a multitude of angels
and archangels shut up in a region of torment and dark¬
ness, and rolling on a lake of unquenchable fire. W ho
these angels are, and what brought them into this mi¬
serable condition, we naturally wish to know ; and the
poet in due time informs us; partly from the conversa¬
tion of the fiends themselves; and more particularly by
the mouth of a happy spirit, sent from heaven to caution
the father and mother of mankind against temptation,
and confirm their good resolutions by unfolding the
dreadful effects of impiety and disobedience.
This poetical arrangement of events, so different from peattie
the historical, has other advantages besides those arising ut supra,
from brevity and compactness of detail: it is obviously 34
more aftecting to the fancy, and more alarming to the The
passions ; and, being more suitable to the order and the ar-
manner in which the actions ot other men strike our rangement.
senses, is a more exact imitation of human affairs. I
hear a sudden noise in the street, and run to see what
is the matter. An insurrection has happened, a great
multitude is brought together, and something very im¬
portant is going forward. The scene before me is the
first thing that engages my attention ; and is in itself
so interesting, tnat for a moment or two I look at it in
silence and wonder. By and by, when I get time tor
reflection, I begin to inquire into the cause of all this
tumult, and what it is the people would be at; and one
who is better informed than I, explains the affair from
the beginning; or perhaps I make this out for myself,
from the words and actions of the persons principally
concerned. This is a sort of picture of poetical arrange¬
ment, both in epic and dramatic composition ; and this
plan
Part I.
POE
. 35
Unity of
design ne-
poetry.
Of Poetical pt'in has been followed in narrative odes and ballads
Arrange- both ancient and modern.—The historian pursues a
meat, &c. different method. He begins perhaps with an account
of the manners of a certain age, and of the political
constitution of a certain country ; then introduces a par¬
ticular person, gives the story of his birth, connections,
private character, pursuits, disappointments, and of the
events that promoted his views, and brought him ac¬
quainted with other turbulent spirits like himself; and
so proceeds, unfolding, according to the order of time,
the causes, principles, and progress of the conspiracy,
if that be the subject which he undertakes to illustrate.
It cannot be denied, that this latter method is more fa¬
vourable to calm information : but the former, compa¬
red with it, will be found to have all the advantages al¬
ready specified, and to be more effectually productive
of that mental pleasure which depends on the passions
and imagination.
II. If a work have no determinate end, it has no
meaning; and if it have many ends, it will distract by
cessary to it multiplicity. Unity of design, therefore, belongs in
the higher some measure, to all compositions, whether in verse or
prose. But to some it is more essential than to others;,
and to none so much as in the higher poetry. In cer¬
tain kinds of history, there is unity sufficient if all the
events recorded be referred to one person ; in others, if
to one period of time, or to one people, or even to the
inhabitants of one and the same planet. But it is not
enough that the subject of a poetical fable he the ex¬
ploits of one person ; for these may he of various and
even of opposite sorts and tendencies, and take up longer
time than the nature of poetry can admit:—far less can
a regular poem comprehend the affairs of one period or
of one people :—it must he limited to one great action
or event, to the illustration of which all the subordinate
events must contribute ; and these must be so connected
with one another, as well as with the poet’s general
purpose, that one cannot be changed, transposed, or
taken away, without affecting the consistence and stabi¬
lity of the whole *. In itself an incident may be inte-
teresting, a character well drawn, a description beauti¬
ful ; and yet, if it disfigure the general plan, or if it ob¬
struct or encumber the main action, instead of helping it
forward, a correct artist would consider it but as a gaudy
superfluity or splendid deformitv ; like a piece of scarlet
cloth sewed upon a garment of a different colour f.
Ar- Not that all the parts of the fable either are, or can hev.
&c. * ^’equally essential. Many descriptions and thoughts, of
little consequence to the plan, may be admitted for the
sake of variety : and the poet may, as well as the histo¬
rian and philosopher, drop his subject for a time, in or¬
der to take up an affecting or instructive digression.
III. The doctrine of poetical digressions and episodes
has been largely treated by the critics. We shall here
digressions only remark, that, in estimating their propriety, three
and epi- things are to he attended to :—their connection with
sodes de- t|ie fajj]e or subject 5 their own peculiar excellence ; and
their subserviency to the poet’s design.
(1.) Those digressions that both ame from and termi¬
nate in the subject, like the episode of the angel Ra¬
phael in Paradise Lost, and the transition to the death
of Caesar and the civil wars in the first book of the
Georgic, are the most artful, and if suitably executed,
claim the highest praise:—those that arise from, but do
not terminate in, the subject, are perhaps second in the
* Arist.
Poet. § S.
3*
The pro¬
priety of
pends upon
, • 37
their con¬
nection
with the
subject of
the poem.
T R Y. 767
order of merit; like the story of Dido in the iEneid, of Poetical
and the encomium on a country life in the second book Arrange-
of the Georgic : those come next that terminate in, but ment> &c'
do not rise from, the fable ; of which there are several ‘ v
in the third book of the /Eneid and in the Odyssey :—
and those that neither terminate in the fable nor rise
from it are the least artful; and if they he long, can¬
not escape censure, unless their beauty be very great.
But (2.) we are willing to excuse a beautiful episode Their own
at whatever expence to the subject it may be introduced, peculiar ex-
They who can blame Virgil for obtruding upon them cellence,
the charming tale of Orpheus and Euridice in the fourth an(*
Georgic, or Milton for the apostrophe to light in the
beginning of this third hook, ought to forfeit all title to
the perusal of good poetry; for of such divine strains
one would rather be the author than of all the books of
criticism in the world. Yet still it is better that an
episode possess the beauty of connection, together with
its own intrinsic elegance, than this without the other. 39
Moreover, in judging of the propriety of episodes and1'10**'SU,J"
other similar contrivances, it maybe expedient to attend ^rmon^sl&
(3.) to the design of the poet, as distinguished from the jes;trn>
fable or subject of the poem- The great design, for ex¬
ample, of Virgil, was to interest his countrymen in a
poem written with a view to reconcile them to the per¬
son and government of Augustus. Whatever, therefore,
in the poem tends to promote this design, even though it
should in some degree hurt the contexture of the fable,
is really a proof of the poet’s judgment; and may he
not only allowed, but applauded.—The progress of the
action of the HLneid may seem to he too long obstructed
in one place by the story of Dido, which, though it
rises from the preceding part of the poem, has no influ¬
ence upon the sequel : and, in another, by the episode
of Cacus, which, without injury to the fable, might
have been omitted altogether. Yet these episodes, in¬
teresting as they are to us and all mankind because of
the transcendant merit of the poetry, must have been
still more intei'esting to the Romans because of their
connection with the Roman affairs ; for the one accounts
poetically for their wars with Carthage; and the other
not only explains some of their religious ceremonies, but
also gives a most charming rural picture of those hills and
valleys in the neighbourhood of the Tiber^on which, in
after times, their majestic city was fated to stand.—And.
if we consider, that the design of Homer’s Iliad was not
only to show the fatal effects of dissension among confe¬
derates, but also to immortalize his country, and cele¬
brate the most distinguished families in it, we shall he
inclined to think more favourably than critics generally
do of some of his long speeches and digressions ; which,,
though to us they may seem trivial, must have been very
interesting to his countrymen on account of the genealo-
giesand private history recorded in them.—Shakespeare’s
historical play«, considered as dramatic fables, and tried
by the laws of tragedy and comedy, appear very rude
compositions ; hut if we attend to the poet’s design (as
the elegant critic J has with equal truth and beauty ex- t Essays on
plained it), we shall be forced to admire his judgmentthe w>'lt~
in the general conduct ot those pieces, as well as un-g^^
equalled success in the execution of particular parts. Shakes-
There is yet another point of view in which these di-peare,
gressions may be considered If they tend to elucidate P' 35*
any important character, or to introduce any interesting
event not otherwise within the compass of the. poem, or
to
7^8 .
POETRY.
Parti
Of Poetical to give an amiabie display of any particular virtue, they
I.-ui-i'iiHii-e. may be intitled, not to our pardon only, but even to our
v admiration, however loosely they may hang upon the
fable. All these three ends are effected by that most
beautiful episode of Hector and Andromache in the
sixth book of the Iliad ; and the two last, by the no less
beautiful one of Euryalus and Nisus in the ninth book
of the iEneid.
IV. And now, from the position formerly established,
that the end of this divine art is to give pleasure, it has
been endeavoured to prove, that, whether in displaying
‘the appearances of the material universe, or in imitating
the workings of the human mind, and the varieties of
human cl aracter, or in arranging and combining into
one whole the several incidents and parts whereof his
fable consists,—the aim of the poet must be to copy
nature, not as it is, but in that state of perfection in
which, consistently with the particular genius of the
work, and the laws of verisimilitude, it may be suppo¬
sed to bo.
Such, in general, is the nature of that poetry which
is intended to raise admiration, pity, and other serious
emotions. But in this art, as in all others, there are
different degrees of excellence ; and we have hitherto
directed oilr view chiefly to the highest. All serious
poets are not equally solicitous to improve nature. Eu¬
ripides is said to have represented men as they were j
Sophocles, more poetically, as they should or might
* Arist. be *. Theocritus in his Idyls, and Spenser in his Shep-
Foct. herd’s Calendar, give us language and sentiments more
nearly approaching those of the Hits verum et barba-
^Martial, rum^, than what we meet with in the Pastorals of Vir¬
gil and Pope. In the historical drama, human charac¬
ters and events must be according to historical truth, or
at least not so remote from it as to lead into any import¬
ant misapprehension of fact. And in the historical epic
poem, such as the Pharsalia of Lucan, and the Cam-
40 paign of Addison, the historical arrangement is preferred
Nature al- to the poetical, as being nearer the truth. Yet nature
improved*8 ’s a improved even in these poems. The persons
by the. poet,*11 Shakespeare’s historical plays, and the heroes of the
.though Pharsalia, talk in verse, and suitably to their characters,
and with a readiness, beauty, and harmony of expres¬
sion, not to be met with in real life, nor even in history:
speeches are invented, and, to heighten the descrip¬
tion, circumstances added, with great latitude : real
events are rendered more compact and more strictly de¬
pendent upon one another; and fictitious ones brought
in, to elucidate human characters and diversify the nar¬
ration.
The more poetry improves nature, by copying after
general ideas collected from extensive observation, the
more it partakes (according to Aristotle) of the nature
of philosophy; the greater stretch of fancy and of ob¬
servation it requires in the artist, the better chance it
has to be universally agreeable.
-wlieifpoe- Yet Poetry> y*1611 lt fa!,s short of this perfection, may
try falls have great merit as an instrument of both instruction
short of Rnd pleasure. To most men, simple unadorned nature
this per- is* at certain times, and in certain compositions, more
“ agieeable than the most elaborate improvements of art j
great me- as a. Plain .s|l0rt Period, without modulation, gives a
*it in other pleasing variety to a discourse. Many such portraits of
respects, simple nature there are in the subordinate parts both of
5
Homer’s and of Virgil’s poetry : and an excellent effect of Poetical
they have in giving probability to the fiction, as well as Language,
in gratifying the reader’s fancy with images distinct and 'v-'*'
lively, and easily comprehended. The historical plays
of Shakespeare raise not our pity and terror to such a
height as Lear, Macbeth, or Othello ; but they interest
and instruct us greatly notwithstai ding. The rudest of
the eclogues of Theocritus, or even or Spenser, have by
some authors been extolled above those of Virgil, be¬
cause more like real life. Nay, Corneille is known to
have preferred the Pbarsalia to the iEntid, perhaps
from its being nearer the truth, or perhaps from the
sublime sentiments of stoical morality so forcibly and
so ostentatiously displayed in it.
Poets may refine upon nature too much as well as too
little j for aftectation and rusticity are equally remote
from true elegance. The style and sentiments of comedy
should no doubt be more correct and more pointed than
those of the most polite conversation : but to make every
footman a wit, and every gentleman and lady an epi¬
grammatist, as Congreve has done, is an excessive and
faulty refinement. The proper medium has been hit by
Menander and Terence, by Shakespeare in his happier
scenes, and by Garrick, Camberland, and some others
of late renown. To describe the passion of love with as
little delicacy as some men speak of it would be unpar¬
donable •, but to transform it into mere Platonic adora¬
tion is to run into another extreme, less criminal indeed,
but too remote from universal truth to be universally in¬
teresting. To the former extreme Ovid inclines, and
Petrarch and his imitators to the latter. Virgil has hap¬
pily avoided both : but Milton has painted this passion
as distinct from all others, with such peculiar truth and
beauty, that we cannot think Voltaire’s encomium too
high, when he says, that love in all other poetry seems
a weakness, but in Paradise Lost a virtue. There are
many good strokes of nature in Ramsay’s Gentle Shep¬
herd ; but the author’s passion for the rus verum betrays
him into some indelicacies: a censure that falls with
greater weight upon Theocritus, who is often absolutely
indecent. The Italian pastoral of Tasso and Guarini,
and the French of Fontenelle, run into the opposite ex¬
treme (though in some parts beautifully simple), and
display a system of rural manners so quaint and affected
as to outrage all probability. In fine, though mediocrity
of execution in poetry be allowed to deserve the doom
pronounced upon it by Horace ; yet it is true, notwith¬
standing, that in this art, as in many other good things,
the point of excellence lies in a middle between two
extremes ; and has been reached by those only who
sought to improve nature as far as the genius of their
work would permit, keeping at an equal distance from
rusticity on the one hand and affected elegance on the
other.
Sect. VI. Of Poetical Language.
Words in poetry are chosen, first, for their sense ; \v0i^s
and, secondly, for their sound. That the first of these po«try to be
grounds of choice is the more excellent nobody can de- chosen for
ny. He who in literary matters prefers sound to sense ^^sense
is a fool. Yet sound is to be attended to even in prose, 9onn^
and in verse demands particular attention. We shall
consider poeticalianguage, first, as SIGNIFICANT 5 and,
secondly, as susceptible of harmony.
§ 1.
44
improved
as far as
Part I. POE
OfPoetical
^.Language. ^ j. QJpoetical Language cc>7isidercd as significant.
The kn- 38 it has been endeavoured to prove, poetry be
guage of imitative of nature, poetical fictions of real events, poe-
poetry an tical images of real appearances in the visible creation,
am* Poet'cai personages of real human characters; it
guage of would seem to follow, that the language of poetry must
nature, be an imitation of the language of nature.
* Essays, According to Dr Beattie *, that language is natural
Part u. which is suited to the speaker’s condition, character, and
c ai>- r' circumstances. And as, for the most part, the images
and sentiments of serious poetry are copied from the
images and sentiments, not of real, but of improved,
nature j so the language of serious poetry must (as hint¬
ed already) be a transcript, not of the real language of
nature, which is often dissonant and rude, but of natural
language improved as far as may be consistent with pro-
maybe con-Ability* aHd with the supposed character of the speaker,
sistent with If this be not the case, if the language of poetry be such
probability, only as we hear in conversation or read in history, it
&c' will, instead of delight, bring disappointment: because
it will fall short of what we expect from an art which
is recommended rather by its pleasurable qualities than
by its intrinsic utility ; and to which, in order to ren¬
der it pleasing, we grant higher privileges than to any
other kind of literary composition, or any other mode
of human language.
The next inquiry must therefore be, “ What are those
improvements that peculiarly belong to the language of
poetry ?” And these may be comprehended under two
keads j poetical words, and tropes and figures.
Art. I. Of Poetical Words.
One mode of improvement peculiar to poetical diction
results from the use of those words and phrases which,
because they rarely occur in prose, and frequently in
verse, are by the grammarian and lexicographer termed
poetical. In these some languages abound more than
others: but no language perhaps is altogether without
peculiar and PerkaPs no language can be so in which any
poetry. number of good poems have been written : for poetry is
better remembered than prose, especially by poetical au¬
thors, who will always be apt to imitate the phraseology
of those they have been accustomed to read and admire j
and thus, in the works of poets down through successive
generations, certain phrases may have been conveyed,
which, though originally perhaps in common use, are
now confined to poetical composition. Prose writers
are not so apt to imitate one another, at least in words
and phrases, both because they do npt so well remember
one another’s phraseology, and also because their lan¬
guage is less artificial, and must not, if they would make
it easy and flowing (without which it cannot be elegant),
depart essentially from the style of correct conversation.
Poets, too, on account of the greater difficulty of their
numbers, have, both in the choice and in the arrange¬
ment of words, a better claim to indulgence, and stand
more in need of a disci etionary power.
The language of Homer dift’ers materially from what
was written and spoken in Greece in the days of So¬
crates. It differs in the mode of inflection, it differs in
the syntax, it differs even in the words : so that one
might read Homer with ease who could not read Xeno¬
phon j or Xenophon, without being able to read Ho-
Vojl. XVI. Part II. f
All lan¬
guages
have words
TRY. 769
mer. Yet we cannot believe that Homer, or the first Of Poetical
Greek poet who wrote in his style, would make choice Words,
of a dialect quite different from what was intelligible in
his own time: for poets have in all ages written with a
view to be read, and to be read with pleasure j which
they could not be if their diction were hard to be un¬
derstood. It is more reasonable to suppose that the lan¬
guage of Homer is according to some ancient dialect,
which, though not perhaps in familiar use among the
Greeks at the time be wrote, was however intelligible.
From the Homeric to the Socratic age, a period had
elapsed of no less than 400 years j during which the
style both of discourse and of writing must have under¬
gone great alterations. Yet the Iliad continued the
standard of heroic poetry, and was considered as the
very perfection of poetical language j notwithstanding
that some words in it were become so antiquated, or so -
ambiguous, that Aristotle himself seems to have been
somewhat doubtful in regard to their meaningf. Andf Poetic.
it Chaucer’s merit as a poet had been as great as Ho-caP,25’
mer’s, and the English tongue under Edward III. as
perfect as the Greek was in the second century after the
Trojan war, the style of Chaucer would probably have
been our model for poetical diction at this day; even as
Petrarch, his contemporary, is still imitated by the best
poets of Italy.
The rudeness of the style of Ennius has been imputed
by the old critics to his having copied too closely the
dialect of common life. But this appears to be a mis¬
take. For if we compare the fragments of that authoc
with the comedies of Plautus, who flourished in the same *
age, and whose language was certainly copied from that
of common life, we shall be struck with an air of anti¬
quity in the former that is not in the latter. Ennius,
no doubt, like most other sublime poets, affected some¬
thing of the antique in his expression : and many of his
words and phrases, not adopted by any prose writer now
extant, are to be found in Lucretius and Virgil, and
were by them transmitted to succeeding poets. These The poeti,
form part of the Roman poetical dialect; which appears ^<Jlalect
from the writings of Virgil, where we have it in perfec-
tion, to have been very copious. The style of this 0l prose,
charming poet is indeed so different from prose, and is
altogether so peculiar, that it is perhaps impossible to
analyse it on the common principles of Latin grammar.
And yet no author can be more perspicuous or more ex¬
pressive } notwithstanding the frequency of Grecism in
his syntax, and his love of old words, which he, in the
judgment of Quintilian, knew better than any other
man how to improve into decoration ||. II Instit.
The poetical dialect of modern Italy is so differentvli2- 3- $3'
from the prosaic, that persons who can read the histo¬
rians, and even speak with tolerable fluency the lan¬
guage of that country, may yet find it difficult to con¬
strue a page of Petrarch or Tasso. Yet it is not pro¬
bable, that Petrarch, whose works are a standard of the
Italian poetical diction §, made any material innova-^
tions in his native tongue. It is rather probable that
he wrote it nearly as it was spoken in his time, that is,Benina
in the 14th century j omitting only harsh combinations, cap. 4.
and taking that liberty which Homer probably, and
Virgil certainly, took before him, of reviving such old
but not obsolete expressions, as seemed peculiarly signi¬
ficant and melodious; and polishing his style to that de¬
gree of elegance which human speech, without beco-
5 E ming
77°
POE
47 .
Phrases in
English
poetry not
usual in
prose.
Of Poetical mlng unnatural, may admit of, and which the genius
Words, of poetry, as an art subservient to pleasure, may be
—v*—' thought to require.
The French poetry in general is distinguished from
prose rather by the rhi.me and the measure, than by any
old or uncommon phraseology. Itet the Irench, on
certain subjects, imitate the style of their old poets, of
Marot in particular j and may therefore be said to have
something of a poetical dialect, though far less extensive
than the Italian, or even than the English. And it
may he presumed, that in future ages they will have
more of this dialect than they have at present. This
may be inferred from the very uncommon merit of some
of their late poets, particularly iloileau and La Fon¬
taine, who, in their respective departments, will conti¬
nue to be imitated, when the present modes of French
prose are greatly changed : an event that, for all the
pains they take to preserve their language, must inevi¬
tably happen, and whereof there are not wanting some
presages already.
The English poetical dialect is not characterised by
any peculiarities of inflection, nor by any great latitude
in the use of foreign idioms. More copious it is, how¬
ever, than one would at first imagine ; as may appear
from the following specimen and observations.
(i.) A few Greek and Latin idioms are common
in English poetry, which are seldom or never to be met
with in prose. Quenched of hope. Shakespeare.—
Shorn of his beams. Milton.—Created thing nor
valued he nor shun’d. Milton.—’’Tis thus we riot,
while who sow it starve. Pope.—This day be
BREAD AND PEACE MY LOT. Pope.—INTO WHaT PIT
thou see’st From what height fallen. Milton.
He deceived, the mother oj mankind, what time His
pride Had cast him out of heaven. Milton.—Some
of these, with others to be found in Milton, seem to
have been adopted for the sake of brevity, which in the
poetical tongue is indispensable. For the same reason,
perhaps the articles a and the are sometimes omitted by
our poets, though less frequently in serious than bur¬
lesque composition.———In English, the adjective gene¬
rally goes before the substantive, the nominative before
the verb, and the active verb before (what we call) the
accusative. Exceptions, however, to this rule, are not
uncommon even in prose. But in poetry they are more
frequent. Their homely joys, and DESTINY obscure.
How fades the glimmering landscape on the sight ; and
all the air a solemn stillness holds. In general, that versi¬
fication may be less difficult, and the cadence more uni¬
formly pleasing*, and sometimes, too, in order to give
energy to expression, or vivacity to an image,—the
English poet is permitted to take much greater liberties
•than the prose-writer, in arranging his words, and mo¬
dulating his lines and periods. Examples may be seen
in every page of Paradise Lost.
(2.) Some of our poetical words take an additional
syllable, that they may suit the verse the better ; as,
dispart, distain, disport, affright, enchain,lor part, stain,
sport, fright, chain. Others seem to he nothing else
than common words made shorter, for the convenience
ol the versifier. Such are, auxiliar, sublunar, trump,
vale, part, clime, submiss, frolic, plain, drear, dread,
helm, morn, mead, eve and even, gan, illume and illu¬
mine, ope, hoar, bide, swage, scape; for auxiliary, sublu¬
nary, trumpet,valley, depart, climate, submissive, frolic-
T R Y.
Part I.
some, complain, dreary, dreadful, helmet, morning, mea- Of Poetical
dovv, evening, began or began to, illuminate, open, boa- Words.
ry, abide, assuage, escape. -Ofsome ofthese tbe short '
form is the more ancient. In Scotland, even, morn,
bide, swage, are still in vulgar use j but morn, except
when contradistinguished to even, is synonymous, not
with morning (as in the English poetical dialect), hut
with morrow. The Latin poets, in a way somewhat
similar, and perhaps for a similar reason, shortened fun-
dame n turn, tutamentum, munimentum, &c. into funda-
men, tutamen, munimen.
(3.) Of the following words, which are now almost
peculiar to poetry, the greater part are ancient, and
were once no doubt in common use in England, as
many of them still are in Scotland. Afield, amain, an¬
noy (a noun), anon, aye (ever), behest, blithe, brand
(sword), bridal, carol, dame (\-&&y'),jeatly,fell (an ad¬
jective), gaude, gore, host (army), lambkin, late (ol
late), lay (poem), lea, glade, gleam, hurl, lore, meed,
orisons, plod, (to travel laboriously), j-inglet, rue (a
verb), ruth, ruthless, sojourn (a noun), smite, speed (an
active verb), save (except), spray (twig), steed, strain
(song), strand, swain, thrall, thrill, trail (a verb),
troll, wail, -welter, warble, wayward, woo, the while
(in tbe mean time), yon, of yore.
(4.)’ These that follow are also poetical) hut, so far
as appears, were never in common use. Appal, arrowy,
attune, battailous, breezy, car, (chariot), clarion, cates,
courser, darkling, flicker, floweret, emblaze,gairish, cir¬
clet, impearl, nightly, noiseless, pinion (wing), shadowy,
slumberous, streamy .troublous,wilder (a verb), shrill (a
verb), s/rooA: (shaken), madding, viewless.—The follow¬
ing, too, derived from the Greek and Latin, seem pe¬
culiar to poetry. Clang, clangor, choral, bland, boreal,
dire, ensanguined, ire, ireful, lave, (to wash), nymph,
(lady, girl), orient,panoply,philomel, infuriate, jocund,
radiant, rapt, redolent, refulgent, verdant, vernal, ze¬
phyr, zone (girdle), sylvan, suffuse.
(5.) In most languages, the rapidity of pronuncia¬
tion abbreviates some of the commonest words, or even
joins two, or perhaps more, of them, into one j and
some of these abbreviated forms find admission into wri¬
ting. The English language was quite disfigured by
them in the end of the last century ; but Swift, by his
satire and example brought them into disrepute : and,
though some of them be retained in conversation, as
don’t, shan’t, caii’t, they are now avoided in solemn
style', and by elegant writers in general, except where
the colloquial dialect is imitated, as in comedy. 1 Tis
and 'twas, since the time of Shaftesbury, seem to have
been daily losing credit, at least in prose ; but still have
a place in poetry, perhaps because they contribute to
conciseness. '‘Twas on a lofty vase’’s side. Gray.—’’Tis
true, '’tis certain, man, though dead, retains part of him¬
self Pope. In verse too, ove?- mav be shortened into
oVr, (which is the Scotch, and probably was the old
English pronunciation) j never into ne'er; and from the
and to, when they go before a word beginning with a
vowel, the final letter is sometimes cut oil’. O'ei- hills,
o'er dales,o'er crags,o'er 1'ocks they go. Pope.—Where'er
she turns, the Graces ho??iage pay. And all that beauty,
all that wealth e'er gave. Rich with the spoils of time
did ne'er unroll. Gray.—T'alarm th' eternal midnight
of the grave These abbreviations are now peculiar
to the poetical tongue, but not necessary to it. They
sometimes
Part I. POE
Of Poetical sometimes promote brevity, aud rentier versification less
Words, diflicult.
(6.) Tliose words which are commonly called com¬
pound epithets, as rosy-finger'd, rosy-bosom'd, many-
twinkling, many-sounding, moss-grown, bright-eyed,
straw-built, spirit-stirring, incense-breathing, heaven-
taught, love-whispering, lute-resounding, are also to be
considered as part of our poetical dialect. It is true, we
have compounded adjectives in familiar use, as high-sea¬
soned, well-natured, ill-bred, and innumerable others.
But we speak of those that are less common, that seldom
occur except in poetry, and of which in prose the use
to be used wou^ aPPear aft’ected. And that they sometimes pro-
sparingly; mote brevity and vivacity of expression, cannot be denied.
But as they give, when too frequent, a stiff and finical
air to a performance as they are not always explicit in
the sense, nor agreeable in the sound } as they are apt
to produce a confusion, or too great a multiplicity, of
images j as they tend to disfigure the language, and
furnish a pretext for endless innovation j they ought to
be used sparingly ; and those only used which the prac¬
tice of popular authors has rendered familiar to the ear,
and which are in themselves peculiarly emphatical and
harmonious.
(7.) In the transformation of nouns into verbs and
participles, our poetical dialect admits of greater lati¬
tude than prose. Hymn, pillow, curtain, story, pil¬
lar, picture, peal, surge, cavern, honey, career, cinc¬
ture, bosom, sphere, are common nouns j but to hymn,
to pillow, curtained, pillared,pictured,pealing, surging,
cavern'd, honied,careering, cinctured, bosomed, sphered,
would appear affected in prose, and yet in verse they
are warranted by great authorities, though it must be
& Johnson, confessed that they are censured by an able critic*, who
had studied the English language, both poetical and
prosaic, with wonderful diligence.
Some late poets, particularly the imitators of Spen¬
ser, have introduced a great variety of uncommon words,
as certes, eftsoons, ne, whilom, transmew, moil, fone,
losel, albe, hight, dight, pight, thews, couthful, asset,
muchel, wend, arrear, &c. These were once poetical
words, no doubt; but they are now obsolete, and to
many readers unintelligible. No man of the present age,
however conversant in this dialect, would naturally ex¬
press himself in it on any interesting emergence; or,
supposing this natural to the antiquarian, it would ne¬
ver appear so to the common hearer or reader. A mix¬
ture of these words, therefore, must ruin the pathos of
modern language : and as they are not familiar to our
ear, and plainly appear to be sought after and afiected,
will generally give a stiffness to modern versification.
Yet in subjects approaching to the ludicrous they may
have a good-effect; as in the Schoolmis.?,?0f Shens10ne,
Parnel’s Fairy-tale, Thomson’s Castle of Indolence, and
Pope’s lines in the Dunciad upon Wormius. But this
effect will be most pleasing to those who have least occa¬
sion to recur to the glossary.
Indeed, it is not always easy to fix the boundary be¬
tween poetical and obsolete expressions. To many readers,
T J\ Y.
771
lore, meed, behest, blithe, gaude, spray, thrall, may al- Of Poetical
ready appear antiquated ; and to some the style of Spen- Words,
ser, or even of Chaucer, may be as intelligible as that of
Dryden. This however we may venture to affirm, that
a word, which the majority, of readers cannot understand
without a glossary, may with reason be considered as ob¬
solete ; and ought not to be used in modern composition,
unless revived, and recommended to the public ear, by
some very eminent writer. There are but few words in
Milton, as nathless, tine, frore, bosky, &c. 5 there air
but one or two in Dryden, as falsify (f) ; and in Pope,
there are none at all, which every reader of our poetry
may not be supposed to understand : whereas in Shake¬
speare, there are many, and in Spenser, many more, for
which one who knows English very well may be obliged
to consult the dictionary. The practice of Milton, Dry¬
den, or Pope, may therefore, in almost all cases, be ad
mitted as good authority for the use of a poetical word
And in them, all the words above enumerated, as poe
tical, and in present use, may actually be found. And
of such poets as may choose to observe this rule, it will
not be said, either that they reject the judgment of
Quintilian, who recommends the newest of the old words,
and the oldest of the new, or that they are inattentive to
Pope’s precept;
Be not the first by whom the new are tried,
Nor yet the last to lav the old aside.
Ess. on Crit. v. 335.
We must not suppose that these poetical words never
occur at all except in poetry. Even from conversatioa
they are not excluded: and the ancient critics allow,
that they may be admitted into prose, where they occa¬
sionally confer dignity upon a sublime subject, or heigh¬
ten the ludicrous qualities of a mean one. But it is in
poetry only where the frequent use of them does not sa¬
vour of affectation.
Nor must we suppose them essential to this art. Many
passages there are of exquisite poetry, wherein not u
single phrase occurs that might not be used in prose. In
fact, the influence of these words in adorning English
verse is not very extensive. Some influence however they
have. They serve to render the poetical style, first, moi;e
melodious ; and, secondly, more solemn.
First, They render the poetical style more melodious, jn ^
and more easily reducible into measure. Words of un-case they
wieldy size, or difficult pronunciation, are never used by may render
correct poets, where they can be avoided: unless in their ^ poetical
sound they have something imitative of the sense.
mer’s poetical inflections contribute wonderfully to the
sweetness of his numbers : and if the reader is pleased to
look back to the specimen above given of the English
poetical dialect, he will find that the words are in general
well sounding, and such as may coalesce with other words,
without producing harsh combinations. Quintilian ob¬
serves, that poets, for the sake of their verse, are indul¬
ged in many liberties, not granted to the orator, pf
lengthening, shortening, and dividing their words* :—* Jnstii.
and if the Greek and Homan poets claimed this indul- Orat. lib. x.
5 E 2 gencecaP- *• § 3*
(d) Dryden in one place (AEneid ix. verse 1095.) uses Falsified to denote Pierced through and through. lie
acknowledges, that this use of the word is an innovation ; and has nothing to plead for it but his own authority,
and that Falsare in Italian sometimes means the same thing.
772
Of Poetical gertce from necessity, and obtained it, the English, those
Words. 0f them especially who write in rhyme, may claim it
v ' with better reason } as the words of their language are
less musical and far less susceptible of variety in ar-
,-0 rangement and syntax.
and solemn. Secondly, Such poetical words as are known to be
ancient have something venerable in their appearance,
and impart a solemnity to all around them. This re¬
mark is from Quintilian } who adds, that they give to
a composition that cast and colour of antiquity which
in painting is so highly valued, but which art can never
* Lib. viii. effectually imitate *. Poetical words that are either not
caP 3* ancient, or not known to be such, have, however, a
pleasing effect from association. We are accustomed
to meet with them in sublime and elegant writing; and
aence they come to acquire sublimity and elegance:
Even as the words we hear on familiar occasions come
to be accounted familiar; and as those that take their
rise among pick pockets, gamblers, and gypsies, are
thought too indelicate to be used by any person of taste
or good manners. When one hears the lollowing lines,
which abound in poetical words,
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The cock’s shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed :
—one is as sensible of the dignity of the language, as
one would be of the vileness or vulgarity of that man’s
speech, who should prove his acquaintance with Bride¬
well, by interlarding his discourse with such terms as
•f See the milldoll, queer cull, or nobbing cheat \; or who, in imi-
.SccwwdrePs tation of fops and gamblers, should on the common occa-
Diction- sions 0f life, talk of being beat hollow, or saving his di-
f^Language stance What gives dignity to persons gives dignity
«f New- b to language. A man of this character is one who has
market. borne important employments, been connected with
honourable associates, and never degraded himself by
levity or immorality of conduct. Dignified phrases are
those which have been used to express elevated senti¬
ments, have always made their appearance in elegant
composition, and have never been profaned by giving
permanency or utterance to the passions of the vile, the
giddy, or the worthless. And as by an active old age,
the dignity of such men is confirmed and heightened; so
the dignity of such W'ords, if they be not suffered to fall
into disuse, seldom fails to improve by length of time.
Art. II. Of Tropes and Figures.
5*
Tropes and If it appear that, by means of figures, language may
tigures ne- fog made more/j/eow/Tg and more natural than it would be
cessary to y^hout them ; it will follow, that to poetic language,
language, "whose end is \.o please by imitating nature, figures must
be not only ornamental, but necessary. It will here be
proper, therefore, first to point out the importance and
utility of figurative language ; secondly, to show, that
figures are more necessary to poetry in general than to
any other mode of writing.
I. As to the importance and utility of figurative ex¬
pression, in making language more pleasing and more
natural ; it may be remarked,
(i.) That tropes and figures are often necessary to
supply the unavoidable defects of language. When
proper words are wanting, or not recollected, or when
we do not choose to be always repeating them, we must
POETRY. Parti.
have recourse to tropes and figures. When philosophers Of Tropes
began to explain the operations of the mind, they found
that most of the words in common use, being framed to ,
answer the more obvious exigencies of life, were in their
and
Figures.
• 52
proper signification applicable to matter only and itsto supply
qualities. What was to be done in this case? Would the defects
they think of making a new language to express the°fsimP|e
qualities of mind ? No : that would have been difficult
or impracticable ; and granting it both practicable and
easy, they must have foreseen, that nobody would read
or listen to what was thus spoken or written in a new
and consequently in an unknown tongue. They there¬
fore took the language as they found it; and where-
ever they thought there was a similarity and analogy be¬
tween the qualities of the mind and the qualities of mat¬
ter, scrupled not to use the names of the material quali¬
ties tropically, by applying them to the mental qualities.
Hence came the phrases solidity of judgment, warmth of
imagination, enlargement of understanding, and many
others ; which, thsugh figurative, express the meaning
just as well as proper words would have done. In fact,
numerous as the words in every language are, they must
always fall short of the unbounded variety of human
thoughts and perceptions. Tastes and smells are almost
as numerous as the species of bodies. Sounds admit of
perceptible varieties that surpass all computation, and
the seven primary colours maybe diversified without end.
If each variety of external perception were to have a
name, language would be insurmountably difficult; nay,
if men were to appropriate a class of names to each par¬
ticular sense, they would multiply words exceedingly,
without adding any thing to the clearness of speech.
Those words, therefore, that in their proper signifi¬
cation denote the objects of one sense, we often apply
tropically to the objects of another, and say, Sweet
taste, sweet smell, sweet sound; sharp point, sharp taste,
sharp sound ; harmony of sounds, harmony of colours,
harmony of parts; soft silk, soft colour, soft sound, soft
temper; and so in a thousand instances: and yet these
words, in their tropical signification, are not less intel¬
ligible than in their proper one ; for sharp taste and
sharp sound, are as expressive as sharp sword; and har¬
mony of tones is not better understood by the musician,
than harmony of parts by the architect, and harmony of
colours by the painter.
Savages, illiterate persons, and children, have compa¬
ratively but few words in proportion to the things they
may have occasion to speak of; and must therefore re¬
cur to tropes and figures more frequently than persons
of copious elocution. A seamen, or mechanic, even
when he talks of that which does not belong to his art,
borrows his language from that which does ; and this
makes his diction figurative to a degree that is some¬
times entertaining enough. “ Death (says a seaman in
one of Smollet’s novels) has not yet boarded my com¬
rade; but they have been yard-arm and yard-aim these
three glasses. His starboard eye is open, but jammed
in his head ; and the haulyards of his under jaw have
given way.” These phrases are exaggerated; but we
allow them to be natural, because we know that illiterate
people are apt to make use of tropes and figures taken
from their own trade, even when they speak of things
that are very remote and incongruous. In those poems,
therefore, that imitate the conversation of illiterate per¬
sons, as in comedy, farce, and pastoral, such figures ju¬
diciously
Part I.
POE
54
Tropes and
Of Tropes diclously applied may render the Imitation more pleasing,
and because more exact and natural.
, Figures . Words that are untuneable and harsh, the poet is of-
^ ten obliged to avoid, when perhaps he has no other way
to avoid to express their meaning than by tropes and figures j
harshness of and sometimes the measure ofhis verse may oblige him
diction. t0 reject a proper word that is not harsh, merely on
account of its being too long, or too short, or in any
other way unsuitable to the rhythm, or to the rhyme.
And hence another use of figurative language, that it
contributes to poetical harmony. Thus to press' the
plain, is frequently used to signify to be slain in battle;
liquid plain is put for ocean, blue set'ene for slaj, and syl¬
van reign for country life.
ires (2.) Tropes and figures are favourable to delicacy,
vourabkfto ^Tlien ^ P™per name of a thing is in any respect un-
delicacj'; pleasant, a well chosen trope will convey the idea in such
a way as to give no offence. This is agreeable, and
even necessary, in polite conversation, and cannot be
dispensed with in elegant writing of any kind. Many
words, from their being often applied to vulgar use, ac¬
quire a meanness that disqualifies them for a place in
serious poetry ; while perhaps, under the influence of a
different system of manners, the corresponding words in
another language may be elegant, or at least not vulgar.
When one reads Homer in the Greek, one takes no
offence at his calling Eumeus by a name which, literally
rendered, signifies swine-herd; first, because the Greek
word is well-sounding in itself; secondly, because we
have never heard it pronounced in conversation, nor con¬
sequently debased by vulgar use; and, thirdly, because
we know, that the office denoted by it was, in the age
of Eumeus, both important and honourable. But Pope
would have been blamed, if a name so indelicate as swine¬
herd had in his translation been applied to so eminent a
personage ; and therefore he judiciously makes use of
bookxiv^' ^ie troPe synecdoche, and calls him swain * ; a word
ver. 41.
both elegant and poetical, and not likely to lead the
reader into any mistake about the person spoken of, as
his employment had been described in a preceding pas¬
sage. The same Eumeus is said, in the simple hut me¬
lodious language of the original, to have been making
his own shoes when Ulysses came to his door ; a work
which in those days the greatest heroes would often find
necessary. This, too, the translator softens by a tropi¬
cal expression :
Here sat Eumeus, and his cares applied,
To form strong buskins of well seasoned hide.
A hundred other examples might be quoted from this
translation ; but these will explain our meaning.
There are other occasions on which the delicacy of
figurative language is still more needful; as in Virgil’s
account of the effects of animal love, and of the plague
among the beasts, in the third Georgic; where Dryden’s
style, by being less fiururative than the original, is in one
place exceedingly filthy, and in another shockingly ob¬
scene.
Hobbes could construe a Greek author; but his skill
in words must have been all derived from the dictionary ;
for he seems not to have known that any one articulate
sound could be more agreeable, or any one phrase more
dignified than another. In his Iliad and Odyssey, even
when he hits the author’s sense (which is not always the
case), he proves, by his choice of words, that of harmo-
T R Y.
/73
and
Figures.
■—v 
ny, elegance, or energy of style, he had no manner of Of Tropes
conception. And hence that work, thr.u<rh called a
Translation of Homer, does not even deserve the name
oipoem; because it is in every respect unpleasing, being
nothing more than a fictitious narrative delivered in a
mean prose, with the additional meanness of harsh rhyme
and untuneable measure.—Trapp understood Virgil well
enough as a grammarian, and had a taste for his beau¬
ties : yet his translation bears no resemblance to Virgil;
which is owing to the same cause, an imprudent choice
of words and figures, and a total want of harmony. 55
The delicacy we here contend for may, indeed, bothwll'ch’
in conversation and in writing, be carried too far. To call ^^b^car
killing an innocent man in a duel an affair of honour, and lied too fax"
a violation of the rights of wedlock an affair of gallantry,
is a prostitution of figurative language. Nor is it any
credit to us, that we are said to have upwards of 40 fi¬
gurative phrases to express excessive drinking. Lan¬
guage of this sort generally implies, that the public ab¬
horrence of such crimes is not so strong as it ought to
be : and it is a question, whether even our morals might
not be improved, if we were to call these and such like
crimes by their proper names, murder, adultery, drunken¬
ness, gluttony ; names that not only express our mean¬
ing, but also betoken our disapprobation.—As to writ¬
ing, it cannot be denied, that even Pope himself, in the
excellent version just now quoted, has sometimes, for the
sake of his numbers, or for fear of giving ofl'ence by too
close an imitation of Homer’ssimplicity, employed tropes
and figures too quaint or too solemn for the occasion.
And the finical style is in part characterised by the wri¬
ter’s dislike to literal expressions, and affectedly sub¬
stituting in their stead unnecessary tropes and figures.
With these authors, a man’s only child must always he
his only hope ; a country maid becomes a rural beauty,
or perhaps a nymph of the groves-, if flattery sing at all,
it must he a syren song ; the shepherd’s flute d windles
into an oaten reed, and his crook is exalted into a scep¬
tre ; the silver lilies rise from their golden beds, and
languish to the complaining gale. A young woman,
though a good Christian, cannot make herself agree¬
able without sacrificing to the Graces; nor hope to do
any execution among the gentle swains, till a whole le¬
gion of Cupids, armed with flames and darts, and other
weapons, begin to discharge from her eyes their formi¬
dable artillery. For the sake of variety, or of the verse,
some of these figures may now and then find a place in
a poem ; but in prose, unless very sparingly used, they
favour of affectation. ^
(3.) Tropes and figures promote brevity; and brevity, Tropes and
united with perspicuity, is always agreeable. An ex-®ffures Pro‘‘
ample or two will be given in the next paragraph. Sen-^-jte^^~
timents thus delivered, and imagery, thus painted, are ’
readily apprehended, by the mind, make a strong im¬
pression upon the fancy, and remain long in the memo¬
ry ; whereas too many words, even when the meaning
is good, never fail to bring disgust and weariness. They
argue a debility of mind which hinders the author from
seeing his thoughts in one distinct point of view ; and
they also encourage a suspicion, that there is something
faulty or defective in the matter. In the poetic style,
therefore, which is addressed to the fancy and passions,
and intended to make a vivid, a pleasing, and a perma¬
nent impression, brevity, and consequently tropes and
figures, are indispensable. And a language will always
be
774
Of Tropes
and
Figures.
57
contribute
to strength
and energy
oflanguage.
P O E
be the better suited to poetical purposes, tne more it
admits of this brevity a character which is more
conspicuous in the Greek and Latin than in any mo¬
dern tongue, and much less in the French than in the
Italian or English.
(4.) Tropes and figures contribute to strength or
energy of language, not only by their conciseness, but
also by conveying to the fancy ideas that are easily
comprehended, anti make a strong impression. We aie
powerfully affected with what we see, or feel, or hear.
When a sentiment comes enforced or illustrated by fi¬
gures taken from objects ot sight, or touch, or hearing,
one thinks, as it were, that one sees, or feels, or hears,
the thing spoken of j and thus, what in itself would per¬
haps be obscure, or is merely intellectual, may he made
to seize our attention and interest our passions almost
as effectually as if it were an object of outward sense.
When Virgil calls the Scipios thunderbolts oj war, he
very strongly expresses in one word, and by one image,
the rapidity of their victories, the noise their achieve¬
ments made in the world, and the ruin and consterna¬
tion that attended their irresistible career.—W hen Ho¬
mer calls Ajax the bulwark of the Greeks, he paints
with equal brevity his vast size and strength, the diffi¬
culty of prevailing against him, and the confidence
wherewith his countrymen reposed on his valour.—
When Solomon says of the strange woman, or harlot,
that “ her feet go down to death,” he lets us know, not
only that her path ends in destruction, but also, that
they who accompany her will find it easy to go forwards
to ruin, and difficult to return to their duty.—Satan’s
enormous magnitude, and refulgent appearance, his per¬
pendicular ascent through a region of darkness, and the
inconceivable rapidity of his motion, are all painted out
to our fancy by Milton, in one very short similitude,
Sprung upward, like—a pyramid of fire.
Par. Lost, iv. IGI3.
To take in the full meaning of which figure, we must
imagine ourselves in chaos, and a vast luminous body
rising upwards, near the place where we are, so swiftly
as to appear a continued track of light, and lessening
to the view according to the increase of distance, till it
end in a point, and then disappear 5 and all this must
be supposed to strike our eye at one instant. Equal
to this in propriety, though not in magnificence, is that
allegory of Gray,
The paths of glory lead but to the grave :
Which presents to the imagination a wide plain, where
several roads appear, crowded with glittering multitudes,
and issuing from different quarters, but drawing nearer
and nearer as they advance, till they terminate in the
dark and narrow house, where all their glories enter in
succession, and disappear for ever.- When it is said
in Scripture, of a good man who died, that he fell
asleep, what a number of ideas are at once conveyed to
our imagination, by this beautiful and expressive figure :
As a labourer, at the close of day, goes to sleep, with
the satisfaction of having performed his work, and with
the agreeable hope of awaking in the morning of a new
day, refreshed and cheerful j so a good man, at the end
of life, resigns himself calm and contented to the will of
his Maker, with the sweet reflection of having endea-
.ronred to do his duty, and with the transporting hope
T ft Y. ' Part I.
of soon awaking in the regions of light, to life and hap- Of Tropes
piuess eternal. The figure also suggests, that to a good and
man the transition from life to death is, even in the sen- Genres,
sation, no more painful, than when our faculties melt* v
away into the pleasing insensibility of sleep. Satan,
flying among the stars, is said by Milton to “ sail be¬
tween worlds and worlds j” which has an elegance and
force far superior to the proper word /Zy. For by this
allusion to a ship, we are made to form a lively idea of
his great size, and to conceive of his motion, that it was
equable and majestic.. Virgil uses a happy figure to
express the size of the great wooden horse, by means of
which the Greeks were conveyed into Troy : “ Equum
divina Palladis arte --Milton is still hold¬
er when he says,
Who would not sing for Lycidas ! he knew
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
The phrase, however, though bold, is emphatical; and
gives a noble idea of the durability of poetry, as well
as of the art and attention requisite to form a good
poem. There are hundreds of tropical expressions io
common use, incomparably more energetic than any pro¬
per words of equal brevity that could be put in their
place. A cheek burning with blushes, is a trope which
at once describes the colour as it appears to the beholder,
and the glowing heat as it is felt by the person blushing.
Chilled with despondence, petrified with astonishment,
thunderstruck with disagreeable and unexpected intelli¬
gence, melted with love or pity, dissolved in luxury, har¬
dened in wickedness, softening into remorse, inflamed
with desire, tossed with uncertainty, &c.—every one is
sensible of the force of these and the like phrases, and
that they must contribute to the energy of composition, ^
(5.) Tropes and figures promote strength of expres-They are
sion j and are in poetry peculiarly requisite, because they likewise,
are often more natural, and more imitative, than propert*16 Win¬
Words. In fact, this is so much the case, that it would&.uase
be impossible to imitate the language of passion without '
them. It is true, that when the mind is agitated, one
does not run out into allegories, or long-winded simili¬
tudes, or any of the figures that require much attention
and many words, or that tend to withdraw the fancy
from the object of the passion. Yet the language of
many passions must be figurative notwithstanding; be¬
cause they rouse the fancy, and direct it to objects
congenial to their own nature, which diversify the lan¬
guage of the speaker with a multitude of allusions.
The fancy of a very angry man, for example, presents
to his view a train of disagreeable ideas connected with
the passion of anger, and tending to encourage it j and
if he speak .without restraint during the paroxysm of
his rage, those ideas will force themselves upon him,
and compel him to give them utterance. “ Infernal
monster ! (he will say),—my blood boils at him : he
has used me like a dog j never was man so injured as
I have been by this barbarian. He has no more sense
of propriety than a stone. His countenance is diabolical,
and his soul as ugly as his countenance. His heart is
cold and hard, and his resolutions dark and bloody,” &c.
This speech is wholly figurative. It is made up of meta¬
phors and hyperboles, which, with the prosopopeia and
apostrophe, are the most passionate of all the figures.
Lear, driven out of doors by his unnatural daughters,
in the midst of darkness, thunder, and tempest, natu¬
rally
Part I.
P O E
Of Tropes rally breaks forth (for bis indignation is just now raised
and to the very highest pitch) into the following violent
Figures, exclamation against the crimes of mankind, in which
l ~~v almost every word is figurative.
Tremble, thou wretch,
That, hast within thee undivulged crimes
Unwhipt of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand,
Thou perjur’d, and thou simular of virtue,
That art incestuous. Caitift’, to pieces shake,
That under covert, and convenient seeming,
Hast practis’d on man’s life. Close pent-up guilts,
Hive your concealing continents, and cry
These dreadful summoners grace. King Lear.
* The vehemence of maternal love, and^sorrow from
the apprehension of losing her child, make the Lady
Constance utter a language that is strongly figurative,
though quite suitable to the condition and character of
the speaker. The'passage is too long for a quotation,
but concludes thus:
O Lord ! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son,
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world,
My widow-comfort, and my sorrow’s cure. King John.
■ - -Similar to this, and equally expressive of conjugal
love, is that beautiful hyperbole in Homer ; where An¬
dromache, to dissuade her husband from going out to the
battle, tells him that she had now no mother, father or
brethren, ail her kindred being dead, and her native
country desolate j and then tenderly adds,
But while my Hector yet survives, I see
My father, mother, brethren, all in thee. Iliad, b. vi.
59
The sim- As the passions that agitate the soul, and rouse the
plest lan- fancy, are apt to vent themselves in tropes and figures,
ble*to180 those that depress the mind adopt for the most part a
depressing diction, without any ornament: for to a dejected
jsassions, * mind, wherein the imagination is generally inactive, it
is not probable that any great variety of ideas will pre¬
sent themselves ; and when these are few and familiar,
the words that express them must be simple. As no au¬
thor equals Shakespeare in boldness or variety of figures
when he copies the style of those violent passions that
stimulate the fancy ; so, when we would exhibit the hu¬
man mind in a dejected state, no uninspired writer ex¬
cels him in simplicity. The same Lear whose resent¬
ment had impaired his understanding, while it broke
out in the most boisterous language, when, after some
medical applications, he recovers his reason, his rage
being now exhausted, his pride humbled, and his spirits
totally depressed, speaks in a style than which nothing
can be imagined more simple or more affecting.
Pray, do not mock me :
I am a very foolish, fond old man,
Fourscore and upward} and, to deal plainly with you,
I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
Methinks I should know you, and know this man j
Yet I am doubtful : for I am mainly ignorant
What place this is-, and all the skill I have
Remembers not these garments : nor I know not
Where I did lodge last night. Lear, act iv. sc. 7.
  Hesdemona, ever gentle, artless, and sincere, shock¬
ed at the unkindness of her husband, and overcome with
2
T R Y.
melancholy, speaks in a style so beautifully simple, and
so perfectly natural, that one knows not what to say in
commendation of it:
My mother had a maid call’d Barbara;
She was in love, and lie she lov'd prov’d false,
And did forsake her. She bad a song of willow; ’
An old thing it was, hut it express’d "her fortune,
And she died singing it. That song to-night
Will not go from my mind : I have much to do,
But to go hang my head all at one side,
And sing it like poor Barbara. Othello, act iv. sc. 5.
775
Of Tropes
and
Figures.
Sometimes the imagination, even when exerted to
the utmost, takes in but few ideas. Tins happens when
the attention is totally engrossed by some very great
object; admiration being one of those emotions that
rather suspend the exercise of the faculties than push them
into action. And here, too, the simplest language is (
the most natural ; as when Milton says of the Deity, and to the
that he sits high-throned above all height.” And as sentiment
this simplicity is more suitable to that one great exertion °.f admira-
which occupies the speaker’s mind than a more elaborate1'011'
imagery or language would have been, so lias it also a
more powerful effect in fixing and elevating the imagi¬
nation of the hearer ; for to introduce other thoughts
for the sake of illustrating what cannot be illustrated,
could answer no other purpose than to draw off the at¬
tention from the principal idea. In these and the like
cases, the fancy left to itself will have more satisfaction
in pursuing at leisure its own speculations that in at¬
tending to those of others ; as they who see for the first
time some admirable object would choose rather to feast
upon it in silence, than to have their thoughts interrupt¬
ed by a long description from another person, informing
them of nothing but what they see before them, are al¬
ready acquainted with, or may easily conceive.
It was remarked above that the hyperbole, prosopo-
peia, and eipostrophe, are among the most passionate fi¬
gures. This deserves illustration. 6r
1st, A very angry man is apt to think the injury he Hyperbole
has just received greater than it really is ; and if he natural to
proceed immediately to retaliate by word or deed, seldom^1.6 PaSBb)n
fails to exceed the due bounds, and to become injurious
in his turn. The fond parent looks upon his child as a&c/ ’
prodigy of genius and beauty; and the romantic lover
will not he persuaded that his mistress has nothing su¬
pernatural either in her mind or person. Fear, in like
manner, not only magnifies its object when real, hut
even forms an object out of nothing, and mistakes the
fictions of fancy for the intimations of sense.—No won¬
der, then, that they who speak according to the impulse
of passion should speak hyperbolically; that the angry
man should exaggerate the injury he has received, and
the vengeance he is going to inflict that the sorrowful
should magnify what they have lost, and the joyful what
they have obtained ; that the lover should speak extra¬
vagantly of the beauty of his mistress, the coward of
the dangers he has enpountered, and the credulous clown
of the miracles performed by the juggler. In fact,
these people would not do justice to what they feel if
they did not say more than the truth. The valiant man,
on the other hand, as naturally adopts the diminishing
hyperbole when he speaks of danger; and the man of
sense, when he is obliged to mention his own virtue or
ability; because it appears to him, or he is willing to
consider *
776 POE
Of Tropes consider it, as less than the truth, or at best as incon-
and siderable. Contempt uses tbe same figure ; and there-
rigures. fore Petruchio, affecting that passion, affects also the
* ' 1 language of it:
Thou liest, thou thread, thou thimble,
Thou yard, three quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail,
Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket, thou !
Brav’d in mine own house with a skein of thread !
Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant!
Taming oj the Shrew, act iv. sc. I.
For some passions consider their objects as important
and others as unimportant. 01 the former sort are
anger, love, fear, admiration, joy, sorrow, pride", of the
latter are contempt and courage. Those may be said
to subdue the mind to the object, and these to subdue
the object to the mind. And the former, when violent,
always magnify their objects : whence the hyperbole
called amplification, or auxesis: and tbe latter as con¬
stantly diminish theirs •, and give rise to the hy perbole
called or diminution.—Even when the mindcan-
not be said to be under the influence of any violent pas¬
sion, we naturally employ the same figure when we
wouldimpress another very strongly with any idea. “ He
is a walking shadow- he is worn to skin and bone : he
has one foot in the grave and tbe other following:”—
these, and the like phrases, are proved to be natural by
their frequency. By introducing great ideas, the hy¬
perbole is further useful in poetry as a source of the
sublime; but when employed injudiciously is very apt
to become ridiculous. Cowley makes Coliah as big as
*Dowdeis,the hill down which he was marching*; and tells us,
book iii. that when he came into the valley he seemed to fill it,
and to overtop the neighbouring mountains (which, by
the by, seems rather to lessen the mountains and valleys
than to magnify the giant) : nay, he adds that the sun
started back when he saw the splendour of his arms.
This poet seems to have thought that the figure in
question could never be sufficiently enormous •, but Quin¬
tilian would have taught him, “ Quamvis omnis hyper¬
bole ultra fidem, non tamen esse debet ultra modum.”
The reason is, that this figure, when excessive, betokens
rather absolute infatuation than intense emotion ; and
resembles the efforts of a ranting tragedian, or the ra¬
vings of an enthusiastic declaimer, who, by putting on
the gestures and looks of a lunatic, satisfy the discerning
part of their audience, that, instead of feeling strongly,
they have no rational feelings at all. In the wildest
energies of nature there is a modesty which the imitative
(jZ artist will be careful never to overstep.
Prosopo- 2dly, That figure, by which things are spoken of as
poeia, when if they were persons, is c&WeA.prosopopoeia, or person jica-
proper. tion. It is a bold figure, and yet is often natural. Long
acquaintance recommends to some share in our affection
even things inanimate, as a house, a tree, a rock, a
mountain, a country ; and were we to leave such a thing
without hope of return, we should be inclined to address
it with a farewel, as if it were a percipient creature.
Hence it was that Mary queen of Scotland, when on her
return to her own kingdom, so affectionately bade adieu
to the country which she had left. “Farewel France,”
said she, “ farewel, beloved country, which I shall ne¬
ver more behold !” Nay, we find that ignorant nations
have actually worshipped such things, or considered them
the haunt of certain powerful beings. Dryads and
J
T R Y. Part I.
hamadryads were by the Greeks and Romans supposed of Tropes
to preside over trees and groves; river gods and nymphs, and
over streams and fountains; little deities, called Lares Figures.
and Penates, were believed to be theguardians of hearths v -
and houses. In Scotland there is hardly a hill remark¬
able for the beauty of its shape, that was not in former
times thought to be the habitation of fairies. Nay, mo¬
dern as well as ancient superstition has appropriated the
waters to a peculiar sort of demon or goblin, and peoples
the very regions of death, the tombs and charnel houses,
with multitudes of ghosts and phantoms.—Besides when
things inanimate make a strong impression upon us, whe¬
ther agreeable or otherwise, we are apt to address them
in terms of affection or dislike. The sailor blesses the
plank that brought him ashore from the shipwreck ; and
the passionate man, and sometimes even the philosopher,
will say bitter words to the stumbling block that gave
him a fall.—Moreover, a man agitated with an interest¬
ing passion, especially of long continuance, is apt to fan¬
cy that all nature sympathises with him. If he has lost
a beloved friend, he thinks tbe sun less bright than at
other times ; and in the sighing of the winds and groves,
in the lowings of the herd, and in the murmurs of the
stream, he seems to hear the voice of lamentation. But
when joy or hope predominate, the w hole world assumes
a gay appearance. In the contemplation of every part
of nature, of every condition of mankind, of every form
of human society, the benevolent and the pious man, the
morose and the cheerful, the miser and the misanthrope,
finds occasion to indulge his favourite passion, and sees
or thinks he sees, his own temper reflected back in the
actions, sympathies, and tendencies of other things and
persons. Our affections are indeed the medium through
which we may be said to survey ourselves, and every
thing else ; and whatever be our inward frame, we are
apt to perceive a wonderful congeniality in the world
without us. And hence the fancy, when roused by real
emotions, or by the pathos of composition, is easily re¬
conciled to those figures of speech that ascribe sympathy,
perception, and the other attributes of animal life, to
things inanimate, or even to notions merely intellectual.
—Motion, too, bears a close affinity to action, and af¬
fects our imagination nearly in the same manner ; and
we see a great part of nature in motion, and by its sensi¬
ble effects are led to contemplate energies innumerable.
These conduct the rational mind to the Great First
Cause ; and these, in times of ignorance, disposed the
vulgar to believe in a variety of subordinate agents em¬
ployed in producing those appearances that could not
otherwise be accounted for. Hence an endless train of
fabulous deities, and of witches, demons, fairies, genii ;
which, if they prove our reason weak, and our fancy
strong, prove also that personification is natural to the
human mind; and that a right use of this figure may
have a powerful effect, in fabulous rvriting especially, to
engage our sympathy in behalf of things as well as per¬
sons ; for nothing can give lasting delight to a moral be¬
ing, but that which awakens sympathy, and touches the
heart; and though it be true that we sympathise in some
degree even with inanimate things, yet what has, or is
supposed to have, life, calls forth a more sincere and
more permanent fellow-feeling.—Let it be observed fur¬
ther, that to awaken our sympathetic feelings, a lively
conception of their object is necessary. This indeed is
true of almost all our emotions; their keenness is in pro¬
portion
Part I.
I ’£11 res.
Of Tropes portion to the vivacity of the perceptions that excite
and them. Distress that we see is more affecting than what
t we only hear of * ; a perusal of the gayest scenes in a
comedy does not rouse the mind so effectually as the pre¬
sence of a cheerful companion ; and the death of a friend
is of greater energy in producing seriousness, and the con¬
sideration of our latter end, than all the pat hos of Young.
Of descriptions addressed to the fancy, those that are
niO't vivid and picturesque will generally be found to
have the most powerful influence over our affections j
am! those that exhibit persons engaged in action, and
adorned with visible insignia, give a brisker impulse
to the faculties than such as convey intellectual ideas
only, or images taken from still life. No abstract notion
of time, or of love, can be so striking to the fancy as
the image of an old man accoutred with a scythe, or of
a beautiful boy with wings and a bow and arrows: and
no physiological account of frenzy could suggest so vi¬
vid ail idea as the poet has given us in that exquisite
portrait,
And moody madness laughing wild amid severest wo.
And for this reason partly it is that the epic poet, in or-
oer to vrork the more effectually upon our passions and
imaginat.cn, refers the secret springs of human conduct,
and the vicissitudes of human affairs, to the agency of
personified causes j that is, to the machinery of gods and
goddesses, angels, demons, magicians, and other power¬
ful beings. And hence, in all sublime poetry, life and
motion, with their several modes and attributes, are li¬
berally bestowed on those objects wherewith the author
intends that we should be strongly impressed: scenes per¬
fectly inanimate and still, tending rather to diffuse a lan¬
guor over the mind than to communicate to our internal
powers those lively energies without which a being es¬
sentially active can never receive complete gratification.
*—Lastly, some violent passions are peculiarly inclined to
change things into persons. The horrors of his mind
liaunted Orestes in the shape of furies. Conscience, in
the form of the murdered person, stares the murderer in
the face, and often terrifies him to distraction. The su¬
perstitious man, travelling alone in the dark, mistakes a
white stone for a ghost, a bush for a demon, a tree wav¬
ing with the wind for an enormous giant brandishing a
hundred arms. The lunatic and enthusiast converse with
persons who exist only in their own distempered fancy 5
and the glutton and the miser, if they were to give ut¬
terance to all their thoughts, would often, it is presu¬
mable, speak, the one of his gold, the other of his bel¬
ly, not only as a person, but as a god,—the object of
his warmest love and most devout regard.—More need
not be said to prove that personification is natural, and
may frequently contribute to the pathos, energy, and
63 beauty of poetic language.
Apostrophe 3^y» Apostrophe, or a sudden diversion of speech from
iued.10 be 0116 l)erSon another person or thing, is a figure
nearly related to the former. Poets sometimes make
use of it, in order to help out their verse, or merely to
give variety to their style : but on these occasions it is
to be considered as rather a trick of art, than an effort
of nature. It is most natural, and most pathetic, when
the person or thing to whom the apostrophe is made,
and for whose sake we give a new direction to our
speech, is in our eyes eminently distinguished for good
•r evil, or raises within us some sudden and powerful
Vol. XVI, Part II. •f
POETRY.
777
emotion, such as the hearer would acquiesce in, or at Of Tropes
least acknowledge to be reasonable. But this, like the and
other pathetic figures, must be used with great prudence. Fibres.
For if, instead of calling forth the hearer’s sympathy, it v™"—'
should only betray the levity of the speaker, or such wan¬
derings of his mind as neither the subject nor the occa¬
sion would lead one to expect, it will then create dis¬
gust instead of approbation. TJie orator, therefore, must
not attempt the passionate apostrophe, till the minds of
the hearers be prepared to join in it. And every au¬
dience is not equally obsequious in this respect. In the
forum of ancient Rome that would have passed for sub¬
lime and pathetic, which in the most respectable British
auditories would appear ridiculous. For our style of
public speaking is cool and argumentative \ and par¬
takes less of enthusiasm than the Roman did, and much
less than the modern French or Italian. Of British
eloquence, particularly that of the pulpit, the chief re¬
commendations are gravity and simplicity. And it is
vain to say, that our oratory oupht to he more vehement t
for that matter depends on causes, which it is not only
inexpedient, but impossible to alter; namely, on the cha¬
racter and spirit of the people, and their rational notions
in regard to religion, policy, and literature. The ex¬
clamations of Cicero would weigh but little in our par¬
liament ; and many of those which we meet with m
French sermons would not be more effectual if attempt¬
ed in our pulpit, lo see one of our preachers, who
the moment before was a cool reasoner, a temperate
speaker, an humble Christian, and an orthodox divine,
break out into a sudden apostrophe to the immortal
powers, or to the walls of the church, tends to force a
smile, rather than a tear, from those among us who
reflect, that there is nothing in the subject, and should
be nothing in the orator, to warrant such wanderings of
fancy or vehemence of emotion. If he be careful to
cultivate a pure style, and a grave and graceful utter¬
ance, a British clergyman, who speaks from conviction
the plain unaffected words of truth and soberness, of be¬
nevolence and piety, will, it is believed, convey more
pathetic, as well as more permanent, impressions to the
heart, and be more useful as a Christian teacher, than
if he were to put in practice all the attitudes of Roscius,
and all fche tropes and figures of Cicero.
But where the language of passion and enthusiasm is
permitted to display itself, whatever raises any strong
emotion, whether it be animate or inanimate, absent
or present, sensible or intellectual, may give rise to the
apostrophe. A man in a distant country, speaking of
the place of his birth, might naturally exclaim, “ O my
dear native land, shall I never see thee more!” Or, when
some great misfortune befals him, “ Happy are ye, O
my parents, that ye are not alive to see this.” We have
a beautiful apostrophe in the third book of the AEneid,
where iEneas who is telling his story to Dido, happen¬
ing to mention the death of his father, makes a sudden
address to him as follows :
-hie, pelagi tot tempestatibus actus,
Heu, genitorem, omnis curse casusque levamen,
Amitto Anehisenhie me, pater optime, fessuni
Deseris, heu, tantis nequicquam erepte periclis !
This apostrophe has a pleasing effect. It seems to inti¬
mate, that the love which the hero bore his father was
so great, that when he mentioned him he forgot every
5 ^
778 POE
Of Tropes thing else ; and, without minding his company, one of
and whom was a queen, suddenly addressed himselt to that
Figures. though present only in idea, was still a principal
' ^ ' object of his affection. An emotion so warm and so
reasonable cannot fail to command the sympathy ot the
reader. When Michael, in the eleventh book of Pa¬
radise Lost, announces to Adam and Eve the necessity
of their immediate departure from the garden of Eden,
the poet’s art in preserving the decorum of the two cha¬
racters is very remarkable. Pierced to the heart at the
thought of leaving that happy place, Eve, in all the
violence of ungovernable sorrow, breaks forth into a
pathetic apostrophe to Paradise, to the flowers she had
reared, and to the nuptial bower she had adorned. A-
dam makes no address to the walks, the trees, or the
flowers of the garden, the loss whereof did not so much
afflict him *, but, in his reply to the Archangel, expresses,
without a figure, his regret for being banished from
a place where he had been so often honoured with a sen¬
sible manifestation of the divine presence. The use ot
the apostrophe in the one case, and the omission of it in
the other, not only gives a beautiful variety to the style,
but also marks that superior elevation and composure of
mind, by which the poet had all along distinguished the
character of Adam.—One of the finest applications of
this figure that is anywhere to be seen, is in the fourth
book of the same poem ; where the author, catching by
sympathy the devotion ol our first parents, suddenly
drops his narrative, and joins his voice to theirs in ado-
rino- the Father of the universe.
O
Thus at their shady lodge arriv’d, both stood,
Both turn’d, and under open sky ador’d
The God that made both sky, air, earth, and heav’n,
Which they beheld, the moon’s resplendent globe,
And starry pole :—Thou also mad’st the night,
Maker omnipotent! and thou the day,
Which we in our appointed work employ’d
Have finish’d. 
Milton took the hint of this fine contrivance from a
well-known passage of Virgil :
Hie juvenum chorus, ille senum ; qui carmine laudes
Herculeas et facta ferant 5 
———ut duros mille labores
Kege sub Eurystheo, fatis Junonis iniquoe,
Pertulerit:—Tu nubigenas, invicte, bimembres,
Hylaeumque, Pholumque manu, tu Cresia mactas
Prodigia. 
The beauty arising from diversified composition is the
same in both, and very great in each. But every read¬
er must feel, that the figure is incomparably more affect¬
ing to the mind in the imitation than in the original.
So true it is, that the most rational emotions raise the
most intense fellow-feeling; and that the apostrophe is
then the most emphatical, when it displays those work¬
ings of human affection which are at once ardent and
64 well-founded.
Tropes To conclude this head : Tropes and figures, particu-
and figures ]ar]y the metaphor^ similitude, and allegory, are further
use^ *n beautifying language, by suggesting, together
suggest with the thoughts essential to the subject, an endless va-
an endless riety of agreeable images, for which there would be no
variety of place, if writers were always to confine themselves to the
Prop€r names of things. And this beauty and variety,
T R Y. Parti.
judiciously applied, is so far from distracting, that it Of Tropes
tends rather to fix the attention, and captivate the heart and
of the readers, by giving light, and life, and pathos, to, rigmes. .
the whole composition. v ~
II. That tropes and figures are more necessary to
poetry, than to any other mode of writing, was the se¬
cond point proposed to be illustrated in this section. 65
Language, as already observed, is then natural, when Tnpes and
it is suitable to the supposed condition of the speaker. %ur(-‘s
Figurative language is peculiarly suitable to the suppo-"^'s^r”ejo
sed condition of the poet j because figures are suggest-poetry than
ed by the fancy 5 and the fancy of him who composes to any
poetry is more employed than that of any other author, other n edc
Of all historical, pliilosophical, and theological research- °* wntin£*
es, the object is real truth, which is fixed and perma¬
nent. The aim of rhetorical declamation (according to
Cicero) is apparent truth ; which, being less determi-
n?.te, leaves the fancy of the speaker more free, gives
greater scope to the inventive powers, and supplies the
materials of a more figurative phraseology. But the
poet is subject to no restraints, but those of verisimili¬
tude *, which is still less determinate than rhetorical
truth. He seeks not to convince the judgment of his
reader by arguments of either real or apparent cogency j
he means only to please and interest him, by an appeal
to his sensibility and imagination. His own imagina¬
tion is therefore continually at work, ranging through
the whole of real and probable existence, “ glancing
from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,” in quest
of images and ideas suited to the emotions he himself
feels, and to the sympathies he would communicate to
others. And, consequently, figures of speech, the off-
sprinar of excursive fancy, must (if he speak according
to what he is supposed to think and feel, that is, ac¬
cording to his supposed conditionJ tincture the lan¬
guage of the poet more than that of any other compo¬
ser. So that, if figurative diction be unnatural in geo¬
metry, because all wanderings of fancy are unsuitable,
and even impossible to the geometrician, while intent
upon his argument ; it is, upon the same principle, per¬
fectly natural, and even unavoidable, in poetry ; because
the more a poet attends to his subject, and the better
qualified he is to do it justice, the more active will his
imagination be, and the more diversified the ideas that
present themselves to his mind. Besides, the true
poet addresses himself to the passions and sympathies of
mankind ; w'hieh, till his own be raised, he cannot hope
to do with success. And it is the nature of many pas¬
sions, though not of all, to increase the activity of ima¬
gination : and an active imagination naturally vents it¬
self in figurative language ; nay, unless restrained by a
correct taste, has a tendency to exceed in it; of which
Bishop Taylor and Lord Verulam, two geniuses differ¬
ent in kind, but of the highest order, are memorable
examples.
We said, that “ the poet seeks not to convince the
judgment of his reader by arguments of either real or
apparent cogency.” We do not mean, that in poe¬
try argument has no place. The most legitimate rea¬
soning, the soundest philosophy, and narratives purely
historical, may appear in a poem, and contribute great¬
ly to the honour of the author, and to the importance
of his work. All this we have in Paradise Lost. We
mean, that what distinguishes pure poetry from other
writing, is its aptitude, not to sway the judgment by rea¬
soning,
Parti. POE
Of Poetical soiling, but to please the fancy and move the passions, by
Harmony, a lively imitation of nature. Nor would we exclude poe-
'1 1 "v' tical embellishment from history, or even from philoso¬
phy. Plato’s Dialogues and the Moral Essays of Addi¬
son and Johnson abound in poetic imagery •, and Livy
and Tacitus often amuse their readers with poetical de¬
scription. In like manner, though geometry and physics
be different sciences ; though abstract ideas be the sub¬
ject, and pure demonstration or intuition the evidence,
of the former ; and though the material universe, and
the informations of Sense, be the subject and tbe evidence
of the latter $ yet have these sciences been united by tbe
best philosophers, and very happy effects resulted from
the union.* In one and the same work, poetry, histo¬
ry, philosophy, and oratory, may doubtless be blended j
nay, these arts have all been actually blended in one and
the same work, not by Milton only, but also by Ho¬
mer, Virgil, Lucan, and Shakespeare. Yet still these
arts are different } different in their ends and principles,
and in the faculties of the mind to which they are re¬
spectively addressed : and it is easy to perceive when a
writer employs one and when another.
§ 2. Of the Sound of Poetical Language.
As the ear, like every other perceptive faculty, is
capable of gratification, regard is to be had to the sound
of words, even in prose. But to the harmony of lan¬
guage, it behoves the poet, more than any other writer,
to attend j as it is more especially his concern to render
his work pleasurable. In fact, we find, that no poet was
ever popular who did not possess the art of harmonious
. composition.
What belongs to the subject of Poetical Harmony
may be referred to one or other of these heads, Sweet¬
ness, Measure, and Imitation.
I. In order to give sweetness to language, either in
verse or prose, all words of harsh sound, difficult pro¬
nunciation, or unwieldy magnitude, are to be avoided as
much as possible, unless when they have in the sound
something peculiarly emphatical j and words are to be
so placed in respect of one another, as that discordant
combinations may not result from their union. But in
poetry this is more necessary than in prose ; poetical
language being understood to be an imitation of natural
language improved to that perfection which is consistent
with probability. To poetry, therefore, a greater lati¬
tude must be allowed than to prose, in expressing, by
tropes and figures of pleasing sound, those ideasMwhereof
the proper names are in any respect offensive, either to
the ear or to the fancy.
II. How far versification or regular measure maybe
essential to this art, has been disputed by critical wri¬
ters j some holding it to be indispensably necessary, and
some not necessaiy at all.
The fact seems to be as already hinted, that to poe¬
try verse is not essential. In a prose work, we may
though noi have the fable, the arrangement, and a great deal of the
esseacial, pUthos and language, of p etry } and such a work is cer-
66
The poet
ought to
attend to
the har¬
mony of
language,
which con.
sibls in
67
sweetness
and
6S
measure,
wh'th,
T R Y.
779
tainly a poem, though perhaps not a perfect one. For Of Poetical
how absurd would it be to say, that by changing the Harmony,
position only of a word or two in each line, one might' v~"—
divest Homer’s Iliad of the poetical character ! At this
rate, the arts of poetry and versification would be tbe
same 5 and the rules in Despauter’s Grammar, and the
moral distichs ascribed to Cato, would be as real poetry
as any part ol Virgil. In fact, some very ancient poems,
when translated into a modern tongue, are far less poe¬
tical in verse than in prose the alterations necessary to
adapt them to our numbers being detrimental to their
sublime simplicity ; of which any person of taste will be
sensible, who compares our common prose-version of
Job, the Psalms, and the Song of Solomon, with the
best metrical paraphrase of those books that has yet ap¬
peared. Nay, in many cases, Comedy will be more
poetical, because more pleasing and natural, in prose
than in verse. By versifying Tom Jones, and The
Merry W ives ol Windsor, we should spoil tbe two finest
comic poems, the one epic, the other dramatical, now in
the world. 6
But , secondly, though verse be not essential to poetry, acids to
it is necessary to the perfection of all poetry that admits t)16 pvrfec-
of it. Verse is to poetry, what colours are to paint-tlon of
ing (g.) A painter might display great genius, andlK>Ctiy'
draw masterly figures with chalk or ink •, but if be in¬
tend a perfect picture, be must employ in bis work as
many colours as are seen in tbe object he imitates. Or,
to adopt a beautiful comparison of Demosthenes, quoted
by Aristotle *, “ Versification is to poetry what bloom * Rhetor.
is to the human countenance.” A good face is agree-hb id-
able when the bloom is gone, and good poetry may caP‘ 4’
please without versification j harmonious numbers may
set off an indifi'erent poem, and a fine bloom indifferent
features : but, without verse, poetry is incomplete ; and
beauty is not perfect, unless to sweetness and regularity
of feature there be superadded
The bloom of young desire, and purple light of love.
If numbers be necessary to the perfection of the higher
poetry, they are no less so to that of the lower kinds, to
Pastoral, Song, and Satire, which have little besides the
language and versification to distinguish them from prose j
and which some ancient authors are unwilling to admit
to the rank of poems : though it seems too nice a scru¬
ple, both because such writings are commonly termed
poetical; and also because there is, even in them, some¬
thing that may not improperly be considered as an imi¬
tation of nature.
That the rhythm and measure of verse are naturally
agreeable, and therefore that by these poetry may be
made more pleasing than it would be without them, is
evident from this, that children and illiterate people,
whose admiration we cannot suppose to he the effect of
habit or prejudice, are exceedingly delighted with them.
In many proverbial sayings, where there is neither rhime,
nor alliteration, rhythm is obviously studied. Nay, tbe
use of rhythm in poetry is universal j whereas alliteration
5 F 2 and
(g) Horace seems to hint at the same comparison, when, after specifying the several sorts of verse suitable to
Epic, Elegiac, Lyric, and Dramatic Poetry, he adds,
D escriptas servare vices, operumque cotnres.
Lur ego, si nequeo ignoroque, Poela salutor ? Ar. Poet. ver. 86.
780
Of Poetical
Harmony.
70
In what
cases rhime
may be dis¬
pensed with
in English
poetry.
POE
and rhime, though relished by some nations, are not much
sought after by others. And we need not be at a loss
to account for the agreeableness of proportion and order,
if we reflect, that they suggest the agreeable ideas ol
contrivance and skill, at the same time that they render
the connection of things obvious to the understanding,
and imprint it deeply on the memory. ^ erse, by pro¬
moting distinct and easy remembrance, conveys ideas to
the mind with energy, and enlivens every emotion the
poet intends to raise in the hearer or reader. Besides,
when wre attend to verses, after hearing one or two, we
become acquainted with the measure, which, therefore,
we always look for in the sequel. This perpetual inter¬
change of hope and gratification is a source ot delight;
and to this in part is owing the pleasure we take in the
vhimes of modern poetry. And hence tve see, that
though an incorrect rhime or untuneable verse be in it¬
self, and compared with an important sentiment, a very
trifling matter 5 yet it is no trifle in regard to its effects
on the hearer; because it brings disappointment, and so
gives a temporary shock to the mind, and interrupts the
current of the affections: and because it suggests the
disagreeable ideas of negligence or want of skill on the
part of the author. And therefore, as the public ear
becomes more delicate, the negligence will be more gla¬
ring, and the disappointment more intensely felt j and
correctness of rhime and of measure will of course be
the more indispensible. In our tongue, rhime is more
necessary to Lyric than to Heroic poetry. The reason
seems to be, that in the latter the ear can of itself per¬
ceive the boundary of the measure, because the lines are
all of equal length nearly, and every good reader makes
a short pause at the end of each ; whereas, in the for¬
mer, the lines vary in length : and therefore the rhime
is requisite to make the measure and rhythm sufficient¬
ly perceptible. Custom, too, may have some influence.
English Odes without rhime are uncommon *, and there¬
fore have something awkward about them, or something
at least to winch the public ear is not yet thoroughly
reconciled. Indeed, when the drama is excepted, we
do not think that rhime can be safely spared from Eng¬
lish poetry of any kind, but when the subject is able to
support itself. “ He that thinks himself capable of
astonishing (says Johnson) may write blank verse ;
but those that hope only to please, must condescend to
rhime.”
Rhime, however, is of less importance by far than
rhythm, which in poetry as well as in music is the
source of much pleasing variety •, of variety tempered
with uniformity, and regulated by art j insomuch that,
notwithstanding the likeness of one hexameter verse to
another, it is not common, either in Virgil or Homer,
to meet with two contiguous hexameters whose rhythm
is exactly the same. And though all English heroic
verses consist of five feet, among which the iambic pre¬
dominates ; yet this measure, in respect of rhythm
alone, is susceptible of more than 30 varieties. And
let it be remarked further, that different kinds of verse,
by being adapted to different subjects and modes of
ayriting, give variety to.the poetic language, and mul¬
tiply the charms of this pleasing art.
What has formerly been shown to be true in regard
to style, will also in many cases hold true of versifica¬
tion, “ that it is then natural when it is adapted to
the supposed condition of the speaker.—In the epopee
TRY. Parti.
the poet assumes the character of calm inspiration ; andof Poetical
therefore his language must he elevated, and his num- Harmony,
hers majestic and uniform. A peasant speaking in he- 1 1 v
roic or hexameter verse is no improbability here; be"The?an
cause lus words are supposed to he transmitted by one gUaue 0ft|ie
who will of his own accord give them every ornament epic poet
necessary to reduce them into dignified measure 5 as an niusl^e e'e-
eloquent man, in a solemn assembly, recapitulating the 7“Ut* “J11*
speech of a clown, would naturally express it in pure uniform]v
and perspicuous language. The uniform heroic mea-majestic,
sure will suit any subject of dignity, whether narrative
or didactic, that admits or requires uniformity of style.
In tragedy, where the imitation of real life is more
perfect than in epic poetry, the uniform magnificence
of epic numbers might be improper \ because the he¬
roes and heroines are supposed to speak in their own
persons, and according to the immediate impulse of pas- -2
sion and sentiment. Yet, even in tragedy, the versifiea-In tragedy
tion may be both harmonious and dignified j because the^1® saJlie
the characters are taken chiefly from high life, and the””1^™
events from a remote period ; and because the higher cence
poetry is permitted to imitate nature, not as it is, but would be
in that state of perfection in which it might he. The inirroPer>
Greeks and Romans considered their hexameter as too an^|.
artificial lor dramatic poetry j and therefore in tragedy, comcc]y
and even in comedy, made use of the iambic, and some
other measures that came near the cadence of conversa¬
tion : we use the iambic both in the epic and dramatic
poem j but for the most part it is, or ought to be, much
more elaborate in the former than in the latter. In
dramatic comedy, where the manners and concerns of
familiar life are exhibited, verse would seem to he unna¬
tural, except it he so like the course of common discourse
as to bt hardly distinguishable from it. Custom, how¬
ever, may in some countries determine otherwise 5 and
against custom, in these matters, it is vain to argue.
The professed enthusiasm of the dithyrambic poet ren¬
ders wildness, variety, and a sonorous harmony of num¬
bers, peculiarly suitable to his odes. The love-sonnet,
and Anacreontic song, will be less various, more regu¬
lar, and of a softer harmony j because the state of mind
expressed in it has more composure. Philosophy can
scarce go farther in this investigation, without deviat¬
ing into whim and hypothesis. The particular sorts of
verse to be adopted in the lower species of poetry, are
determined by fashion chiefly, and the practice of ap¬
proved authors.
III. The origin and principles of imitative harmo¬
ny, or of that artifice by which the sound is made, as
Pope says, “ an echo to the sense,” may be explain¬
ed in the following manner.
It is pleasing to observe the uniformity of nature in A striking'
all her operations. Between moral and material beauty analogy be¬
am! harmony, between moral and material deformity
and dissonance, there obtains a very striking analogy. terjaj beaUfc
The visible and audible expressions of almost every vir-ty and de-
tuous emotion are agreeable to the eye and the ear, and i'onmty.
those of almost every criminal passion disagreeable. The
looks, the attitudes, and the vocal sounds, natural to
benevolence, to gratitude, to compassion, to piety, are
in themselves graceful and pleasing ; while anger, dis¬
content, despair, and cruelty, bring discord to the voice,
deformity to the features, and distortion to the limbs.
That flowing curve, which painters know to be essen¬
tial to the beauty of animal shape, gives place to a mul¬
tiplicity
Part I.
Of Poetical
Harmony.
74
The source
of imitative
harmony of
numbers.
POE
tiplicity of right lines and sharp angles in the counte¬
nance and gesture of him who knits his brows, stretches
his nostrils, grinds his teeth, and clenches his fist 5
whereas, devotion, magnanimity, benevolence, content¬
ment, and good humour, soften the attitude, and give a
more graceful swell to the outline of every feature. Cer¬
tain vocal tones accompany certain mental emotions.
The voice of sorrow is feeble and broken, that of de¬
spair boisterous and incoherent} joy assumes a sweet
and sprightly note, fear a weak and tremulous cadence j
the tones of love and benevolence are musical and uni¬
form, those of rage loud and dissonant 5 the voice of
the sedate reasoner is equable and grave, but not un¬
pleasant *, arid he who declaims with energy, employs
many varieties of modulation suited to the various emo¬
tions that predominate in his discourse.
But. it is not in the language of passion only that the
human voice varies its tone, or the human face its fea¬
tures. Every striking sentiment, and every interesting
idea, has an effect upon it. One would esteem that per¬
son no adept in-narrative eloquence, who should describe,
with the very same accent, swift and slow emotion, ex¬
treme labour and easy performance, agreeable sensation
and excruciating pain : who should talk of the tumult
of a tempestuous ocean, the roar of thunder, the deva¬
stations of an earthquake, or an Egyptian pyramid tum¬
bling into ruins, in the same tone of voice wherewith
he describes the murmur of a rill, the warbling of the
harp of zEolus, the swinging of a cradle, or the descent
of an angel. Elevation of mind gives dignity to the
voice. From Achilles, Sarpedon, and Othello, we
should as naturally expect a manly and sonorous accent,
as a nervous style and majestic attitude. Coxcombs
and bullies, while they assume airs of importance and
valour, affect also a dignified articulation.
Since the tones of natural language are so various,
poetry, which imitates the language of nature, must al¬
so vary its tones •, and, in respect of sound as well as of
meaning, be framed after that, model of ideal perfec¬
tion, which the variety and energy of the human arti¬
culate voice render probable. This is the more easily
TRY. >781
accomplished, because in every language there is he- Of Poetical
tween the sound and sense of certain words a perceptible Harmony,
analogy j which, though not so accurate as to lead a '■ v I“1
foreigner from the sound to the signification, is vet ac¬
curate enough to show, that, in forming such words, re¬
gard has been had to the imitative qualities of vocal
sound. Such, in English, are the words 7/e//, crash,
crack, hiss, roar, murmur, and many others.
All the particular laws that regulate this sort of imi¬
tation, as far as they are founded in nature, and liable
to the cognizance of philosophy, depend on the general
law of style above mentioned. Together with the other
circumstances of the supposed speaker, the poet takes
into consideration the tone of voice suitable to the ideas
that occupy his mind, and thereto adapts the sound of
his language, if it can he done consistently with ease
and elegance of expression. But when this imitative
harmony is too much sought after, or words appear to
he chosen for sound rather than sense, the verse be¬
comes finical and ridiculous. Such is Ronsard’s affect¬
ed imitation of the song of the sky-lark :
Elle quindee du zephire
Sublime en Pair vire et revire,
Et y declique un joli cris,
Qui rit, gucrit, et tire Pire
Ees esprit mieux que je n’ecris.
This is as ridiculous as that line of Ennius,
Turn tuba terribili sonitu taratantara dixit:-
Or as the following verses of Swift;
The man with the kettle-drum enters the gate,
Dub dub a dub dub : the trumpeters follow,
Tantara tantara while all the boys hollow.
J y £
Words by their sound may imitate sound; and quick What bar-
or slow articulation may imitate quick or slow motion. mony °f
Elence, by a proper choice and arrangement of words, linmt.Hr.3
the poet may imitate Sounds that are sweet with dig- m1'
nity (h),—sweet and tender (1),—loud (k),—and
harsh (l),—and Motions that are slow, in consequence
of dignity (m),—slow in consequence of difficulty (n),
swift
(h) No sooner had th’ Almighty ceas’d, than all
The multitude of angels, with a shout
Eoud as from numbers without number, sweet
As from blest voices uttering joy; heav’n rung
With jubilee, and loud hosannas fill’d
TIP eternal regions.—— Par. Lost, iii.
See also the night-storm of thunder, lightning, wind,
and rain, in Virg. Georg, lib. i. ver. 328—334.
(1) Et longum, formose, vale, vale, inquit, lola.
Virg. Eel. i.
Formosam resonare doces Amaryllida silvas.
Virg. Eel. i.
See also the simile of the nightingale, Georg, lib. iv.
ver. 511. And see that wonderful couplet describing
the wailings of the owl, iEneid iv. 462.
(k)   vibratus ah aethere fulgor
Cum sonitu venit, et ruere omnia visa repente,
Tyrrhenusque tubfe mugire per aethera clangor,
Suspiciunt: iterum atque iterum fragor increpat
ingens. JEneid, viii.
See also the storm in the first book of the TEneid, and
in the first of the Odyssey.
(l) The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent
roar. ■P°Pe»
    On a sudden open fly,
W ith impetuous recoil and jarring sound,
Th’ infernal doors, and on their hinges grate
Harsh thunder.-  Par. Lost, ii. 879.
See also Homer’s Iliad, lib. ii. ver. 363, and Clarke’s
Annotation.
(m) See an exquisite example in Gray’s Progress of
Poesy ; the conclusion of the third stanza.
(n) And when up ten steep slopes you’ve dragg’d
your thighs. Pope.
Just brought out this, when scarce his tongue could
stir. Pope.
— . — -.  The huge leviathan
Wallowing unwieldy, enormous in their gait,
Tempest the ocean. Par. Lost, vii. 411.
782
P O E
Of Poetical swift and noisy (o)—swift and smooth (p)—uneven
Harmony, and abrupt (ft),—quick and joyous (r). An unex-
' pected pause in the verse may also imitate a sudden
•failure of strength (s), or interruption of motion (x),
or give vivacity to an image or thought, by fixing our
attention longer than usual upon the word that pre¬
cedes it (u).—Moreover, when we describe great bulk,
it is natural for us to articulate slowly, even in common
discourse; and therefore a line of poetry that requires
a slow pronunciation, or seems longer than it should
be, may be used with good effect in describing vastness
of size (x).—Sweet and smooth numbers are most pro¬
per, when the poet paints agreeable objects, or gentle
energy (y) ) and harsher sounds when he speaks of
what is ugly, violent, or disagreeable (z). This too
is according to the nature of common language $ lor
TRY. Parti.
we generally employ harsher tones of voice to express of Poetical
what we dislike, and more melodious notes to describe Harmony,
the objects of love, complacency, and admiration. Harsh —y——J
numbers, however, should not be frequent in poetry :
for in this art, as in music, concord and melody ought
always to predominate. And we find in fact, that good
poets can occasionally express themselves somewhat harsh¬
ly, when the subject requires it, and yet preserve the
sweetness and majesty of poetical diction. Further, the
voice of complaint, pity, love, and all the gentler affect-
tions is mild and musical, and should therefore, be imi¬
tated in musical numbers ; while despair, defiance, re¬
venge, and turbulent emotions in general, assume an
abrupt and sonorous catlence. Diunity of description
(a), solemn vows (b), and all sentiments that proceed
from a mind elevated with great ideas (c), require a
correspondent
See the famous description of Sisyphus rolling the stone,
Odyss. lib. xi. ver. 592. See Quintil. Inst. Oral. lib. ix.
cap. 4. § 4. compared with Paradise Lost, bookii. ver.
1022.
(o) Quadrupedante putrem sonitu quatit ungula
campum. JEneid.
Awtct^ iTTHTOC TTicSovde KvXw'SiTO Xctos CtVdl^rii. Oclyss. XI.
See also Virg. jEneid. lib. i. ver. 83—87.
fp) See wild as the winds o’er the desert he flies.
Pope.
Ille volat, simul arva fuga, simul aequora verrens.
Virg.
t £t«t« TTiXa, wsig tovtr . Hesiod.
(ft) uvarra kxtxvtx n da%utx r axB-ov.
Horn.
The lass shriek’d, started up, and shriek’d again.
Anonym.
(r) Let the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecks sound,
To many a youth, and many a maid,
Dancing in the checquer’d shade. Milt. Allegro.
See also Gray’s Progress of Poesy, stanza 3.
(s) Ac velut in somnis oculos ubi languida pressit
Noctequies, nequitquam avidosextenderecursus
Velle videmur :—et in medils conatibus aegri
Succidimus.—» JEneid.
See also Virg. Georg lib. iii. ver. 51 ?, 516.
(x) For this, be sure to-niuht thou shall have cramps*
Side-stitchesth itshall pen thy breath up. Urchins
Shall exercise upon thee. 
Prospero to Calyban in the Tempest.
See Pope’s Iliad, xiii. 109.
(u) . ■■■■.How often from the steep
Ol echoing hill or thicket have we heard
Celestial voices, to the midnight air,
Sole,—or responsive to each other’s note,
Singing their great Creator? Par. Lost, iv.
And over them triumphant Deadi his dart
Shook,——but uelay’u to strike. Id.
See also Horn. Odyss. lib. ix. ver. 290.
(x) Thus stretch’d out, huge in length, the arch fiend
lay. Par. Lost.
Monstrum hox-rendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen
ademptum. JEneid. lii.
Et magnosmembrorum artus, magnaossa.lacertosque
Exuit, atque ingens media consistit arena.
JEneid. v. 422.
(y) Hie gelid! fontes, hie mollia prala, Lycori,
Hie nemus, hie ipso tecum consumerer revo.
Virg, Ecl.x.
The dumb shall sing ; the lame his crutch forego,
And leap, exulting, like the bounding roe.
Pope's Messiah.
See Milton’s description of the evening, Par. Lost, book
iv. ver. 598—609.
Ye gentle gales beneath my body blow,
And softly lay me on the waves below.
Pope's Sappho.
(z) Stridenti stipula miserum disperdere carmen.
Virg. Eel. iii.
Immo ego Sardois videar tibi amarior herbis,
Florridior rusco, projecta vilior alga.
Virg. Eel. vii.
Neu patrioe validas in viscera vertite vires.
Virg. JEneid. vi.
See also Milton’s description of the Lazar-house in Pa¬
radise Lost, book xi. ver. 477—492.
(a) See Virg. Georg. 1* 328. and Homer, Virgil,
and Milton, passim. See also Dryden’s Alexander’s
Feast, and Gray’s Odes.
(b) See Virg. ^Eneid, iv. 24.
(c) Examples are frequent in the great authors. See
Othello’s exclamation :
—   O now for ever
l areweli the tranquil mind ! &c. Act iii. sc. 3.
5
Part I. POE
Of Poetical coiTespomlent pomp of language anti versification.—
Harmony. Lastly, an irregular or uncommon movement in the
v—verse may sometimes be of use, to make the reader con¬
ceive an image in a particular manner. Virgil, describ¬
ing horses running over rocky heights at full speed, be¬
gins the line with two dactyls, to imitate rapidity, and
concludes it with eight long syllables :
Saxa per, et scopulos, et depressas convalles,
Georg, iii. 276.
which is very unusual measure, but seems well adapted
to the thing expressed, namely, to the descent of the
T R Y. 78_5
animal from the hills to the low ground. At any rate, of Poetical
this extraordinary change of the rhythm may be allow- llaimotiy.
ed to bear some resemblance to the animal’s change of  v—
motion, as it would be felt by a rider, and as we may
suppose it is felt by the animal itself.
Other forms of imitative harmony, and many other
examples, besides those referred to in the margin, will
readily occur to all who are conversant in the writings
ol the best versifiers, particularly Homer, Virgil, Mil-
ton, Lucretius, Spenser, Dry den, Shakespeare, Pope,
and Gray.
Part II. Of the DIFFERENT SPECIES of POE FRY, with their Particular Prin¬
ciples.
Sect. I. Of Epic and Dramatic Compositions.
§ 1. The Epopee and Drama compared.
Elem. of TRAGEDY and the epic differ not in suhstantials :
Criticism. j[n both tjie same ends are proposed, viz. instruction and
In what amusement $ and. in both the same mean is employed,
tia^ic and ViZ- imitation of human actions. They differ only in
epic poetry the manner of imitating $ epic poetry employs narra-
apree, and tion j tragedy represents its facts as passing in our sight:
iu the former, the poet introduces himself as an histo-
nan j in the latter, he presents his actors, and never
himself.
This difference, regarding form only, may be thought
slight: but the effects it occasions are by no means so 5
for what we see makes a deeper impression than what
we learn from others. A narrative poem is a story told
by another : facts and incidents passing upon the stage,
come under »ur own observation ; and are beside much
enlivened by action and gesture, expressive of many sen¬
timents beyond the reach of language.
A dramatic composition has another property, in¬
dependent altogether of action ; which is, that it makes
a deeper impression than narration: in the former, per¬
sons express their own sentiments ; in the latter, senti¬
ments are related at second-hand. For that reason, Ari-
* Poet. stotle, the father of critics, lays it down as a rule *,
chap. 25. That in an epic poem the author ought to have (very
sect. 6. opportunity of introducing his actors, and of confining
the narrative part within the narrowest bounds. Ho¬
mer understood perfectly the advantage of this method1;
and his poems are both of them in a great measure
dramatic. Lucan runs to the opposite extreme ; and
is guilty of a still greater fault, in stuffing his Phursa-
lia with cold and languid rtflections, the merit of which
he assumes to himself, and deigns not to share with his
actors. Nothing can be more injudiciously timed, than
a chain of such reflections, which suspend the battle of
Fharsalia, after the leaders had made their speeches, and
j Tib vii. two aprons are ready to engage f.
Aristotle, from the nature of the fable, divides tra-
3S5 to tine . / . . ’
460. &etv ‘uto simple and complex : but it is of greater nio-
77 ment, with respect to dramatic as well as epic poetry,
Tragic and t() found a distinction upon the different ends attained
^alh ^tie'or ^ suc^ compositions. A poem, whether dramatic or
moral, epic, that has nothing in view but to move the passions
and to exhibit pictures of virtue and vice, may be di¬
stinguished by the name of pathetic : but where a story
is purposely contrived to illustrate some moral truth, by
showing that disorderly passions naturally lead to exter¬
nal misfortunes, such compositions may be denominated
moral. Beside making a deeper impression than can be
done by cool reasoning, a moral poem does not fall short
of reasoning in affording conviction : the natural connec¬
tion of vice with misery, and of virtue with happiness,
may be illustrated by stating a fact as well as by urging
an argument. Let us assume, for example, the follow¬
ing moral truths : That discord among the chiefs renders
ineffectual all common measures; and that the conse-
quences of a slightly founded quarrel, fostered by pride
and arrogance, are n >t less fatal than those of the gros¬
sest injury : these truths may be inculcated by the quar¬
rel between Agamemnon and Achilles at the siege of
Troy. If facts or circumstances be wanting, such as tend
to rouse the turbulent passions, they must be invented ;
but no accidental nor unaccountable event ought to be
admitted ; for the necessary or probable connection be¬
tween vice and misery is not learned from any events
but what are naturally occasioned by the characters and
passions of the persons represented, acting in such cir-
cumstances. A real event, of which we see not the
cause, may afford a lesson, upon the presumption that
what hath happened may again happen : but this cannot
be inferred from a story that is known to be a fiction.. 7g
Many are the good effects of such compositions. A The good
pathetic composition, whether epic or dramatic, Jends effects of
to a habit of virtue, by exciting us to do what is right,sll(il., om'
and restraining u> from whar is wrong, its frequentt)0sltlous'
pictures of human woes, produce, beside, two effects,
extremely salutary : They improve our sympathy, and
fortify us to bear our misfortunes. A moral com¬
position must obviously produce the same good effects,
because by being moral it ceaseth not to be pathetic :
it enjovs besides an excellence peculiar to itself; for it
not only improves the heart, as above mentioned, but
instructs the head by the moral it contains. It seems
impossible to imagine any entertainment more suited
to a rational being, than a work thus happdy illustrat¬
ing some moral truth ; where a number of persons of
different charactei s are engaged in an important action,
some retarding, others promoting, the great catastrophe;
and where there is dignity of style as well as ot mat¬
ter. A work of this kind has our sympathy at com¬
ma nd,
784
P. O E T II Y.
Part IT.
for tragic
and epic
jpoetry.
* Blair’s
Lectures;
Of tl,c manJ, Rn3 can put in motion the whole train of the
Epopee and social aftections : our curiosity in some scenes is ex-
Drania. cited, in others gratified ; and our delight is consum-
v mated at the close, upon finding, from the characters
and situations exhibited at the commencement, that
every incident down to the final catastrophe is natural,
and that the whole in conjunction make a regular chain
of causes and effects.
Considering that an epic and a dramatic poem are the
same in substance, and have the same aim or end, one
will readily imagine, that subjects proper for the one
must be equally proper for the other. But considering
their difference as to form, there will be found reason
to correct that conjecture, at least in some degree.
The same Many subjects may indeed be treated with equal ad-
subjects not yantage in either form : but the subjects are still more
always fit numerous for which they are not equally qualified ; and
there are subjects proper for the one and not at all for
the other. To give some slight notion of the difference,
as there is no room here for enlarging upon every arti¬
cle, we observe, that dialogue is better qualified for ex¬
pressing sentiments, and narrative for displaying facts.
Heroism, magnanimity, undaunted courage, and other
elevated virtues, figure best in action : tender passions,
and the whole tribe of sympathetic affections, figure best
in sentiment. It clearly follows, that tender passions are
more peculiarly the province of tragedy, grand and
heroic actions of epic poetry.
“ The epic poem is universally allowed to be *, of all
poetical works, the most dignified, and, at the same time,
the most difficult in execution. To contrive a story which
shall please and interest all readers, by being at once
entertaining, important, and instructive 5 to fill it with
suitable incidents •, to enliven it with a variety of cha¬
racters and of descriptions j and, throughout a long work,
to maintain that propriety of sentiment, and that eleva¬
tion of style, which the epic character requires, is un-
8o questionably the highest effort of poetical genius.
'The proper “ The action or subject of the epic poem must he great
subject of and interesting. Without greatness it would not have suf¬
ficient importance either to fix our attention or to justify
the magnificent apparatus which the poet bestows on it.
This is soevidentlyrequisite as not to require illustration ;
and, indeed, hardly any who have attempted epic poetry
have failed in choosingsome subject sufficiently important,
either by the nature of the action or by the fame of the
personages concerned in it. The fame of Homer’s heroes,
and the consequences of dissension between the greatest
of them, is a subject important in itself, and must have
•appeared particularly so to his countrymen, who boasted
their descent from those heroes. Thesubjectof the jSlneid
is still greater than that of the Iliad, as it is the founda¬
tion of the most powerful empire that ever was establish¬
ed upon this globe $ an event of much greater import¬
ance than the destruction of a city, or the anger of a se-
mibarbarous warrior. But the poems of Homer and Vir¬
gil fall in this respect infinitely short of that of Milton.
‘ Before the greatness displayed in Paradise Lost, it has
} Johnson* been well observed+thatallothergreatnessshrinksaway.
Life of Xhe subject of the English poet is not the destruction of
a city, the conduct of a colony, or the foundation of an
emph’e : it is the fate of worlds, the revolutions of hea¬
ven and earth •, rebellion against the Supreme King, rais¬
ed by the highest order of created beings j the overthrow
of their host and the punishment of their crime j the crea-
sm epic
poem.
^Milton.
tion of a new race of reasonable creatures 5 their crigi- or the
nal happiness and innocence, their forfeiture of immor- Epopee and
taiily, and their restoration to hope and peace.” Drama.
An epic poem, however, is defective if its action be v
not interesting as well as great j for a narrative of mere
valour may be so constructed as to prove cold and tire¬
some. “ Much * will depend on the happy choice of * Blair ubi
some subject, which shall by its nature interest the pn- suina-
blic ; as when the poet selects for his hero one who is
the founder, or the deliverer, or the favourite of his na¬
tion j or when he writes achievements that have been
highly celebrated, or have been connected with import¬
ant consequences to any public causee. Most of the great
epic poems are abundantly fortunate in this respect, and
must have been very interesting to those ages in which
they were composed.” The subject of the Paradise Lost,
as it is infinitely greater, must likewise he considered as
more universally interesting than that of any other poem.
“ We all feel the effects of Adam’s transgression j we
all sin like him, and like him must all bewail our of¬
fences. We have restless and insidious enemies in the
fallen angels, and in the blessed spirits we have guar¬
dians and friends j in the redemption of mankind we
hope to he included ; in the description of heaven and
hell we are surely interested, as we are all to reside
herealter either in the regions of horror or bliss.” gl
“ The chief circumstance which renders an epic poem Circum-
interestingf, and which tends to interest not one age or stances
country alone, but all readers, is the skilful conduct 0fc!iiefiy in-
the author in the management of his subject. His plan
must comprehend many affecting incidents. He may f Blair and
sometimes be awful and august •, he must often be tender
and pathetic j he must give us gentle and pleasing scenes
of love, friendship, and aflection. The more that an
epic poem abounds with situations which awaken the
feelings of humanity, it is the more interesting. In this
respect perhaps no epic poets have been so happy as Vir¬
gil and Tasso. The plan of the Paradise Lost comprises
neither human actions nor human manners. The man
and woman who act and suffer, are in a state which no
other man or woman can ever know. The reader finds
no transaction in which he can be engaged ; beholds no
condition in which he can by any effort of imagination
place himself; he has therefore little natural curiosity
or sympathy.” S2
A question has been moved, Whether the nature ofwhether
the epic poem does not require that the hero should be the hero
ultimately successful ? To this question Johnson replies, mu®t neces-
that “ there is no reason why the hero should not besan ,
untortunate, except established practice, since success and
virtue do not necessarily go together.” Most critics,
however, are of a different opinion, and hold success to
be, if not the necessary, at least the most proper issue of
an epic poem. An unhappy conclusion depresses the
mind, and is opposite to the elevating emotions which
belong to this species of poetry. Terror and compassion
are the proper subjects of tragedy ; but as the epic is of
larger extent, it were too much, if, after the difficulties
and troubles which commonly abound in the progress of
the poem, the author should bring them all at last to an
unfortunate conclusion. We know not that any author
of name has held this course except Lucan ; for in the
Paradise Lost, as Adam’s deceiver is at last crushed, and
he himself restored to the favour of his maker, Milton’s
hero must be considered as finally successful.
We
Part II. POE
Of the We have no occasion to say more of the epic, con-
Epopee and sidered as peculiarly adapted to certain subjects, and to
; i be conducted according to a certain plan. But as dra¬
matic subjects are more complex, it is necessary to take
a narrower view of them. They are either the light
and the gay, or the grave and affecting, incidents of
human life. The former constitute the subject of co¬
medy, and the latter of tragedy.
As great and serious objects command more attention
than little and ludicrous ones; as the fall of a hero in¬
terests the public more than the marriage of a private
person ; tragedy has been always held a more dignified
entertainment than comedy. The first thing required of
the tragic poet is, that he pitch upon some moving and
interesting story, and that he conduct it in a natural and
probable manner. For .ve must observe, that the natu¬
ral and probable are more essential to tragic than even to
epic poetry. Admiration is excited by the wonderful;
but passion can be raised only by the impressions of ua-
. 84 ture and truth upon the mind,
best Suited ^ie su^ject ^est htte(l for tragedy is where a man has
to tragedy, himself been the cause of his misfortune ; not so as to be
deeply guilty, nor altogether innocent: the misfortune
must be occasioned by a fault incident to human nature,
and therefore in some degree venial. Such misfortunes
call forth the social affections, and warmly interest the
spectator. An accidental misfortune, if not extremely
singular, doth not greatly move our pity: the person who
suffers, being innocent, is freed from the greatest of all
torments, that anguish of mind which is occasioned by
remorse. An atrocious criminal, on the other hand, who
brings misfortunes upon himself, excites little pitv, for a
diflerent reason : his remorse, it is true, aggravates his
distress and swells the first emotions of pity: but then
our hatred of him as a criminal blending with pity,blunts
its edge considerably. Misfortunes that are not innocent
nor highly criminal, partake the advantages of each ex- -
treme : they are attended with remorse to embitter the
distress, which raises our pity to a great height; and the
slight indignation we have at a venial fault detracts not
sensibly from our pity. The happiest of all subjects ac¬
cordingly for raising pity, is where a man of integrity
falls into a great misfortune by doine an action that is
innocent, but which, by some singular means, is con¬
ceived by him to be criminal: his remorse aggravates
his distress ; and our compassion, unrestrained by indig¬
nation, knows no bounds. Pity comes thus to be the
ruling passion of a pathetic tragedy ; and, by proper re¬
presentation, may be raised to a height scarcely exceed¬
ed by any thinji felt in real life. A moral tragedy takes
in a larger field ; as it not only exercises our pity, but
raises another passion, which, though selfish, deserves to
be cherished equally with the social affection. The pas¬
sion we have in view is fear or terror; for when a nns-
iortune is the natural consequence of some wrong bias
in the temper, every spectator who is conscious of such
a bias in himself takes the alarm, and dreads his falling
into the same misfortune: and by the emotion of fear or
terror, frequently reiterated in a variety of moral trage¬
dies, the spectators are put upon their guard against the
disorders of passion.
The commentators upon Aristotle, and other critics,
have been much gravelled about the account given of
tragedy by that author: “ That by means of pity and
terror,it refines or purifies in us all sorts of passion.” But
Vol. XVI. Part II.
T R Y. 785
no one who has a clear conception of the end and effects Of the
of a good tragedy, can have anyriifficulty about Aristotle’s Epopee and
meaning: Our pity is engaged for the persons represent- th'ani,t-
ed; and our terror is upon our own account. Pity indeed v~ '
is here made to stand lor all the sympathetic emotions, be¬
cause of these it is the capital. There can be no doubt,
that our sympathetic emotions are refined or improved
by daily exercise ; and in what manner our other pas¬
sions are refined by terror, has been just now said. One
thing is certain, that no other meaning can justly be
given to the foregoing doctrine than that now men¬
tioned ; and that it wTas really Aristotle’s meaning,
appears from his 13th chapter, where he delivers seve¬
ral propositions conformable to the doctrines as here ex¬
plained. Ihese, at the same time, we take liberty to
mention ; because, so lar as authority can go, they con¬
firm the foregoing reasoning about subjects proper for
tragedy. The first proposition is, That it being the pro¬
vince of tragedy to excite pity and terror, an innocent per¬
son falling into adversity ought never to be the subject.
This proposition is a necessary consequence of his doc¬
trine as explained ; a subject of that nature may indeed
excite pity and terror; but the former in an inferior de¬
gree, and the latter in no degree for moral instruction.
The second proposition is, That the history of a wicked
person in a change from misery to happiness ought not to
be represented ; which excites neither terror nor com¬
passion, nor is agreeable in any respect. The third is,
That the misfortunes of a wicked person ought not to he
represented : such representation may be agreeable in
some measure upon a principle of justice ; but it will
not move our pity, or any degree of terror, except in
those of the same vicious disposition with the person re¬
presented. The last proposition is, that the only cha¬
racter fit for representation lies in the middle, neither
eminently good nor eminently bad; where the misfortune .
is not the effect of deliberate vice, but of some involun¬
tary fault, as our author expresses it. The only objec¬
tion we find to Aristotle’s account of tragedy, is, that
he confines it within too narrow bounds, by refusing ad¬
mittance to the pathetic kind : for if terror be essential
to tragedy, no representation deserves that name but
the moral kind, where the misfortunes exhibited are
caused by a wrong balance of mind, or some disorder in
the internal constitution : such misfortunes always sug¬
gest moral instruction : and by such misfortunes only
can terror be excited for our improvement.
Thus Aristotle’s four propositions above mentioned
relate solely to tragedies of the moral kind. Those of
the pathetic kind are not confined within so narrow li¬
mits : subjects fitted for the theatre are not in such
plenty as to make us reject innocent misfortunes which
rouse our sympathy, though they inculcate no moral.
With respect indeed to the subjects of that kind, it
may be doubted, whether the conclusion ought not al¬
ways to be fortunate. Where a person of integrity is
represented as suffering to the end under misfortunes
purely accidental, we depart discontented, and with some
obscure sense of injustice : for seldom is man so submis¬
sive to Providence, as not to revolt against the tyranny
and vexations of blind chance; he will be tempted to
say, this ought not to be. We give for an example the
Romeo and Juliet of Shakespeare, where the fatal cata¬
strophe is occasioned by Friar Lawrence’s coming to the
monument a minute too late; we are vexed at the un-
t 5 G lucky
786 POE
Of ihe lucky chance, and go away dissatisfied. Such impressions,
Epopee and which ought not to be cherished, are a sufficient reason
Drama. for excluding stories of this kind from the theatre.
^ The misfortunes of a virtuous person, arising from ne-
The impro- cessary causes, or a chain of unavoidable circumstances,
per use of as they excite a notion of destiny, are equally unsatisfac-
destiny in tory to the human mind. A metaphysician in his clo¬
the ancient get n reason himself into the belief of fate, or what in
ti afrcuics. ^ •
modern language is called philosophical necessity; but the
feelings of the heart revolt against that doctrine j and
tve have the confession of the two ablest philosophers by
whom it was ever maintained, that men conduct them¬
selves through life as if their will were absolutely free,
and their actions no part of a chain of necessary causes
and effects. As no man goes to the theatre to study
metaphysics, or to divest himself of the common feelings
of humanity, it is impossible, whatever be his philoso¬
phical creed, that he should contemplate without horror
and disgust an innocent person suffering by mere destiny.
A tragedy of uncommon merit in every other respect
may indeed be endured, nay perhaps admired, though
such be its catastrophe ; because no work of man was
ever perfect j and because, where imperfections are un¬
avoidable, a multitude of excellencies may be allowed to
cover one fault: but we believe the misery of an inno¬
cent person resulting from a chain of unavoidable cir¬
cumstances has never been considered as a beauty by
minds unperverted by a false philosophy. “ It must be
* Blair. acknowledged * that the subjects of the ancient Greek
tragedies were frequently founded on mere destiny and
inevitable misfortunes. In the course of the drama ma¬
ny moral sentiments occurred ; but the only instruction
which the fable conveyed was, that reverence was due
to the gods, and submission to the decrees of fate. Mo¬
dern tragedy has aimed at a higher object, by becoming
more the theatre of passion •, pointing out to men the
consequences of their own misconduct, showing the dire¬
ful effects whieh ambition, jealousy, love, resentment,
and other such strong emotions, when misguided or left
unrestrained, produce upon human life. An Othello,
hurried by jealousy to murder his innocent wife j a Jaf-
fier ensnared by resentment and want to engage in a
conspiracy, and then stung with remorse and involved
in ruin •, a Siffredi, through the deceit which he employs
for public-spirited ends, bringing destruction an all
whom lie loved : these, and such as these, are the ex¬
amples which Tragedy now displays to public view j and
by means of which it inculcates on men the proper go-
vernment of their passions.”
Row it is There is indeed one singular drama, in which destiny
used in the is employed in a manner very different from that in
tiagedy ot which it was used by the poets of Greece and Rome,
hers ° J" Schiller’s tragedy of the Robbers, of which “ the
hero, endowed by nature (as the translator of the piece
observes) with the most generous feelings, animated by
the highest sense of honour, and susceptible of the
warmest affections of the heart, is driven by the perfidy of
a brother, and the supposed inhumanity of his father, into
a state of confirmed misanthropy and despair.” He wish¬
ed that he “ could blow the trumpet of rebellion through
all nature •, that he could extinguish with one mortal
blow the viperous race of men *, and that he could so
strike as to destroy the germ of existence.” In this si¬
tuation he is hurried on to the perpetration of a series of
crimes which find from their very magnitude and atro-
T R Y. Part II.
city a recommendation to his distempered mind. Sen- Of tbe
sible all the while of his own guilt, and suffering for that Epopeeand
guilt the severest pangs of remorse, he yet believes him- Drama,
self an instrument of vengeance in the hands of the Al- v J
mighty for the punishment of the crimes of others. In
thus accomplishing the dreadful destiny which is pre¬
scribed for him, he feels a species of gloomy satisfaction,
at the same time that he considers himself as doomed to
the performance of that part in life which is to consign
his memory to infamy and his soul to perdition. After
burning a town, he exclaims, “ O God of vengeance !
am I to blame for this ? Art thou to blame, O Father
of Heaven ! when the instruments of thy wrath, the pes¬
tilence, flood, and famine overwhelm at once the righ¬
teous and the guilty ? Who can command the flames to
stay their course, to destroy only the noxious vermin,
and spare the fertile field ?” yet with the same breath he
accuses himself of extreme criminality for “ presumptu¬
ously wielding the sword of the Most High !” Fie fre¬
quently laments in the most affecting manner the loss of
his innocence, wishes that “ he could return into the
womb that bare him, that he hung an infant at the
breast, that he were born a beggar, the meanest hind, a
peasant of the field.” He considers himself as the outcast
of Heaven, and finally rejected by the Father of mercy;
yet he tells the band of robbers whom he commanded,
that the “ Almighty honoured them as agents in his
hands to execute his wonderous purposes ; employed
them as his angels to execute his stern decrees, and pour
the vials of his wrath ;” and in a very solemn prayer,
he supposes “ that the God who ruleth over all had de¬
creed that he should become the chief of these foul mur¬
derers.”
“ It will be allowed (says the translator), that the ima¬
gination could not have conceived a spectacle more
deeply interesting, more powerfully affecting to lh«
mind of man, than that of a human being thus charac¬
terised and acting under such impressions. The compas¬
sionate interest which the mind feels in the emotions or
sufi'erings of the guilty person, is not diminished by the
observation, that he acts under an impression of inevi¬
table destiny ; on the contrary, there is something in our
nature which leads us the more to compassionate the in¬
strument of those crimes, that we see him consider him¬
self as bound to guilt by fetters, which he has the con¬
stant wish, but not the strength, to break.”
This is indeed true : we sympathise with the hero of
the Robbers, not only on account of his exalted senti¬
ments and his inflexible regard to the abstract principles
of honour and justice, but much more for that disorder
of intellect which makes him suppose “ his destiny fixed
and unalterable,” at the very time that he is torn with
remorse for the perpetration of those crimes by which he
believed it to be fulfilling. Destiny, however, is not in
this tragedy exhibited as real, but merely as the phan¬
tom of a distempered though noble mind. Had the poet
represented his hero as in fact decreed by God, or bound
by fate, to head a band of foul murderers, and to com-,
mit a series of the most atrocious crimes; though our pity
for him might not have been lessened, the impressions
of the whole piece on the mind could have been only
those of horror and disgust at what would have appear¬
ed to us the unequal ways of providence.
The tragedy of the Robbers is a striking instance of
the justness of Dg Blair’s criticism, in opposition to that
of
Part II,
POE
Of the of Lord Karnes. His lordship holds that it is essential
Epopee and to a good tragedy, that its principal facts be borrowed
. Dtyiia" ■ from history $ because a mixture of known truth with
the fable tends to delude us into a conviction of the re-
Whether ality °f the whole. The Doctor considers this as a mat-
the subject ter of no great consequence 5 for “ it is proved by expe-
shoiild^have r*ence’ t,lat a fictitious tale, if properly conducted, will
itsTounda^ me^ t|ie fieart as much as any real history this ob-
tion in servation is verified in the Robbers. It is indeed a very
truth. irregular drama, and perhaps could not be acted on a
British theatre. But although the whole is known to
be a fiction, we believe there are few effusions of human
88
How a tra¬
gedy should
be divided
into acts;
and how
many acts
it should
have.
E!em. of
Criticism,
ch. xxii.
genius which more powerfully excite the emotions of
terror and pity. Truth is indeed congenial to the mind ;
and when a subject proper for tragedy occurs in history
or tradition, it is perhaps better to adopt it than to in¬
vent one which has no such foundation. But in choos¬
ing a subject which makes a figure in history, greater
precaution is necessary than where the whole is a fiction.
In the latter case the author is under no restraint other
than that the characters and incidents he just copies of
nature. But where the story is founded on truth, no
circumstances must he added, but such as connect natu¬
rally with what are known to be true j history may he
supplied, but must not be contradicted. Further, the
subject chosen must be distant in time, or at least in
place ; for the familiarity of recent persons and events
ought to be avoided. Familiarity ought more especially
to be avoided in an epic poem, the peculiar character of
which is dignity and elevation: modern manners make
but a poor figure in such a poem. Their familiarity un¬
qualifies them for a lofty subject. The dignity of them
will he better understood in future ages, when they are
no longer familiar.
After Voltaire, no writer, it is probable, will think
of rearing an epic poem upon a recent event in the his¬
tory of his own country. But an event of that kind is
perhaps not altogether unqualified for tragedy: it was
admitted in Greece; and Shakespeare has employed it
successfully in several of his pieces. One advantage it
possesses above fiction, that of more readily engaging
our belief, which tends above any other particular to
raise our sympathy. The scene of comedy is generally
laid at home : familiarity is no objection 5 and we are
peculiarly sensible of the ridicule of our own manners.
After a proper subject is chosen, the dividing it into
parts requires some art. The conclusion of a book in an
epic poem, or of an act in a play, cannot be altogether
arbitrary 5 nor be intended for so slight a purpose as to
make the parts of equal length. The supposed pause at
the end of every hook, and the real pause at the end of
every act, ought always to coincide with some pause in
the action. In this respect, a dramatic or epic poem
ought to resemble a sentence or period in language, di¬
vided into members that are distinguished from each
other by proper pauses 5 or it ought to resemble a piece
of music, having a full close at the end, preceded by im-
TRY. 787
perfect closes that contribute to the melody. The divi- Of the
sion of every play into five acts has no other foundation Epopee and
than common practice, and the authority of Horace (d). Drallia-
It is a division purely arbitrary; there is nothing in the '
nature of the composition which fixes this number rather
than any other j and it had been much better if no such
number had been ascertained. But, since it is ascer¬
tained, every act in a dramatic poem ought to close with
some incident that makes a pause in the action j for
otherwise there can be no pretext for interrupting the
representation. It would be absurd to break off in the
very heat of action ; against which every one would ex¬
claim : the absurdity still remains where the action re¬
lents, if it be not actually suspended for some time. This
iule is also applicable to an epic poem: though in it a
deviation from the rule is less remarkable ; because it is
in the reader’s power to hide the absurdity, by proceed¬
ing instantly to another book. The first book of Para¬
dise Lost ends without any close, jierfect or imperfect:
it breaks off abruptly, where Satan, seated on his throne,
is prepared to harangue the convocated host of the fall¬
en angels j and the second book begins with the speech.
Milton seems to have copied the -ZEneid, of which the
two first books are divided much in the same manner.
Neither is there any proper pause at the end of the
seventh book of Paradise Lost, nor at the end of the
eleventh. In the Iliad little attention is given to this
rule.
Besides tragedy, dramatic poetry comprehends co- The object
medy and farce. These are sufficiently distinguished of comedy,
from tragedy by their general spirit and strain. “ While
pity and terror, and the other strong passions, form the
province of the tragic muse, the chief or rather sole in¬
strument of comedy and farce is ridicule.” These two
species of composition are so perpetually running into
each other, that we shall not treat of them separately ;
since what is now known by the name offarce differs in
nothing essential from what was called the old comedy
among the Greeks. “ Comedy proposes for its object* * Blair's
neither the great sufferings nor the great crimes of men ; Lectures.
but their follies and slighter vices, those parts of their
character which raise in beholders a sense of impropri¬
ety, which expose them to be censured and laughed at
by others, or which render them troublesome in civil
society.
“ The subjects of tragedy are not limited to any age
or country ; but the scene and subject of comedy should
always be laid in our own country, and in our own times.
I he reason is obvious: those decorums of behaviour,
those lesser discriminations of character, which afford
subject for comedy, change with the differences of coun¬
tries and times; and can never be so well understood by
foreigners as by natives. The comic poet, who aims at
correcting improprieties and follies of behaviour, should
‘ catch the manners living as they rise.’ It is not his
business to amuse us with a tale of other times; but to
give us pictures taken from among ourselves; to satirize
5G2 reigning
(d) Neve minor, ncu sit quintoproductior aciu
Fabula. Be Arte Poetica.
If you would have your play deserve success,
Give it five acts complete, nor more nor less. Francis.
788 P O E
Ol'tlie reigning and present vices; to exhibit to the age a faith-
IJpopeeand ful copy ot itself, with its humours, its follies, and its
Drama, extravagancies.
v a come(]y m.iv be divided into two kinds : comedy
Comedy of of character, and comedy of intrigue. The former is the
two kinds, more valuable species ; because it is the business of co¬
medy to exhibit the prevailing manners which mark the
character of the age in which the scene is laid: yet there
should be always as much intrigue as to give us some¬
thing to wish and something to fear. The incidents
should so succeed one another, as to produce striking
situations, and to fix our attention; while they allord at
the same time a proper field for the exhibition of charac¬
ter. The action in comedy, though it demands the
poet’s care in order to render it animated and natural,
is a less significantand important part of the performance
than the action in tragedy: as in comedy it is what men
say, and how they behave, that draws our attention, ra-
9I ther than what they perform or what they suffer.
The cam- “ In the management oi characters, one ot the most
mon faults common faults of comic writers is the carrying of them
ot comedy. {qo par beyond life. Wherever ridicule is concerned, it
is indeed extremely difficult to hit the precise point
where true wit ends and buffoonery begins. When the
miser in Plautus, searching the person whom he suspects
of having stolen his casket, after examining first his right
hand and then his left, cries out, ostende etiam tertiam—
‘ show me your third hand,’ there is no one but must be
sensible of the extravagance. Certain degrees of exag¬
geration are allowed to the comedian, but there are li¬
mits set to it by nature and good taste ; and supposing
the miser to be ever so much engrossed by bis jealousy
and his suspicions, it is impossible to conceive any man
in his wits suspecting another of having more than two
hands.”
It appears from the plays of Aristophanes which re¬
main, that the characters in the old comedy of Athens
were almost always overcharged. They were likewise
direct and avowed satires against particular persons, who
were brought upon the stage by name. “ The ridicule
employed in them is extravagant, the wit for the most
part buffoonish and farcical, the raillery biting and cruel,
and the obscenity that reigns in them is gross and intole¬
rable. They seem to have been composed merely for the
mob.” Yet of these abominable dramas, an excellent
*llurd. critic* has affirmed, with too much truth, that what is
now called farce is nothing more than the shadow. The
characters in genuine comedy are not those of particular
and known persons, but the general characters of the
age and nation; which it requires no small skill to distin¬
guish clearly and naturally from each other. In attempt¬
ing this, poets are too apt to contrast characters and in¬
troduce them always in pairs; which gives an affected air
to the whole piece. The perfection of art is to conceal
art. “ A masterly writer will give us his characters dis¬
tinguished rather by such shades of diversity as are com¬
monly found iu society, than marked with such strong
oppositions as are rarely brought into actual contrast in
9„ any of the circumstances of real life.”
The style The style of comedy ought to be pure, elegant,
of comedy. am| }ively?
very seldom rising higher than the ordinary
tone of polite conversation ; and upon no occasion de¬
scending into vulgar, mean, and gross expressions ; and
in one word, action and character being the funda¬
mental parts of every epic and dramatic composition,
T 11 Y. Part 1L
the sentiments and tone of language ought to be subser- of the
vient to these, so as to appear natural and proper for the Epopee,
occasion. i *—‘v——*
§ 2. Respective peculiarities of the Epopee and Drama.
In a theatrical entertainment, which employs both Mac]dncry
the eye and the ear, it would be a gross absurdity to in-can have
troduce upon the stage superior beings in a visible shape, no place fe
There is no place for such objection in an epic poem ; * drama,
and Boileau, with many other critics, declares strong-1101
ly for that sort of machinery in an epic poem. But wa¬
ving authority, which is apt to impose upon the judge¬
ment, let Us draw7 what light we can from reason. \Ve
may in the first place observe, that this matter is but
indistinctly handled by critics : the poetical privilege of
animating insensible objects for enlivening a description,
is very different from what is termed machinery, where
deities, angels, devils, or other supernatural powers, are
introduced as real personages, mixing in the action, and
contributing to the catastrophe ; and yet these twev
things are constantly jumbled together in reasoning.
The former is founded on a natural principle : but
nothing is more unnatural than the latter. Its efiects,
at the same time, are deplorable. First, it gives an air
of fiction to the whole; and prevents that impression of
reality which is requisite to interest our afiections, and
to move our passions ; which of itself is sufficient to ex¬
plode machinery, whatever entertainment it may afford
to readers of a fantastic taste or irregular imagination. ^
And next, were it possible, by disguising the fiction, to has it a
delude us into a notion of reality, an insuperable objec- tood eflect
tion would still remain, which is, that the aim or end *H ^
of an epic poem can never be attained in any perfection er e^lc*
where machinery is introduced ; for an evident reason,
that virtuous emotions cannot be raised successfully but
by the actions of those who are endued with passions
and affections like our own, that is, by human actions ;
and as for moral instruction, it is clear, that none can
be drawn from beings who act not upon the same
principles with us. A fable in iEsop’s manner is no
objection to this reasoning: his lions, bulls, and goats,
are truly men under disguise; they act and feel in every
respect as human beings ; and the moral we draw is
founded on that supposition. Homer, it is true, intro¬
duces the gods into his fable : but the religion of his
country authorized that liberty ; it being an article in
the Grecian creed, that the gods often interpose visibly
and bodily in human affairs. It must however be ob¬
served, that Homer’s deities do no honour to his poems:
fictions that transgress the hounds of nature, seldom
have a good effect ; they may inflame the imagination
for a moment, but will not be relished by any person of
a correct taste. They may be of some use to the lower
rank of writers; but an author of genius has much finer
materials, of Nature’s production, for elevating his sub¬
ject, and making it interesting.
One would be apt to think, that Boileau, declaring
for the Heathen deities, intended them only for embel¬
lishing the diction : but unluckily he banishes angels and
devils, who undoubtedly make a figure in poetic lan¬
guage, equal to the Heathen deities. Boileau, there¬
fore, bv pleading for the latter in opposition to the term¬
er, certainly meant, if he had any distinct meaning that
the Heathen deities may he introduced as actors And,
in fact, he himself is guilty of that glaring absurdity,
where
Part II. POE
Of the where it is not so pardonable as in an epic poem: In his
Epopee, ode upon the taking of Namur, he demands with a most
* serious countenance, whether the walls were built by
Apollo or Neptune : and in relating the passage of the
Rhine, anno 1672, he describes the god of that river as
fighting with all his might to oppose the French mo¬
narch •, which is confounding fiction with reality at p,
strange rate. The French writers in general run into
this error : Wonderful the effect of custom entirely to
hide from them how ridiculous such fictions are !
That this is a capital error in Gierusalemme Libera-
ta, Tasso’s greatest admirers must acknowledge : a si¬
tuation can never be intricate^ nor the reader even in
pain about the catastrophe,*so long as there is an angel,
devil, or magician, to lend a helping hand. Voltaire,
in his essay upon epic poetry, talking of the Pharsaliay
observes judiciously, “ That the proximity of time, the
notoriety of events, the character of the age, enlighten¬
ed and political, joined with the solidity of Lucan’s
subject, deprived him of poetical fiction.” Is it not
amazing, that a critic who reasons so justly with respect
to others, can be so blind with respect to himself? Vol¬
taire, not satisfied to enrich his language with images
drawn from invisible and superior beings, introduces
them into the action: in the sixth canto of the Hin-
riade, St Louis appears in person, and terrifies the sol¬
diers; in the seventh canto, St Louis sends the god of
Sleep to Henry *, and in the tenth, the Demons of Dis¬
cord, Fanaticism, War, &c. assist Aumale in a single
combat with Turenne, and are driven away by a good
angel brandishing the sword of God. To blend such
fictitious personages in the same action with mortals,
makes a bad figure at any rate; and is intolerable in a
history so recent as that of Henry IV. But perfection
is not the lot of man.
But perhaps the most successful weapon that can be
employed upon this subject is ridicule. Addison has
applied this in an elegant manner : “ "W hereas the time
of a general peace is, in all appearance, drawing near;
being informed that there are several ingenious persons
who intend to show their talents on so happy an occa¬
sion, and being willing, as much as in me lies, to pre¬
vent that effusion of nonsense which wre have good cause
to apprehend ; I do hereby strictly require every person
who shall write on this subject, to remember that he is
a Christian, and not to sacrifice his catechism to his
poetry. In order to it, I do expect of him, in the first
place, to make his own poem, without depending upon
Phoebus for any part of it, or calling out for aid upon
anv of the muses by name. I do likewise positively
forbid the sending of Mercury with any particular mes¬
sage or dispatch relating to the peace ; and shall by no
means suffer Minerva to take upon her the shape of any
plenipotentiary concerned in this great work. I do fur¬
ther declare, that I shall not allow the Destinies to have
had a hand in the deaths of the several thousands who
have been slain in the late war, being of opinion that
all such deaths may be well accounted for by the Chri¬
stian system of uowrier and ball. I do therefore strictly
forbid the Fates to cut the thread of man’s life upon any
pretence whatsoever, unless it be for the sake of rhyme.
And whereas I have good reason to fear, that Neptune
will have a great deal of business on his hands in several
poems which we may now suppose are upon the anvil*
I do also prohibit his appearance, unless it be done ia
TRY.
789
metaphor, simile, or any very short allusion ; and that Of the
even here he may not be permitted to enter, but with Epopee,
great caution and circumspection. I desire that the ' 1 v"——'
same rule may be extended to his whole fraternity of
Heathen gods ; it being my design to condemn every
poem to the flames in which Jupiter thunders, or exer¬
cises any other act of authority which does not belong
to him. In short I expect that no pagan agent shall
be introduced, or any fact related which a man cannot
give credit to with a good conscience. Provided al¬
ways that nothing herein contained shall extend, or be
construed to extend to several of the female poets in
this nation, who shall still be left in full possession of
their gods and goddesses, in the same manner as if this
paper had never been written.” Spect. N° 523.
The marvellous is indeed so much promoted by ma¬
chinery, that it is not wonderful to find it embraced by
the bulk of writers, and perhaps of readers. If in¬
dulged at all, it is generally indulged to excess. Ho¬
mer introduceth his deities with no greater ceremony
than his mortals ; and Virgil has still less moderation:
a pilot spent with watching cannot fall asleep and drop
into the sea by natural means : one bed cannot receive
the two lovers ./Eneas and Dido, without the immediate
interposition of superior powers. The ridiculous in such
fictions must appear even through the thickest veil of
gravity and solemnity.
Angels and devils serve equal with Heathen deities
as materials for figurative language ; perhaps better
among Christians, because we believe in them, and not
in Heathen deities. But every one is sensible, as well
as Boileau, that the invisible powers in our creed make
a much worse figure as actors in a modern poem than the
invisible powers in the Heathen creed did in ancient
poems ; the cause of which is not far to seek. The
Heathen deities, in the opinion of their votaries, were
beings elevated one step only above mankind, subject to
the same passions, and directed by the same motives;
therefore not altogether improper to mix with men in
an important action. In our creed superior beings are
placed at such a mighty distance from us, and are of a
nature so different, that with no propriety can we appear
with them upon the same stage: man, a creature much
inferior, loses all dignity in the comparison.
There can be no doubt that an historical poem admits An Hstori-
the embellishment of allegory as well as of metaphor,ca* P06111,
simile, or other figure. Moral truth, in particular, is ,lu^n'"s,ot
finely illustrated in the allegorical manner: it amuses the &<Alimjer
fancy to find abstract terms, by a sort of magic, meta- proper re-
morphosed into active beings; and it is delightful toswhRions.
trace a general proposition in a pictured event. But
allegorical beings should be confined within their own
sphere, and never be admitted to mix in the principal
action, nor to co-operate in retarding or advancing the
catastrophe ; which would have a still worse effect than
invisible powers : for the impression of real existence,
essential to an epic poem, is inconsistent with that figu¬
rative existence which is essential to an allegory ; and
therefore no method can more effectually prevent the
impression of reality than the introduction of allegorical
beings co-operating with those whom we conceive to
be reallv existing. The love episode in the Henriade
(canto 9."), insufferable by the discordant mixture of al¬
legory with real life, is copied from that of Rinaldo and
Armida fit the Gierusalemme Liberata, which hath no
merit
/
79©
Of the
Epopee.
96
Episode de
Sued.
97
What con¬
stitutes a
good epi¬
sode.
POETRY.
Part II.
merit to entitle it to be copied. An allegorical object,
such as Fame in the ^Fneid, and the Temple of Love
in the Henriade, may find place in a description : but
to introduce Discord as a real personage, imploring the
assistance of Love as another real personage, to enervate
the courage of the hero, is making these figurative beings
act beyond their sphere, and creating a strange jumble
of truth and fiction. The allegory of Sin and Death
in the Paradise Lost is possibly not generally relished,
though it is not entirely of the same nature with what
we have been condemning j in a work comprehending
the achievements of superior beings there is more room
for fancy than where it is confined to human actions.
What is the true notion of an episode ? or how is it
to be distinguished from the principal action ? Every
incident that promotes or retards the catastrophe must
be part of the principal action. This clears the nature
of an episode ; which may be defined, “ An incident
connected with the principal action, but contributing
neither to advance nor retard it.” The descent of
gEneas into hell does not advance or retard the cata-
strophe, and therefore is an episode. The story of Nisus
and Euryalus, producing an alteration in the affairs of
the contending parties, is a part of the principal action.
The family-scene in the sixth book of the Iliad is of the
same nature : for by Hector’s retiring from the field of
battle to visit his wife, the Grecians had opportunity
to breathe, and even to turn upon the Trojans. The
unavoidable effect of an episode according to this defi¬
nition must be, to break the unity of action 5 and there¬
fore it ought never to be indulged unless to unbend the
mind after the fatigue of a long narration. An episode,
when such is its purpose, requh’es the following condi¬
tions : it ought to be well connected with the principal
action ; it ought to be lively and interesting ; it ought
to be short; and a time ought to be chosen when the
principal action relents (e).
In the following beautiful episode, which closes the
second book of Fingal, all these conditions are united.
“ Comal was a son of Albion ; the chief of an hun¬
dred hills. His deer drunk of a thousand streams 5 and
a thousand rocks replied to the voice of his dogs. His
face was the mildness of youth ; but his hand the death
of heroes. One was his love, and fair was she ! the
daughter of mighty Conloch. She appeared like a sun¬
beam among women, and her hair was like the wing of
the raven. Her soul was fixed on Comal, and she was
his companion in the chase. Often met their eyes of
love, and happy were their words in secret. But Gor-
mal loved the maid, the chief of gloomy Ardven. He
watched her lone steps on the heath, the foe of unhappy
Comal.
“ One day, tired of the chace, when the mist had
concealed their friends, Comal and the daughter of
Conloch met in the cave of Konan. It was the wonted
haunt of Comal. It sides were hung with his arms j a
hundred shields of thongs were there, a hundred helms
of sounding steel. Rest here, said he, my love Galvina,
thou light of the cave of Ronan : a deer appears on
Mora’s brow ; I go, but soon will return. I fear, said
she, dark Gormal my foe : I will rest here 5 but soon
return, my love.
“ He went to the deer of Mora. The daughter of
Conloch, to try his love, clothed her white side with
his armour, and strode from the cave of Ronan. Think¬
ing her his foe, his heart beat high, and his colour
changed. He drew the bow : the arrow flew : Galvina
fell in blood. He ran to the cave with hasty steps, and
called the daughter of Conloch. Where art thou, my
love ? but no answer. He marked, at length, her
heaving heart beating against the mortal arrow. O
Conloch’s daughter, is it thou !—he sunk upon her
breast.
“ The hunters found the hapless pair. Many and
silent were his steps round the dark dwelling of his
love. The fleet of the ocean came : he fought, and the
strangers fell: he searched for death over the field $ but
who could kill the mighty Comal ? Throwing away his
shield, an arrow found his manly breast. He sleeps with
his Galvina : their green tombs are seen by the mariner
when he bounds on the waves of the north.”
Of the
Epopee.
Next, upon the peculiarities of a dramatic poem. And Double plot
lire first we shall mention is a double plot: one of which in a drama
must resemble an episode in an epic poem ; for it would seldom
distract the spectator, instead of entertaining him, if jjesucc<:ss,’lIh
were forced to attend at the same time to two capital
plots equally interesting. And even supposing it an
under-plot like an episode, it seldom hath a good effect
in tragedy, of which simplicity is a chief property 5 for
an interesting subject that engages our aflections, occu¬
pies our whole attention, and leaves no room for any se¬
parate concern. Variety is more tolerable in comedy 5
which pretends only to amuse, without totally occupy¬
ing the mind. But even there, to make a double plot
agreeable, is no slight effort of art : the under plot
ought not to vary greatly in its tone from the principal j
for discordant emotions are unpleasant when jumbled
together j which, by the way, is an insuperable ob¬
jection to tragi-comedy. Upon that account the Pro¬
vok’d Husband deserves censure ; all the scenes that
bring the family of the Wrongheads into action, being
ludicrous and farcical, are in a very different tone from
the principal scenes, displaying severe and bitter expo¬
stulations between Lord Townley and his lady. The
same objection touches not the double plot of the Care¬
less Husband 5 the different subjects being sweetly con¬
nected, and having only so much variety as to resemble
shades of colours harmoniously mixed. But this is not
all. The under-plot ought to he connected with that
which is principal, so much at least as to employ the
same persons; the under-plot ought to occupy the inter¬
vals or pauses of the principal action ; and both ought
to be concluded together. This is the case of the
Merry Wives of Windsor.
Violent action ought never to be represented on the violent ac-
stage. While the dialogue goes on, a thousand parti- tion ought
culars n°t to be
represent-
   . .    ed.
+1 ^ ^omer s description ol the shield of Achilles is properly introduced at a time when the action relents, and
,ie rea 61 can ear an interruption. But the author of Telemachus describes the shield of that young hero in
tire heat oi battle j a very improper time for an interruption.
Part EL POE
culars concur to delude us into an impression of reality j
genuine sentiments, passionate language, and persuasive
gesture $ the spectator, once engaged, is willing to be
deceived, loses sight of himself, and without scruple
enjoys the spectacle as a reality. From this absent
state he is roused by violent action •, he wakes as from
a pleasing dream; and, gathering his senses about him,
finds all to be a fiction. Horace delivers the same rule;
and founds it upon the same reason :
Ne pueros coram populo Medea trucidet;
Aut humana palam coquat exta nefarius Atreus;
Aut in avem Progne vertatur, Cadmus in anguem:
Quodcumque ostendis mihi sic, incredulus odi.
The French critics join with Horace in excluding blood
from the stage ; but overlooking the most substantial
objection, they urge only that it is barbarous and shock¬
ing to a polite audience. The Greeks had no notion
of such delicacy, or rather effeminacy 5 witness the mur¬
der of Clytemnestra by her son Orestes, passing behind
the scene, as represented by Sophocles: her voice is
heard calling out for mercy, bitter expostulations on his
part, loud shrieks upon her being stabbed, and then a
deep silence. An appeal may be made to every person
of feeling, whether this scene be not more horrible than
if the deed had been committed in sight of the specta¬
tors upon a sudden gust of passion. If Corneille, in re¬
presenting the affair between Horatius and his sister,
upon which the murder ensues behind the scene, had no
other view but to remove from the spectators a shocking
action, he was guilty of a capital mistake : for murder
in cold blood, which in some measure was the case as
represented, is more shocking to a polite audience, even
where the conclusive stab is not seen, than the same act
performed in their presence by violent and unpremedi¬
tated passion, as suddenly repented of as committed.
* Spectator, Addison’s observation is just *, That no part of this in-
N° 43. cident ought to have been represented, but reserved for
a narrative, with every alleviating circumstance in fa-
IOO vour of the hero.
The proper A few words upon the dialogue, which ought to be
conduct of go conducted as to be a true representation of nature.
We talk not here of the sentiments nor of the language
(which are treated elsewhere) 5 but of what properly be¬
longs to dialogue-writing $ where every single speech,
short or long, ought to arise from what is said by the
former speaker, and furnish matter for what comes after
till the end of the scene. In this view, all the speeches
from first to last represent so many links of one regular
chain. No author, ancient or modern, possesses the art
of dialogue equal to Shakespeare. Hryden, in that par¬
ticular, may justly be placed as his opposite. He fre¬
quently introduces three or four persons speaking upon
the same subject, each throwing out his own notions
separately, without regarding what is said by the rest :
take for an example the first scene of Aurenzebe. Some¬
times he makes a number club in relating an event, not
to a stranger, supposed ignorant of it, but to one another,
for the sake merely of speaking ; of which notable sort
of dialogue we have a specimen in the first scene of the
first part of the Conquest of Grenada. In the second
part of the same tragedy, scene second, the King, Aben-
amar, and Zulema, make their separate observations,
like so many soliloquies, upon the fluctuating temper of
the mob ; a dialogue so uncouth puts one in mind of two
3
the dia¬
logue.
TRY.
shepherds in a pastoral excited by a prize to pronounce
verses alternately, each in praise of his own mistress.
This manner of dialogue-writing, besides an unnatural
air, has another bad effect; it stays the course of the
action, because it is not productive of any consequence.
In Congreve’s comedies, the action is often suspended
to make way for a play of wit.
No fault is more common among writers than to pro¬
long a speech after the impatience of the person to whom
it is addressed ought to prompt him or her to break in.
Consider only how the impatient actor is to behave in
the^mean time. To express his impatience in violent
action without interrupting would be unnatural ; and yet
to dissemble his impatience, by appearing cool where he
ought to be highly inflamed, would be no less so.
Rhyme being unnatural and disgustful in dialogue, is
happily banished from our theatre : the only wonder is
that it ever found admittance, especially among a people
accustomed to the more manly freedom of Shakespeare’s
dialogue. By banishing rhyme, we have gained so much
as never once to dream that there can be any further
improvement. And yet, however suitable blank verse
may be to elevated characters and warm passions, it must
appear improper and affected in the mouths of the lower
sort. Why then should it be a rule, That every scene
in tragedy must be in blank verse ? Shakespeare, with
great judgment, has followed a different rule ; which is,
to intermix prose with verse, and only to employ the lat¬
ter where it is required by the importance or dignity of
the subject. Familiar thoughts and ordinary facts ought
to be expressed in plain language ; to hear, for example
a footman deliver a simple message in blank verse must
appear ridiculous to every one who is not biassed by
custom. In short, that variety of characters and of
situations, which is the life of a play, requires not
only a suitable variety in the sentiments, but also in
the diction.
§ 3. The Three Unities.
When we consider the chain of causes and effects in
the material world, independent of purpose, design, or
thought, we find a number of incidents in succession,
without beginning, middle, or end : every thing that
happens is both a cause and an effect j being the effect
of what goes before, and the cause of what follows : one
incident may affect us more, another less; but all of
them are links in the universal chain : the mind, in
viewing these incidents, cannot rest or settle ultimately
upon any one 5 but is carried along in the train without
any close. i0r
But when the intellectual world is taken under view, In what the
in conjunction with the material, the scene is varied.unity of
Man acts with deliberation, will, and choice: he aimsa.c*;l0U G0Ii'
' * SISlS
at some end \ glory, for example, or riches, or conquest,
the procuring happiness to individuals, or to his country
in general : he proposes means, and lays plans to attain
the end proposed. Here are a number of facts or inci¬
dents leading to the end in view, the whole composing
one chain by the relation of cause and effect. In run¬
ning over a series of such facts or incidents, we cannot
rest upon any one 5 because they are presented to us as
means only, leading to some end ; but we rest with sa¬
tisfaction upon the end or ultimate event 5 because there
the purpose or aim of the chief person or persons is ac¬
complished. This indicates the beginning, the middle,
and, *
792 POE
The Three ami the end, of what Aristotle calls an entire action *.
Unities. The story naturally begins with describing those circum-
* stances which move the person who acts the principal
* Poet. c. 6.^art to form a p|an> jn or(ler to compass some desired
event j the prosecution of that plan, and the obstruc- <
tions, carry the reader into the heat ot action ^ the mid¬
dle is properly where the action is the most involved ;
and the end is where the event is brought about, and
the plan accomplished.
We have given the foregoing example of a.plan
crowned with success, because it affords the clearest con¬
ception of a beginning, a middle, and an end, in which
consists unity of action ; and indeed stricter unity can¬
not be imagined than in that case. But an action may
have unity, or a beginning, middle, and end, without
so intimate a relation of parts j as where the catastrophe
is different from what is intended or desired, which
frequently happens in our best tragedies. In the /Eneid,
the hero, after many obstructions, makes his plan et-
Elem. of fectual. The Iliad is formed upon a different model :
Criticism. ^ |)egjns t]ie quarrel between Achilles and Aga¬
memnon j goes on to describe the several effects produ¬
ced by that cause ; and ends in a reconciliation. Here
is unity of action, no doubt, a beginning, a middle, and
an end •, but inferior to that of the ^Eneid, which will
thus appear. The mind hath a propensity to go for¬
ward in the chain of history •, it keeps always in view
the expected event \ and when the incidents or under¬
parts are connected by their relation to the event, the
mind runs sweetly and easily along them. This plea¬
sure we have in the AEneid. It is not altogether so
-pleasant to connect, as in the Iliad, effects by their
common cause j for such connection forces the mind to
a continual retrospect j looking backward is like walk¬
ing backward.
If unity of action be a capital beauty in fable imita¬
tive of human affairs, a plurality of unconnected fables
must be a capital deformity. For the sake of variety
we indulge an under-plot that is connected with the
principal •, but two unconnected events are extremely
unpleasant, even where the same actors are engaged in
both. Ariosto is quite licentious in that particular : he
carries on at the same time a plurality of unconnected
stories. His only excuse is, that his plan is perfectly
well adjusted to his subject; for every thing in the Or-
lanclo Furioso is wild and extravagant.
Though to state facts in the order of time be natural,
yet that order may be varied for the sake of conspicuous
beauties. If, for example, a noted story, cold and
simple in its first movements, be made the subject of an
epic poem, the reader may be hurried into the heat of
action ; reserving the preliminaries for a convei'sation
piece, if thought necessary j and that method, at the
same time, has a peculiar beauty from being dramatic.
But a privilege that deviates from nature ought to be
sparingly indulged; and yet romance writers make no
difficulty of presenting to the reader, without the least
preparation, unknown persons engaged in some arduous
adventure equally unknown. In Cassandra, two per¬
sonages, who afterwards are discovered to be the heroes
of the fable, start up completely armed upon the banks
of the Euphrates, and engage in a single combat.
A play analysed is a chain of connected facts, of which
each scene makes a link. Eachscene, accordingly,ought
to produce some incident relative to the catastrophe or
toa
Unity of
action a
capital
beauty.
4
i
T R Y. Part II.
ultimate event, by advancing or retarding it. A scene The Three
that produceth no incident, and for that reason may be , t-nit'es- ^
termed barren, ought not to be indulged, because it
breaks the unity of action : a barren scene can never be
intitled to a place, because the chain is complete with¬
out it. In the Old Bachelor, the 3d scene of act 2. and
all that follow to the end of that act, are mere conver¬
sation pieces, productive of no consequence. The icth
and 11th scenes, act 3. Double Dealer, and the loth,,
nth, 12th, 13th, and 14th scenes, act 1. Love for Love,,
are of the same kind. Neither is The Way of the World
entirely guiltless of such scenes. It will be no justifica¬
tion that they help to display characters : it were better,
like Dryden in his dramatis personct, to describe cha¬
racters beforehand, which would not break the chain of
action. But a writer of genius has no occasion for swell
artifice ; he can displav the characters of his personages
much more to the life in sentiment and action. Hew
successfully is this done by Shakespeare ! in whose
works there is not to be found a single barren scene.
Upon the whole, it appears, that all the facts in an
historical table outfit to have a mutual connection, by
their common relation to the grand event or catastrophe.
And this relation, in which the unitij of action consists,
is equally essential to epic and dramatic compositions.
How far the unities of time and of place are essential,
is a question of greater intricacy. These unities were time and of
strictly observed in the Greek and Roman theatres j and place be
they are inculcated by the French and English critics essential,
as essential to every dramatic composition. In theory
these unities are also acknowledged by our best poets,
though their practice seldom corresponds : they are of¬
ten forced to take liberties, which they pretend not to
justify, against the practice of the Greeks and Romans,
and against the solemn decision of their own country¬
men. But in the course of this inquiry it will be made
evident, that in this article we are under no necessity to
copy the ancients \ and that our critics are guilty of a
mistake, in admitting no greater latitude of place and
time than was admitted in Greece and Rome.
Indeed the unities of place and time are not, by the
most rigid critics, required in a narrative poem. In such
composition, if it pretend to copy nature, these unities
would be absurd \ because real events are seldom confin¬
ed within narrow limits either of place or of time : and
yet we can follow history, or an historical fable, through
all its changes, with the greatest facility •, we never once
think of measuring the real time by what is taken in
reading; nor of forming any connection between the
place of action and that which we occupy.
We are aware, that the drama differs so far from the
epic as to admit different rules. It will be observed,
“ That an historical fable, intended for reading solely,
is under no limitation of time or of place more than a
genuine history-, but that a dramatic composition cannot
be accurately represented unless it be limited, as its re¬
presentation is, to one place and to a few hours -, and
therefore that no fable can be admitted but what has
these properties, because it would be absurd to compose
a piece for representation that cannot be justly represent¬
ed.” This argument has at least a plausible appearance j
and yet one is apt to suspect some fallacy, considering
that no critic, however strict, has ventured to confine the
unities of place and of time within so narrow bounds.
A view of the Grecian drama, compared with our own,
may
Part II.
The three may perhaps relieve us from this dilemma : if they be
^ Unities. ^ differently constructed, as shall be made evident, it is
' possible that the foregoing reasoning may not be equal¬
ly applicable to both.
They were authors agree, that tragedy in Greece was derived
essential to from the hymns in praise ot Bacchus, which were sung
the Greek in parts by a chorus. 1 hespis, to relieve the singers, and
-drama, but for the sake of variety, introduced one actor, whose pro¬
vince it was to explain historically the subject of the
song, and who occasionally represented one or other
personage. Eschylus, introducing a second actor, form¬
ed the dialogue, by which the performance became dra¬
matic j and the actors were multiplied when the subject
represented made it necessary. But still the chorus,
which gave a beginning to tragedy, was considered as
an essential part The lirst scene, generally, unfolds the
preliminary circumstances that lead to the grand event ;
and this scene is by Aristotle termed the prologue. In
the second scene, where the action properly begins, the
chorus is introduced, which, as originally, continues
upon the stage during the whole performance : the chorus
frequently makes one in the dialogue $ and when the
dialogue happens to be suspended, the chorus, during
the interval, is employed in singing Sophocles adheres
to this plan religiously. Euripides is not altogether so
correct. In sonv o! his pieces it becomes necessary to
xemove the chorus for a little time: but when that un¬
usual step is risked, matters are so ordered as not to in¬
terrupt the representation : the chorus never leave the
stage ot their own accord, but at the command of some
principal personage, who constantly waits their return.
Thus the Grecian drama is a continued representation
without any interruption \ a circumstance that merits
attention. A continued representation without a pause
affords not opportunity to vary the place of action, nor
to prolong the time ol the action beyond that of the re¬
presentation. To a representation so confined in place
and time, the foregoing reasoning is strictly applicable :
a real or feigned action, that is brought to a conclusion
after considerable intervals ot time and frequent changes
of place, cannot accuiately be copied in a representa¬
tion that admits no latitude in either. Hence it is, that
the unities of place and of time, were, or ought to have
been, strictly observed in the Greek tragedies ; which is
made necessary by the very constitution of their drama,
for it is absurd to compose a tragedy that cannot be
justly represented.
Modern critics, who for our drama pretend to establish
rules founded on the practice of the Greeks, are guilty
of an egregious blunder. The unities of place and of
time were in Greece, as we see, a matter of necessity,
not of choice j and it is easy to show, that if we submit
to such fetters, it must be from choice, not necessity.
This will be evident upon taking a view of the constitu¬
tion of our drama, which differs widely from that of
Greece; whet her more or less perfect, is a different point,
to be handled afterward. By dropping the chorus, op¬
portunity is afforded to divide the representation by inter¬
vals of time, during which the stage is evacuated, and the
spectacle suspended. I his qualifiesour dramaforsubjects
spread through a wide .space both of time and of place :
the time supposed to pa^s during the suspension of the re¬
presentation is not measured by the time of the suspension $
and any place may be supposed, as it is not in sight: by
Vou. XVI. Part II. f
POETRY.
79.1
I05
not to tlie
French or
English.
which means, many subjects can be justly represented in The three
our theatres, that were excluded from those of ancient Unities.
Greece. This doctrine may be illustrated, by comparing '—-y"—*
a modern play to a set of historical pictures •, let us sup¬
pose them five in number, and the resemblance will be
complete : each of the pictures resembles an act in one
of our plays: there must necessarily he the strictest unity
of place and of timeJn each picture; and the same ne¬
cessity requires these two unities during each act of a
play, because during an act there is no interruption in
the spectacle. Now, when we view in succession a num¬
ber of such historical pictures, let it be, for example, the
history of Alexander by Le Bum, we have no difficulty
to conceive, that months or years have passed between,
the events exhibited in two different pictures, though the
interruption is imperceptible 111 passing our eye from the
one to the other; and we have as little difficulty to con¬
ceive a change of place, however great: in which view
there is truly no difft rence between five acts of a modern
play and five such pictures. Where the representation is
suspended, we can with the greatest tacihty suppose any
length of time or any change of place; the spectator, it
is true, may be conscious, that the real time and place
are not the same with what are employed in the repre¬
sentation; but this is the work of reflection ; and by the
same reflection he may also he conscious, that Garrick is
not King Lear, that the playhouse is not Dover cliffs,
nor the noi->e he hears thunder and lightning. In a
word, after an interruption of the representation, it is not
more difficult for a spectator to imagine a new place, 01*
a different time, than, at the commencement of the play,
to imagine himself at Rome, or in a period of time two
thousand years back. And indeed, it is abundantly ri-
diculous, that a critic, who is willing to hold candle¬
light for sunshine, and some painted canvasses for a
palace or a prison, should affect so much difficulty in
imagining a latitude of place or of time in the fable,
beyond what is necessary in the representation. r f..
. . * ^ acknowledged, some effects of Great lad.
great latitude in time that ought never to be indulged tude in
in a composition for the theatre: nothing can be moretime’il0vv-
absurd, than at the close to exhibit a full grown person not
who appears a child at the beginning: the mind rejects,
as contrary to all probability, such latitude of time as
is requisite for a change so remarkable. The greatest
change from place to place hath not altogether the same
bad effect: in the bulk of human affairs place is not
material; and the mind, when occupied with an interest¬
ing event, is little regardful of minute circumstances:
these may be varied at will, because they scarcely make
any impression. rr^
At the same time, it is not here meant to justify li nor in
berty without any reserve. An unbounded licence with place,
relation to place and time, is faulty, for a reason that
seems to have been overlooked, which is, that it seldom
fails to break the unity of action ; in the ordinary course
of human affairs, single events, such as are fit to be repre¬
sented on the stage,are confined to a narrow spot,and ge¬
nerally employ no great extent of time ; and accordingly
we seldom find strict unity of action in a dramatic compo¬
sition, where any remarkable latitude is indulged in these
particulars. It may even be admitted, that a composition ,,
which employs but one place, and requires not a greater friticimi,
length of time than is necessary for the representation, is chap. 23,
5 H so
79+
The three
Unities
108
Whether
our drama
be prefer¬
able to
that of
Greece.
POE
so much the more perfect*, because the confining an event
within so narrow bounds, contributes to the unity of ac¬
tion, and also prevents that labour, however slight, which
the mind must undergo in imagining frequent changes
of place, and many intervals of time. But still we must
insist that such limitation of place and time as was ne¬
cessary in the Grecian drama, is no rule to us ; and
therefore, that though such limitation adds one beauty
more to the composition, it is at best but a refinement,
which may justly give place to a thousand beauties more
substantial. And we may add, that it is extremely diffi¬
cult, if not impracticable, to contract within the Grecian
limits any fable so fruitful of incidents in number and
variety as to give full scope to the fluctuation of passion.
It may now appear, that critics who put the unities
of place and of time upon the same footing with the
unity of action, making them all equally essential, have
not attended to the nature and constitution of the mo¬
dern drama. If they admit an interrupted representa¬
tion, with which no writer finds fault, it is absurd to re¬
ject its greatest advantage, that of representing many in¬
teresting subjects excluded from the Grecian stage. If
there needs must be a reformation, why not restore the
ancient chorus and the ancient continuity of action ?
There is certainly no medium j for to admit an interrup¬
tion without relaxing from the strict unities of place and
of time, is in effect to load us with all the inconveni¬
ences of the ancient drama, and at the same time to
withhold from us its advantages.
And therefore the only proper question is, Whether
our model be or be not a real improvement P Tdiis in¬
deed may fairly be called in question*, and in order to a
comparative trial, some particulars must be premised.
When a play begins, we have no difficulty to adjust our
imagination to the scene of action, however distant it be
in time or in place ; because we know that the play is a
representation only. The case is very different after we
are engaged: it is the perfection of representation to hide
itself, to impose on the spectator, and to produce in him
an impression of reality, as if he were spectator of a real
event $ but any interruption annihilates that impression,
by rousing him out of his waking dream, and unhappily
restoring him to his senses. So difficult it is to support
the impression of reality, that much slighter interruptions
than the interval between two acts are sufficient to dis¬
solve the charm: in the 5th act of the Mourning Bride,
the three first scenes are in a room of state, the fourth
in the prison 5 and the change is operated by shifting the
scene, which is done in a trice : but however quick the
transition may be, it is impracticable to impose upon the
spectators so as to make them conceive that they are ac¬
tually carried from the palace to the prison 5 they imme¬
diately reflect, that the palace and prison are imaginary,
and that the whole is a fiction.
From these premises, one will naturally be led, at first
view, to pronounce the frequent interruptions in the
modern drama to be an imperfection. It will occur,
“ That every interruption must have the effect to banish
the dream of reality, and with it to banish our concern,
which cannot subsist while we are conscious that all is a
fiction ; and therefore, that in the modern drama, suffi¬
cient time is not afforded for fluctuation and swelling of
passion, like what is afforded in that of Greece, where
there is no interruption.” This reasoning, it must be
3
TRY. Part IT.
owned, has a specious appearance: but we must not be- The three
come faint-hearted upon the first repulse j let us rally Unities,
our troops for a second engagement. ' 'T—1
On the Greek stage, whatever may have been the
case on the Roman, the representation was never inter¬
rupted, and the division by acts was totally unknown.
The word act never once occurs in Aristotle’s Poetics,
in which he defines exactly every part of the drama,
and divides it into the beginning, the middle, and the
end. At certain intervals indeed the actois retired j
but the stage was not then left empty, nor the curtain
let fall j for the chorus continued and sung. Neither
do these songs of the chorus divide the Greek tragedies
into five portions similar to our acts : though some of
the commentators have endeavoured to force them into
this office. But it is plain, that the intervals at which
the chorus sung are extremely unequal and irregular,
suited to the occasion and the subject *, and would divide
the play sometimes into three, sometimes into seven or
eight acts.
As practice has now established a different plan on
the modern stage, has divided every play into five acts,
and made a total pause in the representation at the end
of each act, the question to be considered is, Whether
the plan of the ancient or of the modern drama is best
qualified for making a deep impression on the mind ?
That the preference is due to the plan of the modern
drama, will be evident from the following considerations.
If it be indeed true, as the advocates for the three uni¬
ties allege, that the audience is deluded into the belief
of the reality of a well-acted tragedy, it is certain that
this delusion cannot be long supported 5 for when the
spirits are exhausted by close attention, and by the agi¬
tation of passion, an uneasiness ensues, which never fails
to banish the waking-dream. Now supposing the time
that a man can employ with strict attention without
wandering to be no greater than is requisite for a single
act (a supposition that cannot be far from truth), it fol¬
lows, that a continued representation of longer endur¬
ance than an act, instead of giving scope to fluctuation
and swelling of passion, would overstrain the attention,
and produce a total absence of mind. In this respect,
the four pauses have a fine effect : for by affording to
the audience a seasonable respite when the impression of
reality is gone, and while nothing material is in agita¬
tion, they relieve the mind from its fatigue: and conse¬
quently prevent a wandering of thought at the very time
possibly of the most interesting scenes.
In one article, indeed, the Grecian model has greatly
the advantage : its chorus, during an interval, not only
preserves alive the impressions made upon the audience,
but also prepares their hearts finely for new impressions.
In our theatres, on the contrary, the audience, at the
end of every act, being left to trifle time aw'ay, lose
every warm impression 5 and they begin the next act
cool and unconcerned, as at the commencement ot the
representation. This is'a gross malady in our theatrical
representations 5 but a malady that luckily is not incu¬
rable : to revive the Grecian chorus, would be to revive
the Grecian slavery of place and time j but we can fi¬
gure a detached chorus coinciding with a pause in the
representation, as the ancient chorus did with a pause
in the principal action. What objection, lor example,
can there lie against music between the acts, vocal and
instrumental,
Part II. POE
The three instrumental, adapted to the subject ? Such detached
Unities, chorus, without putting us under any limitation of time
or place, would recruit the spirits, and would preserve
entire the tone, if not the tide, of passion : the music,
after an act, should commence in the tone of the prece¬
ding passion, and be gradually varied till it accord with
the tone of the passion that is to succeed in the next
act. The music and the representation would both of
them he gainers by their conjunction-, which will thus
appear. Music that accords with the present tone of
mind, is, on that account, doubly agreeable j and ac¬
cordingly, though music singly hath not power to raise
a passion, it tends greatly to support a passion already
raised. Further, music prepares us for the passion that
follows, by making cheerful, tender, melancholy, or ani¬
mated impressions, as the subject requires. Take for an
example the first scene of the Motirning Bride, where soft
music, in a melancholy strain, prepares us for Almeria’s
deep distress. In this manner, music and representation
support each other delightfully: the impression made
upon the audience by the representation, is a fine prepa¬
ration for the music that succeeds ; and the impression
made by the music is a fine preparation for the repre¬
sentation that succeeds. It appears evident, that by
some such contrivance, the modern drama may he im¬
proved, so as to enjoy the advantage of the ancient cho¬
rus without its slavish limitation ot place and time. But
to return to the comparison between the ancient and
the modern drama.
The numberless improprieties forced upon the Greek
dramatic poets by the constitution of their drama, may
ferable to he sufficient, one should think, to make us prefer the
theancient modern drama, even abstracting from the improvement
proposed. To prepare the reader for this article, it
must be premised, that as in the ancient drama the place
of action never varies, a place necessarily must be chosen
to which every person may have access without any im¬
probability. This confines the scene to some open place,
generally the court or area before a palace-, which ex¬
cludes from the Grecian theatre transactions within
doors, though these commonly are the most important.
Such cruel restraint is of itself sufficient to cramp the
most pregnant invention and accordingly the Greek
writers, in order to preserve unity of place, are reduced
to woful improprieties. In the Hippolytus oi Furipides
(act i. sc. 6.), Phsedra, distressed in mind and body, is
carried without any pretext from her palace to the
place of action ; is there laid upon a couch, unable to
support herself upon her limbs; and made to utter many
things improper to be heard by a number of women
who form the chorus : and what is still more improper,
her female attendant uses the strongest entreaties to
make her reveal the secret cause of her anguish ; which
at last Phaedra, contrary to decency and probability, is
prevailed upon to do in presence of that very chorus
(act ii. sc. 2.)i Alcestesj in Euripides, at the point of
death, is brought from the palace to the place of action,
groaningand lamenting her untimely fate (act ii. sc. I.).
In the TrachinitB of Sophocles (act ii.), a secret is im¬
parted to Dejanira, the wife of Hercules, in presence of
the chorus. In the tragedy of Ipkigenia, the messenger
employed to inform Clytemnestra that Iphigenia was sa¬
crificed, stops short at the place of action, and with a
loud voice calls the queen from her palace to hear the
TRY.
795
no
The mo¬
dern dra¬
ma pre
news. Again, in the Iphigenia in Tanris (aet iv.), the The three
necessary presence of the chorus forces Euripides into a Unities,
gross absurdity, which is to form a secret in their hear- 1'*
ing; and, to disguise the absurdity, much court is paid
to the chorus, not one woman but a number, to engage
them to secrecy. In the Medea of Euripides, that prin¬
cess makes no difficulty, in presence of the chorus, to
plot the death of her husband, of his mistress, and of her
father the king of Corinth, all by poison : it was ne¬
cessary to bring Medea upon the stage ; and there is
hut one place of action, which is always occupied by
the chorus. This scene closes the second act ; and in
the end of the third, she frankly makes the chorus her
confidants in plotting the murder of her own children.
Terence, by identity of place, is often forced to make
a conversation within doors be heard on the open street:
the cries of a woman in labour are there heard di¬
stinctly. jjj
The Greek poets are not less hampered by unity ofinconve-
time than by that of place. In the Hippolytus of Euri- niences of
pides, that prince is banished at the end of the 4th t^pian
act; and in the first scene of the following act, a mes_cientdra-
senger relates to Theseus the whole particulars of the ma<
death of Hippolytus by the sea-monster: that remark¬
able event must have occupied many hours ; and yet in
the representation it is confined to the time employed
by the chorus upon the song at the end of the 4th act.
The inconsistency is still greater in the Iphigenia in
Tauris (act v. sc. 4.) : the song could not exhaust half
an hour ; and yet the incidents supposed to have hap¬
pened during that time could not naturally have been
transacted in less than half a day.
The Greek artists are forced, not less frequently, to
transgress another rule, derived also from a continued
representation. The rule is, that as a vacuity, however
momentary, interrupts the i*epresentation, it is necessary
that the place of action be constantly occupied. So¬
phocles, with regard to that rule as well as to others, is
generally correct : but Euripides cannot bear such re¬
straint ; he often evacuates the stage, and leaves it empty
for others. Iphigenia in Tauris, after pronouncing a
soliloquy in the first scene, leaves the place of action,
and is succeeded by Orestes and Pylades: they, after
some conversation, walk oft; and Iphigenia re-enters,
accompanied with the chorus. In the Alcestes, which
is of the same author, the place of action is void at the
end of the third act. It is true, that to cover the irre¬
gularity, and to preserve the representation in motion,
Euripides is careful to fill the stage without loss of time:
but this is still an interruption, and a link of the chain
broken : for during the change of the actors, there must
be a space of time, during which the stage is occupied
by neither set. It makes indeed a more remarkable in¬
terruption, to change the place of action as well as the
actors ; but that wras not practicable upon the ^Grecian
stage.
It is hard to say upon what model Terence has form¬
ed his plays. Having no chorus, there is a pause in the
representation at the end of every act: but advantage is
not taken of the cessation, even to vary the place of ac¬
tion ; for the street is always chosen, where every thing
passing may be seen by every person; and by that
choice, the most sprightly and interesting parts of the
action, which commonly passes within doors, are exclud-
5 II 2 ed ;
796 POE
The three cd ; witness the last act of tlie Eunuch. He hath sub-
Unities. mitted to the like slavery with respect to time. In a
v~— wort}? a play with a regular chorus, is not more confined
Criticism *n place ani^ time than his plays are. Thus a zealous
chap. 23. sectary follows implicitly ancient forms and ceremonies,
without once considering whether their introductive
cause lie still subsisting. Plautus, of a bolder genius
than Terence, makes good use of the liberty afforded by
an interrupted representation : he varies the place ot ac¬
tion upon all occasions, when the variation suits his pur-
m pose.
No iiuuige The intelligent reader will by this time understand,
ot tune or t]jat we p]ea[] for no change of place in our plays but
lie'admit- a^er an interval, n^r for any latitude in point of time
ted but be- hot what falls in with an interval. The unities of place
tween the and time ought to he strictly observed during each act ;
acts. for during the representation there is no opportunity lor
the smallest deviation from either. Hence it is an essential
requisite, that during an act the stage he always occu¬
pied ; for even a momentary vacuity makes an interval
or interruption. Another rule is no less essential : it
would be a gross breach of the unity of action to exhibit
upon the stage twTo separate actions at the sametime-, and
therefore, to preserve that unity, it is necessary that each
personage introduci d during an act be linked to those in
possession of the stage, so as to join all in one action. These
things follow from the very conception of an act, which
admits not the slightest interruption: the moment the re¬
presentation is intermitted, there is an end of that act;
and we have no other notion of a new act, but where,
after a pause or interval, the representation is again put
in motion. French writers, generally speaking, are cor¬
rect in this particular. The English, on the contrary,
are so irregular as scarce to deserve a criticism ; actors
not only succeed each other in the same place without
connection, but, what is still less excusable, they fre¬
quently succeed each other in different places. This
change of place in the same act ought never to be indul¬
ged j for, beside breaking the unity of the act, it has a
disagreeable effect: after an interval, the imagination
adapts itself to any place that is necessary, as readily as
at the commencement of the play ; but during the re¬
presentation we reject change of place. From the fore¬
going censure must be excepted the Mourning Bride of
Congreve, where regularity concurs with the beauty of
sentiment and of language, to make it one of the most
complete pieces England has to boast of. It is acknow¬
ledged, however, that in point of regularity this elegant
performance is not altogether unexceptionable. In the
four first acts, the unities of place and time are strictly
observed : but in the last act, there is a capital error
with respect to unity ot place ; for in the three first
scenes of that act, the place ot action is a room of state,
which is changed to a prison in the fourth scene : the
chain also ot the actors is broken } as the persons intro¬
duced in the prison are different from those who made
their appearance in the room of state. This remaikable
interruption of the representation makes ineffecttwoacts
instead of one : and therefore, if it be a rule that a play
ought not to consist of more acts than five, this perform¬
ance is so tar defective in point of regularity. It may be
added, that, even admitting six acts, the irregularity
would not be altogether removed, without a longer
pause in the representation than is allowed in the act-
1
TRY. Part II.
ing y for more than a momentary interruption is requi- or the
site lor enabling the imagination readily to fall in with Opera,
a new place, or with a wide space of time. In The —v—1
Jf inj oj the lForld, of the same author, unity of place is
preserved during every act, and a stricter unity of time
during the whole play than is necessary.
§ 4. Of the Opera.
A •
An opera is a drama represented by music. This en-The opera,
tertainment was invented at Venice. An exhibition 0fa ^rania re-r
this sort requires a most brilliant magnificence, and an fies"ntet^
expence truly royal. 1 lie drama must necessarily be
composed in verse : for as operas are sung and accom¬
panied with symphonies, they must be in verse to be pro¬
perly applicable to music. To render this entertainment
still more brilliant, it is ornamented with dances and
ballets, with superb decorations, and surprising ma¬
chinery, The dresses of the actors, of those who assist
in the chorus, and of the dancers, being all in the most
splendid and elegant taste, contribute to render the ex¬
hibition highly sumptuous. But notwithstanding this
union of arts and pleasures at an immense expence, and
notwithstanding a most dazzling pageantry, an opera
appears, in the eyes of many people of taste, but as a
magnificent absurdity, seeing that nature is never there
from the beginning to the end. It is not our business
here, however, to determine between the different tastes
of mankind.
The method of expressing our thoughts by singing
and music is so little natural, and has something in it
so forced and affected, that it is not easy to conceive
how it could come into the minds of men of genius to
represent any human action, and, what is more, a seri¬
ous or tragic action, any otherwise than by speech. We
have, it is true, operas in English by Addison, &c. in
Italian by Metastasio, in French by M. Quinault, Fon-
tenelle, &c. the subjects of which are so grave and tra¬
gic, that one might call them musical tragedies, and real
chefs d'acuvres in their kind. But though we are high¬
ly satisfied and greatly affected on reading them, and
are much pleased with seeing them represented, yet the
spectator is, perhaps, more charmed with the magnifi¬
cence of the sight and the beauty of the music, than
moved with the action and the tragical part of the per¬
formance. W e are not, however, of that order of cri¬
tics who strive to prove, that mankind act wrong in
finding pleasure in an objec t with which they are really
pleased j who blame a lover for thinking his mistress
charming, when her features are by no means regular; Bietjkld's
and who are perpetually applying the rules of logic toElem. of
the works of genius: we make these observations mere-
ly in order to examine if it be not possible to augment
the pleasures of a polite people, by making the opera
something more natural, more probable, and more con¬
sonant to reason.
We think, therefore, that the poet should never, or should4take
at least very rarely, choose a subject from history, but its subject
from fable or mythology, or from the regions of en- trum
chantment Every rational mind is constantly shock-
ed to hear a mutilated hero trill out, from the slender
pipe of a chaffinch, To arms! To arms 1 and in the ckantment;
same tone animate his soldiers, and lead them to the as¬
sault ; or harangue an assembly of grave senators, and
sometimes a whole body of people. Nothing can be
more
Fart II. POE
Of the more burlesque than such exhibitions ; and a man must
, °l)era~ be possessed of a very uncommon sensibility to be
v affected by them. But as we know not what was the
language of the gods, and their manner of expressing
themselves, we are at liberty in that case to form what
illusions we please, and to suppose that they sung to
distinguish themselves from mortals. Besides, all the
magic of decorations and machinery become natural,
and even necessary, in these kinds of subjects 5 and
therefore readily afford opportunity for all the pomp of
these performances. The chorus, the dances, the bal-
lettes, the symphonies and dresses, may likewise be all
made to correspond with such subjects, nothing is here
aflected, absurd, or unnatural. Whoever is possessed
of genius, and is well acquainted with mythology,
will there find an inexhaustible source of subjects
highly diversified and quite proper for the drama of an
opera.
We shall not speak here of that sort of music which
appears to us the most proper for such a drama, and
of the several alterations of which we think it suscep¬
tible in order to make it more complete, and to adapt
it to a more pathetic, more noble, and more natural
expression, as well in the recitatives as in the airs and
chorus. (See Music). We have only here to consider
the business of the poet. He should never lose sight
of nature even in the midst of the greatest fiction. A
115 g°d> a demi-god, a renowned hero, such for example
and should as Ilenaud in Armida, a fairy, a genii, a nymph, or
y®Pr®sent fiiry, &.c. should constantly be represented according
ten,0 as con to e^aracters we give them, and never he made to
sistent. talk the language of a fop or a petite maitresse. The
recitative, which is the ground-work of the dialogue,
requires verses that are free and not regular, such as
with a simple cadence approach the nearest to common
language. The airs should not be forced into the piece,
nor improperly placed for the sake of terminating a
scene, or to display the voice of a performer ; they
should express some sentiment, or some precept, short
and striking, or tender and affecting ; or some simile
lively and natural 5 and they should arise of themselves
from a monologue, or from a scene between two per¬
sons : prolixity should here be particularly avoided,
especially when such an air makes part of a dialogue j
for nothing is more insipid or disgustful than the coun¬
tenances of the other actors who appear at the same
time, whose silence is quite unmeaning, and who know
not what to do with their hands and feet while the
singer is straining his throat. The verse of all the airs
should be of the lyric kind, and should contain some
poetic image, or paint some noble passion, which may
furnish the composer with an opportunity of displaying
his talents, and of giving a lively and affecling expres¬
sion to the music. A phrase that is inanimated can never
have a good effect in the perfoumnee, but mu->t become
insipid and horribly tedious in the air. The trite simi-
lies of the Italians, of a stream that flows, or a bird that
flies, &c. are no longer sufferable. The same thing
may be said with regard to the chorus, which should be
equally natural and well adapted : it is here sometimes a
whole people, sometimes the inhabitants of a peculiar
country, and sometimes warriors, nymphs, or priests,&c.
who raise their voice to demand justice, to implore fa¬
vour, or render a general homage. The action itself
T R Y.
797
Of the
will furnish Hie poet of genius with ideas, words, and the
manner of disposing them. Opera.
Lastly, the opera being a performance calculated less *—-v——
to satisfy the understanding than to charm the ear and
affect the heart, and especially to strike the sight, the
poet should have a particular attention to that object,
should he skilled in the arts of a theatre, should know
how to introduce combats, ballets, feasts, games, pom¬
pous entiles, solemn processions, and such marvellous in¬
cidents as occur in the heavens, upon earth, in the sea,
and even m the infernal regions : hut all these matters
demand a strong character, and the utmost precision in
the execution : for otherwise, the comic being a near
neighbour to the sublime, they will easily become ridi- xi6
culous. The unity of action must certainly be observed Unity of
in such a poem, and all the incidental episodes must con-fU t,on ne-
cur to the principal design 5 otherwise it would be a tTS"y ..°
monstious chaos. It is impossible, however, scrupu- ^
lously to observe the unity of time and place : though
the liberty, which reason allows the poet in this respect,
is not without bounds j and the less use he makes of it*
the more perfect his poem will be. It is not perhaps
impossible so to arrange the objects, that, in changing
the decorations, the painter may constantly make ap¬
pear some part of the principal decoration which cha-
1 actei ises the situation of the scene, as the corner of a
palace, at the end of a garden, or some avenue that
leads to it, &c. But all this is liable to difficulties,
and even to exceptions 5 and the art of the painter must
concur in such case with that of the poet. For the rest,
all the operas of Europe are at least one third too
long 5 especially the Italian. The unity of action re¬
quires brevity, and satiety is inseparable from a diver¬
sion that lasts full four hours, and sometimes longer.
'I hey have indeed endeavoured to obviate this incon¬
venience by dividing an opera into three, and even into
five acts j hut experience proves, that this division,
though judicious, is still not sufficient to relieve the wea¬
ried attention.
Sect. II. Of Lyric Poetry.
# . 1T7
I HE ode is very ancient, and was probably the first Origin of
species of poetry, it had its source, we may suppose,tlle ode*
from the heart, and was employed to express, with be¬
coming fervour and dignitv, the grateful sense man
entertained of the blessings which daily flowed from
Cod the fountain of all goodness : hence their har¬
vest hymns, and other devotional compositions of that
kind.
But in process of time it was employed, not only to
praise the Almighty for bounties received, but to solicit
his aid in time of trouble j as is plain from the odes
written by King David and others, and collected by the
Jewish Sanhedrim into the book of Psalms, to be sung
at their fasts, festivals, and on other solemn occasions.
Nor was this practice confined to the Israelites only:
other nations had their songs of praise and petitions of
this sort, which they preferred to their deities, in time
of public prosperity and public distress, as well as to
those heroes who distinguished themselves in aims.
Even the American Indians, whose notions of religion
are extremely confined, have their war-songs, which they
sing to this day.
It
798
POE
Of Lyric
Poetry.
r 18
Its free¬
dom.
It is reasonable to suppose that the awful purpose to
which the ode was applied, gave rise among the ancients
' to the custom of invoking the muses ; and that the poets
in order to raise their sentiments and language, so as to
be acceptable to their deities, thought it expedient to
solicit some divine assistance. Hence poets are said to
have been inspired, and hence an unbounded liberty has
been given to the ode; for the lyric poet, fired, as it
were, with his subject, and borne away on the wings of
gratitude, disdains grammatical niceties and common
modes of speech, and often soars above rule, though not
above reason. This freedom, however, consists chiefly
in sudden transitions, bold digressions, and lofty excur¬
sions. For the ancient poets, and even Pindar, the
most daring and lofty of them all, has in his sublimest
flights, and amidst all his rapture, preserved harmony,
and often uniformity in his versification : but so great
is the variety of his measures, that the traces of same¬
ness are in a manner lost 5 and this is one of the excel¬
lencies for which that poet is admired, and which,
though seemingly devoid of art, requires so much that
lie has seldom been imitated with success.
f The ancients in their odes indulged such a liberty of
fancy, that some of their best poets not only make bold
excursions and digressions, but, having in their flights
started some new and noble thought, they frequently
pursue it, and never more return to their subject. But
this loose kind of ode, which seems to reject all method,
and in which the poet, having just touched upon his
subject, immediately diverts to another, we should think
blameable, were it lawful to call in question the autho¬
rity of those great men who were our preceptors in this
art. We may venture to affirm, however, that these
compositions stand in no degree of comparison with other
odes of theirs j in which, after wandering from the sub¬
ject in pursuit of new ideas arising from some of its ad¬
junctions, and ranging wantonly, as it were, through a
variety of matter, the poet is from some other circum¬
stance led naturally to his subject again 5 and, like, a
bee, having collected the essence of many different
flowers, returns home, and unites them all in one uni-
The* sub- form pleasing sweet.
jects of the The ode among the ancients signified no more than a
ode. song : but with the moderns, the ode and the song are
considered as different compositions ; the ode being usu¬
ally employed in grave and lofty subjects, and seldom
sung but on solemn occasions.
The subjects most proper for the ode and song, Ho¬
race has pointed out in a few elegant lines.
Gods, heroes, conquerors, Olympic crowns,
Love’s pleasing cares, and the free joys of wine*,
Are proper subjects for the lyric song.
To which we may add, that happiness, the pleasures
of a rural life, and such parts of morality as afford les¬
sons for the promotion of our felicity, and reflections on
the conduct of life, are equally suitable to the ode.
This both Pindar and Hoi ace were so sensible of, that
many of their odes are seasoned with these moral sen¬
tences and reflections.
But who can number ev’ry sandy grain
"Wash’d by Sicilians hoarse-resounding main ?
*
T H Y.
Part IP
Or who can Ther on's gen’rous Works express,
And tell how many hearts his bounteous virtues bless ?
Ode to Theron.
Of Lyric
Poetry.
And in another Olympic ode, inscribed by the same
poet to Hiagoras of Rhodes (and in such esteem, that
it was deposited in the temple of Minerva, written in
letters of gold), Pindar, after exalting them to the
skies, concludes with this lesson in life:
Yet as the gales of fortune various blow,
To-day tempestuous, and to-morrow fair,
Hue bounds, ye Rhodians, let your transports know 3
Perhaps to-morrow comes a storm of care.
West's Pindar.
The man resolv’d and steady to his trust,
Inflexible to ill, and obstinately just,
May the rude rabble’s insolence despise,
Their senseless clamours and tumultuous cries 3
The tyrant’s fierceness he beguiles,
And the stern brow and the harsh voice defies,
And with superior greatness smiles.
Not the rough whirlwind, that deforms
Adria’s black gulf, and vexes it with storms,
The stubborn virtue of his soul can move 3
Nor the red arm of angry Jove,
That flings the thunder from the sky,
And gives it rage to roar, and strength to fly.
Should the whole frame of nature round him break,
In ruin and confusion hurl’d,
He unconcern’d would hear the mighty crack,
And stand secure amidst a falling world.
Horace.
M. Despreaux has given us a very beautiful and just
description of the ode in the following lines.
L’Ode avec plus d’eclat, & non moins d’energie
Elevant jusqu’au ciel son vol ambitieux,
Entretient dans vers commerce avec les Dieux.
Aux Athletes dans Pise elle ouvre la barriere,
Chante un vainqueur poudreux au bout de la carriere ;
Mene Achille sanglant au bords du Simcis
Ou fait flechir 1’Escaut sous le joug de Louis.
Tantot comme une abeille ardente a son ouvrage
Elle s’en va de fleurs depouiller 1c rivage :
Elle peint les festins, les danses & les ris,
Vante un baiser cueilli sur les levies d’lris,
Qui mollement resiste & par un doux caprice
Quelquefois le refuse, afin qu’on le ravisse.
Son style impetueux souvent marche au hasard.
Chez elle un beau desordre est un efl’et de Part,
Loin ces rimeurs craintifs, dont 1’esprit phlegmatique
Garde dans ses fureurs un ordre clidactique :
Qui chantant d’un heros les progres eclatans,
Maigres historiens, suivront 1’ordre des temps.
Apollon de son feu leur fut toujours avare, &.c.
The lofty ede demands the strongest fire,
For there the muse all Phoebus must inspire :
Mounting to heav’n in her ambitious flight,
Aniongst the gods and heroes takes delight 3
Of Pisa’s wrestlers tells the sinewy force,
And sings the dusty conqueror’s glorious course 3
To
Part II.
Of Lyric
Poetry.
try.
POE
To Simois’ banks now fierce Achilles sends,
Beneath the Gallic yoke now Escaut bends :
Sometimes she flies, like an industrious bee,
And robs the flowers by nature’s chemistry j
Describes the shepherds dances, feasts, and bliss,
And boasts from Phillis to surprise a kiss,
When gently she resists with feign’d remorse,
That what she grants may seem to be by force.
Her generous style will oft at random start,
And by a brave disorder show her art $
Unlike those fearful poets whose cold rhyme
In all their raptures keeps exactest time,
Who sing th’ illustrious hero’s mighty praise,
D<*y journalists, by terms of weeks and days $
To these, Apollo, thrifty of his fire,
Denies a place in the Pierian choir, &c.
Soames.
799
Of Lyric
Poetry.
POETRY continued in next Volume.
END OF THE SIXTEENTH VOLUME..
DIRECTIONS for placing the PLATES of Vol. XVI.
Part I.
Plate CCCCTV.—CCCCVI. to face - - page 32
CCCCVII. 02
CCCCVI II. - - - - 114
CCCCIX 128
CCCCX.—CCCCXV. - - - 184
CCCCXVI. .... 336
Part II.
CCCCXVII. CCCCXVII1. - - 528
CCCCXIX. 552
CCCCXX.—CCCCXXII. - - 600
CCCCXXJLU.—CCCQXXXIII. - - 750
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